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Mom and the Magic Ring (SSBHM, SSBBW)


vigilante

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Hi all,

This is a story that I have been working on for some time but had been waiting to post until complete.

It's a tale of a young man whose lust for his mom sets him down a magical, time-bending, and fattening path.

I hope you enjoy.

 

Mom and the Magic Ring

By Vigilante

 

Prologue: The Lady and the Ring

‘Splash, splash, splash’.  Prudence Pole was usually asleep at this hour, a quarter past two in the morning, but tonight her hurried footsteps through ankle-deep water echoed loudly off the sewer walls.  Under ordinary circumstances a lady of her standing, the youngest of an old and noble family, wouldn’t have stepped foot in a place like this - where the filth of Plymouth City channelled into the sea - but desperate times called for desperate measures.

- - - -

Two years ago she had been the sole heiress to a sizeable estate and immeasurable fortune.  Pole ancestry boasted some of the greatest explorers that the world had ever seen.  Her family had discovered new lands, and grown enormously wealthy off the resources they had plundered.  That had finished over three generations ago of course.  Nowadays the Pole’s sat back and enjoyed the material riches that their forebears had acquired, an art which Prudence had refined to dizzying new heights.

In-between the partying, socialising, and extravagant living, Prudence was patiently waiting for her parents to agree on an appropriate marriage.  At least, that’s what she wanted them to think...  Since the tender age of 16, she had been involved in a scandalous romance with Edward, one of the family’s stable boys.  Though initially intending to spite her parents by choosing a poor (or perhaps the worst available) match, she was quickly swept off her feet by the young man’s kindness, sincerity, and host of other virtues in which Prudence herself was sorely lacking.  With every passing month she fell deeper in love, and by 20 they were scheming their elopement and a new life far away from the city.  

That was, until his untimely death in a hunting accident.  It plunged her into a deep depression that consumed her every waking moment, to the point that she couldn’t even bear to leave her room.  Her parents, concerned that their only progeny was going to waste away in her ivory tower, sent for doctors and healers from across the land, with the promise of wealth and power for any that could bring their daughter back to them.

Over the following years many came knocking on her bedroom door, but all left disappointed.  That was, until an unexpected arrival one cool summer evening - an elderly woman, with skin as dark as the night sky - who spoke of arcane magic and voodoo restoration.  Prudence’s parents might have turned her away at the beginning, but they were now so desperate to find an answer to their daughter’s strife that they welcomed her into their home with open arms.

The voodoo healer had started much the same as her forbears, asking questions about Prudence’s life, deducing that her affliction was one of a broken heart.  But as Prudence stared into the woman’s cold, black eyes, she found herself strangely entranced, unable to look away, and before she could stop herself was telling her about Edward, their undying love, his accident, and the empty void this had left in her life.  Words tumbled out of her mouth like blood gushing from an open wound, and the woman listened silently.

When finished, Prudence had slumped back in her chair, out of breath and out of sorts, while the woman had risen from her seat and moved over to the fire that was cracking softy in an impressive stone hearth.  She began chanting in strange tongues and casting an odd collection of objects from her long, matted overcoat into the flames.  They danced blue-green, and as Prudence stared she saw flickers of Edward’s face amongst the soot and smoke.  

The woman asked for a trinket of her lover’s, something touched by his own hands.  To her dismay, Prudence had realised that she had only one such object in her possession, a black onyx ring that he had gifted her on her 18th birthday.  It was a common gemstone in an ornate but cheap bronze setting, worth no more than a single silver shilling, but she treasured it far above the many other precious jewels that her name bequeathed.   As much as it pained her, the brief glimpse of Edward’s face in the fire had given her a sense of hope, like there might be something to live for after all.  After a moment’s hesitation, she tore the ring off her finger and, shaking, handed it to the woman.

As the healer held it in her hands above the fire, she turned to Prudence and said in her deep, raspy voice, “my people lived a solitary and peaceful existence.  I was a child when they arrived, your ancestors.  We did not speak their language, but we understood their intentions soon enough.  They took our land, our idols, our food.  We were left with nothing and forced to flee - many never made it, starved to death as we sought out a new home.  Such unimaginable hunger…”.  Her beady black eyes narrowed.  The hairs on the back of Prudence’s neck stood to attention.  “The ring will grant you the power you seek, to bend history to your will.  But at a price.  You will atone for your crimes against my people.  Rewrite your story, but beware the flap of the butterfly’s wings”.  With that, the aged healer opened her palm towards the floor and let the ring tumble downwards.  As it grazed the fire’s tallest flame there was a flash of light, an earth-shattering ‘bang’, and a blast that knocked Prudence of her feet.  Darkness overcame her.

She had awoken to the sound of panicked voices.  Her young maid, Eugene, rushing across the room to sit down by her side, her mother’s cries of relief that her daughter was shaken but unharmed, and her father’s violent curses about the voodoo healer, who had slipped past his guards and out of the estate without being seen or heard by a soul.  It was many hours later that Prudence had ushered the last of them out of her room, and rushed over to her fireplace.  Plunging her hands into the sooty remains - the last of the embers had died some time ago - her hand closed around a warm metal object, and heart racing, she pulled out the blacked ring.

Wasting no time at all, and all but disregarding the healer’s ominous threats, she had forced it back onto her bony finger and mustered all of her energy, thinking back to the day of Edward’s accident.  And it had worked.

She couldn’t explain how, but on opening her eyes Prudence was no longer stood in the middle of her sooted bedroom, but rather outside the aged Manor House gates.  A horn sounded from behind them, and they creaked open, revealing a large hunting party headed-up by her father’s large grey destrier, and by its side... Edward.

If he had been surprised by his secret lover’s appearance, dressed only in her nightgown, outside the gates, it was nothing compared to Prudence’s shock at seeing him standing before her.  Thankfully she was accosted by her family’s guards before she could lunge herself at him, and thinking on her feet, span a hasty lie about wanting to go riding that morning and needing her horse to be attended to.  It was not long before she was walking back towards the stables with Edward, as the hunting party rode-off deep into the forest.

She took him there and then, amidst the muck and dirt of the stables.  Purest pleasure pulsed through her veins as she rode back and forth atop him, and afterwards, they made plans to leave the house the very next day and start their new life together.  As she lay down to rest that evening, Prudence closed her eyes and wished herself back to the present...

- - - -

Prudence splashed through the sewer, wheeling around a corner and coming to a fork in the tunnel.  Curses!  What had the city guard she bribed told her...?  Left...?  She dived down the leftmost passage, and as the long tunnel stretched out into the darkness ahead, she drifted back into her reverie...

- - - -

Prudence had opened her eyes to the drab interior of a bunkhouse room, the hustle and bustle of a busy market street audible through an open window.  A baby cried from a raggedy old cot at the foot of her bed, and she sat up gingerly, getting out of bed to try and make sense of her surroundings.  As she took her first step, Prudence felt an odd sensation around her midriff, and looked down to inspect herself.  She was... fat!  

A pasty white belly bulged out from beneath her tits, and as her hands moved around her body she felt rolls where there had previously been curves, and pudge where there had previously been muscle.  How could this have happened?!  The baby cried again, louder this time, and Prudence moved over to the crib, picking it up and rocking it gently.  It rested its head against her heavy breasts and dozed quietly, while Prudence’s mind whirled.

She waited for hours, in the hope that Edward would walk through the door and help her piece together her missing memories.  After what seemed like an age there was a scratching of keys at the door.  Blackened and tired-looking, he trudged into the room, and after he had settled down on a threadbare armchair Prudence coaxed the truth out of him.  They had arrived in London two weeks after having fled her parent’s estate.  It was not long afterwards they discovered that two would become three – Prudence had fallen pregnant after their romp in the barn.  Edward had taken the first job he could get, down at the wharf, while Prudence had put her feet up at home and... gorged herself.  Going from pampered heiress to a lowly expectant mother was clearly quite a change of pace, and apparently, her willpower wasn’t as strong as she thought.  By the time she was due the midwife thought she was expecting triplets.  Instead, she delivered one healthy baby, and one obese mother, who was given a strict telling off for getting so plump.  That hadn’t changed anything, however, and Edward noted bashfully that now Prudence was even larger than she was when she was ready to pop.

She listened with increasing horror - how had this happened?  The voodoo healer never warned her about such side effects.  Or... had she?  “The flap of the butterfly’s wing”...  Atonement for the starvation of her people... Unimaginable hunger… Oh dear...

As Prudence went to bed that evening, her belly full from the weight of the large dinner she had shovelled down - her new body was ravenous - she considered her next move.  Perhaps she could make the best of this?  Weight gain aside, she finally had what she wanted - Edward, freedom, a family - maybe she’d stay here and make this work.  She rolled over to embrace him, but as the rolls of her stomach touched his back, he shuddered and grunted, “oh... not tonight darling... not since... well, you know I preferred your old body...”.

No sex.  Prudence closed her eyes and, in a flash, was standing back outside the Manor House gates.  It was time for a re-write.  As the hunting horn sounded she readied herself for a second encounter with Edward, but had been shocked to discover that her added girth had stayed with her for the return journey!  Surely someone would notice that she’d put on 50lbs overnight?!

But they did not.  As the hunting party faced her through the open gates, no one looked surprised to see a plump Prudence standing in front of them. When she told her father that she wanted to go on a horse ride he had even clapped his hands together with glee, and boomed, “physical exercise?  Well, I’m not going to stand in the way of that!”.  A few minutes later she and Edward had re-tread their footsteps back to the stables, and making sure that a brief kiss on the cheek was as lucky as he was going to get today, Prudence said her goodbyes and skipped back up to the Manor House.  When out of sight, she closed her eyes and wished herself back to the present.

The smell of freshly baked bread stung her nostrils.  Opening her eyes, Prudence was momentarily overwhelmed by the swarm of people in front of her, all pointing and chatting loudly.  “Come on dear, we’ve got hungry customers to feed!”, a familiar voice called from behind her, and wheeling around she saw Edward wearing a large chef’s hat and standing in an impressive open kitchen.  Moving effortlessly, he rolled a large slab of dough, took a tray of sizzling brownies from an oven, and put the finishing touches to a tray of red-velvet cupcakes.

Tearing her eyes away from Edward’s newfound culinary prowess, she took a moment to inspect in her surroundings.  She was standing in a bright and airy bakery, behind a counter that was chocked full of goodies which a hungry public was waiting impatiently on the other side to purchase.  The queue stretched out of the door and around the corner - it must be quite popular!  She caught the name etched into the other side of the storefront, and managed to translate it from back to front.  “Princess to Pauper Bakery, London, est. 1621”.  So, had she and Edward moved to London and started up a shop?  Well, it seemed to be going rather well, this was much more like it!  

Remembering why she had travelled back in the first place, Prudence grimaced and looked down at her body.  What she saw made her heart fall like a stone.  She was still fat - fatter even - her little apron bulging outwards on all sides, as it struggled to contain the corpulence within.  She caught a glimpse of her profile in the metal over to her left - her belly jutted out further than it ever had, giving her the appearance of a soft, fat, pregnant lady, whilst her backside had grown saggier, counterbalancing the new weight around her middle.  She had to be at least 100 pounds larger than she’d been before.

She was shaken from her shock by a middle-aged woman shouting from across the counter, “come on, I haven’t got all day.  These cakes must be to die for, I mean look at what they’ve done to you!”.  

Before she could muster a response, Edward bounded up behind her and reached an arm around her front, cupping her flabby belly.  He bounced it softly and laughed, “when we opened up shop two years ago this was as flat as a washboard, but after I started leaving the leftovers for Prudence to snack on during the day...”, he lifted her blouse to reveal her soft lower belly to the onlookers, “it started to grow!”.

Prudence blushed as the crowd of women in front of her craned their necks to get a look at her bulging tummy.  Some gasped and pointed, others giggled and whispered behind hands to their neighbours.  Edward continued, “in these difficult times, what with the poor harvests last year, it’s truly the sign of a remarkable product that a woman can eat herself up to this size.  And in honour of my wife’s weight gain...”, he squeezed her gut with both hands, emphasising to the onlookers just how much fatty flesh was hanging off her middle, “today if you buy a dozen products, you’ll get a half-dozen free!”.

The crowd hummed with excitement and rushed forwards, money clenched in shaking fists, and he pulled away, but not before whispering, “excellent, this should create quite the buzz around town.  Make sure to eat double helpings of leftovers from now on - I want them to see you bigger every time they step through the door”.

So she was his fattened advertisement?  A walking billboard for how good his cakes were, that he’d let even his wife double or triple in size?  Prudence closed her eyes, and in an instant, the smell of baked bread was replaced by morning dew, as she found herself back outside the increasingly familiar Manor House gates.  She waited patiently for the sound of the hunting horn, which, like clockwork, sounded a few moments later.

Out strode the hunting party, her father and Edward leading the charge, and she spun her now well-rehearsed tale about wanting to go for a morning ride.  Her father looked back, confusion etched into his face, and said uncertainly, “but... darling, surely you remember... your horse is still unwell… his poor back...”.  His cheeks shone red underneath his bushy grey beard.  “I’ve been trying to buy you another, but finding one that can handle a woman of your... well it’s proving difficult.  Perhaps if you were to lose a bit of weight...”, he trailed-off, avoiding her gaze.

Prudence was surprised, though glancing down at her new wider body, she supposed it wasn’t that hard to believe.  Thinking on the spot, she corrected herself and requested instead an able-bodied young man to assist her with rearranging her furniture, knowing full well only one of the hunting party before her fit the bill.

And so it was that a short while later she and Edward were making the familiar trip across the lawn towards the stables.  All the while, Prudence considered her next use of the ring.  Being poor hadn’t worked out very well, and being self-made had been even worse, but perhaps if she was able to retain some of her wealth rather than leave it all behind that would make all the difference?  Once they reached the relative solitude of the stables, they schemed to steal from her family vaults, and after a few days of preparation, staged a successful heist. They only took a fraction of the contents of course - a bit of old silverware, some of the less impressive jewels, a few gold bullion - but it was more than enough for the two of them to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.  Once safely in their carriage to London town Prudence closed her eyes and wished herself back to the present...

- - - -

Prudence stumbled as her foot caught an uneven stone on the sewer floor, and flung her arm out to stop herself from falling.  Mercifully, her hand grasped around a rocky outcrop, and she was able to steady herself before she came crashing down into the disease-ridden waters below.  That was close - a broken ankle down here and she might not have any choice but to use the ring again, and that wasn’t an option she wished to explore.  Prudence took a moment to collect herself, and then continued her journey, taking additional care to watch her step.  She thought back to that fateful third use of her new powers...

- - - -

A light breeze swept across her face, as the air turned hot and humid, stinging her nostrils.  Prudence opened her eyes to see a young woman wearing a silk veil across her face, fanning her softly.  “You’re awake my Lady, I thought perhaps we had lost you all afternoon to this heat.  Hottest summer in a century they say”.  She wasn’t kidding - Prudence could feel the sweat dripping down her back, and still slightly dazed, swung her legs off the chaise lounge she was sitting on and tried to stand.  But... she couldn’t...

The veiled woman stopped fanning immediately and rushed down to put an arm around her, crying, “you should have warned me, my Lady, you know I’m here to help with such matters”.  Grunting, she pulled Prudence up off the seat and into a standing position.

Prudence gingerly attempted to walk forwards, but her legs were still struggling to move.  She looked down to see what was the matter, and to her horror realised that she couldn’t see her legs at all!  They were obscured by the crest of an enormous belly, which was as round and flabby as it had ever been.  She turned towards a tall free-standing mirror in the corner of the room, and saw that she was even larger than before - rolls of fat bulging out in all directions.  A shadow of her former beauty.

“What... how... so fat?”, Prudence mumbled, as the woman guided Prudence closer to the mirror, the true extent of her weight gain becoming clearer with every shuddering step.  The woman supporting one of her flabby arms replied cautiously, “well... when you moved here you hired me and the other girls to help out with cooking and cleaning, and it wasn’t long before... we started feeding you too”.  Her cheeks flushed red, and she continued, “‘the ultimate decadence’ you called it.  Not having to lift a finger, even to feed yourself.  And, well... it didn’t take long for you to start... growing”.  She hastened to add, “but I think you look fabulous my Lady, a true picture of wealth and elegance”.  In truth, as she stared at her reflection all Prudence could see was a gluttonous piggy staring back at her.

‘Rumble’, ‘rumble’.  The ground had started to shake, as if struck by a series of increasingly strong earthquakes, as something heavy moved closer and closer towards the open door.  As the thunderous footsteps reached their peak, in walked an enormously fat man that Prudence didn’t recognise, or... did she?  Edward?!

If Prudence had considered herself to have gained weight, it was nothing compared to what had happened to her fit young lover.  Edward’s hips were four times as wide as they used to be - overflowing with milky white blubber that poured over the top of the towel that was draped around his thighs.  His belly hung low over his crotch, and he was not wearing a top at all, which highlighted the two juicy melons hanging from his chest.  They were each larger than her head and bounced satisfyingly with every step.

Edward waddled into the room and took a seat in a heavy reclined arm-chair, his fat bulging up against the sides.  Two veiled women followed him into the room, carrying an assortment of desserts.  One settled to his left and started hand feeding him chocolates from a silver platter, whilst the other stood to his right, and gently caressed his belly.  Now seated, Prudence could see up the small towel he was wearing, but there was no sign of his manhood.  It appeared to have been lost to the blubber closing in on all sides.

The sight of her feminised, fattened boyfriend etched into her retinas, Prudence considered her next move.  She would simply have to use the ring once more, until she found a way to fix this mess.

And she did.  Again and again, each trip proving more disastrous, and fatter, than the last.  She tried staying and home and giving up on her dream of eloping, only to find that she’d been fattened up by her parents for a marriage to a wealthy bachelor with a penchant for the larger lady.  She tried telling her parents about Edward and pleading with them to let him live with her at the Manor House, only to find that she’d been banished to a monastery in Italy where the matronly nuns had fed her up to the point that no man would want to sully her good name.  She tried pleading with Edward to make sure she stayed thin over the next couple of years, no matter what she said or did to the contrary, only to find that he had started to enjoy watching her eat and get fat, turning into her dedicated feeder.  She even tried breaking it off with Edward, as much as it pained her, only to find that seeing him with other girls had sent her into an even bigger spiral of depression, and had her overeating more than ever before.

After this last jump, Prudence couldn’t bring herself to try again, the emotional and physical toll was becoming too much to bear.  So over 350lbs heavier than when the ring had first graced her finger, and surrounded by the empty dessert trays that she just gorged herself on, Prudence sat on her balcony and watched Edward chatting to a busty housemaid in the grounds below.  So engrossed was she in their conversation, that she barely registered that her young maid Eugene had joined her on the balcony.

Eugene frowned as she surveyed the empty plates surrounding Prudence, “I thought your mother gave you strict instructions that sweets were off-limits until you could fit into last year’s birthday gown?”.  She followed Prudence’s gaze out across the grounds towards the stables, where Edward and the housemaid were now kissing passionately atop a hay bale.  “Damn that Rosamond, her looks will get her in trouble one of these days”, she continued huffily, “but at least she’s out there having a bit of fun.  Maybe if you were more inclined to put your mouth around men’s lips instead of cakes, you’d be a bit happier with your lot”.

The old Eugene had been a pretty but shy girl, star-struck by her charge’s status and beauty.  However as Prudence’s weight climbed so did Eugene’s confidence, and it had not escaped Prudence’s notice that whilst she was quick to tease, Eugene never failed to keep her well-fed.  She had concluded that the maid rather enjoyed keeping her morbidly obese.  “I’m trying”, she lied, shifting her weight nervously, “I might be able to fit back into it...”.  

Eugene snorted and stepped into the bedroom, returning a few moments later with a cream corset, the undergarment necessary to fit into the rest of the dress.  She then knelt in front of Prudence and parted her nightgown, revealing her vast body underneath.  Eugene giggled, “you’re crazy if you think that all of this”, she placed a hand on each of Prudence’s overflowing tits and gave them a hearty shake, “is going to fit into that”.

The humiliation made Prudence’s cheeks flush red, but there was something oddly satisfying about having her body jiggled, so she let her maid have her fun.  Once she was done, Prudence defiantly stood-up - the effort of which required a good deal of grunting and left her a little out of breath - and let the nightgown fall to the floor.  Even Eugene looked shocked as she saw her huge naked body, wobbling gently in the early morning sunlight.  Every cellulite-ridden roll, the product of years of over-eating, exposed for the world to see.

Unsurprisingly, Prudence was only able to get the corset about two-thirds closed, her great belly bulging out so far in front of her that it made fastening the garment impossible.  She hadn’t realised quite how fat she had gotten in just under a year...  Eugene giggled and said smugly, “see, I knew you wouldn’t be able to fit into it!  Your mother isn’t going to be happy at all.  Her precious daughter needing another new wardrobe to contain her blubber!”.  She walked around Prudence, inspecting her backside, giving the soft flesh a gentle stroke, her fingers bouncing in and out of her craterous cellulite, pausing briefly to bounce one heavy buttock in her hand.  “I think one of these weighs as much as me!”, she giggled, tracing a finger along Prudence’s flabby flank as she walked back around to face her.

Eugene was momentarily distracted by something over Prudence’s shoulder.  Turning, she saw that things were steaming up down by the barn, where Rosamund was now topless, her bare, bony, back rising up and down against Edward, who was propped up against the stable wall.  A sudden urge to use the ring washed over her like a hot shower.  She could punish them - perhaps go back in time and find a way to get them fired, or fatten them up like she had been, or even... make it so that they were never born...

A bright flash out of the corner of her eye snapped Prudence from her daydream, and looking down she saw that the ring was pulsating a fiery red, in time with her fast-beating heart.  This is what it wanted... She knew what she needed to do.

Closing her eyes in a now well-rehearsed routine, Prudence thought back to the day of the accident, and after a moment felt the ground shift under her feet.  A familiar horn sounded nearby, and the hunting party emerged as the old gates creaked open.  Perhaps it was the sight of him fondling another woman, or the fact that Prudence was jaded by his actions in alternate timelines, but her heart no longer skipped a beat when she saw him walking towards her.  In fact, she felt nothing for him at all.

Prudence watched as Edward rode off with the hunting party, to his death, and closed her eyes one last time.  Open opening, she rushed across to her bedroom mirror to inspect herself.  No thinner, but no fatter either.  Waddling out onto her large balcony she gazed across towards the stables, and squinted as she looked for Edward’s familiar face.  It was instead met by two boys that she didn’t recognise, presumably his replacements.  Was it finally over?

Cursing Edward, the voodoo healer, her greedy ancestors, and finally the ring itself, she cast it off her finger and tossed it from the balcony.  She listened intently for the satisfying ‘splash’ a few seconds later as it landed in the lake below.  She let out a sigh of relief and looked down at her now free hand... except... the ring was back on her finger!  Prudence panicked, and repeated the action, throwing it further this time, and watching its descent into the glassy water below, but in the blink of an eye it was back on her finger, as if it had never left.  She spent the rest of the day attempting to destroy the ring, but water, fire, brute force - nothing worked.  It always found a way back onto her pudgy hand, and in doing so the lingering temptation to use it again hung over Prudence’s head like a guillotine, ready to fall.  

Tired and frustrated, she trudged down to dinner in one of her few dresses that still fit, and was greeted by her mother and father at their impressive oak dining table.  The effort of attempting to rid herself of the ring had left Prudence ravenous, and her request for third helpings of potatoes had resulted in raised eyebrows from her parents, and a sly smirk from Eugene, who dutifully ferried the heaping mounds of carbohydrates to her willing feedee.

When the final course arrived conversation turned to the elephant in the room.  Eyeing the mound of profiteroles that Prudence had served herself, her mother snapped, “I hardly think you need any more food dear.  It hasn’t escaped my notice that the seamstresses have had to let out your clothes again.  I’m told they’re running out of fabric”.  She leant across the table and gave her daughter’s ham-like arm a jiggle, the upper arm fat slapping gently against the excess flesh pouring over her bra from her side-boob.  She sighed heavily.  “At this rate, we’ll have to move your bedroom to the ground floor.  I can’t listen to your wheezing as you walk up the stairs, it just breaks my heart...”.

Prudence zoned out of the conversation after this, focusing instead on the plate of profiteroles in front of her, which seemed to miraculously refill itself whenever she turned away.  She gorged herself greedily, cream smeared across her cheeks, focused entirely on the food that was slowly filling the pit in her stomach.  It was her father’s booming voice that eventually brought her back to reality, “... now if I were younger I’d make the trip of course.  The possibility to make a new name for yourself - a land of opportunity - who would pass up such an offer?  It sets sail in thirty days, that... well, that might be enough time to get our affairs in order...”, he said hopefully, glancing nervously at his wife.

She smiled back at him kindly, “it’s 1620 dear, and you’re not the young man you were when we first met - we should make the best of the life we’ve already built for ourselves, with what little time we have left.  Leave the adventuring to the young”.  She patted him gently on the hand, making it clear that the matter was not up for further discussion.

Prudence was pensive.  ‘Who would pass up such an offer?...’, perhaps her father was right - who indeed would turn their nose up at the opportunity to start again in a new land?  Who... or what?  The ring had already had its fun with her, and she sensed that its power was drawn from the impact it had on its bearer’s lives.  Perhaps if she gave it an opportunity beyond the walls of Plymouth City...?  Excusing herself from the table, she hurried back to her bedroom as fast as her tree-trunk legs would carry her and began her preparations for the night before the maiden voyage...

- - - -

Prudence waddled around a bend in the tunnel and saw the faint glimmer of moonlight far ahead through a sewer grate.  She’d made it!  As she reached the light at the end of the tunnel her destination came mercifully into view.  

‘The Mayflower’ was an exquisite piece of nautical engineering.  Over 100 feet long, with high sails and a tonnage that could support even her own corpulence, it alone looked capable of braving a trip to the New World.

Under the cover of darkness, she slipped out of the tunnel and between cargo containers on the harbour beyond, stepping as gently as her enormous body would allow, and stifling her breathing as best she could.  A guard strolled past, just metres away from her, and she rested her back against a barrel of wine and wheezed quietly, attempting to catch her breath after her intense physical exertion.  She was so close - just a little further and it would all be over.

After the footsteps of the guard had faded into the distance, and the only sounds to be heard were the splashing of waves against the harbour walls and the creaking of the wooden masts in the breeze, Prudence picked herself up and continued to weave through the cargo, until she reached her destination, the luggage rack.

She pulled a parchment and quill from her pocket, scrawling a hurried note that she placed clumsily into a small leather ring-box she had borrowed from her mother’s overflowing dressing table.  Tears streaming gently from her eyes, she took a final, longing, look at the ornate ring on her index finger.  Tearing her gaze away, she ripped the ring from her person and threw it into the box, which she then stuffed unceremoniously into the nearest trunk.  As the trunk snapped shut, she caught the name scrawled on its side - ‘T. Fairfax ‘.  Thinking a silent prayer for the stranger whose life she may have just irrecoverably altered, she glanced nervously at her hand.  It was as puffy as ever, but bare, with just the faintest band of white pale skin where the ring had sat for so long.  She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, and began the long trip back up to her family estate, feeling that the weight of the last few years might have finally been lifted from her shoulders.  Figuratively, if not literally.

- - - -

The next morning Prudence Pole was to be found standing on her bedroom balcony, looking out across Plymouth Harbour.  The cacophony below built to a crescendo, as The Mayflower cast off its moorings and set sail across the sea to claim new lands in the name of the British Empire.  She followed the ship until its silhouette disappeared beyond the horizon, after which she finally allowed herself a heavy sigh of relief, plucking a freshly baked pastry from a nearby tray and taking a large bite.  Crumbs tumbled down her nightgown and came to rest on the top of her great, wobbly belly, which she caressed gently.  Prudence was feeling particularly peckish today.

The ring, meanwhile, pulsated gently in approval, as it began its long voyage across the ocean, to new beginnings...

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Chapter 1: New Beginnings

 I didn’t want to move house.  I liked our old neighbourhood, but the death of an estranged relative and inheritance of an impressive Colonial Mansion out-of-state had been too good an opportunity for my mom to pass up.  So, six months ago we packed up our lives and moved north, to start a new chapter in our lives.

It was just the two of us - my dad had never been in my life and mom didn’t like to talk about him - so the palatial 10 bedroom house felt eerily empty when we arrived on our first day.  The previous occupant’s belongings still furnished the place.  Most of them looked like they were purchased around the time it was built.  Accordingly, we’d spent the last few months turfing out the stuff we didn’t want to keep, and updating the decor to be a little more... 21st Century.

Heaving around old cabinets and armchairs hadn’t been an issue for me, Jack Fairfax, as years of working out and playing on school sports teams had left my tall frame taught and muscular.  Having recently celebrated my 23rd birthday and said a cheery goodbye to the world of academia, I’m just waiting for the house renovations to complete before I pack up and head off to the big city, to start a new life and make a name for myself - hopefully!  That is, if I can tear myself away from mom...

My mom, Lisa, had me when was she was just 21, and despite now being in her early 40s she hadn’t settled down with anyone else and remained single to this day.  She is 5’7’’, with the same light brown hair and blue eyes as me, and a similarly toned body with curves in all the right places.  She was beautiful in every sense of the word, from her pretty face, Southern drawl, perky tits, to her bubble butt that jiggles satisfyingly with every step.

Mom doesn’t particularly enjoy her job working for the local government, but it had always paid the bills, and I know she tried to give me the best upbringing she could given the circumstances.  It’s why I don’t mind picking up some of the slack around the house, and why when mom shouted through my bedroom door, “Jack, I’m going to need you to help clear out the rest of the attic this morning”, I groaned inwardly, but forced myself out of bed and trudged up the pull-down ladder into the attic.

And here I find myself, in our dusty old attic, searching through a collection of strange trinkets and oddities that the previous owner had abandoned up here.  As I open up an old trunk, spluttering slightly as years of accumulated dust sting my nostrils, I notice a small leather box nestled inside.  Curious... I reach down to pick it up, and open it along its creaky back hinge.  Inside is a small ornate ring with an odd black gemstone, and a small folded note written on a scrap of yellowed and fraying paper.  

My interest well and truly piqued, I unfold the note and read it.  ‘The bearer of this ring is granted dominion over all of time.  She is a cruel mistress.  Beware the flap of the butterfly’s wings.  PP’.  Frowning, I turn it over, looking for some sort of explanation, but the other side is completely blank.  ‘PP’... I’m not aware of anyone in the family with those initials, though this ring could be decades, even centuries old, so perhaps it’s the heirloom of some long-forgotten ancestor?

Plucking the ring out of the box, which I discard along with the note on the attic floor, I place it gingerly on my finger.  To my surprise, the dull gemstone at the centre of the ring starts to glow red and pulsates in time with my fast-beating heart.

A cheap parlour trick, no doubt left here to play a joke on some gullible fool.  That said, the note’s mention of control over time does get me thinking.  What would I do with such a power if it did exist?  Travel forwards in time for a sneak preview of my future?  Travel back and correct a past mistake?  Or perhaps something a little more... self-serving?

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Chapter 2: Nineties Girl

Whilst I don’t honestly believe the ravings scrawled onto the now discarded note, there was one little fantasy I'd always wanted to indulge, and it couldn’t hurt to give it a go... right?

My mom was very attractive.  It had weirded me out when I was younger but I'd since come to terms with it, and took full advantage of the opportunities that I had as her son to admire her beauty whenever I could.  She had a very pretty face and a nice curvy figure, which was sculpted by her rigorous exercise and diet regime.  Whether it was bending over to put on the washing, or lounging on the sofa after a long day’s work, I never tired of staring at her beautiful body.

Unfortunately, she was also very uptight, and had never reciprocated my advances when I tried to make a move, or let herself get caught up in a bit of harmless flirting.  The permanent blue balls this left me with is too much to bear any longer, and if I truly do possess a ring that can let me travel back in time I know exactly what I am going to do with it.  If she is so insistent on nothing happening between us in the present, then perhaps I’ll have more luck in the past…

So, when I close my eyes my wish is to travel back to the mid-nineties, when she was 18 and in the penultimate year of high school.  I am certain this won’t work, that I’ll just stand here for a few seconds and then feel foolish.  I hold my breath and think long and hard about the old neighbourhood that I remembered from mom’s old family photographs.   

I opened my eyes to find that I am no longer in my attic, but in the middle of a suburban street in Texas State.  And not just any street... I recognise that beat-up Ford Mustang as the one that grandpa used to talk about, and is that a Spice Girls poster...?  Oh my god, this is mom's old neighbourhood… It... It worked?!

I have little time to take in the fact that I have been transported back through time, before I was even born, as a moment later I hear a school bell go off somewhere behind me.  That would probably be mom's high-school a couple of blocks away, and meant that I didn’t have much time to find her between classes.  I sprint in the general direction of the bell and it isn’t long before I turn a corner and see an imposing red-brick building brimming with youths, which has to be the local high school.  Catching my breath, I put on confident swagger and walk casually between the crowds of people and up the steps to the main school entrance.

After scouring the halls for a minute or two I finally spot her.  She is even more gorgeous than I imagined, a younger, slimmer and more innocent version of my mother, with the same pretty face and long brown hair, just on a fresher frame.  I gulp, take a deep breath, and walk over to her as she fusses with the books in her locker.  “Hey... I’m Jack.  I recently moved here, and I’m hoping you could show me around?”, I ask, leaning against the locker next to hers in what I hope is a nonchalant pose.

She blushes, clearly a little taken aback by my forward approach, but it’s obvious than she likes the attention.  With little effort we are flirting in no time, my intimate knowledge of mom’s likes and dislikes giving me an upper hand, and as the bell for the next lesson rang I ask if she wants to skip class and get something to eat with me instead.  A few minutes later we were making our way down the street to the local dine-in bakery.

After taking our seats I call over the waiter and order us a plate of hot chocolate fudge cake, brownies, and eclairs - this is guilt-free living as it’s not my timeline, so why not break the mound just this once?  “Jack!" mom blushes, "I can't eat that! I'm on a diet!".  This is not out of character for mom, she has always been a health fanatic for as long as I’ve known her, but to be on a diet so young... I press a bit further, and she admits that she used to be overweight in her early teens, and has been on a carefully restrictive diet to shed the pounds and gain her stick-thin figure.  I never knew this, Mom had kept it to herself all these years, but no matter, I’d rather mom was happy and full of baked goods than hungry and moody - it should be much easier to get into her pants that way!

I smile self-assuredly, and respond, “Lisa, I have a motto that I try to live my life by, ‘live in the moment'.  If you want to eat a slice of cake, why not?  Hell, open an entire bakery while you’re at it.  No, a chain of bakeries!  Life’s too short to worry about every little thing”.  The irony of the fact that I’m currently not even living in my timeline, let alone in the moment, is not lost on me, but mom has no idea and nods along thoughtfully.

“Yes... I think you’re right...”, she responds cautiously, before grabbing a slice of cake and tucking into it with gusto.  “Oh, it’s so gooood!”.  We while away a few hours, eating and chatting about our lives, hopes, and dreams, and the sun is setting by the time we’re walking home, hand in hand.  It’s been the perfect first date, and as the stars align I try my luck by leaning in to kiss her.  She is nervous at first, but a few seconds later we’re making out passionately and my hand is reaching down to squeeze that perfect bottom of hers... she pulls back suddenly.

“Look Jack, I like you, but we barely know each other.  Maybe if we go steady and see what happens in a few months...?”.  A few months?!  I hadn’t intended to spend so long in the past, and every day that I’m here is another day that I might inadvertently change the future - my future.  I don’t want to make it so I never get born, do I?  I nod along, trying to hide my crushing disappointment, and after a few minutes I say goodbye to mom and watch her tight bottom wobble away as she walks up the drive to her house.  Looking despondently at the ring, I close my eyes and think about the attic I had departed from just a few hours ago.

I open my eyes tentatively and breathe a heavy sigh of relief as I see the familiar musty room that is our new attic.  It’s as if I never left.  I stare intently at the ring for a few moments, as if trying to catch it out, and wonder if it had all been a very vivid dream.  The silence is shattered by a familiar voice calling from downstairs, “Jack, I've been looking all over for you!  Can you come down here now, please?  I need your help”.

"I'm going through some stuff in the attic like you asked mom!" I shout back, “if it’s important can you just come up here?”.

"You're going to have to come to me Jack, you know I can't get up there myself!".  Can't get up here herself?  Mom goes in the attic all the time... something’s not right.  I had best go and see what she wants.

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Chapter 3: Self-Raising

I start walking down the attic ladder when it dawns on me that something about my body is different. I am having a bit of trouble negotiating the steps - my belly is brushing against each one - and I quickly find myself out of breath. Am I... heavier?

I catch my breath for a minute at the bottom of the ladder and frantically give myself an inspection. My hand gropes around under my shirt, and sure enough, there is a little more of me than there had been just minutes before. Specifically: a very chubby tummy! I rush over to the mirror in the hall and inspected the damage. I’m not going to be featured on ‘My 600lb Life’ any time soon, but the weight gain was definitely noticeable, my face is a plumper, and my legs a little wider, but the real give away is my belly. Before my trip through time you could see my impressive abdominals as clear as day, but now I look like I’m a few months pregnant. I had to be over 50 pounds fatter than I was this morning, and have lost all of the muscle and definition that I built up through years of physical activity. What has happened?!

Panicked and breathless, I enter the kitchen and see mom standing over the counter, beating a whisk around a large mixing bowl. Mom looks like she always did - a stone-cold milf if I ever saw one - but there is a vibrancy about her person that I don’t recognise. She is wearing a bright blue apron, which reads ‘Piggy’s Bakery’, and as I take in the kitchen I realise that it’s changed substantially. There is a top of the line three-part oven, a flashy new kitchen island with built-in sink and fridge, and a new pantry with looks to be chocked full of ingredients. Propped up in front of mother there is an open recipe book. The spine reads ‘Piggy’s Bakery - Dessert Favourites’, and there’s a smiling picture of mom on the back cover.

“What...?”, I ask dumbstruck, as I take in my new surroundings for the first time. This couldn’t be as a result of my day-trip to the past, could it?

"You know I can't bring these treats up to you in the attic Jack, my allergies have been terrible this season and all that centuries-old dust would send me over the edge”, she says sweetly as she continues to whisk the mixture in the bowl, “now, I’m working on a new cookie recipe - it’s similar to the one from my Thanksgiving book”, she gestures at the open book in front of me, “but with a splash of salted caramel for an extra kick”. At that moment an oven timer beeps from below the countertop, and mom places down the bowl, putting on a pair of thick yellow oven gloves and pulling out a large tray of freshly baked cookies.

“Ummm... what’s the occasion?”, I ask unsurely, taking a deep sniff of the still sizzling cookies - they do smell delicious.

Mom looks at me with a puzzled look on her face. “Ummmm, same as every other day Jacky, I’m working on a new recipe and need my best taste tester to give me an honest review of the goods!”.

Taste tester? Am I some sort of baked-goods guinea pig? “Oh, well... of course. But... what do you need a taste tester for again?”, I ask tentatively, conscious that I’m sure I should already know the answer.

“Did you hit your head on one of the support beams when you were in the attic darling?”, mom asks in a concerned tone, eyeing my scalp, as if to look for evidence of a cut or bump. When she can’t see anything, she sighs and continues, “as you well know, I’m about to open our first international store, and I want to create something special to mark the occasion. You’ve been my prime taste tester ever since I started the bakery - God that must have been... 15 years ago now. You know the story darling, it’s in the blurb of my new book. A chance meeting with a stranger one day at school that opened my eyes to my calling in life... to open a chain of successful bakeries!”.

I nod along and do my best to maintain a weak smile, but all the while a sense of dread is growing in the pit of my stomach. A chance meeting with a stranger? Opening a chain of bakeries? Oh dear...

“It’s been a hectic few years and we’ve made many sacrifices to get to this point, and I can’t afford for it to go wrong when I’m so close. The stress is the only thing that’s kept me in this size 4 dress!”. Mom pats her washboard stomach and plates up three of the cookies, placing them on the island in front of me, “but there’s no reason you should starve yourself. Go on, you dig in!”.

I want to ask her more questions but I’m suddenly very aware of an extreme hunger like I’ve never experienced before. My new blubbery body evidently came with a few hidden extras. I sit down on one of the kitchen barstools, grab the first cookie, and take a bite, moaning with pleasure as the warm chocolate and caramel ooze into my mouth. “Excellent!”, she cries ecstatically, “I knew you’d like them. They’re even better with whipped cream!”, and she rushes over to the fridge to pull out a large squirty can.

Having devoured the first cookie I instinctively reach back for a second, and by the time mom turns around with the whipped cream the third is already in my mouth and partially chewed. “My, my!" mom marvels at how quickly I have gorged myself baked goods, "you are taking your job as taste tester seriously - I’ll have to administer this directly!”.

Mom moves around the island to stand in front of me, bending down to squeeze the cream straight into my open mouth. As she does so her loose-fitting apron and tank-top hang down, and I see that she’s not wearing a bra. Two fatty orbs on full display, with just the hint of nipple on the horizon, teasing me. As she pours the thick cream into my mouth, her perky tits swaying gently in perfect view, I become too horny to think straight, and a raging semi stirs within my pants.

Trying desperately to overcome my horniness and ravaging hunger, I suddenly understand how I got so chubby in this timeline. Mom has been fattening me up with her baking since I was a child, and the prospect of spending time around her bra-less tits was too much for little me to handle. I’d definitely have let myself get fat for the promise of a little boob action. And here I am getting even bigger...

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Chapter 4: There and Back Again

No, this simply will not do! I can't let one day-long foray into the past ruin my body for the rest of my life. I must go back in time and correct this mistake before the ring pops off my finger and I'm too fat to fix it.

“Hmmph... I have to go...", I gargle through a mouthful of cookies and whipped cream. I stand-up gingerly and walk out of the room, my belly wobbling softly under my too-tight t-shirt. As I stumble awkwardly it rides up, exposing my soft pale flesh beneath. My erection reaches full mast as I gulp down the last of the whipped cream and let out a little burp of approval.

"Aren't you going to try another cookie darling?", mom asks, looking me up and down and noticing the bulge beneath my flabby belly. *Giggle* "You look like you were really enjoying it!". She brushes a hand innocently against my packet. I shudder and quicken my pace. Once safely out of the room I pant to catch my breath, and then close my eyes and think back to the mid-nineties once again...

I hear the familiar sound of a school bell behind me and know that I've made it to the right place - exactly where my first trip to the past had started. I start to run towards the school, and to my horror notice my jiggling belly and flabby moobs are still weighing me down. Damn! I suppose that I'll keep this body until I've fixed the past and made up for my mistakes. Better hurry up…

It isn't long before I’ve jogged across town, up the steps to the school entrance, and am standing in the busy school hallway. A few minutes later than my last visit, and much more out of breath. I look past the crowds and see my mom chatting with a friend in the distance, and start to make my way over to her, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow.

"Hey fatty, maybe try more exercise and less eating!", a voice calls out from behind me, and I turn to see a large jock wearing a football jacket standing with a group of friends, all pointing and laughing. "Yeah, I know we're getting some new kids this year, but I didn't think they'd be so big!", another guffaws, as a girl hanging-off his arm chips in "well maybe you should be happy about that Tom - I'm sure I heard this guy panting behind me as I walked to school, I think he was checking me out...".

Tom did not take this accusation kindly, and before I can say anything he steps forwards and pushes me to the ground, where I land with a thud (though cushioned somewhat by my chunky behind). The other boys start walking towards me menacingly, and I close my eyes in anticipation of a harsh beating.

"Stop being such jerks!", a girl’s voice rings out from beside me, and I crack an eye open to see my mom - or at least the younger version of her - crouching down next to me with an angry look on her face. "It's his first day, just leave him alone and go be pig-headed somewhere else".

"There's only one pig here!", one of the boys laughs, high-fiving Tom whose expression was still murderous, but after a few seconds of Mexican stand-off, the group turns and moves away.

Once the crowds have dispersed mom crouches closer and says sweetly, "are you okay... ummm... what's your name?".

"Jack", I bluster back, struggling to get up off the floor, which is still damp from a recent clean. My cheeks flush red with embarrassment.

"Nice to meet you Jack, I'm Lisa. Here let me help you...", mom says kindly, reaching down and placing a hand either side of my bulging muffin top, and taking hold. "Oh... ohhh", she whispers softly, her hands kneading my flabby flank, eyes widening and lips curling into a smile. I don't know what to do, so just sit there in shock as my younger mother fondles at my fat, placing a hand beneath my t-shirt and finding my deep belly-button. "Hmmmm, it feels... good...". She reaches into her shoulder bag and grabs an unwrapped chocolate bar, stuffing it into my mouth as she continues to knead my chubby belly. I don’t know what to do, so just sit in silence in the otherwise deserted corridor as she has her way with me. As I gulp down the last of the chocolate I cough nervously, which snaps her out of her reverie and she groans as she helps to lift me up off the floor.

 "Well, I'll see you around Jack", she says sheepishly as she avoids my gaze and looks down at the floor, cheeks turning pink, before turning and hurrying away, her tight bottom wobbling softly underneath her summer dress.

 "No, wait!", I call after her, but she has already turned the corner and is out of sight. I start to panic - I have to go after her and convince her that fat isn't something to be fetishised before I cause even more harm to my future self - but at that moment I feel a hand grip tightly on my shoulder. I am wheeled around to face the thunderous face of Tom, the jock who hadn’t taken kindly to my mischaracterised advances on ‘his girl’.

"Think you can perv over my girl and get away with it do you?", he seethes, raising a fist ready to strike. I try to free myself, but it's no good - perhaps I could have put up a good fight in my old body, but in this weak, flabby thing... not a chance.

Grimacing, I close my eyes, and desperately think of my home in the future, wondering how this brief but eventful trip to the past could have impacted my original timeline...

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Chapter 5: My Fat Family

I open my eyes and blink as they adjust to the brightness of my surroundings. I am in bed - my familiar bed in the present - a sliver of sunlight beams through a crack in the curtains and onto my face, the rest of me tucked up underneath a thick duvet. The covers are oddly mounded, like a giant pillow is stuffed beneath them, and grimacing, I throw them off to reveal my body...

I am enormous. At least twice as heavy as I had been just moments before, having progressed straight from chubby all the way to obese. My body is a sea of fat, and I realize to my horror that I can no longer see my penis, which as I look down is hidden from view over the crest of my gigantic belly. Panicking, I heave my bloated, naked body out of bed, and stand-up, my knees creaking under the weight as I waddle to my bedroom mirror.

The sight that greets me sends a shiver down my spine. My body, which was a little pudgy but otherwise healthy just a few seconds ago, is now ravaged by what looks to be years of gluttony and over-eating. I have taken on a pronounced pear shape, a pair of heavy saddlebags weighing me down on either side and my hips wide enough that I might struggle to fit through my bedroom door without turning sideways. Horrified, I slowly turn to inspect my rear, and quickly realise that turning sideways might not help very much anyway, given the pronounced and drooping bubble butt that is jutting out above my thick, thunderous thighs. My legs are soft and cratered with cellulite, like a lipoedema sufferer that's not been taking their medication.

My belly is still hanging over my crotch, so I lift it to inspect the damage beneath. The tip of my penis is visible, but only just. The rest of buried under a hefty fat pad, which has gained a significant amount of territory since my last visit to the past and looks to be threatening to swallow my manhood altogether. I let my belly fall to my crotch with a slap as my eyes continue up my body to my chest, which is now shaven and hairless.

If I was a high-school girl I might have been pleased, even thrilled, with the size and perkiness of the breasts that are hanging off my chest. Unfortunately, as a 20 something male the sight is much less satisfactory, and I cup them unhappily to feel their weight. They are soft to the touch and surprisingly weighty. I bounce them up and down in my hands and watch the fat spill out of my fingers - more than a handful...

Letting my breasts drop to my chest I lift my arms - more of an effort than it used to be - and look at the heavy bingo wings that droop underneath like melted cheese. My arms used to be wrought from iron, strong and powerful, but now that muscle is buried so deep under my blubber that I'm worried it will never see the light of day again.

At that moment there is a knock at the door, and the familiar voice of my mom calls out from the other side, "wake up sleepy head, time for your morning snack!"...

As the door creaks open I jump, and turn as if to rush back to bed to hide under the covers, but unfortunately my slow and heavy body doesn't move as quickly as it used to, and I'm barely halfway across the room by the time mother starts walking in. I freeze, unsure whether she'll simply scream and run away at my bloated naked body, or continue coming in - I'm not sure which one is worse!

The first thing through the door is a large breakfast tray, full to the brim with pastries, sausages, bacon, and eggs of every variety - though mostly fried. After this follows the bulge of a fat lower belly, jutting out a good few inches ahead of the rest of her body. It is tear-drop shaped, like water-balloon held from the top, and jiggles softly with every step.

After her belly, which having entered the room is even larger than it has first seemed, comes the rest of my mother. Still 5'7" with a shock of light brown hair and a pretty face - but the rest of her has changed almost beyond recognition.

Mom is fat. Not a little fat, like she's carrying baby weight or stopped going to the gym for a few months, but covered in heavy, soft, weighty blubber, like someone that has been growing steadily larger since a young age. Her chunky bottom flares out beneath the skirt she is wearing, which is pinched in uncomfortably at the hips and looks at least a couple of sizes too small. Her legs are thick and cratered like mine, and rub all the way down to her chubby knees, which likely haven't seen a treadmill in their entire lives. Her breasts are about the same size as mine based on a casual glance - a depressing thought.

She's still a stunner, no doubt, though she's lost that 'milf' vibe that I've always known and loved, to be replaced by a more homely, motherly look, in-keeping with her added poundage. The floorboards creak under her weight as she walks into the room, and her body jiggles in tandem with the scrambled eggs perched on the highest plate of her food tray.

"What's got you so surprised this morning?", mom says cheerily as she walks past me towards my bed. As she bends over to lay down the tray I see that her too-tight skirt has hoiked so far up her body that her arse is revealed underneath - she's going commando today it seems. The sight of mom's bare, gelatinous bottom is embarrassing at first, so I avert my gaze quickly and blush a deep crimson. I can't help but look back for a sneak peek, however, mesmerized by its sheer size and the way it wobbles as she fusses with the tray.

I continue to ogle at my mom’s gelatinous booty and wonder how different her life up to this point has been from our original timeline. Old mom had always been a stickler for healthy eating and working out - even on holiday, it was difficult to coax her into living a little and break away from the salad selection. That said, she did always get the attention of the young, 20 something waiters when she sauntered past, so I suppose there must have been some method to her madness. Now, however, I suspect that their heads might not turn so easily for her frumpy, wobbly body, similar to other middle-aged mothers who have let themselves go and started to raid the biscuit tin.

Unfortunately, I’m so transfixed on the dimples and pockmarks of her cellulite covered arse, that I don’t notice her satisfied ‘all done!’, and it’s too late before she has turned around and caught me in the act! It appears that my eyes are as slow as my body, as they stay transfixed to the place that mom’s bottom had been moments before, my cheeks glowing a bright red as embarrassment washes over me.

Mom stands in silence for a short moment, before placing the one hand over her mouth and breaking into an uncontrollable giggle. “Enjoy the view darling?”, she laughs, waving her hand in front of my face and tugging my gaze back to her chubby face. “I was worried that I didn’t have the old spark anymore, but I guess I’m not an old hag just yet!”.

 Her relaxed attitude to my leering takes me slightly off-guard, and I can barely muster a mumbled “sorry...” in response. Old mom hadn’t taken as kindly to my wandering eyes. I vividly remember the incident that happened shortly after my 18th birthday - mom was having her morning shower, and I was on my way out to see my friend Lucy for lunch. As I walked past the bathroom I noticed the door was slightly ajar, and well, what was I supposed to do? I had a quick peek through, and my god... it was a sight to behold. Mom’s firm ass covered in soap suds as she washed her body up and down, a turn to the side revealing her pert breasts, water cascading down from her erect nipples onto the tiles below... shameful as it was, I unbuckled my jeans and started stroking myself there and then. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so vigorous she wouldn’t have noticed my heavy breathing coming through the crack in the door, and if I hadn’t closed my eyes at just the wrong moment I wouldn’t have opened them to find her toned, dripping body towering above me with a thunderous look on her face. I tried desperately to stop the eruption about to go off in my crotch, but the close up full frontal that mom was giving me was too much to bear, and I moaned loudly as I came all over her upper thighs. She looked at me for a few seconds - I averted her gaze but I’m confident that it wasn’t a look of admiration - and strode back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. We never spoke about that incident ever again, though I noticed that the bathroom door was always firmly locked tight from that point onwards...

Mom’s voice snaps me out of my reverie, as she giggles “what a day to run out of panties. The elastic keeps going on them for some reason, so I don’t have many pairs left!”. She gives me a cheeky wink and moves past me to shut the bedroom door. On her way back she slaps my bare arse, which being at least three times the size it used to be, jiggles ferociously, and comments “we need to get you some new boxers as well darling, your last pair went in the bin yesterday as you’ve broken the seam again. Though... maybe you should just stop wearing them...”. Mom pokes a chubby finger into my lower belly, which still hangs over my crotch and hides my modesty, and giggles, “this does a wonderful job at hiding your little pecker!”.

All I can muster is a nervous laugh and nod in agreement, as my ‘little pecker’ stands to attention as mom presses hard on the flesh directly above it. “What’s gotten into you today?” she asks in puzzlement, “usually you’ve eaten the entire tray by now and I’m running downstairs for seconds. Well... waddling. Is everything okay? Are you feeling alright?”. Mom places a hand across my forehead as if to feel for a fever - though all she gets is a sweaty brow, as I start to feel quite overwhelmed by the strangeness and arousal of this encounter. She gestures towards the tray resting on top of my duvet, and says, “come on, dig in...”.

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Chapter 6: Filling the Void

I glance nervously at the tray of food, keen not to let my new body get any further out of control, and a loud, menacing rumble sounds from the depths of my flabby belly. “See, I knew you couldn’t resist my cooking!”, mom chimes in happily, as she takes me under the arm and escorts me to the bed, sitting me down next to the overflowing tray. She smiles as the mattress creaks and groans under my weight and perches herself on the other side - causing it to scream in agony.

A wave of hunger, like I’ve never felt before, washes over me. A longing to eat, to fill a void in the pit of my stomach that only something heavy and greasy could do. I lick my lips longingly, and against my better judgement, I reach a hand forwards to take a fat, pork sausage off the plate nearest to me.

‘Slap!’. Mom’s hand comes out of nowhere and whacks my own away before it can reach the sizzling sausage. “Naughty! You know the rules”, she admonishes in a mock stern tone, guiding my hand back down towards my side and picking up a sausage in her own porky fingers, waggling it tantalisingly in front of my face. And suddenly this timeline is starting to make sense... My weight, mother’s own fattened form, the enormous tray of breakfast treats and the slapping away of my hand as I tried to eat them. Mom is a feeder!

Realisation washes over me like a cold shower - how could such a brief trip to the past have caused such large changes in the present? Clearly, the butterfly effect was not to be taken lightly, and I must take more care on future trips. I am going to go back, of course, to remedy the situation and steer us back into our original timeline - I am sure I can find other less reckless uses for the ring given enough time to study it. For now, however, I am hungrier than I have ever been in my entire life, and the temptation of a tray of greasy breakfast food is too much for me to ignore.

I nod gently, causing my double chin to briefly grow a third companion, and open my mouth expectantly. Mom beams back at me and pops the sausage in, letting me bite off a hearty portion. It is delicious, possibly the best I have ever eaten, though it’s difficult to separate the relative taste of the sausage from my ravenous hunger. Regardless, I gulp it down in a matter of seconds, and it isn’t long before mom has fed me the final piece and is reaching back down to the plates to pick up another. I can see how I got so fat here if this is our daily routine...

After a few more sausages, some scrambled eggs and bacon, and a couple of hash browns, mom breaks the silence. “This is my favourite time of day you know, mealtime that is, ever since you were a baby. For the year or so after you were born, you were always crying, it didn’t matter what I tried I just couldn’t get you to sleep. That was until one night - I must have been deliriously sleepy - I accidentally breastfed you twice. I thought for certain that you’d pop, but instead, you just rolled over with your cute little pot belly and dozed straight off on my lap! From that point on it’s been double helpings of everything, and as you filed out you became just the cutest little thing!”. Mom points towards a series of hanging photographs on the wall, and I look over to see a photo of a very content, but also very fat, young me, at the seaside eating a large ice cream. “I just loved the feel of your squishy little belly...” mom says absent-mindedly as she stares at the picture, lost to the world.

“B... but it’s not so little anymore?”, I say cautiously, grabbing a handful of my soft voluminous belly and shaking it for effect, letting waves of fat cascade around me like stormy seas. Mom snaps back to reality and looks down at my jiggling body, “no, I suppose you’re right. After I started home-schooling you - I mean think of the meagre scraps they were feeding you at that school canteen! - you did certainly start to grow into my big, handsome boy”. She places a hand on my inner thigh and kneads the fat softly, with a look on her face not dissimilar to the way that a farmer might regard their finest and fattest hog. Her hand edges dangerously close to my crotch, hidden from view under my belly, but is retracted and moves back towards the food tray before anything happens.

Mom reaches down for another sausage, grabbing two this time - one in each hand. The first is directed as ever towards my face, but the second charts a different course, straight into her own mouth. I suppose that she can only resist her urges for so long. I bet there was more food on the tray before she started the waddle up to my bedroom too, but judging by the size of her ass she isn’t a stranger to sneaking food when no one is looking.

We both sit and eat for the next few minutes, mom feeding me handful after handful of food until there’s nothing but a large plate with a covered silver lid remaining. I belch, and then groan, shifting my enormous bulk in the bed and watching as a dribble of sweat trickles off my brow and into the cleavage of my hefty moobs. Mom, still chewing her final mouthful, giggles and wipes it away with a napkin, taking longer than necessary to dab around the underside of my heavy pair, which have started to sweat with anticipation. “Well, someone has certainly exerted themselves today”, she smiles.  I note a few beads a sweat on her own brow that suggests she isn’t particularly fit either. “I hope you’ve left room for dessert...”

I nod, glancing nervously at the covered plate and what might lie beneath - and would soon be filling up the last nooks and crannies of my overstretched stomach. Mom claps her hands together with glee, her bingo wings flapping wildly as she does so, and whips off the silver lid with a flourish. On the plate are about half a dozen chunks of brownie. They are hearty and thick, together likely weighing around 1lb of dense chocolaty goodness. I can feel my nostrils flair as the sweet smell reaches them and I take a long deep breath.

“I knew you’d like them!”, mom exclaims happily, picking up the topmost piece and placing it into my mouth, “I tweaked the recipe - extra chocolate and a splash of heavy cream. They’re very rich”. She wasn’t kidding. As I chew my first bite I think that I may have to revise up my initial estimate of 1lb... Nevertheless, I play the dutiful son and let mom hand feed me the next few pieces, as she cups her free hand under my chins to stop the crumbs falling into my cleavage below.

As she picks up the final piece of brownie mom speaks in a soft, thoughtful voice, “I haven’t made brownies in years you know. Have you ever noticed that it’s the one thing that isn’t in my repertoire of desserts? It’s not that I can’t cook them of course, they’re a piece of cake... well you know what I mean! It’s just that they remind me of... of...”.

Mom’s voice falters and her hand stops just in front of my face. The brownie smells even better this close, and I can feel myself salivating as I take in the sweet smell. Resisting the urge to lunge forward and take a bite, I reply unsurely, “they remind you of...?”.

Mom appraises me, as if deciding whether to tell me the truth or spin me a lie. Clearly plumping on the former. she puts the entire piece of brownie into my mouth and begins, “well there was an... an incident at high school, in my final year. I had started high school like any other student, but by my last year I was... well, I wasn’t on the swim team anymore if you get my drift... I was... well, fat”. Mom shifts her wide hips uncomfortably, but continues, “I don’t know what changed in me, but I went from fancying the hunky football players to the out-of-shape nerds. I watched them gorging themselves across the school canteen and... I ate too. I guess I wanted the touch of a fat body and mine was the best thing I had access to at the time, so I’d spend the time in between class buying food from vending machines or local shops, and stuffing myself with it. That first rush of a tight, full belly pressing against my size 10 jeans...”. Mom sighs, and pats her heavy paunch, rubbing a finger slowly around her deep belly button.

She continues, “Anyhow, there was a school bake sale in the last week of term, in aid of some charity - it was so long ago that I forget the name - and everyone had to bring in something to donate. Needless to say, my culinary skills were quite good by this point, so I rustled up a tray of my ultra-rich chocolate brownies, the very same that you’re eating today! Well, it was all going well until I got to school, and my tummy started rumbling at the smell of all the delicious treats everywhere. So I snuck off to the locker room to have a couple of pieces of brownie before I handed it in... and a couple turned into the whole lot...”.

Mom’s face suddenly turns sour, “and who should walk in as I ate the final piece? Only Tom Smith’s volley-ball captain girlfriend Jessica, and she sees me there, sitting on the bench with my jeans unbuttoned and brownie smeared all over my face. I forget exactly what she said, but I definitely remember her calling me a pig, as that’s the nickname that stuck with me for the rest of the year until I left for college. ‘Here comes piggy...”.

Mom looks upset, but shakes her head and sighs, “well, that’s enough storytime, you look like you’re ready for a second helping. I’ll just run downstairs and grab it...”. Mom heaves herself up off the bed and waddles towards the door. I watch her globular ass cheeks slapping together under her skirt, causing waves of blubber around her lower body as she goes, and lick my lips absentmindedly - partly for the pieces of brownie stuck around my mouth, partly for the thought of that bulbous booty lowering onto my face... I’m overcome with a sudden urge to relieve myself in the bathroom and move to heave my own body up off the bed as well. But... I can’t. No matter how hard I try I cannot disconnect my sprawling buttock from the soft satin sheets of my bed, and my belly - weighed down by a breakfast feast - is too heavy for my weak legs to carry. I struggle for another few seconds, before collapsing backward in a hot sweat, looking panic-stricken at the ring wedged at the bottom of my fat finger.

If I stay here and mom feeds me another meal I might never leave this timeline again. Tempted by the great cooking, hand and foot service, and shapely mom... I’ll be stuck forever as her growing feedee. No, I must go back in time once again and try to fix the past to save my future!

I close my eyes and start to think about that day at mom’s high school where I’ve met her twice before, and visualise the street where I landed on those first expeditions to the past. However, as I feel my mind leaving my bloated, obese body, another vision flashes in front of my eyes. It’s a school locker room - the story that mom told me during dessert - and before I can stop myself the entire tale is flashing in front of my eyes and I am hurtling towards it...

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Chapter 7: Saved by the Bell

The air around me suddenly shifts, it’s hotter and more humid than my cool bedroom. I open my eyes, unsure what I’ll find, and my heart falls when I’m not greeted by the now-familiar street where I had started my two previous sojourns to the past. I am in a locker room - women’s presumably given the bra and panties I can see hanging from the corner of an open locker nearby - and it’s empty but for a young girl sitting on a bench at the other end of the room. She is facing away from me, but I recognise the long brown hair of my mother Lisa and can hear her loud munching and chewing on what must be the brownies that she talked about in her story. Her silhouette is much larger than the one I remember from my last visit. It seems that she has already started taking out her urges to feed on her own body.

Glancing down I see with a jolt of panic that I am just as fat, and just as naked, as I had been a moment ago. Thinking back, I had changed clothes when travelling back to the future, but I guess when travelling to the past I keep whatever I am wearing at the time I make the wish... which in this instance is sweet fa! I close my eyes and think about the bedroom that I’ve just come from, trying to transport myself back so I can grab some clothes. I wait a few moments, but nothing happens! The ring hasn’t got its usual glow - it must need a short time to recharge between uses...

I look around frantically for something to hide my modesty. A towel, perfect! I grab a solitary towel off a bench nearby and wrap it around myself. Unfortunately, it doesn’t reach around my enormous body, and I can’t fasten it in place. Sighing, I let it quietly fall to the floor and look around for something, anything else. I can see larger towels, and clothes of all shapes and sizes, but only through the slats of the lockers, which are shut tight behind padlocks that I don’t have the time to crack. After a minute or so I come to the slow realisation that there is only one choice... I grab the bra and panties that are hanging nearby and glance at the tags. Size 38E bra, size 20 panties.

They are elastic, mercifully, so whilst definitely too small, they don’t ping off when I squeeze into them. My moobs pour over the top of the cups, and the panties pinch in at the hips giving me a pronounced muffin top. I can’t be seen in these, but they’ll have to do until I can find myself a better alternative.

‘Tap, tap, tap’ - I hear the sound of footsteps growing louder from behind me, wheeling around just in time to see the door handle turning. I dive behind the nearest locker and place a hand over my mouth to stifle my breathing. A girl, whom I recognise as Tom the jock’s girlfriend from my last trip here, slips into the room and shuts the door carefully and quietly behind her. She hasn’t noticed me peeking through a gap in the lockers, and is entirely focused on the girl, my mom, gorging herself at the end of the room. She tip-toes closer, and I follow, hidden behind the adjacent lockers...

Jessica steps out in front of mom, who almost chokes on her mouthful of brownie. “So, this is what you do in your spare time is it, Lisa? It’s no wonder you’ve put on so much weight over the last couple of years. A moment of the lips...”, she reaches forward and pinches at mom’s bulging waist, “a lifetime on the hips!”. Mom squirms in her seat and sucks in her stomach to try and appear slimmer. Jessica laughs cruelly, and continues, “you were always so superior - captain of the swim team, top of the class in everything. Well, now you’re top of the class in something else... piling on the pounds! What are you up to? Must be about 200lbs by the look of you”. She jabs mom in her belly, causing her to exhale suddenly. The sudden release of flab is too much for mom’s white-washed Levi’s to handle, and her belly explodes through the front of them, a button pinging off into the distance and her flies are forced right down to the bottom by the tidal wave of chub that settles on her lap. Mom starts to tear up as Jessica guffaws with laughter.

The sight of mom welling-up is too much to bear, and against my better judgement I step out from my hiding place and shout, “hey, how about you quit being such a bitch”. Or at least, I meant to shout - as the words leave my mouth they falter and crack. Not quite the first impression I was going for...

Both girls jump with fright and wheel around to face me. Surprise turns to confusion as they look me up and down - I must be quite a sight, a hugely obese man standing there in bra and panties. “Who... who are you?”, Jessica says nervously, glancing around - for an exit, or a weapon?

“That’s... that’s not important...”, I respond, glancing furtively at mother to see if she recognises me from either of my trips to the past. She doesn’t appear to - I must have gained so much weight than I am unrecognisable... “You should stop being so rude to my... to this girl. What does it matter that she’s a little overweight?”. I look down kindly at mother, but to my surprise, the face that greets me isn’t appreciative at all - far from it, she looks unhappy at my last comment.

“Who are you calling overweight, tubbo?”, she snaps back coldly, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her blouse, “I may be a little chubby, but you’re way past that!”. Mom looks me up and down with a mixture of intrigue and disgust. “Are you... wearing a bra? Oh my god, I can’t believe you’d let yourself get so fat that you need bust support. If you hadn’t spoken I’d think you were a girl, I mean look at the size of that ass!”. Mom’s breathing quickens as she speaks... is she... getting off on this? “I bet you’ve been hiding in the shadows watching me eat my brownies... is that what you want? Some food to shovel into your fat, piggy face?”.

Jessica can’t stop herself giggling at this comment. “Ha! You know what, you’re alright Lisa. Maybe I misjudged you. Meet me after school at my parent’s gym, we can work out before we head to the mall, lord knows you could do with shifting a few pounds”, Jessica replies, picking your mom up from the bench with an effort, “now let’s go and get a teacher, quick!”.

The girls rush past me and out of the locker room, mom struggling to stop her jeans from falling down as she runs. Panic overcomes me once again - I can’t wait here for the police to arrive. A twenty-something man wearing just a bra and panties in a high-school locker room... I’d be on a register before I could even ask for a lawyer.

I can hear shouting and running footsteps from the other side of the door. Heavier this time, likely male - perhaps the gym teacher? There’s only one thing for it... I close my eyes, pray that the ring has recharged, and wish for home.

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Chapter 8: Orientation

I awake to the sound of hurried footsteps and shuffling of feet past the end of my bed, and open my eyes blearily as a voice I don’t recognise shouts, “come on Jack, you don’t want to be late for orientation...”. A door slams shut, and the room is now silent.

Blinking and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up to survey my surroundings. Unless something seriously untoward has happened in this timeline, I’m not at home, as crammed into this room are about a dozen beds, each with a trunk at their base and a smattering of personal possessions. I appear to be in some sort of dormitory - perhaps a boarding school, or military training camp? God, I haven’t been enlisted, have I?

Cautiously, I throw back the covers to once again reveal the impact of this timeline on my body. I let out a groan as I am greeted by the sight of a mountain of flab, similar to that which I had moments ago, and perhaps even more. My moobs are just as fat and heavy, sagging down around my armpits, and I still cannot see my cock underneath my belly blubber. I feel around with my hands, groping at my flabby hips and soft inner thigh. Yep, I’m even fatter...

After a few moments exploring my new form, I remember what the voice had called out as they left the room. ‘Orientation’? I had best go and see what they meant. I swing my thunderous thighs out of bed and stand up, waddling towards the trunk at the end of my bed. My legs now rub together down to the calf, and I can sense that they are going to chafe awfully if I move around too much.

Opening it, I can see a collection of non-descript grey cotton t-shirts and shorts, and pull on a pair. They are mercifully well-fitting, which is impressive given my size. I glance towards my right hand to check on the magic ring, but all I can see is a set of porky white fingers. Where is it?! I search the trunk frantically, throwing the contents onto the floor, and feeling increasingly desperate I throw the duvet and pillows off my bed and search amongst them too. Unfortunately, I can’t find it anywhere... I’m stuck here...

My growing sense of dread is interrupted by the voice of a young woman calling at me from the doorway, “Jack, isn’t it? I don’t know what you’re looking for, but if it’s anything you arrived here with then it’s been confiscated for the duration of your stay. More importantly, you’re late, the camp coordinator isn’t going to be happy with you...”. The voice has a slightly foreign twang, perhaps European, which I can’t quite put my finger on. Turning I see a young woman, early 30s if I had to guess, standing in the doorway, tapping her foot lazily with her hands on her hips. She’s shapely, just a little chubby but overall in good health, with a nice bubble butt and a sturdy pair of legs supporting it. Her long blonde hair cascades down over her shoulders, tickling the top of her moderate bust and framing her pretty heart-shaped face. She’s wearing a bright red t-shirt and matching spandex shorts, with a logo ‘PFC’ on the front that I don’t recognise.

“Ummm... yes?”, I respond unsurely, “and... and who are you? And where are we again?”. I gesture around at the drab dormitory.

She cocks her head to the side with a look of mild amusement, and responds, “I’m Amy, one of the team leads here at Piggy’s Fat Camp - the best weight loss camp in the country. You must have read some of our promotional material right? No? Well, here we don’t just use exercise and diets to get you fatties to shift the pounds, we use the best motivator of all - humiliation. Nothing shifts your fat quite like it!”. She walks a little further into the room, and I can’t help but stare as her hips sway left and right, hypnotising me with their wiggle. “Come on, let’s get that fat ass waddling over to the auditorium before the orientation begins”, she sighs, grabbing me by the arm and escorting me across the room.

Amy leads me out of the dormitory and into the sunlit grounds beyond. There are two further dormitories either side of mine, of about the same size, meaning that if my mental maths is correct there must be just over 30 fatties resident here at any one time. We continue our walk arm in arm across a courtyard and to an imposing red brick building straight ahead, slip quietly inside, and take a seat on a bench at the back.

The room buzzes with the sound of whispered conversations. Just over two dozen blubbery bodies are stuffed onto a series of parallel benches, arse cheeks spilling over the edges where their owner is too wide to fit. Dotted around the sea of grey t-shirts are a smattering of much smaller red ones, their wearers keeping a watchful eye over their charges. Looking around I notice that all of the team leads are women, and, to my increasing dismay, I see that all of the grey t-shirts are worn by women too. Am I... the only guy here? I open my mouth to ask Amy what’s going on, but she gives me a stern ‘shhhh’ before I can get the words out, as silence falls upon the room.

A disembodied voice shouts through a tannoy overhead, “please welcome onto the stage the owner of Piggy’s Fat Camp and your camp coordinator!”. There is a smattering of nervous applause.  A pair of knee-high black leather boots step out from behind a curtain on the right-hand side of the stage. They are tall, all the way up to the knee, above which is a pair of taught, muscular thighs, which look as though they could crush a watermelon with a single squeeze. A pair of red spandex hot-pants and matching red crop-top (they must have purchased a job-lot for all the camp staff) frame the best eight-pack I have ever seen, along which hang a pair of muscular arms, similar to the ones I had before I put on the ring. And finally the woman’s face... that face...

My jaw hits the floor, eyes wide with surprise as I gape at my mother walking purposefully across the stage. “She... she’s the camp coordinator?” I whisper incredulously to no one in particular, “this... this is perfect, once mom realises I’m here...”.

“I wouldn’t count on it tubbo”, Amy whispers in my ear - clearly she heard my mumblings and guessed where my mind was going. “I saw her orientation speech notes earlier, I think you’re right where you need to be”.

Mom reaches a large and imposing podium in the centre of the stage and clears her throat. The room feels tense, as everyone waits on bated breath for her to begin her speech. She surveys the room for a few seconds, before speaking in a cold and impassionate voice, “as I look around this room today do you know what I see? Wasted potential. Beauty trapped under a prison of fat”. She pauses to let that horrible remark sink in, and continues, “this intensive six-month programme has been refined and proven many times over. Indeed, many of the team leads here today once sat in your shoes - fat and miserable - until we helped them see the light. Not all of you will make it. Mark my words, at least a third of you will waddle out of the front gates before the camp has finished...”.

Mom steps down off the stage and walks slowly down the centre of the room, past rows of benches on either side. She pauses periodically to poke at a muffin top bulging beneath a t-shirt, or pinch at a flabby arm hanging like a Christmas ham. “I used to be fat you know”, she continues, “not like you beaches whales, but certainly not the fine figure or a woman I am today. Thankfully a friend, with whom I started this venture, brought me back from that dark place, and it inspired me to help other girls take that same journey with me. Piggy’s Fat Camps are now well-established across three continents and over fifty sites, so I’ll be leaving you largely in the hands of my trusted team leads whilst I oversee our sizeable”, she grabs a handful of weighty tit for emphasis, “operations”.

 

Mom stops right in front of my bench, and to my surprise, turns and looks me dead in the eyes. “And for the first time in the history of our company we’ve admitted a man into our ranks”, she declares, pointing a bony finger at me whilst the entire auditorium turns to look - a sea of gawking cherubic faces. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as the eyes of the room descend upon me.

“My son everyone. My biggest disappointment. Whilst I was travelling the world growing my empire, he was back at home growing fat himself on the spoils of my hard work. Obese, lazy, and weak”. She reaches forwards and pokes a finger underneath one of my engorged breasts, bouncing it up and down. Whispered conversations flit in and out of hearing. I catch one girl in the row in front whisper to her neighbour, “oh my god, I thought that was a girl! Look at those tits”. I sink into my chair and wait for the humiliation to end.

With a final disgusted look mom turns on her heel and marches back up to the stage, hands behind her back. “But first... you’ll have a thorough health and fitness examination”. A collective groan echoes around the room, to which mom snaps back, “perhaps you piggy’s should have thought of that before you ate yourselves into fat camp! We have to assess the impact that your lazy and excessive lifestyles have had on your bodies, so we can prescribe the appropriate treatment. Your exam will be filmed and shared with your family, so they can see the true extent of your gluttony. Now go, before I have to spend another second looking at you”. And with that, mom strides off the stage, and out of sight.

The auditorium erupts in a sea of chatter once again - more fervent and nervous this time, likely a result of the weigh-in videos that would soon be arriving in inboxes across the country. Amy pipes up from beside me, “each group, usually about 4-5 girls, is being taken by their team lead to have their exam. However, as you’re the only boy here, you’ll get me as your personal team lead for the duration of your stay. Lucky you!”, slapping my back jovially and grinning a sweet but mischievous smile.

 - - - -

After the crowds have thinned Amy gestures to a door off the main auditorium, and I follow her around a winding corridor and into one of its many side rooms. There is a medical examination bed against one wall, a desk and some chairs against the other. Between them there is an exercise mat, an enormous set of scales, a treadmill, and an assortment of other medical and exercise equipment. My heart drops as I see a camera mounted on a tripod in the corner of the room, likely recording our every move for mom to watch back at a later date.

Amy picks up a clipboard from the desk, which looks to have a set of instructions for the exam, and says cheerily, “first things first, let’s get you weighed! As normal scales often don’t go high enough for our clientele, we have to ship in special weighing scales designed for livestock. They don’t call it PIGGY’S Fat Camp for nothing!”. She giggles and points at the base of the scales. Dutifully I waddle over and step on.

The scales creak under my weight and the digital display by my feet blinks into life, but my belly is in the way and I can’t lean far enough forward to read what it says. Noticing my predicament, Amy giggles even harder, and bends down to peer underneath my hanging paunch. “Oh dear Jacky... oh dear... this says you’re 337 pounds of pure lard! What have you been eating?!”, she teases, as she slaps my belly lightly. 337 pounds... that’s over double what I used to weigh...

Amy catches my shocked expression, “come on, you can’t be surprised. I mean, look at you! You must have known over the years that you were creeping up into the 300 club? You don’t suddenly wake up one day and find that you’re carrying 100 pounds of belly butter!”. She takes a handful of my gut in each hand and jiggles it, giggling all the while. I simply gulp and nod, not keen to let slip that I’ve only been in this body for the last hour or so.

The next 15 minutes involve a gruelling and embarrassing set of exercises, including sit-ups of which I managed one, press-ups of which I managed just two while using my knees for support, and jogging, which lasted about 30 seconds before I was breathing so heavily I thought that I might pass out, and Amy needed to press the emergency stop button. Each accompanied by teasing remarks and scribbles on her clipboard.

Mercifully it isn’t long before the exercises are over, and I collapse into one of the desk chairs and attempt to catch my breath. I used to be able to run a 6-minute mile and do 50 sit-ups in my sleep. Unfortunately, those days are now far behind me...

Amy continues to write up her notes, though now and then I swear I catch her glancing over at my sweaty, pathetic body with an odd look in her eyes. “So... are you one of the team leads that used to be a camp mate?”, I ask nervously, trying my best to find something, anything, to talk about to break this awkward silence.

She pauses for a moment, pursing her lips. “Yes, I am. I came here eight years ago, when this camp had only just opened”, she replies, rummaging around in her desk drawer and pulling out a photograph and handing it to me. “They hadn’t installed the video equipment back then, so the exam was photographed instead”. The photo is definitely of Amy alright, I recognise her light blonde hair and pretty face, as well as the clinical white background of the camp examination rooms, standing alongside two other girls, an Indian girl on her right and a freckled ginger one on her left.

Amy’s body, however, is almost beyond recognition. She is enormous, easily 100 pounds heavier than I am now, with a wide 50+ inch pair of hips, legs that touch all the way down to her cankles, and a belly that is as round as a beach ball, and juts out well in front of the rest of her body. She looks the picture of gluttony and excess, and my gaping mouth must be a giveaway as to my surprise, as Amy giggles, “I was quite the porker, wasn’t I? Yes, that’s me, though triple my current weight - I had a bit of a sweet tooth as a child, and I think it showed!”.

Still giggling, Amy places her clipboard back down on her desk and looks at me with a grin on her face. “Well Jack, things aren’t looking good. 337 pounds, morbidly obese, unable to do even the most basic exercises. You’re a prize hog if ever I saw one. We’re going to have a real challenge on our hands getting you back in those size 32 jeans! But, you’re in the only place in the world that has any hope, so let’s see what we can do together...”. She moves over to the camera and switches it off, before walking back to me and bending down low, so our faces are level and just inches apart. She gently brushes my cheek, and whispers in a surprisingly sweet voice, “now I know it’s going to be hard. Not everyone loses weight here - one of the girls in my group even managed to put on a few pounds during her stay - so I’m going to be with you every step of the way. I know it must be tough being the only boy here, so I’ve organised for us to have our daily exercise and diet sessions away from the rest of the girls. Oh, we’re going to become firm friends, I just know it!”.

Amy pinches my chubby cheeks with a grin on her face, and an odd, hungry look in her eyes, before escorting me out of the room and back to the auditorium. After an hour or so all of the other campmates have returned from their medical exams, and we’re given a few more hours of introductory talks and briefings. After these sessions finally wrap-up I spend the day getting to know some of my other campmates, wandering the grounds, and trying desperately to find my magic ring. Unfortunately, it is not forthcoming, so at 9pm I trudge back to the dormitory and, my mind still whirling from the day’s events, I slowly drift off to sleep...

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Chapter 9: Cabin Fever

“... Jacky... Jacky...”, I am shaken from my slumber, both figuratively and literally, and groan as I roll over and squint blearily at the face of Amy, who is crouched down next to my bed. “Wake up sleepy head. I let you lie-in a bit longer than the girls today, but now it’s time to get up and about. It’s our first day together, we’ve got lots to do!”. I consider saying ‘no’, simply rolling back over and getting some more sleep, but if I fail to comply I might never be able to find the ring and escape this blubbery prison.

“Mmmph... fine...”, I mumble, heaving myself out of bed and, rubbing my eyes, start walking towards my trunk to grab a set of grey shorts and t-shirt. ‘Slap, slap, slap’. Groggily I look down for the source of the slapping sound, and see to my horror that I’m not wearing any clothes! Of course, I was so tired yesterday evening that I couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed to put on my pyjamas, so I slept in the nude instead!

I turn to Amy just in time for her stifled giggles erupt from behind her hands, which she had placed over her mouth in an effort to contain them. “Well I must say, Jacky, that’s more of you than I was expecting to see this morning! I hate to see you go... but I love to watch you leave!”. The slapping sound must have been my butt cheeks smacking together as I walked...

My face red, and wishing that the world would open up and swallow me whole, I waddle over to my trunk and pull on my clothes as fast as I can. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me”, Amy says with a wink as she guides me arm-in-arm to the front door, “couldn’t have anyone thinking something was going on between us right? I’m caught with a handsome young stud like you in the nude - people will talk!”.

As we walk outside into the harsh summer sunlight, I can hear the sound of a military-style marching song growing louder from somewhere nearby. “We’re so fat because we eat, too much cheese and too much meat. Sound off! 1, 2. Sound off! 3, 4”. A group of very slow, and very sweaty looking girls come into sight from around the corner, flanked by two trim team leads jogging along effortlessly at their side. “Come on you butterballs, you’ll have to do better than that if you want to walk out of here rather than waddle!”. One of the group, a large black girl, collapses to her knees and gasps for air. “I... can’t... it’s... too... hard...”, she splutters, as one of the team leads comes over and heaves her back to her feet. “Come on Madison, we haven’t even done 2 miles yet. Get that fat ass wobbling and you might just shift a few pounds. Lord knows you need to!”. The group trudges past me and into the distance, a sea of bottoms jiggling ferociously under their thin grey shorts.

“Now...”, Amy says thoughtfully, “I’d usually do a five-mile run with my team to start the day. But as you’re a guy and you should be able to do more, why don’t we say... 10 miles instead?”. I groan audibly - I used to I love going for early morning runs, but I can tell in this body it’s going to be a struggle. Nevertheless, we set off together at a light jog, and it isn’t long before I am wheezing even worse than that girl Madison. After what feels like hours, I gasp, “how... much... longer?”.

“Well, we’ve done three miles, so only seven left to go!”, Amy chimes happily, turning around to jog backward as she watches me jiggle and pant for air. “Oh dear... you’re going to struggle to do this twice a day for the next 6 months”. My eyes widen in horror - twice a day! Amy clearly sees the panic on my face, as she adds in a mischievous tone, “of course, perhaps we can find something else to while away our days?”. She stops jogging. I keel over and try to catch my breath.

“What... did you have... in mind?” I pant nervously, looking up at Amy’s towering figure above me, a feeling of powerlessness washing over me like a cold shower.

She flicks her golden blonde hair, and replies quietly, “well... do you remember that photo that I showed you during your medical exam? Of me and the other girls on our first day. Well here’s the shot of our graduation day...”. Amy reaches a hand into her top and pulls out the crumpled photograph, handing it to me.

Standing in one of the medical examination rooms is a younger Amy, still grossly overweight, but significantly less so than in the first photo I had seen, perhaps 100 pounds lighter. Clearly the camp had lived up to its promise. To her left the ginger girl has also thinned out, her skin hangs off her body like a deflated balloon, but overall she looks in much better health. The Indian girl on her right, however... she’s blown up! She must have been eating creamy curries three times a day since she got to the camp, because she’s carrying at least a vast amount of additional blubber on her enormous frame. Her soft brown belly is bursting between her shorts and t-shirt, which has risen so much it might as well have been a tank top. Her legs don’t look like they can support her bulk for much longer, and she’s just a few mouthfuls away from crashing to the floor in a sea of fat. I stare at the photo open-mouthed.

Plucking it deftly out of my hands, Amy answers my unasked questions, “it didn’t take me long to realise that I wasn’t going to lose any weight here, I just didn’t have the willpower, and nothing could satisfy my hunger like a good old fashioned stuffing. That was until I realised that watching someone else gorge themselves was almost as good, and once I convinced my brother to help in a little contraband smuggling operation I spent my evenings with Anjali in the woods whilst she ate like a pig. The camp staff knew something was up, but they never caught us at it, and consequently poor Anjali was wheeled out of here. Poor girl couldn’t even get out of bed”. Amy’s wide grin makes me suspect that she isn’t that sorry after all...

“And every year since I started working here I’ve picked one lucky member of my team to undergo the same privilege - to forgo their diet and exercise regime and give into their gluttony, so I don’t give into mine. And this year... it’s got to be you Jacky!”, she concludes triumphantly, pointing at my flabby body. “We’re going to sneak off from our daily exercise routines and head to a secret place where no one will disturb us, so you can indulge yourself for me. And if you tell anyone I’ll just deny it, say that you are lying to try and get out of our morning runs. Who do you think your mother is going to believe, hmm?”. Amy is right of course, there’s nothing I can do about this except either continue with this gruelling exercise and diet regime for the next half a year, or let her use me as a proxy for her gluttony.

As the pain of the stitch in my side reaches boiling point, I concede defeat and nod meekly. Clapping her hands together with glee, Amy heaves me up off the floor and leads me slowly off the running track and into the forest beyond. “Not many of the team leads know about this place. Lisa... I mean, your mom, keeps it a secret from all but her most trusted employees. But thankfully I...”, she pushes aside an overgrown bush to reveal a small paved path, “am one of those people”. The path leads to a small wooden shack, hidden from the world by the surrounding trees and thickets, with a large and impressive padlock on the front door.

Amy fumbles around in her top once again, pushing her chubby boob to the side and giving me a momentary flash, before plucking out an old brass key. “This...”, she unlocks the padlock and throws open the door, “is your new home...”.

My mouth opens wide as the old wooden door creaks ajar to reveal a paradise of food within. It’s an explosion of colours, from wrappers of all the chocolates and candies I remember from childhood, and many I don’t. ‘Dairy Milk’, ‘Milka’, ‘Gobstoppers’, ‘twin cherries’, ‘Bulge Bars’, what looks to be a tray of whipped cream cans, ‘Ferrero Rocher’... and the list goes on.

Amy must sense my amazement, as she guides me into the room and shuts the door behind us, saying, “this, Jacky boy, is the contraband hut. I might have managed it back when this placed first opened but security has drastically improved since then. Almost every tubbo that gets sent to this camp thinks that they are smart enough to sneak in some junk food. Maybe a bag of Haribo tucked into the lining of a suitcase, or a delivery of candied apples through the fencing at the bottom of the woods. Well, they soon learn that the team leads can sniff out snacks at 100 paces, and once they’ve been wrestled out of their fat little hands it all ends up here...”. She gestures at the ceiling-high shelving that runs along every wall and is full to the brim. “I rotate out the expired products every couple of months, so believe it or not, everything in here is good to eat...”.

Amy plucks a bar of chocolate bar from the nearest shelf and tears off the wrapper, holding it up to her nose and taking a long, deep sniff. Her eyes roll back into her head, and an oddly serene expression washes over her face. “Ahhhh...”, she sighs, focusing her eyes back onto me and thrusting it into my mouth.

I take a moment to consider my options. It's not too late to spit out the mouthful, push past Amy, and run - well waddle - back to the camp. Perhaps someone would believe me... Or I could enjoy the first decent food that I’ve had in over 24 hours, and avoid 6 months of gruelling exercise.

I start chewing almost instantly.

After the chocolate bar has been reduced to just an empty wrapper Amy guides me to an oversized Fatboy bean bag in the middle of the room, and I plop myself down in the centre. This must be Ground Zero of her previous fattenings, and I spend a moment wondering how her previous victims felt the first time they were sat down here, staring up at the temptation closing in on all sides. I am snapped out of my reverie by the slight bounce caused by Amy settling herself down on the bean bag next to me, a collection of treats in her arms.

“Eat up fatty”, she chimes happily, forcing a piece of Turkish Delight into my mouth and watching with increasing pleasure as I munch it down greedily and go back for more. Amy seems to be impressed with my capacity, as she makes approving little nod and mumbles as she moves around the cabin collecting up a selection of treats to sample. As she settles back down and hands me a slab of caramel chocolate, I notice that her eyes drift longingly to a can of whipped cream on the shelf behind me. Feeling emboldened by the food now lining my stomach, I reach behind me and close my fingers around the cool metal can, and snatch it from the shelf.

“Oh, you... you like to that stuff too?”, Amy says with a nervous glance at the can, “I used to eat cans and cans as a kid...”. Staying silent, I pop the top off and spray a large amount into and around my mouth. It might be the copious amounts of sugar I have consumed today talking, but something is telling me to make a move, and heart-pounding, I lean in for a kiss.

Amy’s shocked expression cannot hide the longing in her eyes, and, perhaps against her better judgement, she leans in too. Our lips meet in a slightly sloppy combination of flesh and whipped cream, and she gulps down the liquid from my mouth, her tongue working its way around every nook and cranny. After a few seconds of snogging, she licks my lips clean and lets out a guttural moan of pleasure, “ohhhhh”.

Breaking apart, I lift the can to her face and spray it directly into her mouth. She gulps it down greedily and before long the can is empty and I took it aside, picking up another and repeating the process. “Mmmm, who was I kidding, this is much better than watching someone else do it”, she admits as she tears apart a bag of fudge and shovels down two pieces in as many seconds.

We spend a wonderful day together in the cabin, eating, kissing, and giving in to our most gluttonous and greedy desires. As the sun starts to set we pick ourselves up off the floor, and waddle back to the camp, bellies full...

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Chapter 10: Camp Life

The feeling of a cold hand nudging my shoulder shakes me from my slumber, and groggily I open my eyes to the face of Madison, who sleeps in the bunk next to mine. She looks thinner than I remember, the month since we arrived having been quite gruelling for her, the hint of a jawline poking through underneath her chubby cheeks. “Come on, it’s time for the morning run, and you don’t want to be late. It’s hard enough without the additional punishments”. She rubs the back of her legs with a pained expression and walks over to her trunk. Her wide arse still jiggles satisfyingly with every step, though less so than it had when I first arrived.

“Mmph, thanks”, I muster in response, getting out of bed to stagger towards the showers. I acknowledge the other bunk-mates that pass me on their way out of the dormitory, and I’m almost at the showers when a voice pipes up to my left, “damn Jack, you’re looking husky! How on earth have you managed to GAIN weight at fat camp?  Amy isn’t working you hard enough, though, that’s obvious enough from her own figure if you know what I mean...”.

 I turn to see Catherine, a tanned southern belle with a personality as large as her saddlebags, and Olivia, her close friend and confidant. Olivia is a nice girl if a little dim. She looks at Catherine with a puzzled expression, and letting out a sigh that clearly says, ‘I’m tired of your stupidity’, Catherine explains, “haven’t you seen her at mealtimes recently Olive? The team leads have always been allowed to order whatever they wanted, but they don’t usually order a side of fries with every meal. I was sitting across from her yesterday and she went back for thirds. Thirds! And there I am with nothing but a celery stick and a no fat, no sugar, no taste yogurt. The only thing that got me through the day was her belly getting caught on the underside of the table when she stood up to leave. She obviously isn’t used to its new girth!”. The girls giggle mercilessly and then turn to me. “So, how can we get in on this action?”, Catherine continues, “obviously she’s getting you food on the side - you’re the only one here who’s gone up a cup size since arriving”. She pokes me hard in my left moob, turning her finger upwards and lifting it off my chest with a grin.

More giggling from the girls and red-faced I mumble something about running late and rush into the showers for a quick clean. Having lathered, scrubbed under every fold, and checked the coast is clear, I don my regulation grey outfit - a size up from the one I had worn on my first day, though with the old tags sewn in by Amy so as not to arouse suspicion - and head outside.

It’s a dull, grey day. There’s a drizzle in the air and the threat of black clouds on the horizon. Not the sort of weather you’d want to be exercising outdoors in, which is lucky for me as I won’t be doing anything of the sort! Instead, I make my usual trip along the running track and into the woods beyond, following our well-trodden path down to the cabin, which is still hidden behind a dense wall of foliage. As I near I see that the cabin door is already slightly ajar, and heart rate increasing, I walk up tentatively to take a peek inside.

Amy is bent over on all fours, her hands holding a large baking tray that she is licking clean, her mouth dirty with what looks like melted caramel. A heavy layer of flab around her middle is succumbing to gravity and hangs ponderously from her torso, a few inches above the ground. “Buuuuurp”, she belches loudly. Straightening up and holding her swollen tummy tenderly, she discards the tray and shuffles over to the whipped cream box, grabbing a can and squirting the entire contents into her mouth. Slurping down the last of the cream, she discards the empty can with a flourish.

As Amy examines the shelving and its contents, I get a good look at her side profile through the crack in the door. Her legs are thicker and more dimpled than before, her arms slightly puffier, and a nice inch or so of chub has settled around her pretty face. The real change, however, is in her belly. Where previously it sat relatively taught and flat, it now bulges out a few inches over her waistband. Her wobbly spare tyre has filled up the once loose skin around her middle and now pokes out as a permanent feature beneath her red team lead top. She’s rather scrumptious!

Deciding to keep my voyeurism to myself, for now, I step back a few paces and then re-approach the cabin, making sure to hum loudly to myself and step on a few branches with an audible ‘snap’. As I push open the door Amy’s, slightly sheepish, smile greets me. “You’re here early”, I note with a grin.

Blushing, she stutters back, “y... yes, I was, ummmm... just doing some quality control!”. She shifts her feet awkwardly and darts a nervous glance to the discarded tray and can in the corner.

“I see...”, I reply slyly, “by ‘quality control’ you don’t mean ‘snacking’ do you? I thought we’d agreed to always eat together? Of course... it would explain your recent, *ahem*, growth”. I poke a finger deep into Amy’s navel, turning it upwards and bouncing her heavy potbelly to prove my point.

 She blushes a deeper red and snaps back defensively, “well you’re hardly wasting away yourself mister! I’m going to have to break out my sewing kit again judging by the strain that you’re putting on those poor shorts”. Hmm, they are rather tight now that she mentions it...

After settling down on the bean bags we spend the day chatting and eating, learning more about one another and our shared love of food. I mention the thinly veiled threats from Catherine and Olivia this morning and begrudgingly Amy agrees to start smuggling them in a few pastries every morning to buy their silence.

As the afternoon wears on, and emboldened by our growing friendship, I pluck up the courage to ask something that had been on my mind for some time. “So... you know that I got fat when mom was away building her global fat camp empire - and yes, the irony is not lost on me - but, you never explained to me how you... well, ended up at Piggy’s Fat Camp”.

Amy pauses for a few seconds, weighing me up with her deep blue eyes. “When I was very young”, she begins, “my parents were in a car crash. I don’t remember them very well, but whenever they came up my grandma always said, ‘chi be vive, ben muore’. It’s Italian - translates roughly to ‘a good life means an easy death’. That always brought me comfort”. Amy smiles off into the distance, a mixture of sadness and yearning in her eyes. I am starting to regret asking this question...

Drawing her gaze back to me she continues, “my mother emigrated when she was a child, but her family stayed in Italy. When they died I went to live there with my grandma. You know what they say about Italian cooking, and especially old Italian matriarchs... she fed me every day until I was ready to pop! I had gained 100lbs by the time I was 12, and 200 by the time I was 18. When I left for university and moved back here I could barely walk, and the ‘freshman 15’ was more like the ‘freshman 50’ - too much beer and pizza. Four years later they had to roll me out of that place, and I checked straight into Piggy’s and have never looked back. Well, until now...”. Amy finishes her story, a little breathless, and looks at me a little sheepishly.

“Well life is for living, that’s what I always say. So what if you gain a little weight? You could gain back everything you’ve lost, and more, and you’d still look just as beautiful to me”. As the words gush out of my mouth I start to feel foolish - she’s almost a decade older than me! I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, so I avert her gaze and stare at the cabin door, which is shaking on its hinges. The wind is picking up now and is whistling through cracks in the walls, as rain starts splattering on the roof above. It seems those black clouds were an oncoming storm...

Suddenly, I feel a soft hand touch my inner thigh, groping at my jelly-like blubber. It snakes upwards towards my crotch, and before I have time to react it has slipped under my shorts and is tickling my fat-pad. I let out a low moan of approval and spread my legs for easier access. As one hand continues to feed me pastries, the other gropes around my engorged pelvis until it finds the head of my penis poking out from underneath its fleshy prison. Amy’s finger circling gently around the tip is enough to get my blood pumping, and it stands to attention. Rhythmically, she pumps the two or so inches that aren’t buried under my blubber up and down, softly at first, but growing stronger and faster with every stroke. Eyes rolling back into my head - how long had it been since I last got laid? - I grope around with my hands, one making contact with Amy’s poochy belly, the other with one of her ponderous breasts. I squeeze hard, groping desperately at her fat, and disappointingly quickly I can feel the rush welling from beneath my blubbery crotch. I try to hold it back, but with an inevitable moan, I blow my load over the cabin floor and collapse back in a panting mess. Amy giggles, “well that was quicker than I expected! I guess you really do like girls with a bit of meat on their bones”. 

Before I can think of a response, Amy dives on top of me and gives me a long, passionate kiss. My embarrassment washes away and I feel comfortable for the first time since I put on that blasted ring. As a storm rages outside the cabin, the sound of branches lashing the walls and rain clattering on the roof, I snuggle up to her plump body and close my eyes…

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Chapter 11: The Great Escape

Wandering down to the cabin through the now-familiar woods, I take a moment to admire the changing of the seasons, as the previously bright and green forest steps aside for the reds and golds of autumn. It just so happens that I also need a moment to catch my breath and wipe a bead of sweat from my glistening forehead with the back of my hand. I hadn’t been in particularly good shape when I arrived at Piggy’s Fat Camp, but there was no doubt that over the lasts 6 months my fitness had deteriorated even more, to the point that a light waddle down to the cabin had me out of breath and in need of a sit-down.  

As I set off again I notice my moobs bouncing like water balloons underneath my tight grey top, which hugs their contours so much that I might as well not be wearing one. My arse shakes violently with every step, and it too is struggling to contain itself in its cotton prison - four sizes up from the ones I received on my first day. At my last monthly health assessment I was up to 393lbs of pure lard...  

At the sound of rustling leaves ahead I hastily stifle my breathing and duck down out of sight, nervously peering through a gap in the ferns. The crack of a branch, the splash of a puddle - someone is coming, and fast! Hand over my mouth, I watch as a pair of thick, black legs jog into view, stopping a metre or so away from me. Their owner doubles over, out of breath, and I recognise the newly slimmed face of Madison, head between her knees, gasping for air. Her weight loss journey had been very impressive to date, having lost over 100 pounds so far, and I’m beginning to see why.

Without warning, Madison’s head turns, and our eyes meet through a gap in the foliage. “Jack?!”, she cries, and before I’ve had time to react her hand has reached into my hiding place, and a surprisingly strong grip pulls me out into the open.

“Oh, ummmm”, I mumble nervously, my brain unable to spin a lie as quickly as the situation demanded, “morning Maddy... errr, what’s up?”.

She regards me with a calculating stare, chest still rising and falling deeply as she catches her breath, before sighing, “what’s up, Jack is that you were clearly bunking off your exercises AGAIN. You know you’ll never shift this flab if you spend all day hiding from Amy in the bushes”. Madison lifts my t-shirt to reveal an overflowing love handle, grabbing a fistful of fat and jiggling it to emphasise her point. “You seem to have put on a pound for every one that I’ve lost... they’re going to have to roll you out of here if you don’t buck up your ideas soon. But... I’m not your keeper, so if you want to be a fatass all your life, be my guest”. She gives me one last slap on the side, which causes a tsunami of fat to ripple across my body, and turns on her heel.

I watch as her increasingly small bottom jiggles out of sight, and then, once I’m sure that the coast is clear, continue on my journey. Pushing my way through brambles and thickets I eventually see the cabin coming into focus and notice that the door is slightly ajar. Could Amy have come down early for another one of her secret binges? I approach cautiously to investigate...

As I gently push open the cabin door I see the corpulent forms of Catherine and Olivia snatching treats and snacks off the shelves and throwing them into their backpacks. Ever since they rumbled Amy and me they have been holding the threat of exposing us over our heads and using this to make the cabin their personal tuck shop - free of charge or course. Initially, we hadn’t taken kindly to their barging in and pillaging our precious junk food, but as the weeks went by and the impact of their indulgences became more apparent, we started to quite enjoy their little visits.

“Hello, ladies!”, I smile cheerily, as they turn in unison to face me. I am greeted by two cherubic faces, both rounder and fatter than they had been when I first arrived, and each supported by two chins, with a third about to join the fray.

Olivia had always been a top-heavy girl - one of the few campmates with a bust size larger than mine - and the last few months had only helped her milk jugs to swell to even more ludicrous proportions. Even the relatively conservative camp t-shirts left her with a deep and visible cleavage that my eyes are drawn to like moths to a flame. Tearing myself away from her titties with some difficulty, I note that the rest of her has thickened as well, her a hefty upper belly supporting her breasts like two saggy melons resting on a pillow. She is still as bashful and subservient as she had been when we first met however, a light rouge spreading across her fat face at the very sight of me. Catherine had been bossing her around ever since she got here, and I suspect that they don’t divide the spoils equally between the two of them...

The difference in growth between the pair over the last five months would appear to support my hypothesis. Olivia has gained around 20 or so pounds - Amy has been keeping a watch over her and her friend’s medical records since they started threatening us - but Catherine had ballooned by over 60 pounds! She looks slightly less tanned now that autumn is upon us, and also because every few inches a fresh milky white stretch mark has appeared, where the poor girl’s skin could not keep up with her insatiable appetite. Her hands rest judgementally on her oversized hips, causing her upper arm fat to hang down, filling the gap between her armpits and elbows. The front of her grey shorts is stretched downwards by the weight of her heavy belly, which is tucked into them and rests a few inches over the top of her cellulite ridden thighs.

Catherine is now as wide as any doorway at Piggy’s and has resorted to shuffling through them sideways, lest she gets stuck and need rescuing again. The sight of two team leads pushing up into her soft wobbly bottom, trying desperately to force her through the opening, was enough to bring a tear to my eye. I might have even felt sorry for the morbidly obese teen has she not been such a bitch towards Amy and me. I’ll stay content with watching her arse grow softer and heavier with every passing day. She was often to be heard bragging about her parent’s wealth and the life of luxury that she lived back at home - I suppose that they can afford the new wardrobe she’ll need when she leaves...

“Ugh, it’s you”, groans Catherine, with a look of poorly disguised disgust, etched into her round face. “I’m surprised you and Miss Piggy haven’t cleared this place out by now the rate that you’re chowing through it. I notice that we’re down to the last box of fudge. The last box!”. She turns to Olivia, and barks, “Olive grab it before they get their greedy hands on it. And another set of pastries too, I’m feeling hungry today”.

Olivia jumps, causing a tremor that shakes the cabin down to its foundations, and waddles off to procure the request items, returning with a bag bursting to the brim and unable to close. Catherine continues, “good, now let’s go and find a nice secluded spot to eat these before the team leads notice we’re missing. Bye, bye fatboy...”.

As I watch Catherine waddle sideways out of the old cabin door, I note that she would be a conventionally pretty girl were she not carrying an extra 350 pounds of blubber on her frame. To have been born an entitled, good-looking, rich girl, and have still indulged herself to the point that her legs touch all the way to her cankles... I have to admire her gluttony.

Replaying the memory of Catherine’s belly quivering as she sidled out of the cabin, I’m startled out of my daydream a few minutes later when the door creaks open and Amy walks into the room holding a large tray of doughnuts. Having been a little chubby, but otherwise healthy-looking woman when we first met, watching Amy’s transition to plump, then rotund, and finally all out fatty, has been quite the turn on. The only thing distinguishing her from the other campmates at this point is her red team lead clothes, which are strained under the pressure of containing her rolls beneath.

Amy’s legs have thickened top to bottom, her already round booty taking on even jigglier proportions, and sagging down a little so the weight collects around the crease of her buttocks. The most impressive change is her belly, which bulges outwards like an enormous spare tyre around her middle. It hangs ponderously a few inches over her waistband. Her tits are fat and perky like two torpedoes, armed and ready to fire, but her belly now juts out past them by quite a way, and has been the focal point of her gain to date. When she had stepped on the scales at my last health assessment even she was shocked to see that 107 pounds of soft, supple, jiggly, fat had settled on her body since we first met all those weeks ago.

Her belly bouncing with every step, causing her too-small t-shirt to ride up past her deep belly button, she rushes over to give me a peck on the lips. It’s difficult as our bellies get in the way, fat pressing into fat as our bodies touch. “Morning Jacky”, she says with a wink, “ready for another day in paradise? I grabbed a few doughnuts on my way in - I lied to their other team leads and said that I had found them in the mailroom, it felt so naughty!”. As I nod back in response Amy claps her hands together with glee, causing a wave of jiggle down her body, and we perch down on the bean bags.

Amy and I had settled into quite a nice routine over the last few months, whereby we would spend the morning chatting and eating, the afternoon napping and eating, and the evening having sex and eating. All things considered, my life is as good as it could be under the circumstances, I’ve almost forgotten about how things used to be before the ring. As the sun sets on another perfect day, I am awoken from my mid-afternoon siesta by a rather pleasurable sensation down below.  

As I blink awake I see my grey shorts and boxers discarded on the floor to my left, and peering down over the crest of my belly I see the top of Amy’s light blonde hair between my two straddled thighs. Spreading my legs as wider, I groan as she plays with the tip of my cock with her mouth, encouraging the inch or so not buried under my fat pad to come out and play. “Come on little guy”, she giggles, tickling my balls softly, “where are you hiding?”.

As she goes to town on my junk I lay back in the bean bag and close my eyes, thinking about her poochy belly which must be spilling over the floor as she kneels between my legs. I feel her warm hands either side of my thunder thighs, and she pulls them towards her, smothering her head in my jiggly fat. As her mouth nibbles at my member, I groan my pleasure and open my eyes momentarily. To my horror, I see a bony hand reach around the outside of the cabin door and push it open with a slow ‘creeeeeak’...

Mom is standing in the doorway, knee-high leather boots shaking with anger, her face murderous. “Jack..”, she whispers in a quiet rage, looking around to take in the scene unfolding in front of her. Amy, her ears covered by my blubbery inner thighs, hasn’t noticed the new arrival and intensifies her mouth action around my crotch. I reach forward to push her away, but as her mouth pumps up and down on my throbbing cock I know it’s too late, and I groan pathetically as I release a deluge of cum, which Amy moves her head out of the way to avoid, and lands in a splatter at mom’s feet.

“What have you...”, mom asks, her voice cracking in anger as she surveys the scene before her. Amy jumps in fright and wheels around, backing into the space between my thick legs. Mom points a bony finger at me, “you were meant to use this time to finally lose the lard that’s been shaming me all these years. And you!”, she points at Amy, “we’re supposed to help him. Not use the contraband hut to gorge yourselves fatter!”. I stand up shakily, revealing the true extent of my meaty form to mom, and hurriedly pull on my grey camp gear. She’s a coiled viper, ready to strike...

A tense stand-off, each side unsure who will make the first move... As mom lunges forwards, Amy, reacting uncharacteristically quickly, tackles her to the ground, her soft heavy body landing on top of mom’s chiselled physique. “Get off me you fat sow!”, mom screams as she writhes under Amy’s blubber, “I’ll make you pay for this Amy. You want to be fat? Well, I can give you that! You won’t be walking out of this camp, you’ll be wheeled out of here, immobile!”. ‘Run’, Amy mouths at me desperately, and though I can’t bear the thought of leaving her behind, I also can’t see a way out of this for the both of us.  

I turn tail and flee, weaving through the forest back to the campgrounds, before barging through a service door and into the main complex.

Panic pulsing through my body, I run along a maze corridors, trying locked door after locked door in a desperate attempt to find somewhere to hide. The sound of footsteps and shouts growing louder behind me is enough motivation to ignore the stabbing pain of a stitch in my side, and as I glance over my shoulder the sight of my mom, flanked by two of the team leads, send shivers down my spine.

“Come here fat boy!”, she screams, sprinting towards me, teeth bared. As I turn another corner I see a dead end ahead, with a single metal door set into the far wall. Praying to whichever gods were listening, I waddle up and turn the handle. It’s unlocked!

I rush into the room, slamming the door behind me and turning the lock. I have just managed to push a large metal cabinet in front of the door by the time mom and her hired help come crashing into it from the other side. The door shakes violently, but mercifully the lock holds. I can just about make out muffled voices speaking in hurried tones from the other side, and swear I just heard the words “battering ram”. I back away from the door, pant heavily as I try to catch my breath, and then look around to explore my surroundings.

I’m in a small, dimly lit, room with metal shelving on three walls. The shelves hold a variety of plastic trays, each containing an assortment of objects. Moving over to the nearest I see a sticker slapped haphazardly onto the front of the tray that reads, ‘Catherine’, and a collection of clothes, jewellery, and other miscellanies inside. Wait a minute... is this the storage room for the items we arrived with? That could mean that... the ring! I snatch up the jewellery - it looks expensive and Catherine is too fat to wear it now anyway - and run along the shelving unit and desperately scan up and down for my name. ‘Lucy’, ‘Grace’, ‘Rebecca’, ‘Madison’... There it is! On the far wall opposite the door, there is a battered old tray with a relatively new sticker slapped over some older ones beneath, which simply reads, ’Jack’. I rush over to it.

‘Crash!’. The sound of metal crunching into metal reverberates through the room as something smashes into the outside of the door. ‘Crash!’. The cabinet shakes and bounces backward a few inches - the door won’t hold out much longer. ‘Crash!’. I rifle frantically through my possessions, until finally, right at the bottom, is the familiar sight of the ornate magic ring.

‘Slam!’. The door finally bursts off its hinges and crashes onto the floor, and the sight of mom’s glistening muscles holding a heavy battering ram is all the motivation I need to force the ring into my overly chubby finger, close my eyes, and think back to mom’s old street once again. As I hear the battering ram thud to the floor and the sound of footsteps running towards me, the strangely familiar sound of a school bell starts ringing in my ears...

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Chapter 12: Freshman 500

I open my eyes to the familiar sight of mom’s old street, and breathe a heavy sigh of relief that I’m not facing down my muscled mother back at Piggy’s. As the adrenaline wears off I pant breathlessly - that was by far the most exercise I had done in the last few months - and my mind quickly turns to poor Amy and her plight. Does that timeline continue without me there? Was she at the mercy of mom and her vindictive rage? My heart drops like a stone at the thought.

 Resolving that I have to focus on the problems at hand, I look around for the large suburban house that I remember from my old family photos. There it is! But, where is grandpa’s old mustang? In the parking space where on my previous visit I had admired his pride and joy, now sits a functional people carrier, which I remember he drove right up to his death a few years ago. Waddling over to a nearby porch I pick up today’s newspaper - ‘14th June 1998’.

Interesting... I appear to have travelled back a few years later than I did on my previous visits. Mom wouldn’t be at high school anymore, she must be, well, about 21 I think, and at college out of state. She’ll likely be coming home for the holidays any day now...

As I try to stay calm I’m suddenly aware of the cool metal objects weighing down my right hand. Glancing I see the fistful of jewellery that I had taken from Catherine’s possessions and examine a large diamond necklace, a collection of ruby, emerald, and sapphire rings, what I can only assume is a mother-of-pearl bracelet and a number of other equally impressive items. One ring, in particular, catches my eye however, the ornate one currently stuffed onto my oversized forefinger, which had been the cause of all my trouble over the last few months. It’s grey and dull as it had been after its previous uses, but to my horror, I see a small crack has developed along the centre of the gemstone. Have I overused its power? What if it breaks before I have restored my original timeline and got my old body back?!

Shaking myself out of my panic and back to the present, I begin a long waddle down the road towards the town’s main shopping street. Passers-by give me disapproving looks as they shuffle out of my way, their eyes drawn to my jiggling tits and fupa drooping beneath my grey shorts. An old lady mutters under her breath, ‘terrible, so fat so young...’. I avert their gaze and scan the shop signs in the distance. Ah-ha! ‘Boodles and White’s Jewellery est.1809’. Steeling myself for a lengthy negotiation, I enter the store with a handful of jewellery and leave with a fistful of cash. Catherine certainly had expensive taste - I’m now richer to the tune of almost $100k, and it’s burning a hole in my pocket.

I spend the rest of the day at the local realtor, and by 6pm I’m being handed the keys to an impressive mansion a couple of streets away from mom’s place. The rent is $12,000 a month, but I’m not planning to be here any longer than necessary. My goal is simple - restore my original timeline and then leave this blasted ring to gather dust in the attic where it belongs!

That said, as I sit on my porch looking out over my grounds, bats diving down to take a cool sip of water from the large swimming pool, I can’t help but think I’ve started to do something right. Perhaps I’ll swing by the betting shop tomorrow, see if I can remember any results from this year to increase my capital. Might as well enjoy myself whilst I’m here, right..?

- - - -

 A week later and I’ve settled into my new life, having already doubled my money at the betting shops and weaved a delicate web of lies about my sudden arrival in this tight-knit community. An entrepreneur, I made my money in food processing and packing, having inherited the business after the untimely death of my father, who’s passing sent me down a spiral of depression and overeating. I sold the business in an attempt to save myself from immobility and moved to the suburbs to lose weight and find myself. Rather a compelling tale if I don’t say so myself! Thankfully the locals bought it, and it only took a couple of choice conversations for word to spread around town like wildfire. Unfortunately, there was still no sign of my mother, but she must be coming home any day now...

It’s a bright summer morning, and I smile kindly at Mrs. Lane, the elderly grocery store owner, as I enter to do my daily shop. I have a brief but cheery conversation with the local vicar in the fresh food aisle, who tells me that the daffodils on the village green are in full bloom - delightful! As I head towards the tills I overhear two young lads as they wait in line to be served. “... yeah like totally blown up! Can you remember how hot she looked at your 16th birthday party? She’s like SO fat now. When I saw her getting out of her truck I couldn’t even believe it”.

“Freshman fifty man”, the other nods wisely, “lots of the college girls get it. Bodies can’t handle all that pizza and beer. Shame, Lisa used to be such a babe”. My heart skips a beat, and dropping my basket I hurry out of the shop and down the road as fast as my thunder thighs will carry me.

 There’s a new car on mom’s driveway Rummaging around in its trunk I see the pert behind of a smartly dressed woman in her late 40s, with long brown hair. That must be grandma, I vaguely recognise her from some of our old family photos. A stern but fair woman, she seems quite put out by some of the items she is hauling out of her daughter’s car. I move in closer to overhear.

 “Lisa... what exactly are these?” she calls through the open front door to a figure that I can’t quite see, holding up a pair of bright orange booty shorts - I recognise a small ‘Hooters’ logo on the left butt cheek. Out of the house walks a truly spectacular sight. It’s a young mom, but... bigger. She had been quite fat the last time I saw her, back in the school locker room, but now she is positively obese! Her tight red blouse is fastened by a fabric belt running along the underside of her engorged breasts, which rest on top of her belly like two fat teardrops - she doesn’t appear to be wearing a bra! Mom’s legs are sturdy, her hips wide, and in the middle juts out a spare tyre that looks like it belongs on a woman twice her weight. Her paunch bulges out in all directions and shakes side to side with every step.

 “It’s called ‘having a job’ mom”, she replies sarcastically, walking over to the car, “college is expensive and I’m broke. Maybe if you and dad would give me an allowance I wouldn’t have to work at a tits and wings restaurant...”.

 Grandma purses her lips, and continues, “I wasn’t talking about the brand Lisa. I was talking about the size. 16?”. She prods mom’s flabby stomach, a finger sinking deep into her pale pink flesh, and tuts, “you promised me you’d get back into shape at college. By the looks of things, you’ve been eating on the job. Beer, wings, fries... I bet that’s what’s to blame for this gut”.

 Mom snatches the shorts out of grandma’s hands and pulls down her top to hide her exposed belly. Unfortunately it pings straight back up - clearly a size or two small - so the effect isn’t so much defiant as it is proving her mom’s point. “It’s a plus-size restaurant mom, first in the country, so, unfortunately, being curvy is part of the job description. And they give us breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks for free, and I can’t afford to pass up an offer like that”.

 Grandma shakes her head, muttering “no, you’re certainly not missing any meals...”. As she walks inside with a handful of luggage, mom turns on her heel without warning and our eyes meet. I blush and start to walk away, but she strides purposefully up to me and shouts, “hey! Hey you! Listening in were you?”. I panic, but there’s no getting out of this one, so thinking on my feet I blurt out, “I... I’m looking for a housekeeper. The name’s Jack. I’m renting the big house on the corner of Park Street. I’ve only been here a week and the place is already looking a mess. I’ll need to work out something in the long term, but... I overheard you talking about money troubles. Would you be interested in filling the position whilst you’re home over the summer?”.

 Mom regards me carefully for a few seconds, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. I wonder whether or not she will recognise me from my last visits - the encounter in the locker room probably didn’t happen in this timeline as she has continued to pile of the pounds rather than hitting the gym. Frankly, I’m still not sure where or when I’ve ended up. Nevertheless, I look nervously for a hint of recognition. Thankfully, there isn’t any, and she breaks into a smile after a few seconds, as she replies, “sure, why not, but I’ll need a good wage mind, say... $1000 a week?”. I nod enthusiastically, and the deal is done over a curt handshake. “A pleasure doing business with you Jack. See you bright and early!”, she calls over her shoulder as she struts back down her driveway and into her old family home.

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Chapter 13: The Maid and the Meal

Mom arrived at 11am the next day - not exactly quite as bright and early as I had expected - and I showed her around my enormous home. She was equal parts impressed and concerned, clearly having underestimated the scale of the challenge, but I made sure not to give her any work that was too taxing - after all, I had to befriend her and find a way to finally put my life back on track.

A couple of weeks later on a scorching summer day, I’m sat outside by my pool having a doze, when I’m awoken by a light patting on my shoulder. I blink my eyes open to see the smiling face of mom, holding a plate of sizzling sausages and greasy bacon, topped off with a generous helping of fried eggs. “Sorry Jack, but I made your brunch before I realised you were asleep”.

I sit up groggily, and reply, “oh, Lisa, that’s very kind, but I had a large milkshake before I went for my nap and I’m not feeling particularly hungry”. Half true, I did have a rather large milkshake an hour or so ago, but this fat bloated body is already calling out for its next meal, my stomach rumbling gently. “It would be a shame for all that food to go to waste though, why don’t you finish for the day and come join me by the pool? If you’re hungry you can just dig in!”, I reply hopefully, wondering whether I have pushed my luck. It’s been over a fortnight and I still haven’t been able to really get to know mom, not this version of her anyway, and I’m beginning to feel a little desperate. Perhaps on a full stomach, she’d be a little more approachable?

Mom purses her lips, thinking hard, before clapping her hands together and taking a seat on the empty lounger next to mine. “Well, if you insist...”. She takes to the food with gusto, and I watch with interest as she shovels in mouthful after mouthful, until the breakfast pile is little more than a hillock, and finally the flat grease-covered remains of the china plate. “Urrrgh, that was good, but... too much...”, she groans, collapsing back into the lounger, cradling her bloated belly in both hands, “mom has me on a liquid diet at home, I have to get my proper meals where I can... *burp*, oh, pardon me...”.

“Oh, that sounds a bit extreme”, I reply, my interest piqued, “she isn’t letting you eat any whole foods?”.

Mom looks back at me miserably, “nope, just meal replacement shakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Apparently, I’ll only be allowed the good stuff once I’ve lost another 75 pounds. I’m down 8 pounds in the last week and I’m sooooo hungry!”. She seems quite upset about the whole thing, and thinking back it would explain her sullen moods and monotone responses to my attempts at conversation over the last few days. This simply won’t do...

“Well... I suppose, if you wanted, you could eat here with me? I can’t in good conscience have you working around the house when I know you’re starving. You might get faint and hurt yourself!”. Mom looks at me thoughtfully, likely weighing up whether or not she trusts me, a man that she had only met a few days beforehand, and without thinking I blurt out, “and... and you wouldn’t have to work a full day. In the afternoons you could use the pool, or sunbathe, starting today!”. In truth, mom was an awful maid, and the house was often more untidy after her visits than before. I was already considering hiring someone else to come in on her off days and give the place a proper once over, so this doesn’t seem like a particularly large concession.

At the promise of both good food and good money for less work, mom grins widely and holds out a pudgy hand, “deal!”. We agree the terms over a hearty handshake, after which she folds her arms behind her head, lying back on the sun lounger. The sun beats down on this scorching summer day, and it isn’t long before I’m starting to feel quite sticky. A pool of sweat has developed in my cavernous belly button and is overflowing, sending little rivulets over the crest of my belly to drip, drip, drip onto the sun lounger below. Time for a cool-off I think...

I heave myself up and waddle over to the pool, slipping myself into the shallow end and breathing a sigh of relief as the cool water washes over me. I look back to see that mom has sat up, and is eyeing me curiously. “That does look quite refreshing... I didn’t bring any swimming gear today, but... well I suppose you won’t mind...”. She stands up and, before I can say a word, lifts her tight bodycon dress up to her wide hips. As the dress reaches the crest of her poochy belly it gets caught, and momentarily lifts the heavy flab, exposing a pair of frilly lace panties beneath. They just about cover the important parts, but between the see-through lace edging and the fact that they are likely a size too small, there is a good amount of bulging mons pubis on show too. As the dress finally squeezes over mom’s belly’s girthiest point, it flops back down with a slap and hides the panties from view once again.

Mom then pulls the dress up and over her head, giving me a sneak peek at her boobs without fear of being caught. They’re fat, soft, and overflowing her bra, which looks like it fit about 20 pounds ago. “Oomph, this gets so tight and sticky in hot weather”, she complains, wrestling with the fabric. After another few seconds of struggling she pulls it off her head triumphantly, shaking out her long brown hair.  

With a cheeky smile, mum runs towards the pool, her flab shaking violently as she picks up speed, and dive bombs into the deep end. The resulting splash sends so much water flying out of the pool that I’m sure it will need a top-up tomorrow morning. We spend the rest of the day swimming, chatting, lounging, and eating, and for the first time since I arrived here, I feel like I’m in with a shot of getting my life back on track.

- - - -

Over the next few weeks, mom settles into her new routine. With each passing day she does less and less housework, and more and more eating, to the point that I’ve started getting my actual home help to do the daily food shop. I also let mom use my facilities as much as she pleases, including the bathroom for her morning beauty routine, where I’ve managed to rig the scales to record her weight whenever she steps on them. This has allowed me to track her weight gain from a hefty 237 pounds when she returned from college up to an even meatier 268 pounds a mere three months later. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I offered mom the job, as she needs to slim back down to become the stone-cold milf I had known and loved in my teens. Perhaps there was still time...?

There has been a good amount of flirting too, around the pool, over dessert - I think she knows that I’m into her, and far too fat and out of shape to have a stunner like her on my arm. She seems to quite enjoy the resulting power dynamic. A brush of my arm here, a wink and a compliment there. She knows just how to push my buttons...

It’s now early September and I know that the end is in sight. Mom will be going back to college soon, which means my window to make sure that the next jump takes me back to my proper timeline is closing fast. I’m not convinced that her summer with me has helped too much in that regard, and I’m having sleepless nights thinking of the fresh horrors that might butterfly effect 20 or so years from now. As I ponder this problem over my morning paper, mom walks into the room and takes a seat next to me. The wicker bar stool groans under the weight of her flabby bottom. She turns to me, and says somewhat bashfully, “Jack, I have something important to ask you... well, if you’re free tonight... my mom has invited you round to our house for dinner. I know you’re probably busy, so I won’t mind at all if you say no... but she thought that as you helped me out with the summer job and everything...”, mom blurts out, averting my gaze.

I cut her off mid-sentence, “no, I’d love to, what time should I arrive?”. She beams back at me. Despite mom’s protestations, I suspect she would have been disappointed had I turned the offer down. We spend the rest of the day doing our usual poolside routine and enjoy a scrumptious BBQ feast that mom prepared on my large outdoor grill-master. As autumn fast approaches I notice that the days are getting steadily cooler.  A pair of fat nipples stand to attention beneath her latest, and already too small, bikini, threatening to pierce a hole right through the fabric.  May the summer never end…

- - - -

That afternoon, once mom had left for the day, I spend an hour or so getting myself ready for our dinner date. I don’t have many clothes that still fit, but mercifully I can squeeze myself into a pair of black jeans and a crisp white shirt. Suitably groomed, I set out on a casual stroll in the fading evening light, and knock on her now-familiar front door a few minutes later. After a nervy 10 seconds or so I see a wide silhouette through the door’s tempered glass, and as it swings open I am greeted by a sight that takes my breath away.

I’m used to seeing mom in her sweats and t-shirts around the house, or her bikini by the pool, but this evening she’s wearing a long silk maxi-dress, that hugs her every roll. Hair curled and flowing, it tickles the top of her plunging neckline, which gives me a dangerous flash of hefty and sagging side boob as it wafts gently in the evening breeze. I hand over the bottle of Brut Champagne that I brought with me as a house gift, and we exchange pleasantries before she invites me inside.

 

As I walk through the entrance hall I sneak a glance at the photos lining the walls. I recognise a few from my childhood home - there are grandma’s parents looking sour and grumpy, mom on a day out at the beach, the whole family at the wedding of a distant Fairfax relative. These photos didn’t make the cut for our new house and must currently gathering dust somewhere in the attic. Lost to time, and soon to be forgotten. Just like me...

Waddling around the corner, I enter a small but pleasantly decorated dining room. Three places have been set, and a delicious-looking roast dinner is resting on the table-top, a whole shoulder of lamb sizzling gently - it must have just come out of the oven. Grandma and mom are already seated, and I take my place, salivating as I look around the sea of food. Dinner starts pleasant enough. We make small talk about my past, what I think of the town, how Lisa is doing at her job (I lie of course), all the while tucking into the feast laid out in front of us. I notice that mom is being remarkably restrained - I’ve seen her eat four times as much as she’s managed for her main - and is casting nervous glances at Grandma with every mouthful.

As Grandma clears the plates and prepares pudding in the adjoining kitchen, I take the opportunity to whisper to mom, “is your mom on your back again about, well, you know?”, I nod at her considerable girth. She nods in response, her belly rumbling audibly. Before I can press any further grandma appears holding a large chocolate cake, which she sets down triumphantly in the middle of the table. She clears her throat. “Now, I baked this before we’d met Jack, so I’m sorry, I’m sure this isn’t what you want to be eating given your condition”.

“My condition?”, I respond in a mock confused tone, knowing full well what she was implying.

Grandma looks momentarily taken aback but regains her composure soon enough. “I just assumed that given your size you’d want to be cutting back on the sweet stuff. I know that it’s very difficult for Lisa to keep her hand steady when she’s around fattening food. Speaking of which... she’s been putting on weight over the summer and I know she hasn’t been sneaking any food at home”.  She grabs a handful of mom’s belly underneath her dress and shakes it, causing mom’s face to turn a bright red, and looks at me sternly.  “Which leaves...”.  

I break into a wide smile, and unable to stop myself I laugh back, “you’ve got me! I’ve been letting Lisa eat whatever she wants when she’s at my house, but then again, my house my rules, right? She’s beautiful, even if a little overweight, and if she wants to eat unhealthily... well, I say let her eat cake”. With that I pick up the cake slice and lean across the table, my belly spilling out onto its surface, and cut myself a hearty piece. I take a large bite, groaning, “mmmmm, it’s so good, well worth a couple of extra pounds”.

Taking my lead, mom too rises from her seat and cuts herself an even bigger slice, picking it up and stuffing it greedily into her mouth. Icing smeared across her hands and face. She gobbles it down and goes back for another, and between us we devour the entire cake in a matter of minutes. A good show, but boy am I stuffed. Instinctively I undo the top button of my jeans to give me belly a bit of breathing room.

Grandma looks on in horror, a vein pulsing in her temple, at the gluttonous pigs sitting at her dinner table. Two flabby bellies spill onto its surface. Shaking with rage, she rises from her seat and screams, “out! Out the pair of you! If you want to eat yourselves morbidly obese then you’ll do it under someone else’s roof. Out!”.

The mood having quickly turned we pick our bloated bellies up from the table and trudge out of the house and back up the hill towards my place. Feeling guilty for ruining dinner, I offer for mom to sleep the night in one of my many spare rooms whilst grandma cools off. She seems very grateful, and licking the last of the icing off her cheek, replies “thank you, Jack. And for what you said back there. It’s... you’re too kind”. Pulling herself together, she continues, “I need a drink. How long does it take to warm up the Jacuzzi?”.

And so, about 30 minutes later, the two of us slip into my hot tub, drinks in hand. It wasn’t long before what had transpired at dinner was all but a distant memory. We talked, and drank, and talked some more, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine that I poured at increasing regularity into our glasses.

Perhaps it was the heat of the water bubbling around me, or the generous slurps of Pinot that I was knocking back, but as the evening went on I felt mom edging closer towards me, and before I knew what had happened our thighs were rubbing softly against one another. I try to clear my head and make sense of the situation, but suddenly I feel mom’s hand snaking up my leg, her face nuzzling into my neck. She kisses me gently on the cheek, her hand moving ever closer to crotch, which stirs with anticipation. Was this really happening? After all this time?

I sit back and wait for mom to find her prize, but... a rush of guilt overwhelms me, and before I can think, my hand grasps her own and guides it away from my body. She looks back at me, confused and disappointed. “Lisa... I want this to happen, more than anything... but... I have to be honest with you”. And so I am. I tell her that I am her son, where I’ve come from, the ring, its power, how it works, and how I’ve used it. Words tumble out of my mouth like blood gushing from a wound as I reveal how I’ve toyed with time, and the devastating impacts it has had on both or our waistlines. Speaking the truth out loud for the first time since I left our attic all those months ago is a great weight off my chest, but I can’t help but notice mom’s face turning increasingly sour the further I get through my story.  

Once I reach the present day, I pause and look hopefully back at her, wondering whether there any chance we’ll continue out hot tub fun. Without a word, she stands, water cascading down over her generous belly, and stalks back up to the house in silence. That went well...

A minute or two later I heave myself out of the Jacuzzi and take a seat by the pool to cool off. After an hour or so of chilly reflection, my head is still throbbing - likely a combination of the wine and the stress of the situation - and I decide it’s time to put myself to bed. I’ll find a way to fix this mess in the morning. Stumbling slightly, I waddle back up to the house and collapse in a heap on my plush king-size bed.  

Sleep overcomes me, and I dream of my old life, my old body, and mom - before I interfered with her past. I’m helping renovate our new house... on a family holiday to Europe... a child, holding mom’s hand as we walk together along the beach. I look up at her pretty, smiling face, but as she looks back at me the smile fades away. She grips my hand tighter... too tight, and suddenly she’s grabbed my other hand too. I struggle, but I can’t escape her iron grip, and my feet are rooted to the ground, unable to move...

I open my eyes and see mom’s face - her younger 21-year-old face - bearing down on me, a mischievous grin on her plump face. I go to push her away... but I can’t. Looking around frantically I see that I’m stark naked and that my arms and legs are bound to my bedposts. Try as I might I can’t free myself. “Hey!”, I shout, struggling against my bindings, but my words fall on deaf ears. I watch, transfixed, as she slips her shoulders out of her maxi-dress, and lets it fall to the ground by her feet. I’ve seen mom in a bikini plenty of times, but the sight of her standing completely naked, fat breasts drooping down due to their heft, her plump pussy - thick like the rest of her - poking out beneath the bulge of her belly... it’s too much for me to handle. Against my better judgement, I once again feel a stirring down below.

Mom sits down on the bed next to me, which sags under our combined weight. She traces a finger from my belly button down underneath my lower belly, and then up and around my sizeable man boobs. “Well, you’ve done a good job of fattening yourself through your trips to the past. It’s a small comfort that I’m not the only one whose body has been ravaged by your meddling”. I open my mouth to defend myself, but mom places a finger to my lips, “shhhh, it’s time for you to listen. You have altered my life without my consent, made me fat. All so you could pursue a perverted dream of getting it on with your own mother? I’m embarrassed that one day you’ll be my son”. My cheeks flush red - she was right of course, I have been selfish in my use of the ring, and it has punished me and those around me as a result. But desperate times... I close my eyes, and feel the ring pulsing on my finger as I think back to the past...

Without warning, mom swings one of her heavy thighs over my body, and with a grunt she settles herself, straddling my crotch. I open my eyes in shock and lose my focus. I can feel her warm blubber pressing against my wide hips, and something warm and moist over my engorged fat pad. “I think you’re a few pounds away from sex being an impossibility”, she comments matter-of-factly, a hand groping around blindly underneath her crotch, “soon the only thing you’ll be able to fuck is your own fat”. As her fingers clasp around the head of my cock, which pokes desperately out of its fleshy prison, I groan loud and long. “What’s wrong Jack, this is what you’ve wanted for so long, isn’t it? Come to mommy...”.

Mom guides the tip of my cock into her body, and though it isn’t a deep penetration, when she begins to rock back and forth it certainly seems to be doing the trick. All protestations or struggles well out of my mind, I moan as I watch her body wobble with every thrust, her belly fat rippling like waves on the open ocean. Our fat comes together in great crescendos, slapping so loudly that it drowns out our laboured breathing, as two morbidly obese bodies pound against one another. “I’m not... on birth control... at the moment”, she pants in-between thrusts, her hands moving to her engorged breasts which she rubs and squeezes, moaning. “I’m going to carry this baby to term... it will be a boy... and I’ll call him... Jack...”.

My eyes widen in horror. No... surely not... I couldn’t be my own... Mom bears down on me once again, our faces just inches apart, and for the first time, I can see the madness in her eyes. Still pumping her hips, she whispers softly, “and I’m going to make sure he’s very well fed... just like you kept me well-fed”.

I’m painfully close to reaching climax.  “Yes… yes…” I moan breathlessly.  The sight of mom’s gelatinous body and the feeling of her warm soft ass and thighs pumping against me is too much to bear. Exhaling heavily, I shudder and release a deluge of cum into mom’s throbbing pussy. She too moans in pleasure, arching her back as her body quivers and jiggles. We stay there, inside one another, as we catch our breath, before mom heaves her thunderous leg back over my torso and stands next to the bed.

She brushes my dishevelled hair out of my face and looks at me with an expression that’s half love and half loathing. For the first time since I used the ring, I’m truly afraid of what might happen next. And so I should be. Mom suddenly grasps my right hand, and with a little effort, she prizes the ring off my fat index finger. She looks at it curiously, a wide grin spreading across her face, “see you on the other side”. I open my mouth to shout in protest, but before the words have left my lips mom has slipped the ring onto her finger, and closed her eyes. The world around me shifts out of focus...

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Chapter 14: Mom and the Magic Ring

I leave my body and feel myself flying through space and time. A kaleidoscope of colours dances in front of me. I shout, but cannot hear a sound. After what feels like an age I land with a crash on something soft and spongy, and head spinning, heart pounding, attempt to take in my surroundings.

I’m in a windowless room, a wide metal door on my right appears to be the only way out, and it’s shut tight. It’s certainly not a plush bedroom - there is scarce little furniture, and the walls are coated with a patchwork off ageing posters. My eyes still adjusting to the harsh artificial light emanating from a single shadeless bulb hanging directly above me, I attempt to make them out.  

There’s a blown-up picture of a red velvet muffin, a greasy burger overflowing with cheese, chocolates, pizza, and fries. Interspersed between the pictures of food there are people too. A picture of a baby in its crib, a plump young toddler taking their first steps, a fat child - as wide as he is tall - holding an ice cream in each hand, a morbidly obese teen - barely able to stand unsupported. I squint at that last picture. I know that face... it’s... me! Suddenly the confusion of the last couple of minutes washes away like a cold shower, and I remember what happened. Grimacing I look down at my body for the first time.

Lying horizontally I’m unable to even see my lower half, due to the mountainous belly that’s completely obscuring it from view. I was certainly fat before, but this is a whole new level... I pour out over the sides of the king-size bed, my fat spilling out like jelly, which stretches from one side to the other. Above my belly rest two engorged melons, each bigger than my head and covered in angry stretch-marks. My tits must weigh 30 pounds apiece, and are surprisingly round and perky given my size, with two puffy nipples poking out at their peaks. I touch them gingerly, and shudder as I trace my fingers around my areola, tweaking my extremely sensitive nipples. My oestrogen levels must be as high as a pregnant woman’s...

I’m struggling to hold my arms up for more than a few seconds, and glancing at them I see upper arms that are thicker than most people's thighs and pockmarked with cellulite that wouldn’t look out of place on a chubby 18-year-old girl’s legs. They collapse back to my sides with a ‘slap’, and I pant to catch my breath after what felt like a significant physical exertion. Panicking, I attempt to sit up, but the non-existent muscles in my stomach are unable to support my upper body, and my back doesn’t rise an inch off the bedsheets. I attempt to swing my legs off the bed, but similarly, they stay rooted in place, weighed down by their blubber. Am I... immobile?!

I struggle for a few more moments, before accepting defeat, and looking around for another means of help. On a bedside table, just within arm’s reach, is a tall stack of empty plates - the remnants of a feast long since gobbled down - and a small button taped to the wooden table-top. I press it nervously, and hear a faint beeping emanating from outside the room, shortly followed by the sound of multiple locks turning, each one clicking softly from inside the heavy metal door. After the sixth ‘click’, the handle moves downwards, and the door slowly creaks open.  

If mom had been fat in any of my other forays to the past, this was nothing compared to the blubbery behemoth that waddled through the wide doorway and into the room. It was mom, unmistakably, her pretty face was as I remembered, but her body...  

Mom’s bulging lower belly is tucked into a pair of thin grey shorts - the stretchy kind that forgive a few dress sizes of growth before the elastic finally gives in - its weight forcing it to hang down a few inches over her crotch. She has always had wide-childbearing hips, but the enormous saddlebags that jutted out on either side of her body now threatened to wedge her into the doorway as she passed through and into the room. Her legs are ravaged by cellulite top to bottom and shake like jelly with every ponderous step, the sheer size of each one getting in the way of the other as she waddles. She was a shadow of her former self, her previously sleek brown hair was more frazzled and unkempt than I remember, and her body that was once the envy of Grecian goddesses now quivered with the accumulated blubber of years of gluttony.  

“And how is my big boy doing this morning?”, mom asks sweetly, waddling into the room, her great body wobbling with every step, “are you ready for your first breakfast, hmmm?”. She stops by the side of my bed and brushes the hair out of my face, smiling a sickly sweet smile as she looks at me, her face quickly turning to one of concern the longer she stares. “What is it darling, is something wrong? Did you have that nightmare about being thin again?”.

“What... what happened?”, I croak, “you were... the ring... what’s happened to me?”. My eyes wide with horror, I struggle to process the enormity of the situation - and myself. I see the familiar ornate ring wedged onto mom’s fat forefinger, the crack down the centre of its gemstone even more pronounced than before.

Mom stares back at me, all expression suddenly washed from her face, a blank canvas surveying me with calculating eyes. “It’s you”, she says finally, emotionless and matter-of-fact, “you’ve finally caught up with your timeline... I’ve waited so long... I thought that perhaps... but now you’re here...”. I’m getting nervous - mom was already unhinged when I last saw her - what had twenty-three years of thinking time done to her already fragile mental state?

She recoils and picks up a small remote control from my bedside table, pressing one of the buttons. The bed beneath me stirs into life, and amidst its creaking and groaning I can feel the lower third start to fall away, as my legs succumb to gravity and hang limply over the edge of the bed. Mom moves forwards, pressing herself into me - the warmth of her doughy belly tickles my soft inner thigh. “As you’re finally here, I feel like it’s time for a special treat”, she whispers thoughtfully, “I’ve been denying you for so long, but... if there was ever a day to celebrate...”. She trails off, leaving me unsure exactly what she has in mind, and increasingly on edge.

I watch as mom’s upper body, or at least what I can see of it over the crest of my breasts, disappears under the bed for a moment, before rising back up holding a small bottle in her hands. She smiles a devilish grin at me, before upturning the bottle and letting a cool liquid fall onto my crotch. I can’t see what’s happening, but can feel mom’s pudgy hands rubbing something cool and greasy into my pelvis. Is that... lube?  

Mom starts to massage my blubber, kneading the soft, hairless, flesh between her fingers. I feel the lube seeping into my folds. “I told you this day would come? Do you remember? Well... I suppose that was only a few hours ago for you, wasn’t it?”, mom says sweetly, “the day that you’d get so fat that your you would be able to fuck yourself”. I can feel myself getting hard, against my better judgement, my cock hardening somewhere deep within my fat pad. I realise that even at full mast it cannot penetrate my thick blubber. Without warning, mom pushes down hard. I let out an audible moan as deep within my fat my cock rubs against the surrounding flesh, pressing in on all sides. It feels like I’m... having sex.  

“You were such a greedy little child. Ever since I fed you double portions of milk as a baby, your little tummy must have expanded because you were forever lusting after my tits... I guess some things never change”. Mom pulls down the tight top that she is wearing to reveal her braless boobs, engorged and ponderous. Any perkiness they once had has been well and truly lost, enveloped in the same fat that has claimed the rest of her figure. Heaving them out to rest over her clothes, she leans forward and shakes her chest gently, giggling as I desperately strain to see her swaying tits over my own fattened moobs. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so keen on them nowadays, given the sizeable pair you’ve got within groping distance at all times...”.

Mom pumps my fat pad harder and faster, and against my better judgement, I can feel a familiar pressure building down below. At the mention of my tits, I instinctively raise my hands to my chest and cup them, feeling their immense weight in my weak arms. They’re soft... so soft... I start to squeeze and knead them, groaning pathetically. Mom giggles uncontrollably, “ever since I started slipping you female hormones as a teen your body has been... changing. Wide hips, thick thighs, cellulite all over your upper arms... breasts bigger than mine...”. I squirm as I feel myself reaching climax, and breathlessly try to stop my dam from bursting.

“I pumped you full of food... I watched as you grew lazier and fatter, and surpassed even my wildest expectations about how big you’d become. My ‘one-tonne son’. Of course... I ate too”, mom says breathlessly, the effort of pumping my fat pad starting to show itself, as a bead of sweat drips down her forehead and hangs perilously from the underside of her button nose. She reaches a hand into her shorts and lifts out her enormous doughy belly, flopping it down in front of them with a slap. “You did this to me! All that food around the house... I tried to be good but... your trips to the past had already destroyed my willpower”.  

Mom starts pounding with newfound vigour, an even more crazed look in her eyes. I groan, my fat pressing in on my throbbing member from all sides, slippery and wet. Before I can stop myself, I feel a rush of cum pumping out from beneath my folds, and I let out a long moan of pleasure as I climax.

 Both panting, we take a few moments to catch our breath, before mom grabs a wet wipe from the nearby chest-of-drawers and dabs at my crotch. “Well, I hope you enjoyed that, because your blubbery folds are the only thing you’re going to be fucking from now on”. She moves back around to the side of the bed, her enormous chest bouncing up and down with every step, and leans over me, her ponderous titties resting on my shoulder. A mischievous grin spreads across her face, as she whispers, “and I’m going to make it my life’s mission to make you as fat as possible. I’m going to pump you full of food and watch that immobile body grow...”.

- - - -

And so it continued. Lying alone in my windowless room, the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. I wasn’t sure exactly how long I’d been trapped here, imprisoned in my own flesh, but I certainly knew one thing - I was getting fatter.  

It hadn’t taken long for me to realise quite how much mom had me under her control. My stomach was ravenous from dawn until dusk, calling out for food regardless of how recently I had last eaten, and the slightest waft of a freshly cooked meal had me salivating desperately. Mom knew this, and used it to her full advantage, teasing me as she held greasy treats just out of my flabby arm’s reach, laughing as I strained desperately to snatch them away. And when I did finally get my hands on whichever unhealthy food she was teasing me with, I gobbled it down as fast as I could, barely stopping for breath between hurried mouthfuls.

The biggest new addition to mom’s feeding arsenal had been revealed just a few days after I had first arrived. A special mask attached to a long funnel, itself hooked up to a machine that towered menacingly over my bedside. Mom would pour a viscous liquid into the machine - a mixture of cream, chocolate, butter - and watch as I was forced to slowly gulp it down until the funnel was bone-dry. This forced fattening twice a day had me blowing up like a balloon, to the extent that I could almost feel the additional poundage bubbling underneath my folds as I swallowed the seemingly never-ending mouthfuls.

To counteract the forced-feeding, I had, foolishly, attempted to keep my weight under control by doing secret workouts at the dead of night. I would thrust my arms upwards and outwards, strain my non-existent abs to try and do a single crunch (which I never managed, but was getting closer with each passing day), and move my legs from side to side in an attempt to lift them off the stubborn bedsheet below. I was making progress, even getting close to rolling over onto my side, but as with everything in this timeline, mom wasn’t going to let me get away that easily.

The night she found me - glistening with sweat, panting uncontrollably - her wrath was truly a sight to behold. Incoherent with rage, she screamed, shouted, pounded her fat fists on my bed, and for one horrible moment, I thought that she might even end it all, and throttle me there and then in a fit of passion. Thankfully, mom’s desire to see me punished for meddling in time won through that day, and she settled instead on fetching me the largest plate of doughnuts that I have ever seen, and not leaving my bedside until every single one had been consumed. From the night onwards I was bound to each bedpost before being allowed to turn-in. My great escape having only served to deepen the pit I was trapped within.

In-between the never-ending feeding sessions mom had taken to another pastime - humiliating me. I learned shortly after arriving that a small and fiercely loyal band of internet voyeurs were tracking my progress via a series of webcams positioned strategically around the room. Mom would make a point of showing them my measurements and how much I had gained (as best she could) and taking requests from the anonymous feeders for a nominal fee. I had been forced to eat platefuls of desserts, play with my belly, even get pleasured by mom - all for their satisfaction. I suppose mom had to fund this expensive lifestyle somehow...

Today was no different, and a $250 donation was enough to earn one lucky viewer the chance to see us ‘rub breasts’. Humiliating, degrading, but ultimately I don’t have a choice in the matter. And any rate, it will mean my stomach gets a well-earned rest. Whilst any love that I once felt for mother had well and truly departed, I couldn’t deny that the chance to feel her heavy titties rubbing up against mine... well, it wasn’t exactly water-torture.

Having set up the camera and checked the feed, mom stands in front of me, smiling her usual grin - half mischievous, half-mad. “Are you ready big boy?”, she teases, lifting her ham-like arms over her head, and her vest-top with it. I hadn’t noticed until now, but she is defiantly porkier than the last time I saw her in her underwear. Her engorged breasts are even rounder, droopier, and every inch of her seems to have swelled outwards like an inflating balloon, straining the seams of her bra. Sometimes the anonymous voyeurs would pay for mom and me to eat together, and mom certainly didn’t need the excuse to pack away the food. I wondered for a moment whether they were also paying to see mom fatten-up, and whether or not she realised this.

I’m shaken out of my day-dream by mom’s cool flesh against mine. I blink stupidly as my eyes refocus, and see mom at the foot of my bed, starting the slow climb up my body towards my moobs. She uses my folds as a rock climber might use breaks in the rock-face, heaving herself into position.

As she reaches my chest, mom laughs, glancing over her shoulder at the camera mounted to the adjacent wall, and grabs hold of my tits. “These puppies are quite the pair. Dolly Parton would be jealous!”. She slaps them together, as I sit back pathetically, letting her have her fun with my hefty moobs. After a minute or so she pauses, and fumbles two plump hands behind her back and unhinges her bra. Mom’s breasts burst thankfully from their cotton prison, and hang like two water balloons on the crest of her bulging belly. Even after everything that has happened since I arrived here I can’t help but sneak a glance at her fatty orbs, and feel a stirring in my crotch despite my better judgement.

Mom leans in close, our melons squishing together, and whispers in my ear, “I’m going to have fun with you now. Be good and smile for your fans. And don’t think about crying for help. They won’t help you. No one will. You’ll never leave. You’re mine - my son, mine to fatten, mine to control. You are nothing except what I make you. And there’s nothing you can do about it...”. She was right of course. Perhaps in my old body, I could have resisted, but in this?  

Though... even as I think this the spark of an idea flickers into life, and my heart beats faster - likely because of my extreme unhealthiness or the middle-aged woman sitting naked on top of me, but perhaps something else entirely. Anger wells up inside me. I muster all of my strength - from the deepest depths of my gargantuan body - and grasp hold of her with each of my meaty arms. “Wh.. what are you doing?!” she cries, half angry, half scared, as I take a deep breath, mom pinned in place on top of me - two enormous blubber-balls locked in a fleshy embrace.

I roll. Slowly, given our combined weight and complete lack of physical fitness. I shouldn’t have been able to do it. I had tried, in vain, to roll over many times by myself, and failed spectacularly every time, but a cocktail of anger and adrenaline pumping through my veins was moving my body through sheer will alone. Mom shouted, struggled, cried profanities, but my mind was elsewhere - on the task at hand.

“Ueegghhh!”, I cry, as my muscles scream with the effort of flipping over a tonne and a half of fatty meat, but sure enough mother and I are now resting on our sides, my arms still gripped tightly around her. We’re on the very edge of the bed, which shakes dangerously due to the sudden imbalance in weight distribution. Mom falls silent as we catch each other’s eyes. I break a smile for the first time in months and let gravity take over.

We fall. For an instant, our blubber is suspended in mid-air, like astronauts floating in zero-g, before a deafening ‘slap’ as mom’s flabby back hits the deck, shortly followed by my elephantine body on top of hers a moment later. I feel the wind get knocked out of her. Mom’s eyes bulge with the force of my body crashing onto her own. She’s lucky the bed was so low to the ground. Any higher and I might just have killed her. A disconcerting ‘crunch’ on impact does suggest some kind of damage was done, but I don’t think it’s serious.

In the moment of shock, I seize the opportunity and grab hold of mom’s hand, which is poking out awkwardly from underneath my belly rolls. Plucking the ornate ring off her finger with some difficulty (her flesh had clearly grown around it), I force it onto my own fat pork sausage. It will only go as far as my knuckle - I hope that’s good enough... Mom comes too, and as she thrashes around beneath me, screaming profanities and cries for help, I close my eyes and, exhausted, wish for home...

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Chapter 15: Doctor’s Orders

I do not remember how I ended up in St Jude’s Hospital for the Morbidly Obese, though I have it on good authority from one of the young nurses that I was found collapsed in the street - unconscious and naked - and that it had taken the combined effort of six firefighters and three paramedics to get me up and into the reinforced ambulance. By the time I came around I had been there for two days, and ready to greet me were a pair of suspicious city councillors, keen to establish exactly who I was, and what had happened.

As the saying goes, ‘once burnt, twice shy’, so I wasn’t about to go blurting on about the magic ring stuffed onto my finger, lest it be taken again and used against me. However, with no ID or fingerprints on record, I was a ghost in the machine, and I couldn’t risk anyone finding out my true identity until I was certain exactly where, and when, I was. My mouth firmly shut, they had no option but to wait patiently for me to be discharged, leaving me under no uncertain terms that when that time came I would be hauled to the nearest detention centre, and kept there until I spilled the beans.

Additionally, to my dismay, the crack along the centre of the ring was now so pronounced that the gemstone was almost cleaved in two. It couldn’t have more than one or two uses left, if at all, so I had to be careful about when and where I attempted to use it. I decided that being immobile and defenceless, which is also how I would arrive once the time travel had completed given I always kept my current weight, now was not the best time.

So, over the next few months I settled in at St Jude’s and had no choice but to follow their strict programme of diet and exercise. The first week or so was the hardest of my life. My body, so used to being pumped full of sugar and fat all day long, was not prepared for the sudden shift to a calorie-restricted diet, and the hunger pains had me doubled over, unable to move. And no sooner had these past than I was introduced to a gruelling in-situ exercise routine, which had me in such distress that I needed an oxygen tank just to recover my breathing. The hospital staff were particularly unsympathetic to my plight, having clearly seen their fair share of whales complaining about their treatment, and pressed on without hesitation. It had not been a pleasant few months.

That said, being a patient at St Jude’s did come with one or two small benefits. Its research and development wing, tucked away in a gloomy basement, was at the cutting edge of weight loss technology, and was currently trialling a drug that stopped the issue of excess skin after weight loss, ensuring it instead pinged back into shape as your body shrank. Ingenious really, and as one of the first guinea pigs, I was already starting to see its effects, as my skin stayed taught despite the fat melting away beneath it.

Additionally, whilst most of the hospital staff were cool and unsympathetic, my primary nurse, Emma, was an absolute delight. A chunky but kind woman in her early 30s, she alone seemed truly invested in my wellbeing, and fussed over me to make sure I was as comfortable as possible during my stay. Unfortunately, that didn’t extend so far as sneaking me in food to eat, so my stomach rumbled on, day and night. That said, a few months in and we had established a firm friendship, and the long days spent lying in bed went just that little bit faster with her at my side. Today is no different, and as I triumphantly lay down my winning poker hand, Emma pouts and looks down at my cards suspiciously. “Hmmmm, that’s an awfully good hand. Almost... too good”, she mutters in an accusatory tone, her eyes scanning my bulbous stomach, “you’re not hiding cards...”.

“In my folds?”, I laugh back, reaching two hands underneath my paunch and flopping it out of my loose cotton lounge-pants, lifting each roll, in turn, to show the bare flesh beneath, “nothing here except prime all-American blubber!”. Her furrowed brow suggests that she isn’t convinced, but she doesn’t have a chance to probe further as at that moment the door swings open and Dr. Smith walks into the room.  

A sour-faced and cantankerous old woman, Dr. Smith did not approve of such frivolities as ‘fun’ and waves her hand impatiently as Emma hurriedly stuffs the playing cards back into their box. She bustles over to the side of my bed and gives my now exposed gut a poke with her skeletal finger. “Hmmmm”, she hums, “still grossly overweight, but perhaps now that you’re down to 600 pounds, and with your increased muscle mass... yes, I think it’s time you were out of this bed young man”. I gulp nervously - I’ve known this day would come for a while, but I’m nevertheless apprehensive about taking those first few steps, not least because once I am fully mobile and discharged I know that the city council could be waiting at the gates to steal me away. Dr. Smith, sensing my apprehension, tuts impatiently, “I’m not sure that being doted on hand and foot by a pretty young nurse, all whilst sitting on your fat bottom, is the best thing for you anymore. Time to get up and about. Up I said!”. She gives my overflowing side a hearty smack and points at the floor by the foot of my bed.

Choosing to ignore Dr. Smith’s unsubtle jibes, I take a deep breath and ready myself for the plunge. With an almighty effort, I heave my thunderous thighs off the edge of the bed, feet slapping down onto the cool tiles below. “Come on...”, Emma whispers under her breath, and her words willing me on, I ease the rest of my body onto the edge of the bed, and take a first, tentative, step. It worked! I’m very unsure on my feet, and it’s embarrassing difficult, but I manage a slow waddle across the room, grabbing hold of a cabinet on the far wall to support myself whilst I wheeze and splutter. “Yes!”, cries Emma rushing over to give me a long, tight hug, her chubby body momentarily enveloped by my much larger one, “I knew you could do it!”. I’m wearing tight cotton pants today, but nothing on my top half and her head rests in between my bulging breasts. She bounces on the balls of her feet, and I feel her hefty tits jiggle as they press into my body. It’s the closest I’ve had to any action since I got here, and against my better judgement, I start to get excited down below.  

Dr. Smith struts over to us, her look indiscernible. “Well that is progress I suppose... though not worth getting too excited over...”, she mutters, eyes flicking down to the small bulge at my crotch and giving it a sharp prod. Her bony finger sinks deep into my fat pad and tickles the tip of my cock, which bursts to attention and pokes out from beneath its fatty prison. Emma breaks free of my fat, and she too glances down and notices the bulge. Catching my eye and blushing a deep crimson, she hurries out of the room, stifling a giggle behind her hands.

“Well, there’s a lesson for you young man. If you want the ladies to hang around rather than run away in titters, then perhaps you should lose these titties!”. Dr. Smith pinches one of my moobs and shakes it, the supple fat wobbling like freshly made jelly, slapping against my chest. Tutting once again, she places an arm under my own and guides me back to bed. Once it has been sufficiently lowered I sit back down, the bolts and hinges creaking under my bulk, and Dr. Smith turns and struts out of the room.

I lay silently in bed, considering my options carefully. I could find a way to delay my weight loss. Maybe even stay here indefinitely? It wasn’t really that bad. But... surely the doctors would find out, and even Emma wasn’t willing to smuggle me snacks, so the supply of food would be challenging. Perhaps I could reveal everything to the authorities? A simple DNA test would prove who I am. But... then mom would be contacted, and who knows what she’s like in this timeline? That might be worse than simply going to jail! I could use the ring and flee to a new timeline - attempt to fix things and get my old body, my old life, back. But... I’d tried that before, many times, and each had been less successful than the last, compounding my misery, and my weight.

Of all the options I ponder over there’s only one that has any real viability. A shame, I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. It’s settled, there’s only one thing for it. Escape.

- - - -  

Having decided that I can’t simply accept my fate lying down (both figuratively and literally), I take to my diet and exercise regime with a renewed gusto. My stomach screams for the fatty, rich, greasy meals that it once knew and loved, and my muscles burn from the effort of heaving my blubber around, but I press on nonetheless. Even Dr. Smith’s steadfast scepticism couldn’t hold up against my renewed sense of purpose, as a couple of months after my first steps she admits begrudgingly, “down to 554 pounds... you’re making much better progress than I expected”. I can’t see the number on the scales, the blinking digital display obstructed from view by my bulging belly, but the news is music to my ears - 50 pounds closer to leaving this place for good.

Emma, who is seated in front of me as I stand on the heavy-duty weighing scales, whoops and cheers, though quickly quietens down when Dr. Smith gives her a long and disapproving stare. It hadn’t taken long for the awkwardness between us to subside after our hugging ‘incident’, and I noticed that Emma had been much more tactile with me ever since. A stroke of the arm here, a pat on the bottom there - I think she quite likes the attention, particularly when I can’t help but get excited by her low-cut tops and gentle hands. I know she doesn’t find me attractive though - I’ve seen her boyfriend and he’s the tall dark and handsome type, not an ounce of fat on his body, unlike the hundreds of pounds on mine.

“Right”, barked Dr. Smith, clearly keen not to dwell on something as positive as ‘good news’ for any longer than necessary, “it’s time you did your morning laps around the gauntlet”. I groan audibly. Despite a full commitment to my regime I was nevertheless not a fan of St Jude’s indoor running track, ‘the gauntlet’, which circled the entire complex, and was gruelling 1km round-trip that patients were supposed to complete several times a day, depending in their weight and overall health. I was up to three and a half laps, which I loathed with a burning passion.

Unfortunately, my outward expression of dissatisfaction did not seem to have attracted a great deal of sympathy from Dr. Smith, and without so much as a blink, she turned and stalked out of the room. “Come on, you’d better get changed”, replied Emma, in a voice that heavily implied ‘if you know what’s good for you’, and rummaging around in my chest of drawers, she produced and then threw me my running gear. She had recently ordered me the size down, due to my weight loss, but as I hold the spandex shorts up to my wide, bottom-heavy waist, I can’t help but feel they are a little on the small side. “We haven’t got all day”, she tuts impatiently from across the room, “I’ll turn around, you just slip them on”.  

I’m not thrilled at that thought, but ever wary of Dr. Smith’s wrath, I also turn around and slip out of my cotton PJs, squeezing into the tight exercise gear as best I can. The top barely stretches down as far as my belly button, and the shorts pinch in beneath my hips, leaving me with a large bulge of overflowing flesh around my middle, like an over-iced muffin. As I jump up and down in an attempt to force the shorts up the second half of my elephantine ass, I hear a stifled giggle over my shoulder. “You’re looking aren’t you...”, I groan, and sure enough, the response comes back a few moments later, “yes, I just couldn’t help myself!”. So now Emma’s seen my fat, cellulite-ridden ass, what next...

Suddenly, I feel her soft hands snake around my hips, and fasten around the waistband of the shorts. Her body presses into my back, once again enveloped by my blubber, and I feel her warm breath tickling the back of my neck. “Come on, let’s get these over your blubber butt so you can start your exercises”. Emma heaves upwards with a small jump, but the fabric barely moves a millimetre - stuck in place by the overabundance of flesh in its way. Grunting, she tries again, and again, bouncing up and down as she attempts to shimmy the shorts over my colossal behind.

As before, I can feel her tits jiggle as they slap against my back, and her thick thighs press into my ass. The vigorous shaking causes tidal waves of fat, which spreads from my globular bottom around the rest of my body. “Please... stop...” I moan as the sensation of being dry-humped from behind is making me hot and bothered, my fat wobbling around my privates and causing a similar sensation that it did when I was back with mom...  

Emma continues, harder this time, panting as she rubs herself against me as she tries to force the too-tight shorts up into place. “Come on fatboy...”, she whispers in my ear, “surely you’re not too big for the quadruple XL? Almost there...”. I groan, a familiar rush building in my crotch, as I try desperately to think of something, anything, to distract myself from what’s going on behind me. It’s too late. I let out a long groan, “ohhhhhhh yessss!”, and come all over the inside of my underwear, shaking as I orgasm with each pump of fluid.

Emma stops suddenly, her hands releasing their iron grip on my shorts, and backs away gingerly, sidling around my body to face me head-on. “You didn’t...” she says slowly in light-hearted dismay, a grin breaking across her chubby face, “you did!”. She points open-mouthed at the wet patch spreading across my shorts, and giggles, “I guess I’ve still got it. Or maybe you’re just so deprived of loving in here that any old maid will do!”. I must look pathetic, as her expression turns to one of concern, and she continues, “sorry, I don’t mean to tease. Let’s get you out of those shorts. I’ll... dispose of them quietly, and I think your old pair are still knocking around here somewhere”.

- - - - - -

A short while later, having cleaned myself up, changed clothes, and bid an embarrassing farewell to Emma, I set off on my run around the gauntlet. I pass-by a few familiar faces coming in the opposite direction - a man-mountain by the name of ‘Vicrum’, ‘Karen’ a Texan housewife whose sweet-tooth had left her as wide as she was tall, and ‘Lilly’ a sweet girl of 15 who simply wanted to go back to school to complete her studies, but needed to drop a couple of hundred pounds to do so. A mishmash of different journeys and life experiences, all converging on this one, flabby, moment.  

The doors and corridors that lead off the running track pass by like the background of a Scooby-Do cartoon - seemingly repeating themselves every few seconds, such that I often wonder whether I’m making any progress at all. I jog for what feels like hours, my body quivering with every lumbered step, the floorboards reverberating under my girth. I’m nearing the end of my first lap when a familiar voice over my shoulder cuts through me like a knife through butter. “Jack...? Is that you?”.  

Eyes wide with shock, I wheel around. Standing behind me is Madison, my neighbour, and closest campmate during my time at Piggy’s, head cocked, looking me up and down with a confused expression. “So this is where you snuck off to? Thought you’d have made it further than St Jude’s after all that commotion. Though... you’re looking fatter than you used to. Did you and Amy sneak off somewhere to gorge yourselves, and then check yourselves in once you realised you couldn’t get out of bed? What? What’s wrong?”.

Mouth agape, my brain struggles to process the enormity of Maddy’s words. She recognises me?! How is that possible? Unless... I’m back in the timeline that I left a few months ago! The realisation crashes into me like an oncoming train, and I stumble backward, Maddy reaching out a hand to support me. “What’s gotten into you?”, she asks, voice full of concern, bundling me into an unlocked side room and off of the well-trodden running track. I blink stupidly at her, and croak back, “I... I wasn’t expecting to see you here...”.

Maddy sighs heavily, and nods, “no, neither was I. But after you left Piggy’s it... well it changed. I mean it was always pretty terrible - who likes eating rabbit food and doing all that exercise? - but the day you and Amy disappeared the tone of the place sort of... shifted. They stopped just teasing the campmates and started really humiliating us. It crossed a line, it was... cruel”. Maddy shakes her head, sighing heavily. “And Miss Fairfax - I mean your mom - she stopped overseeing her global operations and stayed permanently at Piggy’s. She and some of the worst team leads were up to something, I just knew it, but unfortunately, I was thrown out for ‘miscreant behaviour’ before I could get to the bottom of it. They were just afraid of what I might uncover!”, Maddy spits through gritted teeth, clearly resentful about her treatment at mom’s hands. However, a split second later her face falls, “but... I wasn’t ready to leave... I was making good progress - remember? - but I hadn’t conquered my demons... and when I found myself back in the real world...”.

For the first time since we bumped into each other, I clear my head and take the time to look Maddy up and down. She had indeed been making good progress at Piggy’s and had lost the most weight of any campmate by the time that I left. All that hard work had been well and truly undone, however, and then some, as the black behemoth that stands before me is anything but the picture of health.

Maddy’s hips are as wide as mine, thick and heavy, pouring over the sides of her spandex shorts and riddled with stretch-marks - she really must have piled back on the pounds in a hurry.  Her top cannot contain the belly beneath, and her enormous paunch in exposed, hanging heavily over her waistband. Maddy’s belly button has also migrated south as her body has grown, and the deep crevasse is about 10 inches lower than it would have been were she a svelte 120-pound hottie.  

Perhaps the most impressive aspect of Maddy’s gain is in her extremities. Her legs were always thick, like her ass, but the last 100 pounds or so seen to have primarily settled there, and each looks like it weighs as much as a normal person, maybe more! Vast cottage cheese tree trunks, even at a wide stance they touch from top to bottom. Her arms are also fat like two juicy Christmas hams, and her upper-arm blubber droops down over her elbows due to its weight. She was the picture of ill-health and excess - a perfect patient for St Jude’s...

Suddenly, something Maddy mentioned earlier clicks into place. “What did you mean... when you said that Amy and I snuck off somewhere...? I haven’t seen her since the day I left”. Technically true - my last memory of Amy was a fleeting look back at her and mom grappling on the floor of the cabin. I try not to think about Amy and her plight more than I need to. Even now it’s too painful a memory.

“Well... you two left together, right? That day, with all the commotion. Banging, shouting and the like. No one ever saw either of you again, and your mom punished anyone that so much as uttered your names. We all figured you’d just run off to the nearest KFC to stuff your faces and live a better life on the outside”.

I can feel the cogs turning, as I piece together the puzzle that’s before me. If Amy disappeared the day that I left... what had mom said...? ‘You won’t be walking out of this camp, you’ll be wheeled out of here on a hospital bed, immobile’... my heart sinks at the thought. And why had the ring brought me back here? I wished for home. Is this some sort of punishment for leaving Amy behind? Am I trapped here forever?

Too many questions and I’m struggling to think straight, not least because I’m still wheezing heavily after my short jog. One thing is clear however, I have to leave St Jude’s and rescue Amy from her plight. “We need to... get out of here...”, I whisper breathlessly, “tonight!”.

- - - - - -

That night, at a quarter past one, I slip out of my room under the cover of darkness and tip-toe through a maze of corridors towards Madison’s room. Guards patrol these halls at night, making sure that the residents don’t attempt to break-in to the pantry, so it’s slow progress as I make sure to give them a wide birth. Eventually, though, I make it to my destination and knock gently on her door, which mercifully creaks open a few seconds later, and the tired but resolute face of Maddy appears through the crack. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry”, she whispers, barging past with a small bundle of objects under in her arms and setting off into the darkness. I follow nervously.

We walk in silence for a few minutes, not daring to utter a word lest we be discovered. I had told Maddy all about why I needed to escape, and how I feared Amy was being held against her will, so all that was left to do was put our plan into action. We sneak around corridor after corridor until Maddy suddenly throws out an arm and whispers, “we’re here”. I look around, wondering exactly where ‘here’ is, and see nothing but an empty hallway, which stretches into the gloom at either end. Maddy, however, is busy tugging on something attached to the wall, and peering around her wide body I see her easing down a metal hatch, which hides the hospital’s large garbage chute. My heart sinks...

Maddy, noticing my expression, snaps back, “the doors are alarmed, there’s security patrolling the entrance, bars on all the windows. How exactly were you thinking of getting out of here? If you don’t like my idea, then best of luck...”. She starts to push the chute door shut, but I throw out a hand to stop her.

“No, it’s... it’s fine”, I say begrudgingly, resigned to my fate, “thank you for all your help”. Sighing, I crawl into the garbage chute, holding my nose as the whiff of rubbish stings my nostrils. The chute starts with a gentle decline, and small grooves every few inches give me something to hold as I pull myself in. I manage to shimmy half-way into the pipe, but as my hips attempt to squeeze through the hole they become wedged, filling the gap perfectly with their meaty blubber. I struggle, trying to pull myself free, but my ass has created a perfect seal around the chute, and I’m well and truly stuck.

“What’s the hold-up?”, Maddy whispers frantically from behind me, “you’re not...? oh dear... well, luckily I prepared for such an eventuality”. I can faintly hear Maddy rummaging around with the bundle of items she’d brought with her, and then, without warning, I feel my cotton pants being pulled roughly down. I let out a muffled cry in protest, but it’s too late, and a light breeze blows across my bare ass and thighs. “Shhhhh, you’ll get us caught!”, she whispers back angrily, “now hold still”.

An icy cold liquid splashes down onto the crest of my ass, and I jump in shock, squealing in a manner reminiscent of the piggy that I must now resemble. “Shhhh!”, Maddy hushes again, as I feel her cool hands spread the oily substance around my buttocks, “I brought some massage oil with me... well, in case this happened. We should be able to grease you up and down that chute in no time. Believe me, I take no pleasure in this...”.

Maddy starts to massage the oil into my thunder thighs, kneading my soft flabby flesh between her pudgy fingers. Her hands are gentle, caressing my bumpy, cellulite covered lower-half with the same soft motions with which one might stroke a newborn’s head. My fat pad - the fleshy prison for my cock and balls, hangs embarrassingly beneath my legs on the other side of the chute, and cannot escape Maddy’s wandering hands as it too is massaged with her greasy hands. I groan as she kneads the fat encasing my cock, which hardens instinctively, hoping Maddy can’t hear me.

After a minute or so I can hear her breathing becoming laboured - clearly oiling up my body was quite the workout. She pats the underside of my heavy thighs, pounds of fat dangling limply, and mutters, “you are... quite the porker... someone hasn’t been... watching what they eat... I’m... exhausted...”. She leans her heavy body between my spread-eagled thighs, sinks into my beefy ass, and rests there for a few moments as she catches her breath.  

A short while later and with a renewed vigour, Maddy heaves herself up and I feel her hands pushing my ass as hard as she can. “It’s working”, I shout excitedly, my voice echoing loudly down the dark tunnel, as I feel my body starting to inch through the opening. Almost... there! As my enormous greased-up ass finally slips into the chute, I can hear footsteps and shouting growing louder from behind me. “Quick, someone’s coming!”, Maddy whispers frantically, giving my elephantine behind one last shove, which causes me to slip down the chute and into the darkness. Far above me, I can hear echoed voices - I Hope Maddy doesn’t get into trouble on my account.

I slide down the long and winding tunnel in complete darkness for a few seconds, before a light comes shimmering into view up ahead, and a moment later I pop out in the cool underground hospital basement. Something gently hits my back and turning around I can see the bundle of items that Maddy had brought with her, which she must have thrown down after me.

Unfurling it I hold up a large towel to the light, a pair of very wide and very stretchy spandex shorts plus matching top, a mobile phone, a roll of banknotes, and a note scrawled on a scrap of paper that simply reads, “go get her!”. My heart swells with gratitude. If I make it out of this in one piece then I defiantly owe Maddy a beer.

I dust myself off and make my way out onto street level...

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Chapter 16: Search and Rescue

Once I was safely outside the sprawling St Jude’s estate, I hailed a cab and set off towards Piggy’s. Not wanting to waste a moment, we only stopped the cab once on the long five-hour journey. I rushed into the hardware store and grabbed a pair of bolt-cutters, a crowbar, and a pocket knife. Unfortunately, they didn’t sell any more suitable clothing, and I wouldn’t leave Amy in trouble longer than necessary for the sake of vanity. My questionable attire would have to do for this improvised heist.

When the sat-nav confirmed that we were a mile or so away I asked the driver to slow down and drop me off near the perimeter fence. The elderly Indian gentleman was a little confused, to say the least, as he looked my 550lb spandex covered body up and down, but he took my money and generous tip nonetheless. I watched him drive off into the distance and when the coast was clear, knelt and started to cut a large ‘Jack-shaped’ hole in the perimeter fence. Once safely through, I rest the cut-out area against the hole as best I could - at a distance it would appear whole, though I hope no one does a closer inspection - and make my way into the thick woodland that surrounds Piggy’s.

I trudge through the undergrowth, trying my best to avoid the stinging-nettles given my skimpy attire. The deeper I go the slower I become. One ‘snap’ of a branch underfoot was all it would take to make myself known to a nearby team leader, and that wasn’t a thought I wanted to entertain. I pass a tree-stump that looks oddly familiar, and then a thicket of ferns that causes a dizzying bout of deja-vu. I know this place...  

Cogs turn, slower than I would have liked, before clicking into place. I’m near the cabin! Our cabin - Amy and mine that is - where we had got to know each other, gorged ourselves, shared our first kiss. I quicken my pace as much as I dare and walk a familiar path through the bracken. One last corner and the cabin should come into view... The charred remains of a wooden building, long since burnt and left to smoulder, is all the greets me. Molten plastic - the corner of a bulge bar - the only clue that once there had stood here a Mecca to gluttony. Spiritual home of the fatties. My heart falls, but not enough to distract from the task at hand.

I continue my way through the forest, now following the well-trodden route from the cabin to the main complex, and duck down behind a large bush on the edge of the running track. The buildings are as dull and lifeless as they had ever been, but it’s the new posters that adorn them which catch my eye. “We’ll beat the fat out of them!”, one proudly claims, complete with a picture of a muscled team lead raising a fist against a cowering fat girl. “Fat kids mean failed parents”, another boldly states, underneath a side-by-side of two families. An overweight girl stands in front of an equally overweight mother, her hair frazzled, clothes unwashed, and an overall look that screamed ‘poor’. On their right a lean and muscled girl stands proudly in front of her similarly sculpted mother, both smiling a perfect white grin. Pretty unsubtle messaging...

Maddy was right, Piggy’s had changed, and not for the better. The place had a militaristic feel to it now. What little love and care there had been previously had been cast out, along with any nay-sayers like poor old Madison.  

Shaking myself back to the task at hand, I examine the wall ahead of me and see an unassuming fire escape that must lead to the main complex. There are a couple of nearby security cameras on an automated swivel, but if I time my run just right I should be able to slip past unnoticed. Before I can muster up the courage however, I hear footsteps from close by, and duck down, holding my breath.

Ten or so girls come jogging around the corner. As they draw closer I see they are drenched in sweat, and appear to be carrying weighted backpacks - so heavy that they are hunched forwards to stop themselves from toppling over. The girls at the front of the procession come to a stop, hands resting on their blubbery thighs, gasping for air. Two team leads jog effortlessly to the front of the group. “And why have we stopped?”, the first asks sarcastically, “did you tell these lard asses to stop running Dannie?”.

“No. I did not”, she replies calmly, hands resting on her hips. In the blink of an eye, she grabs something from the utility belt resting on her waist and... ‘crack’. The whip hit the short ginger girl closest to the team lead square across her wide bottom. Those thin spandex shorts don’t look like they offer much protection - I wince at the thought of the angry red welts that must already have started appearing on her flabby buttocks. Dannie raises her arm threateningly, whip clenched tightly in her fist, and the group starts moving - the ginger girl fighting back floods of tears.  

Once the stragglers had rounded the corner, out of sight, I sneak out of my hiding place and towards a service door that leads into the main Piggy’s complex. Placing my crowbar in-between the door and its frame, I apply as much pressure as I can, putting my full weight behind the push. Thankfully I have built up enough muscle, or still carry enough fat, that after a few tense seconds the door pings open. The sound of clanging metal reverberates down the corridor beyond, and I hope that nobody was around to hear it. Holding my breath, I slip inside, leaving the crowbar resting against the inside of the door, which I pull shut behind me.

- - - -

Piggy’s was much larger than I remembered. I spend fifteen nail-biting minutes tip-toeing from corridor to corridor, with not the foggiest idea where I am, or where Amy might be being held. I am about to turn into another nondescript hallway when I hear voices echoing from around the corner. I come to a halt suddenly, grab the wall to steady myself, and listen intently. “...Have seen the look on her face when I told her that she wasn’t going to eat this weekend. The fat pig burst into tears!”, a woman laughs. I can feel my face getting flush with anger. “Anyway, I’m off to the gym, you want to come?”.

Another voice, slightly harsher than the first, with a Hawaiian twang, replies “lucky s.o.b., I’ve got whale guard duty. Third time this week! I must be in Miss Fairfax’s bad books...”. Whale guard duty...? This sounds promising...

I edge towards the corner and peer around, hoping against hope that neither of the women is looking in my direction. Mercifully they aren’t, and I can now see two team leads standing a few metres away, chatting in front of a water fountain. The shorter of the two, an Asian woman with long black hair, jokes “just make sure that she doesn’t run away!”, and walks off in the opposite direction. Her companion, a much taller woman who looks to be of Polynesian descent, laughs, and then starts to turn towards me.

I duck back around the corner before she can see me. My heart beats so fast I worry that she might hear it thumping against my chest as she nears. I make myself as small as possible by flattening my back against the wall (a challenge given my size) and hold my breath... The team lead appears in the corner of my eye. A hulking figure, taller than me, I sneak a glance as she walks past me, and see that her head is mercifully turned the other way as she inspects a notice board on the opposite wall. Too close.

I follow closely behind, keeping the team lead in sight as we walk through even more nondescript corridors, and then down a flight of stairs into a basement, which I didn’t even know the building had. The team lead's large muscular buttocks wobble happily in her tight booty shorts as she walks, which I keep a nervous eye on in-case she looks over her shoulder. As we reach a darkened corridor with a large metal door at the end, I hang back and watch as the team lead strides ahead and chats briefly with another figure at the end of the hallway. It must be time to switch shifts. But that means...

Sure enough, the other figure turns and begins a slow walk back down the corridor towards my position. Shit! I duck back around the corner and look frantically for a hiding place. The only option large enough to accommodate my blubber is a wide grate on the floor - probably used to house the underground cabling and pipework. Beggars, choosers... I lift the grate as quietly as I can and lower myself in. It’s deeper than I expected, enough for me to crouch as I replace the cover and start moving quietly along the tunnel in the direction of the secret room.

I pause underneath a second grate as the team lead passes above me - I cannot help but look up for a cheeky flash of muscular thigh - and then continue ahead, underneath the metal door and into the mysterious room beyond. I can see harsh artificial light shining down through a final grate ahead, and once positioned directly below I gently lift it up and climb out of the tunnel.

I’m standing in a large and brightly lit room. The ground is hard concrete, the walls untreated brickwork. These facts only serve to highlight how out of place the decor is from the room itself, for in the centre of this drab and cracking basement is what can only be described as a high-tech mobile hospital. Monitors flash and bleep the status of their patient, a large double-door fridge stands next to a desk stacked high with notes, and cabinets stocked full of mysterious medicines frame the hospital bed at the centre. The bed is larger than any I’ve ever seen, even at Piggy’s, wider than it is long, which is a practical necessity given its current occupant...

Amy lies naked on top of the sheets, her skin pale and bleached as if it hadn’t seen sunlight in months. Her body is vast - far larger than anyone I’ve ever seen, in real life or on television. An impossible level of fatness, every part of her body is swimming in soft, supple fat. I strain my eyes, trying to imagine her old body trapped somewhere within - encased within the hundreds of pounds of extra blubber.

Amy’s gain appears to have been focused on her lower half, giving her an oddly disproportioned look, like a weeble-wobble, unable to be toppled. Her legs are engorged far beyond anything I thought humanly possible and are forced outwards at 90 degrees, her thighs unable to come any closer due to the abundance of flesh in-between. Her belly bulges out onto her lap, and two sagging breasts sit atop it, resting gently on its crest. An ass like no other spills out from underneath Amy, spreading across the bed and drooping off its sides.

As I move towards the bed I glance upwards and notice a digital display bolted into the ceiling. It reads ‘1556 LBS’. Christ, mom had really done a number on poor Amy. And to make her watch every day as her weight ticked ever upwards... cruel simply doesn’t do it justice.

I brush her long blonde hair out of her face, and she stirs gently, opening her eyes a crack. “Jack..?”, she croaks, her eyes now opening wider, alert, “what... what are you doing here?”. Amy’s voice has changed, it’s slightly deeper, more echoey. I suppose that becoming this fat had many unexpected consequences, of which this was simply another. My heart falls further still.

“I came to rescue you”, I reply in an unconvincing tone. I’m not sure how on earth that is going to happen now that I’ve seen the true extent of Amy’s punishment in the flesh - and there was plenty of that! “What happened to you?”.

Amy looks at me quizzically, as if weighing up whether I am real or simply a figment of her imagination. “That day... when Miss Fairfax found us. I was told by one of the team leads that you vanished. In a locked room with no escape one minute, and gone the next. I assumed you’d found a way out of this hell-hole and made a new life for yourself... but me... they took me down here, locked me up, experimented...”. Amy gestures to the many cabinets surrounding us and the vials and medicines within them. “Appetite enhancers, subcutaneous fat encouragers, targeted weight gain...”, she sighs heavily, “I resisted at first, but in time I sort of just accepted it for what it was”.

“But why?”, I ask, panic setting in, “why would mom do this? She runs a weight loss camp for god’s sake, this is... is...”. Well, it’s actually quite true to character now I think about it. Mom in my original timeline might have been holding it together, but if the ring had taught me anything it’s that all she needed was a very small nudge before she became mayor of crazy town.

Amy shrugs her enormous beefy shoulders, and replies, “she’s unhinged. Your mom I mean. The more time I spend with her down here, the more I realise that she’s mentally unstable. But that’s not important right now. Why are you here? Where did you go? Why... didn’t you come back for me?”. Her face falls as she asks the last question, eyes averting mine.

I gulp. This is the moment I had been dreading. Confessing to Amy who I am and how I got here. The last time I was honest about the ring it had not worked out so well for me, but I owe her this at least. So I spill the beans - finding the ring, using it to change mom’s past, the impact on my future, my regret at leaving her behind, mom’s torture. “And then”, I continue, nearing the end of the tale, “I managed to overpower her and take back the ring. I wished for home and... ended up here. After I was out of St. Jude’s - it’s a special hospital in the city - I came straight here to rescue you. I didn’t realise that mom would have... forced you to... I understand if you never want to speak to me again...”. I look away shamefully, unable to keep her gaze any longer.

After a moment of silence, a pudgy hand reaches out and touches my own. I look back at Amy nervously, and to my surprise, she is smiling. Had she heard anything I had just said? ‘Why..?’ I mouth incredulously, but before I can speak Amy cuts across me, “it wasn’t your fault. I mean, not really. You didn’t intend for this to happen, you just... lost your way. But the ring brought you home. Don’t you see? It brought you back... to me.” She blushes, a deep rouge spreading fast across her sagging cherubic cheeks.

My mind whirls. She was right. I had expected the ring to take me back to my original timeline, to mom, but had I ever really felt at home there? A new house, no friends close by, waiting to head off to the city and start my life, but unable to tear myself away from childish fantasies about my mother - who as it transpires wasn’t a particularly great role-model after all. But at Piggy’s, with Amy, I’d been truly happy, had a sense of purpose, fallen in love...? “But... your weight”, I say bashfully, my cheeks turn to blush as I avert her gaze, eyes resting instead on one of her thunderous cellulite ravaged thighs.

To my surprise Amy giggles. “Oh, these extra pounds? You remember the photos of me from when I first started at camp right? Once a fatty always a fatty. I’d have pilled the weight back on soon enough. Maybe not quite this much of course... but still, being thin was never a good look for me. And besides, I thought you liked my extra padding?”. She gives me a cheeky grin.

“I did!”, I blurt out, “I mean I do! It’s...”. I nervously rest a hand on her gigantic upper arm, itself likely weighing as much as a small child, and feel my fingers sink inches into her soft and smooth flesh.  

“And”, she continues with a smile, “I’m not the only one that’s put on a few pounds mister. Look at that gut!”. Amy heaves her arm off the bed and pokes a finger deep into my exposed navel, turning it upside down and bouncing my belly with her hand. The effort leaves her out of breath, but she giggles and gasps, “quite the porker! What have you... been eating?! Too much... soy milk by the look of things...”. Her hand reaches up and cups one of my moobs, giving it a gentle wobble. Despite her size, we look to be wearing the size cup size nowadays, as her gain has focused below the waist rather than above it. My cheeks turn red as she fondles me.

After a moment Amy retracts her hand and pauses to catch her breath, before continuing, “well, it’s clear that I’m not walking out of here. In fact, I think that I might even be too wide to be wheeled out of the door nowadays. We need the police and the fire department. Have you got a phone?”.

Nodding, I pull out the phone that Maddy had given me, and frantically punch ‘911’ into the keypad. I lift it to my ear, expecting to hear the familiar words, ‘911, what is your emergency?’, but instead, nothing. No signal. “Crap”, I curse under my breath, “I need to go upstairs, wait here, I’ll be a couple of minutes, I’ll...”.  

I hear the disconcerting sound of metal grating on metal behind me, and turn to see the door handle turning slowly. Shit! I glance, eyes wide, at Amy, and dart behind a nearby cabinet, just as the door opens and I hear three sets of footsteps enter the room.

“So...”, a familiar voice echoes from across the room, “how is my big blubbery whale doing today? I hope you’re hungry...”.

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Chapter 17: Showdown

Heart pounding, I peer over the top of my cabinet and examine the scene unfolding beyond. Two teams leads - the large Polynesian girl I had followed here and another that I recognise from my time at Piggy’s - are standing guard against the inside of the door. Hands behind their backs, standing to attention. They look like military personal, and... are those... crowd-control batons?

Mom meanwhile, is striding towards Amy. She stops at the large double-door fridge and rummages around inside. She’s wrapped up in a long black shawl, which drapes along the floor behind her. Thin and silky, it ruffles gently in the breeze wafting down from an air conditioning unit above. After a few moments, she comes out of the fridge holding a large block of cheese - enough for a small dinner party - and continues her walk towards Amy. I move quietly around the cabinet to get a better look at mom. The shawl is tied firmly at the front in a neat double bow, mom’s sleek brown hair cascades down over her shoulders, which look broad and strong. Her face is as I remember, beautiful and stern, though perhaps there’s an extra wrinkle or two since I saw it last.

“Who’s hungry?”, she asks Amy, wafting the block of cheese in front of her face. Amy looks at it longingly, but holds her nerve, shaking her head - resolute. Mom tuts impatiently. She picks up a syringe off a nearby stainless-steel medical tray and places it into the top of a small saline bag, the tube for which runs down a short plastic cord and into Amy’s arm. Two drops of the bluish liquid fall into the bag and trickle down the tube into her bloodstream.  

Amy shudders, her pupils dilate, and her hands lunge forwards uncontrollably and snatch the food from mom, taking frenzied bites. Cheese spreads around the edges of her mouth, and crumbs tumble down her many chins and onto her plump chest below, but she either doesn’t notice or is too engrossed in her meal to care.  

“That’s right, gobble it down my beautiful blob”, mom smiles, stroking Amy’s head in a manner that could have even been mistaken for affection, “... oops”. A large chunk of cheese breaks away in away feeding frenzy and falls into her cavernous cleavage. Mom plunges a hand between her breasts and rescues it from its fatty crevasse, popping it back into Amy’s open mouth. “We can't have you missing a mouthful. You need over 9000 calories a day to maintain this body, and many more than that to keep it growing bigger. Besides, I know how much you love your food, I just couldn’t bear the idea of you going hungry...”. She turns away and starts kneading Amy’s flesh, examining every fold.

With mom’s back turned I creep back out from behind my cover and edge towards the hospital bed in the centre of the room. I’m careful to keep myself out of the guards’ view and take a wide path that keeps a handily placed cabinet between us at all times. One hand rests nervously on my pen-knife. This could go south very quickly.

“... so fat that we’ll have to order another bed. I never thought that two and a half tonnes wouldn’t be big enough...”. Mom’s voice fades in and out, as I focus all my attention on keeping quiet. I’m still not entirely sure what I’m going to do when I get there. I couldn’t kill mom... could I? I push the thought from my mind - it won’t come to that - and edge even closer, emerging from behind my hiding place and tip-toeing across the three metres or so between mom and me. Her back turned, she’ll never notice my approach. Just a little closer... I could try to hold her hostage... and then...

“I wondered when you’d be joining us”, mom says suddenly, turning around to face me. But... how? Mom laughs, “you thought that you could sneak in here and rescue your girlfriend like a knight in shining armour? You? You’re so fat I could spot you on a satellite if I wanted to, let alone CCTV. We’ve been watching you ever since you waddled onto the grounds”.

My mind races. If mom knew I was here then what else did she know? I glance nervously around the room. Mom, perhaps reading my intentions, gestures to a small black box perched on top of the nearby fridge. “Oh I saw and heard everything big boy”, she giggles, clicking her fingers with a loud ‘snap’. The team leads move quickly across the room, one straight towards me, the other circles around behind, blocking my escape.

“Pleeeease, let him go”, Amy whines from her bed, unable to do anything due to the immense weight pinning her to the sheets. She might as well have saved her breath. Mom ignores her completely, snapping her fingers again. A pair of strong hands grasp my arms from behind and force me down with a thud onto the chair from a nearby desk. It groans beneath my weight but holds. My hands are bound together behind my back, as my mind finally finishes processing the enormity of the situation. Trapped, at mom’s mercy once again... this had not gone well at all...

She stands over me. The lights beating down from above cast a harsh shadow over her eyes that reminds me distinctly of the mom I had just left behind. Capricious and unstable, some things never change. “So, we’ve finally solved the mystery of how you escaped. And why my shy and obedient son suddenly had a change of personality when he arrived at camp. I have to say I’m impressed. I never thought you had it in you”. Mom bends down, face inches from my own. “Of course, some things never change”, she whispers, placing a hand either side of my overflowing muffin top and giving my enormous belly a shake. I can feel hundreds of pounds of blubber jiggling ferociously around my middle. “You’re quite the fatty now”, she laughs, a smile curling across her thin lips. It looks out of place on her face - forced, like graffiti carved roughly into stone. “Now”, she continues, straightening up, “you’ve caught me on a good day. I'm minded to let the two of you go, but first, I’m going to need you to tell me how that ring of yours works”.  

Of course. Why else would she be keeping up this pleasant pretence? But I’ve been here before and felt first-hand the devastating impacts of mom’s control over time - fool me once... I shake my head vigorously. Not today. Mom looks unfazed, as she smiles back, “oh I wouldn’t decide just yet... I’m prepared to make an offer that I think you’ll find very fair. I heard you telling Amy about your feelings for me. I confess, I never knew, but I suppose it makes sense - I did have you very young after all. And of course, I’ve worked very hard to keep my figure...”. Mom places a hand gently on the belt fastening her silken robe, and pulls it, letting the robe slip off her shoulders and fall in a heap around her feet. My jaw hits the floor.

 

From the tips of her toes right up to her neckline, mom is wearing a skin-tight fishnet bodystocking embodied with floral decal. It’s a single continuous piece of fabric, though her privates are exposed at the front and the back. Four thin strips of material hold the upper and lower halves in place. Her pussy is shaven and her thick muscular ass pokes out bulbously from behind. A pair of chunky tits bulge out from underneath the suit, nipples poking through gaps in the fishnet, pinched slightly. The body of a Grecian goddess - I go from soft to hard in a matter of seconds, my heart pounding as mom smirks, noticing my discomfort.

Mom saunters forwards, her thick body jiggling in all the right places. I try in vain to keep eye-contact, to resist the power of her body, but they stray downwards to the space between her legs like moths drawn to a flame. She places a leg over my own, and straddles me, sitting on my flabby lap, pushed up against the belly spilling onto my upper thighs. I feel her soft, warm skin pressing against mine, the dampness of her pussy on my legs.

“Now I am prepared to be very accommodating of your perverted desires”, she whispers, leaning forwards and burying my face between her breasts. I shake my head against my better judgement, lost between her fleshy orbs. “I’ll do whatever you want”, she whispers breathlessly, a hand, reaching down underneath the front of my spandex shorts, groping at my fat pad. “But you”, her hand finds the tip of my penis poking out from the surrounding blubber. “Need to”, she starts rubbing her finger around it in circular motions, wetting it with the pre-cum pumping out in droves. “Tell me”, she quickens her pace, pumping her palm up and down on the surrounding blubber, which shakes against my shaft. “How to use that ring”, she pinches its head abruptly, squeezing, her fingers pressing in on the sensitive flesh.

“Ahhhhh... Ahhhhh!”, I moan, exhaling loudly, on the verge of exploding. I’m ready to blow, desperate for mom to keep pumping for just a few more seconds. She rescues my face from the depths of her bosom and looks me in the eyes her stare colder and more calculating than before. “Please... keep... going...”, I pant breathlessly, squirming as I try to rub my cock against mom’s hand to release the dam, but she simply narrows her eyes, unbowing.

“Give me what I want”, she replies slowly, labouring every word, dragging out my torture for as long as possible, “and I’ll give you plenty more than that”. It’s too much. I’m weak. Weak and lusting after my mom’s flesh. I’m about to relent, but something in the background catches my eye. It’s Amy. She’s quietly lying on her bed. We catch each other’s eyes and she shakes her head sadly, a single tear rolling down her face.

My throbbing erection subdues, and I shake myself back to the present. “No”, I reply resolutely, newfound confidence behind my voice. Mom looks at me, her face inscrutable. She stands up abruptly, swinging her leg back over mine and walking over to the nearest medicine cabinet. I watch her round buttocks bounce up and down with every step. Straining on the straps of her suspenders. When she bends over I nearly faint, her cheeks spreading just enough to reveal her pussy. As I stare mesmerised at mom’s ass I barely notice what she’s doing, and am surprised when a few moments later she turns around holding a large glass syringe full of a strange blue liquid.

“Now then”, she says calmly, “this is a mixture of the drugs that we’ve been pumping into Amy for the last couple of years. But about fifty times the normal dose”. Holding it to her face she squeezes a small air bubble out of the top of the syringe, a brief jet of blue liquid squirting out along with it. “My lab technicians tell me that it will destroy your metabolism. Make every whiff of food an insatiable craving. Turn your body into a fat factory...”.  

“Do your worst”, I spit back in response, “there’s no way I’m telling you how to use it. I’ve been fatter before, I’ll be fatter again. Go ahead, make me immobile. There’s nothing you can do to make me talk”. To my surprise, mom smiles once again. What is going on in that twisted mind of hers?

“Oh, not you silly. Her”, she replies, pointing to the wobbling figure of Amy on the bed opposite. “If you think she’s big now, you wait until I’m through with her. I’ll make you watch as every inch of her is consumed in fat. Unable to speak because I’ve got her hooked up to a feeding funnel so she can gorge herself 24/7. And you’ll have to live with the knowledge that it was all your fault”. My heart falls through the floor. I was supposed to save her from her plight, not plunge her further into the darkness. I can’t, and mom knows it.

Sharing a desperate look at Amy, who shakes her head feverishly in response, I relent and spill the beans about how the ring works. Mom listens intently, placing the syringe back on the countertop. Once I’ve finished she struts behind me, grasping my bound hands and prising the ring off the end of my porky finger. “But, you can’t, you don’t understand!... The ring, it’s dangerous, it -” I shout in vain, but mom presses a finger to my lips.  

“Shhhhhh, there’s a good boy. Now... what did you say... I simply pop on the ring”. She places the ring on her long bony finger. “Close my eyes”. Her hazel eyes close shut, the madness in them momentarily shielded from view. “And wish for another time and place”. The ring glows its usual deep scarlet and I feel my body and soul tearing apart once again. A sudden gust swirls around me and a rainbow of colours dances bright in front of my eyes. But... something’s wrong. The wind starts to howl, the colours turn monochrome, and the pulsating ring turns from red to black. Mom mouths something that might have been “what have you-?”, but cannot finish the thought. The crack along the centre of the ring widens, bright white light bursting through this gap.  

The ring explodes.

- - - -

A kaleidoscope of colour bursts from the ring and returns to the world. The wind stops suddenly, and I feel myself collapse back into my body. Mom is blown back several feet into the two team leads standing behind her. They fall to the ground in a crumpled mess. My chair, meanwhile, is blasted back onto the hard stone floor, breaking apart, and freeing my bound hands as the rope falls away.  

Everyone in the room has been knocked off their feet. Except for Amy of course, who sits unmoved on her bed, her eyes wide as she surveys the carnage around her. My mind works quickly - I have to get some leverage over mom, and fast! I scan around the room, settling on the recently prepared syringe still resting on the work surface. I need to be quick.

Jumping up off the floor (or the nearest equivalent for a 550-pound blubber-ball), I rush across and snatch up the syringe mom had prepared - a sentence to gain. Mom was unlikely to forgive and forget this in a hurry. I walk over to the pile of bodies, still struggling to disentangle itself and jab the syringe firmly into mom’s exposed buttock. I press it down and release the cocktail into her body.

She shrieks with fright, pushing herself up off the floor and wheeling around to face me. “What did you...”, she seethes, looking at the empty syringe still clutched in my hand.

“Now hang on a minute...”, I reply nervously, thinking that perhaps I have misjudged the situation. “Let’s talk about this, I’m sure we can come to some sort of...”.  

Mom screams, lunging forwards and picking up my pocket knife, which had dropped unbeknown to me onto the floor during the chaos. A madness in her eyes - the same madness I had seen in my previous trips to the past - told me that this was not an idle threat. She flicks out the 6-inch stainless steel blade. “You’ll pay for this...”, she seethes through gritted teeth, as she stalks towards me like a lion eying up its meal. I back away, but as my generous buttock bumps into a cabinet behind me I realise there’s nowhere else to go! Mom quickens her pace, and I close my eyes, knowing that I cannot outrun her and that I’m too weak to overpower her.

‘Bang!’. The force of the explosion blew the heavy metal door to the medical lab right off its hinges and into the room. It knocks both me and mother off our feet and onto the cool stone floor underfoot. My head crashes into the ground with a considerable force, and a nasty crunch makes me think I may have broken my nose. Ears ringing, I just about make-out the follow-up cry of “grenade!”, before a blinding white light fills the room. My senses in disarray, I lay still, and after a few moments, succumb to the pounding in my head and drift off into darkness...

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Narrative Ending (1 of 2):

Epilogue: The Gentleman and the Ring

It had taken a full hour before the cuffs had finally been removed and I was free to walk out of Piggy’s. Having awoken in a locked room deep within the Piggy’s compound, I had been greeted by two burly men in uniform. My interrogation by the municipal police force had been equal parts stressful and confusing, but to their credit, once they had corroborated my story they were quick enough to let me go. I had been truthful to a point, leaving out a few choice details, including both my time-travel and sexual relations with mom. Without any way to prove them they would sound like the ravings of a mad-man, and being sent for further psychological testing was not high on my priority list. Once I was back outside in the fresh air I was greeted by a surprising and familiar face...

Maddy, freed from her imprisonment at St. Jude’s, bound up to me and gave me a long hug. Or as much of a hug as two 500 pound plus people can manage with their bellies in the way! After we’d torn ourselves apart she excitedly explained everything. How she had become concerned about the success of our plan after shortly after having been escorted back to her room, contacted the authorities to call in a bomb scare at Piggy’s, and escaped herself to come and help. I was shocked and touched - not many people would have been prepared to put themselves on the line like that for me. And it’s a good job she did! A few more seconds and mom might have put an end to me for good.

We watched as concerned parents arrived to collect their children, badgering the police to reveal what could have happened to warrant such a severe reaction. Fat girls, large and wobbling, ran as fast as their chunky legs would carry them away from the compound and towards the relative safety of their family. Based on what I’ve seen today, I can’t blame them.

Before long the team leads were escorted off the premises in handcuffs. Some were crying, others ashen-faced and resolute. Reporters had started to arrive, tipped-off about an explosion and potential scandal, and were snapping photos of the spandex-wearing ladies as they were bundled into police vans, presumably off to jail. I’m watching them curiously when a glamorous young blonde woman rushes up to me and says breathlessly, “are you the one that was in the room when it happened? Her son?”.

“Ummmm, yes?”, I reply slowly, looking at Maddy for support. She simply shrugs back at me, as confused as I am.

“Excellent! My name’s Annabelle Dewitt. You’ve probably heard of me from my Channel 7 talk show... no? Well, that’s no bother, I’d love to get to know you better”. She’s got a wide smile, showcasing two rows of perfect white teeth, and something behind her large bespectacled blue eyes tells me that she’s thinking about how lucrative an interview with me might be. Her tight-fitting skirt and blouse sit well on her size 4 figure - only the pretty women make it on TV. She thrusts forward a well-manicured hand, “so, what do you say? Interview exclusivity in return for a chance to control the narrative?”.

I ponder for a moment. It would be good to get on the front foot for once - I don’t want people asking too many questions about my past if I can avoid it. And she did seem like a nice lady after all... We shake hands, and the deal is done.

A short while later, after my first on-camera interview, during which I explained what had happened down in the basement, I hear shouting from the Piggy’s entrance. “Get off me!”, a familiar voice cries, “do you know who I am? What I can do?”. Mom is dragged kicking and screaming from the main entrance of Piggy’s, two burly police officers struggling to keep her thin but muscular body under control. Annabelle and the other journalists turn to watch the scene unfold.

The trio is nearing a police van, which is patiently waiting for its charge a few metres ahead of me when mom catches my eye mid-thrash. “You...”, she seethes menacingly, “I’ll make you pay for this, mark my word I’ll make...”. Mom trails off without finishing the thought. Her eyes glaze over as she looks at me... or... perhaps, beyond me...

In a flash, mom wrenches free of her police escort and pushes them forcefully to the ground. A sudden burst of almost superhuman speed. She bounds forwards and leaps past me, and onto the gentleman standing just behind me, landing on top of him like a lion about to devour its prey. She isn’t interested in eating him however, it’s the burger and fries he was holding that she snatches greedily. Mayonnaise smears around her mouth as she gobbles down the greasy food. Her pupils dilate - body seemingly acting on instinct alone.

Mom’s speed is impressive. A matter of seconds and the burger is gone - now sitting comfortably in her belly, as she turns to the large bag of fries. Behind her, the two policemen stand shakily to their feet. Eyes furrowed, they march towards her. As if aware of their presence looming from behind, mom forces down a final fistful of fries and belches loudly, cradling her distended belly. Her eyes refocus, and she glances up at me, a look of confusion and desperation etched onto her face. Before either of us can say a word, she is hoisted roughly to her feet and bundled into the back of the police van.

“Oh my...”, is all Annabelle can muster, as we watch the van speeding down the road and away from Piggy’s, “you weren’t kidding when you said that the medicine increases your appetite...”.

Amy was the last to leave the compound. Unfortunately for her, it meant that the media coverage was at its peak, and a large police cordon has been set-up to hold the vultures at bay. It was getting late, the sun starting to set beyond a hill far in the distance. The local fire department had spent the afternoon knocking down various walls within the Piggy’s complex, and an hour or so ago a large crane had driven into the heart of the building, on a rescue mission. A distant rumbling signifies its return. I rush forward and see to my delight that Amy is unhurt, though... perhaps a little exposed.  

She is sat in the middle of a large pallet. It would have been more than large enough for a normal person, many people in-fact, but Amy’s impossible bulk is so vast that she spills over its edges. A small white sheet covers her modesty, but as the truck exists the outer wall of the main complex it gets caught on a low hanging branch and left behind. A one-and-a-half tonne puddle of human fat, from a distance, I can barely make out her limbs, but as I get closer I see she’s waving me over.

“Help!”, she shouts in desperation, craning five chins over her shoulder to look at the caught sheet flapping pathetically in the wind, “I can’t let everyone see me like this!”. I feel a fresh pang of guilt, but unfortunately, the damage is already done. Every cellulite bump exposed, every roll on display, Amy is paraded in front of a captive audience, as she is carried naked towards the reinforced truck at the end of the drive. The world’s heaviest woman - by some measure - it's unsurprising that cameras flash and crowd mutters as she is airlifted past.

“Well, that is quite a lot of woman!”, Annabelle giggles as Amy swings a few metres in front of her. “You’ll certainly have your hands full young man - a lot of cushin’ for the pushin’ on that one... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease, I just can’t help it!”.

The vehicle’s suspension groans as she is hoisted in - laid to rest on the cool metal floor. I rush forward to join her, but before I can reach the open back door a member of the ambulance crew throws out an arm to stop me. “All non-essential personnel are to follow behind in convoy”, he barks sternly, “this cab was not designed with this one in mind. Any more weight and it won’t be going anywhere”. I wave a sorrowful goodbye to Amy as the doors of the ambulance close, and rush back to grab Maddy and get a taxi. I had already lost Amy once, it wasn’t going to happen again...

- - - -  

Six months later and we had settled into a rather comfortable routine. Amy spent her days in her room at St Jude’s, losing weight under the watchful eyes of Dr. Smith. She was still immobile, but closer to one tonne than two, and happier for it. I wasn’t allowed to stay over at the hospital, but thankfully visitation rules were fairly lenient, so most days I made the effort to go down and spend some time with her.

We had decided to press restart on our relationship, in an attempt to get past the awkward topic of time-travel, forced-fattening, and questionable parental relations. So far it was working a treat, and last week we had taken the sizeable step of agreeing to be boyfriend and girlfriend again. Just thinking about that fact made me smile, and so it was that on this pleasant Tuesday afternoon I had an extra spring in my step as I walked down the well-trodden corridor to Amy’s room.

Three people are sat in a circle around her bed, playing what appears to be a game of gin-rummy. Amy, by far the largest of the group, is plopped in the centre of her mattress. She’s wearing the regulation St Jude’s outfit - a blue cotton gown - and fills it out so much that her rolls are visibly straining the fabric. It’s the largest size they had, and she’s only recently been able to squeeze herself into one at all.

To her right, Maddy frowns as she looks at her hand. She was a visitor nowadays rather than a patient, having decided that the thin life simply wasn’t for her. A decision I respected. Maddy seemed to be much happier now that she wasn’t chasing an unattainable dream. She’d even starting seeing one of the young nurses - a timid chap called ‘Greg’ - and took no end of pleasure from gossiping with the girls about their various date nights.

To her left Annabelle is thumbing her playing cards with a thoughtful expression on her face. After our chance meeting at Piggy’s the young reporter had wasted no time ingratiating herself with Amy, and the two had quickly become good friends. We still did interviews now and then, discussing how I felt about mom’s court proceedings, but Annabelle had started spending more and more time here for the good company alone. Unfortunately for her that also meant spending her days around several registered fatties, and whilst Amy was on a strict calorie-controlled diet it didn’t stop Maddy and I bringing in snacks to graze on during the day or ordering a couple of mains when we all went out for lunch together. These bad habits appeared to be rubbing off on poor Annabelle, whose size 4 dress was resigned to the back of her wardrobe whilst her thick size 8 belly pooched out from under her current attire.  

Emma completes the circle, dressed in her pretty nurse’s pinafore. Recently she’d been spending less and less time working and more and more chatting with the girls, much to Dr. Smith’s irritation. All that time plonked on her bottom rather than rushing around the ward has helped her ass spread out a little, taking up more of the cheap plastic visitors' chair that she was perched on than it had when we first met. She didn’t seem to mind though, so I hadn’t brought it up. One hand lazily holds her cards aloft, the other dives in and out of a large bag of chips, scooping up a healthy amount of soured cream dip before making its way to her mouth.

Standing in the open doorway I cough gently to alert the group to my presence. “Hello sweetie”, Amy beams up at me, leaning towards me with her lips puckered.  

A quick peck - conscious of the watching crowd - I look back at the bed just as Annabelle cries, “aaaaaand, I’ve won!”. She plants her winning hand down triumphantly, causing Maddy to throw her cards away in disgust and Emma to roll her eyes exaggeratedly. She was not a gracious winner.

I spend the next 15 minutes or so catching up with everyone, getting the latest update on Maddy’s weekend away with Greg, Annabelle’s busy morning at court, and Emma’s growing fear of Dr. Smith. Suddenly, Annabelle’s phone beeps two loud chimes. “Oh, it’s almost time!”, she shouts excitedly, jumping up to turn on the large TV on the opposite wall. She flicks onto Channel 7 News.

“... more on that at noon. But first, our very own Annabelle Dewitt was down at the high-court this morning for an update on the so-called ’Fairfax Fattening’ case”.

The lady standing in front of me appears on screen, chubby belly and all. “I’m here at the high court for the third day of what already looks set to be a long and difficult trial. With two adjournments in so many days, Judge Price has now formally banned any food or drink from the public gallery, in an attempt to keep Lisa Fairfax under control. The true effects of the medicine that she was injected with during the incident last fall, which saw her arrested and her global weight loss brand shut down, are only now becoming clear”.  

The shot cuts away from Annabelle’s smiling face to recorded footage from inside the chamber, where mom sits at the defence’s table, her lawyers muttering inaudibly by her side. She’s unrecognisable from the woman who had confronted me down in the Piggy’s basement just a few months ago.

Mom’s upper body is puffier than it had been. A soft layer of chub has settled around her arms and neckline, and her face is supported by a roll of fat that is at risk of forming a double chin when she glances down. Her tits, once lost to her fitness regime and pecs beneath, have made a perfect recovery, pleasantly filling out the space beneath her orange jumpsuit. She’s looking chubby, like a soccer mom who’s stopped working out, though honestly, I had expected more.

The shot pans around, giving me a view of her backside, and suddenly everything slots into place. Mom’s buttock spreads across two stools, her hips wider than a standard doorframe, with brick-house legs poking out beneath. Her bulbous ass looks to be eating her jumpsuit, a deep crevasse between two fatty moons. To say that she had some extra junk in the trunk would have been putting it very lightly.  

“Judge Price also took the controversial step of allowing Miss Fairfax access to unlimited food of her choice during recess. Whether this is to placate her when court is in session, or as payback for what happened to his daughter, Olivia, at one of her camps, this reporter can only speculate. I’m Annabelle Dewitt, reporting for Channel 7 News...”. The TV switches off.

A guffaw of laughter breaks the silence, as Maddy’s smacks her thighs heartily, spluttering, “did you see the size of her? And the Judge is letting it happen! God this feels even better than I thought it would”. We all agree vehemently and chat excitedly about what might happen next in the trial, my upcoming deposition, and how long mom might get behind bars.

The peace is broken a few minutes later by a stern voice barking loudly from the doorway. “Nurse Emma! I thought we discussed this!”. Dr. Smith barges into the room with the air of a teacher about to reprimand a group of naughty schoolchildren. A nervous hush falls over our group. I look away sheepishly.

Emma is frozen with fear, a chip topped with soured cream inches from her open mouth. “You cannot spend the working day sitting here snacking and chatting like this is some sort of... some sort of...”. Words fail the ageing doctor, who marches forwards and stands tall over Emma, hands resting on her bony hips. “If you want to gossip and get fat you can do so on your own time!”.

A dollop of soured cream drips off of the chip and onto falls with a splodge onto Emma’s dress. Dr. Smith sighs and grabs a handful of both Emma and Annabelle’s bellies, giving them a hearty shake. Fat ripples underneath their too-tight clothes. “You little porklings were supposed to be setting a good example for them”, she nods towards Amy, Maddy and I, “not gorging yourselves to become as fat as they are!”. Letting go of the bellies, which jiggle appreciatively, she sighs heavier still. “You’ll both be checking into here if you keep going at this rate... now away with you. Shoo!”.

Emma rushes out of the room red-faced, followed shortly by Maddy and Annabelle after hasty goodbyes. Dr. Smith checks some of Amy’s vital signs, nodding and muttering under her breath, before jotting them on the chart at the end of her bed and leaving the room, presumably to check on another patient. Alone, at last, I spend a wonderful afternoon with Amy, making plans for what we’ll do after she gets a clean bill of health...

- - - -

By the time that Christmas rolled around Amy had been discharged from St Jude’s and was sharing a large flat with me in the city. Our pay-out from the now-defunct ‘Piggy’s Corporation’ had been so large that neither of us needed to worry about money ever again, and we were comfortably settling into retired life.

Amy’s newfound mobility had opened up a world of opportunities, and we spent our days experiencing the very best of city-living. Between this, moving house, and keeping up with our growing circle of friends, there wasn’t as much time as before for our old favourite pastime - eating. We were still both very large of course, but without meaning to we had slimmed down to a respectable 400 pounds each. I didn’t mind, and importantly, neither did Amy.

“Ouch”, I mutter to no one in particular, as I burn my hand on the stove. A small red welt appearing on my pale skin. I shrug it off, doing my best to ignore the slight throbbing on the tip of my finger, and continue preparing dinner.

A head pokes around the kitchen door, followed by a beanpole body - tall and painfully thin. “Hey Jack, anything I can do to help?”. It was Greg, Maddy’s boyfriend. The pair had been going steady for the last few months, and their invitation to dinner had felt long overdue. Board games, friends, and a three-course meal. As close to perfection as life could get.

“No, no”, I reply jovially, ignoring the pain in my finger, “you guys relax, I’ll be out with the food in a minute”. Greg smiles, shrugs, and heads back to our spacious dining room. A few minutes later I follow, setting four bowls of lobster bisque in front of my hungry customers.  

“Mmmm”, Maddy moans, taking a large spoonful of the soup, “this is excellent. Who knew you had it in you?!”. Shrugging, I nod an acknowledgment and sit quietly as I have a taste myself. She is right - it is good.

Maddy’s chair creaks ominously as she guzzles down the soup - despite having been purchased from a specialist store with larger bottoms in mind. Unlike Amy and me, Maddy had continued to grow ever since we had reconnected in the running corridors of St Jude’s, gathering mass in-between every one of our catch-ups. Her face was rounder and heavier than it had been - plump jowls quivering with every spoonful she shovelled into them - and her body larger and more bloated. A tear-drop belly juts-out so far out that she’s having to crane her neck to get her head over the bowl - two meaty arms dripping with fat shake violently with every mouthful.

A few drops of soup spill from Maddy overeager spoon and onto her navy dress. Greg jumps to attention, grabbing up a napkin and dabbing at Maddy’s belly where a stain was forming. Maddy giggles as Greg rubs her belly, caressing it for far longer than the small spill demanded. His fingers sink deep into her fleshy paunch.

I catch Amy’s grin in my peripheral vision and roll my eyes discreetly in return. It hadn’t taken long after they started dating for Greg to come clean about his predilection for fattening up larger ladies. A closeted but eager feeder, he had taken the job at St Jude’s to get his kicks from the sizeable women waddling around the place. Seeing Maddy, an ex-patient, gorging herself when visiting Amy had been too much for the poor boy to handle, and he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask her out. I suspect that he had a hand in every pound added to her body since then.  

“Mmmmm”, Greg moans as he kneads Maddy’s belly, clearly enjoying himself a little too much. She flashes him a brief but meaningful look - ‘careful’ - and grabs his bowl, which is still two-thirds full and starts chowing down on that too. Greg’s eyes widen, a mixture of shock and pleasure, but he retracts his hand nonetheless. The stick and the blob, they were quite the pair...

As the familiar scraping of cutlery against china fills the room, I stand up and start to clear away the empty bowls. Maddy belches loudly as I tidy away the two bowls in front of her. “Oops, where are my manners!”, she blurts out, cheeks flushing a light rouge, but Amy’s stifled laughter helps ease her embarrassment. By the time I bring out the main course - chicken and spinach in a cheese sauce - the wine was flowing freely and conversation had turned to something we could all bond over - St Jude’s.

“...and then”, Maddy guffaws, fighting back tears, “I had to grease him up and push him down the chute!”. The rest of the table erupts in drunken laughter, as Amy, slurring her words slightly, chokes through a mouthful of giggles, “I can just imagine his little legs flapping”. She waves her hands up and down in imitation of my flailing lower half. I sigh - Maddy does love this story - but let the group have their fun at my expense. “And I was speaking with Emma the other day...”, Maddy goes on, knocking her hand into the wine bottle as she gesticulates in my direction. I catch it in the nick of time before it tumbles to the floor. “She told me that you got a little too... excited when she was helping you into your gym gear?”.

I dart a look at Amy, concerned for my safety, but thankfully the look that greets me in return is as warm and jovial as it had been a few seconds before. “Don’t worry dear, Emma told me everything months ago. It was before we’d reconnected, she was a good-looking nurse, and you were a horny guy who couldn’t... was too fat to... well, you know...”. She glanced down at my fat pad. The whole table knew what she meant, and I blush crimson accordingly. Maddy looks extremely pleased with herself, Greg apologetic, and Amy has a pleasantly comforting kind smile. A timer goes off on my phone.

“Oh, it’s almost time”, I say with a jump, grateful for the distraction. I switch on Channel 7, turning down the volume, and we continue our chat whilst an energetic young weatherman explains the risk of snow for the coming weekend. After a few minutes, my ears prick at the mention of my last name. “... back to the trial of Lisa Fairfax, who was last week was sentenced to life in prison without parole. This is a Channel 7 special on the woman at the centre of this remarkable trial”.

For the next 10 mins, I watch the story of mom’s life. Humble beginnings, her bullying at school, meeting her future business partner Jessica, Piggy’s rise to fame, and then its spectacular downfall and the start of the lengthy trial. It was an interesting journey, and one which I had experienced first-hand.  

I see myself on the screen from time to time, looking worryingly large compared to the people around me. I wonder if the camera really does add 10 pounds...

“... which is when Miss Fairfax began putting on weight. A result of the action taken by her son, Jack Fairfax, during the incident that led to her arrest”. The shot shifts to a picture of mom standing against an eggshell white wall. Three photos - front, side and back - showcase her toned and tanned body. The envy of all other middle-aged moms of one. It must have been taken just after her arrest, and sure enough, an overlay flashes on screen as soon as I’ve had the thought - ‘Day 1 following arrest’.

 

They fade out and are replaced with another set, this time with a caption of ‘Day 50 following arrest’. Mom’s lower stomach bulges out, a potbelly round and proud, as her body thickens all over. Generous thighs envelop the muscle definition of her legs and a globular booty forms where previously two powerful glutes had sat, perky and tight.

As the photos are replaced one by one I can see the outline of mom’s body growing wider and fatter as she succumbs to the devastating effects of her own experimental medicine. Her upper body puffs out at a reasonable pace, but her bottom half grows impossibly large in-between each fade. Thighs cratered with cellulite are forcing her legs into a wider and wider stance as they fill the space between her legs with supple flesh. Her ass drops lower and lower as it too expands, and by the final photo, mom is as wide as she is tall. Leaning on a walking stick for support, it appears that she doesn’t have long before her elephantine ass causes her to collapse to the floor, and confines her to permanent bed rest.

Or at least, that is the best I can glean from the images on the screen. I haven’t actually visited mom since she was arrested, outside our brief interactions in the busy courtroom of course, and if I’m honest I don’t want to ask myself why. Wounds still too raw, too deep. Perhaps next month...

I mute the TV as Maddy barks, “she looks like she’ll be *hic* immobile soon. Good riddance - the fat bitch!”. She knocks back the remaining few gulps of wine in her glass and grins at me mischievously. I take a mental note never to cross Maddy if I could avoid it - as if I needed reminding.

Amy refills our glasses, ever the dutiful hostess, and changes the conversation away from the awkwardness of my mom. “Have you spoken to Annabelle recently Maddy? We bumped into each other at the store the other day and she said that she’d changed jobs. Something about creative differences with station management?”.

Maddy snorts derisively, “creative differences? Is that *hic* what she calls it? I’d call it getting too large for TV!”. She places her hands underneath her beach ball of a belly and lifts it for dramatic effect. “Annabelle spent too much time in the company of fatsos like us”, she laughs, dropping her belly onto her lap with a satisfying slap. “The first 50 pounds she could probably get away with, but the second, and the third? I’m surprised they kept her fat ass around as long as they did!”.

“Oh”, is all Amy can muster, her cheeks flushing red as she looks away - embarrassed for Annabelle, certainly, but also slightly pleased by Maddy’s candid revelation. The night continued in high spirits - food and wine flowing as freely as the conversation - and we bid a slurry goodbye to Maddy and Greg at half-past midnight. A quick brush of our teeth, peck on the lips, and a few moments after touching the pillow sleep overcomes me.

- - - -

A year or so later, one cold September morning, I finally pluck up the courage. It was a long drive down to the prison where mom was confined 24 hours a day. One which I took alone. Despite Amy’s protestations to tag along for moral support, I felt this was something I needed to do by myself - for myself.

The prison was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a bleak and uninviting place. Great breeze block walls and high barbed-wire fences greeted me on my arrival. The criminals held here were some of the country’s most unusual - as a result of their crimes, or mental and physical state - and required a unique sort of treatment that most prisons weren’t catered to support.  

Once I was past security and had checked myself in, I was guided deep into complex by one of the burly guards. He looked the strong and silent type, his muscled shoulders rippled as I waddled along behind him, panting to keep up. Eventually, he stopped outside a large metal door, and I buckled over, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. After a minute or so of panting I had just about recovered and sheepishly gave him a nod to open up the cell.

Mom is sat on a large hospital bed at the back of the small room, her eyes closed, snoring gently. The setting is not dissimilar to the one that Amy had been kept in at Piggy’s - there’s a concrete floor, a fridge standing against the wall on my left, and the bed is reinforced. An irony that I’m sure neither of us had missed.

Mom’s body from the waist up is undoubtedly fat, and wouldn’t look out of place on a 300-pound woman. A meaty pair of arms - soft and fleshy - and a round face supported by a thick pair of chins. Heavy breasts sagged a little under their weight, straining the underwire of her hefty bra, which is the only piece of clothing she appears to be wearing presently. This was more likely born out of necessity as opposed to exhibitionism, as from her waist down mom’s body is magnitudes larger - too big for any clothes to possible handle.

Two legs, each unbelievably round, look like two great sequoias resting on the bed. Each could easily weigh 500 pounds and looked as though they hadn’t moved an inch since the moment mom had been plopped there. Huge cellulite craters are dotted across their surface, all the way to down mom’s feet, which poke out pathetically at their end, suspended a few inches off the bed by the fat bulging out from where mom’s calf muscles used to be. Even her toes are fatter than any I’ve seen - stumpy pork sausages with no space in between.

Covering mom’s lap and upper thighs is a vast lower belly that spools out onto the bed. Her arms rest atop its blubbery shelf. The soft white flesh around her naval looks supple and jelly-like, and her belly button itself it a wide and deep crevasse. I wonder how far my arm would sink into it before it came upon resistance... I shake the thought from my mind as I continue moving forward.  

Mom’s hips are so broad they give her a distorted, almost impossible, look. Wider than she is tall, they spread her body out across the entire width of the super king-size bed - a puddle of fat with a body poking out of the centre. An ass so large it surrounds her - a prison of fat, from which I know she’ll never break free. As I stop just short of the bed I see that mom’s hands are bound to its sides. I wonder whether that’s for her protection or mine...

“Hello mother”, I say coolly, impressed with how assured my voice sounds under the circumstances. She opens her eyes groggily, and it takes a few seconds for recognition to register with them. Her face quickly reforms into a look of disgust.

“You... I wondered if you’d ever have the stones to come and visit me. Your own mother. Flesh and blood. Well... in a manner of speaking”. Her eyes follow me around the room as I take I seat on the edge of her bed. My own dart down towards the flabby roll I can feel pressing into my side. Mom wasn’t exactly leaving me a great deal of space.  

“I suppose you’ve come to gloat have you?”, she snaps at me, her eyes blazing with a fiery rage. I consider her question for a moment. Why had I come here? It wasn’t to forgive mom or expect forgiveness in return. There was a better chance of mom rising off the bed and running a marathon than her ever uttering the words ‘I’m sorry’. So what then...

Distracting myself from a difficult question to which I didn’t have an answer, I pick up a chart resting in a small pouch at the end of her bed. It looks like doctors' notes - or something similar. ‘Name: Lisa Fairfax’, ‘Sex: Female’, ‘Weight: 1289 Pounds’. My jaw almost hits the floor as I see the numbers on the page. I knew mom was fat but... this fat?!  

I clear my throat. It’s dry to the bone, and as much as I try and resist, the temptation is too much to bear. “Well... someone’s been a greedy girl...”. I rest a hand on top of one of mom’s tree trunk thighs and jiggle it, tidal waves of blubber cascading across its broad surface. My palm sinks a few inches into the flab. Pure fat, any bone or muscle hidden deep within, never to see the light of day again. Mom’s hands struggle against their bindings, but she’s unable to move and at the mercy of my wandering hands. Mom curses me under her breath, her gaze as sharp as daggers, but is powerless to stop me exploring her vast body. I caress her vast body…

Suddenly, a knock at the door. It creaks open and a young boy scuttles in pushing a large metal trolley. Its uneven wheels click and clack loudly on the concrete floor. “Sorry to disturb”, he says nervously, glancing between mother and me, “but it’s feeding time, and... and the warden said I have to keep to the agreed schedule”. A bead of sweat drops down his nose and travels the full length of his body before landing with a quiet ‘drip’ at his feet.  

“Not to worry”, I smile back, “why don’t you leave that here. I can see to mom’s... needs”. The young man looks back at me, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I suppose feeding the prison whale thrice a day can’t be a particularly in-demand role. He nods appreciatively and slips out of the room quietly.

“If you think you’re going to humiliate me even further by watching me eat that junk, you’ve got another thing coming. You may have broken my body, but my willpower is still as strong as an ox”, mom snaps defiantly. For a moment I even believe her, but an unconscious flash of concern across her face as she glances down at the trolley makes me suspect that she’s not as confident as her words suggest.

As I lift the lid off the nearest silver platter a pleasant aroma fills the room. Deep-fried chicken - crispy but succulent - wafts all around. I take a deep sniff. My stomach rumbles against my better judgement.

I reach forward and grab a particularly large and juicy drumstick off the plate. Holding it up to mom’s face, I make sure to let it rest just out range of her plump lips. She whimpers, and her mask falters, before falling away completely. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, she tries to heave herself forwards, snapping her jaws at the empty air. Unfortunately, her non-existent abs aren’t able to move her vast body even a millimetre off the bed.

Waving the drumstick tantalisingly in front of her face, I laugh, “your willpower doesn’t seem to be holding up very well at all! Now, I’ll give you this, but only if you ask nicely”.  

Mom’s face contorts into a strange mixture of longing and rage, though after just a few moments it’s clear that the former has won the day. “Feed... me...”, she mutters under her breath, so quiet that I can barely make out the words at all.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you”, I taunt, moving the drumstick an inch or so closer, just in front of mom’s salivating mouth. I know deep down that my teasing is hypocritical, even cruel, but I’ve gone this far...

“Feed me”, mom says more loudly, the words coming out in a rush of pleasure and anticipation. “Feed me, Feed me, Feed me!”. Smiling, I lower the chicken to her lips and watch as she rips off the meat like a piranha stripping an animal carcass. Frenzied and greedy, grease drips down her chin and onto her porky tits.

I shovel mouthful after mouthful of food into her fat face, chins jiggling with pleasure with every overstuffed bite. Morsels tumble down and rest on her bulging belly, but she doesn’t seem to notice, or at least care. Her enormous body shakes and wobbles violently as she cranes to reach the food that I am holding, still bound by her restraints. She is a slave to her appetite - and what an appetite it is!

After 20 minutes I’m shocked that she still has room for more, and another 10 later the entire trolley - which had contained enough food for a family of 8 - is nothing but a stack of empty plates. “Buuuuurrrrp”, mom belches, out of breath and sweating profusely from the effort of gorging herself. Her arms fall limp, resting on top of the enormous roll of lard that surrounds her middle. A picture of gluttony and ill health, she looks back at me, pathetically.

As mom catches her breath, the room quieter, calmer, I reflect on what has just happened. The sight of mom’s naked, though gigantic, body. The touch of her soft and gelatinous skin against mine. The rush of her begging me to feed her, and then watching the calories slip down her throat and into her vast stomach... The situation, and my desires, had got the better of me, as they had done every time I travelled to the past. I had assumed it was the ring to blame, but perhaps the two of us were always destined to be this way together. I the spark, and mom the tinder. It couldn’t happen again.

I stand up abruptly, looking mom directly her soft brown eyes. “I... I won’t be back... it’s for the best. Goodbye mom”, I croak, turning away and heading towards the door. I half expect her to call out from behind me. A profanity, a plea to stay, anything. Instead, the only sound is mom’s heavy breathing, and a slight gurgling from her stomach, even now preparing itself for its next meal.

I leave mom’s cell with a confused sense of both triumph and guilt. There was no question that this version of mom had been cruel, but to what extent was my meddling with time responsible for her mental state? Did she need to be punished or helped? Unfortunately, it was too late to change that now...

After the guard had locked the cell behind me - a purely symbolic act given the immobility of the prisoner inside - I start the long walk back to the main entrance whilst he remains outside the door. I’m lost in thought and introspection, such that I barely notice the plodding footsteps coming from down the corridor ahead until they’re echoing off the walls like shots from a gun.

Looking up, I spot a figure waddling down the corridor towards me. They are large, very large, with hips almost as wide as the small corridor, leaving little room on either side to pass. As I draw closer I notice a familiar pair of glasses, deep blue eyes, and a shock of blonde hair that could only belong to... “Annabelle?”, I call at the stranger, who grins back two rows of perfect teeth and spreads her arms as wide as the space will allow, fat hanging off their undersides like melted cheese.

She takes me into a fierce hug, squeezing our bloated bodies together, fat against fat. I can’t help but feel my way around her hips as she pulls me in even tighter - they’re pure lard, not a hint of the bone lost somewhere deep within. I glance down and see a shelf of a buttock bulging out behind. Quite a bit of junk in that trunk...

We prize ourselves apart. “Jack! What a pleasant surprise! Now what are you doing here I wonder? Finally plucked up the courage to speak to mom I suppose? Well good for you”, she says heartily, slapping me on the shoulder, jowls quivering. “I’m here for a similar reason. I need to speak to your mom about a little... business arrangement. I suppose you heard that I’d left the reporting gig?”.

“I think Maddy did mention it yes”, I reply with a smile, “something about... creative differences?”.

Maddy chokes out a hearty belly laugh, grabbing two handfuls of flabby paunch in her hands and jiggling it side to side. “Well, you could say that I suppose! To be honest, they said I got too fat. Can you believe that?! I mean, sure I’ve put on a few hundred pounds since I started, but I suppose I’d always figured that my work would speak for itself. I guess not”, she mused thoughtfully. “Well, they gave me my marching orders and brought in a vapid size 0 bimbo to replace me. Brittany or Jennifer, or something like that. I got a bit of petty revenge though - you should have seen how much of my leaving cake I managed to eat live on air before they took me off. The new girl couldn’t believe it! The fat sow she was there to replace stuffing her face with chocolate icing...”.

Annabelle looks off into the distance wistfully, as if recalling every mouthful of her chocolate gorging session. I pull her back to reality - “Well I think you’re looking great. And their loss, right?”. Her gaze snaps back to me, eyes twinkling. “So, what sort of business arrangement are you here to speak to mom about?”.

“Well... I’m thinking of moving into the bakery business. Figure that your mom would be a pretty hefty client if I could bag her. If you’ll excuse the pun! And she has links into a whole network of former fatties who are just one cookie away from blubbery relapse. I know it’s not particularly ethical, but...”, she shrugs back, grin as wide as ever. It certainly wasn’t ethical, but the thought of Annabelle enabling mom’s ongoing immobility, and former Piggy’s residents giving in to their base desires and gorging themselves back up to reality TV weights... I nod my approval.

We chat for a few more minutes, updating each other on our friends and loved ones. As a church-bell chimes 3pm somewhere off in the distance, I bid Annabelle goodbye, sucking in my belly as we try to squeeze past each other. Unfortunately even this isn’t enough, and we’re soon pinned against the walls by our bulk, face to face, what remains of my cock pressing into her enormous soft gut. I feel her doughy flesh envelop me, hands kneading it desperately as I try to push her off. I harden rapidly, to my horror, and Annabelle’s stifled giggles tell me that she’s certainly noticed. “It’s okay, I know you like us big girls...”, she grins, patting the sides of her belly, causing her whole body to jiggle violently.

The sensation of her body shaking, waves of blubber slapping into me, has me panting with excitement. I desperately try to push her away, hands groping at her hips. She giggles harder, “I guess you REALLY like big girls, huh?”. She slaps her belly again, harder this time, over and over. I feel her paunch slapping relentlessly against my fat pad, which quivers around my cock in turn. I bite my lip, desperate to calm myself down and escape this pleasurable torture, but it’s too late.

I groan as cum begins pumping into my fat pad. The trip to see mom must have got me going more than I thought, as the flood keeps coming with every moan, warm and wet. It soaks through my pants and spreads across Annabelle’s exposed tummy. The added moisture oils it up, and finally we come unstuck and slide past each other.

My face turns red with embarrassment as I awkwardly inspect my sodden crotch. “Don’t worry, I know you didn’t mean to”, Annabelle says in a gentle tone, patting me on the shoulder as she wipes her belly with a tissue, “I won’t tell Amy. This can be out little secret big boy”. She gives me a cheeky wink and turns away to stride down the corridor towards mom’s cell. I admire her vast globular, wobbling booty against my better judgement, and once my pants have dried I too make my departure and head for home...

- - - -

I walk hand-in-hand with Amy down one of London’s old cobbled streets. Impressive Victorian townhouses tower above us on either side, the smell of hops and hearty food wafting from an open pub door as we pass by. It’s getting late, but the setting sun cuts a careful line down the middle of the road ahead. We bask in the final rays of the dying day.

In the year or so since visiting mom in prison, Amy and I had talked a number times about taking an extended Euro-trip - travelling around a few countries to experience the wonderful smorgasbord of European living. After a rather expensive trans-Atlantic flight, a red-faced check-in girl having bashfully admitted that we needed to purchase four tickets - two for each of our wide behinds - we finally set down in Paris and started a six month cultural tour that had already seen us pass through France, Spain, Belgium, Italy, and a smattering of the Mediterranean on a luxury cruise.

Despite having previously maintained our lower weights and more active lifestyle, ever since first sampling European cuisine any attempt to maintain this on holiday had well and truly gone out of the window. By the time we arrived at Amy’s grandma’s vineyard we both needed a new wardrobe, and after six weeks of force-feeding at her old, wrinkly hands we each needed another one! The old crone seemed determined to see her granddaughter off as plump as she could, and in her croaking English, never ceased to compliment how big and fat she had grown. “My, my, you’re looking large today”, “look at that belly - I can see you’ve been eating well”, “come on dear, waddle that fat bottom over here”. Hearing Amy encouraged and teased by her closest family was rather delightful, and as we said our goodbyes her grandma had even whispered to me out of earshot, “now make sure you keep her well-fed, I want to see her even fatter next time you visit!”.

A day later we set sail on a large cruise liner from Civitavecchia, for our penultimate leg around the Mediterranean. Being in the fortunate position that money was no object, we had splashed out of the cruise’s most lavish package, which included a spacious suite, a private chef, and a 24-hour butler service. The latter of these had been too much temptation to bear, and we had the poor boys rushing the length and breadth of the boat all day long, ferrying us plate after plate as we devised increasingly gluttonous meals for our cook to prepare. By the time we stepped off the scale on the final day we were each up over 50 pounds, and both back into the prestigious 600 club. The flight to England had been snugger than we’d expected, and on landing, we were politely asked to upgrade to three seats each for our return journey.

And so, on this fine summer day, we waddle slowly down the old English street, a familiar jiggle beneath our strained clothes. Of course, my recent gain isn’t the only thing weighing me down - the small wooden box in the breast pocket of my jacket had been feeling more and more like a dead weight with each passing day. The moment had never seemed right, but as the end of the trip draws ever closer the pressure was becoming too much to bear.

We press on, through a small gate at the end of the road and onto a piece of Common land, which tapers up to a small hill, overlooking London. It was a slow and breathless climb, but we manage to stay one step ahead of the setting sun, and as we reach the peak - collapsing on a strategically placed wooden bench - the view that greets us makes the journey feel well worth it.

As we catch our breath and admire the reddish-golden hue framing the world’s greatest city, I finally pluck up the courage that has so far eluded me. “Darling... it has been a long and rocky journey, but we got through it, together. I travelled to so many times and places, that I forgot who I was, and what I wanted, but in the end, my heart brought me back to you”. I gaze into Amy’s deep azure eyes, which are shimmering with nervous expectation. “I’ve realised, that the only place I wish to be, is right here, now, with you...”.  

Hands shaking, I reach into my breast pocket and pull out the small wooden box. Opening it along its back hinge, I present to Amy a familiar ornate bronze ring, which I had managed to snatch before the police had rescued us from Piggy’s. In place of the black onyx gemstone, however, is a brilliant 3-carat diamond, sparkling gently in the fading sunlight. Amy’s fervent nodding and stifled sobs give me the answer I wanted, and we share a long and passionate kiss. We sit there for what feels like an age, as the sun finally concedes defeat and dips back behind the skyline, and street lamps below flicker into life as night falls.

Two days later we board a plane back to the US, to our home, a sense of nervous excitement in the air. Sitting either side of the aisle, three seats for each of our elephantine behinds, we lean over and clink a glass of champagne in the middle, before settling in to enjoy the flight. The trim air hostess raises an eyebrow when I ask her to please bring all three in-flight meals - one for each seat - and is positively aghast when I ask to see the selection of duty-free snacks as I hand her back three empty trays. Amy and I can’t help but catch each other’s eyes as she stalks off to get my third helping of cake, muttering something about ‘lard arse Americans’ under her breath, and laugh in unison, marvelling at our unashamed gluttony.  

As the cabin lights dim, and passengers settle-in for the night, I share one last smile across the aisle with my beautiful, morbidly-obese fiancé, before pulling down my night-cap. My stomach full, it isn’t long before I drift off to sleep, and dream, not about the past, but our future together. I dream of the two of us gorging ourselves every day, and falling back into immobility. I dream of our friends, Emma, Maddy, Annabelle, visiting us in our beds, their bodies blowing-up too as they too succumb to the inevitable weight gain that comes with spending time in our presence. I dream of mom in prison - her ass as large as a room, engulfing her tiny body in an ocean of soft blubber as the compound I injected her with causes her body to blow up larger and larger. I dream...

As I doze, the plane speeds through the air on its long voyage back across the ocean, to new beginnings...

The End

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Fetish Ending (2 of 2):

Epilogue: Mother’s Milk

It had taken a full hour before the cuffs had finally been removed, and I was free to walk out of Piggy’s. Having awoken in a locked room deep within the Piggy’s compound, I had been greeted by two burly men in uniform and quizzed on why I was there, where I had come from, and my relationship with mom. I was cautious at first, skirting around the key talking points, but as the interrogation went on I felt an odd rush of adrenaline as I told them about our... intimacy. When I got to the part where mom undressed and tried to seduce me, I felt a hard throbbing somewhere beneath the enormous belly that rested in between my legs. Telling these strangers about everything I had done to mom, and she had done to me. It was turning me on.

In the end, I think the police officers had let me go just to stop listening to my story. Their faces a mixture of concern and disgust as they escorted me out of the building and into the bright sunlight beyond. Once I was back outside in the fresh air I was greeted by a surprising and familiar face...

Maddy, freed from her imprisonment at St. Jude’s, bound up to me and gave me a long hug. Or as much of a hug as two 500 pound plus people can manage with their bellies in the way! My hands groped at her fleshy rolls as we squeezed each other tightly - she was as soft as ever. After we’d torn ourselves apart she excitedly explained everything. How she had become concerned about the success of our plan, contacted the authorities to call in a bomb scare at Piggy’s, and escaped herself to come and help. I was shocked and touched - not many people would have been prepared to put themselves on the line like that for me. And it’s a good job she did! A few more seconds and mom might have put an end to me for good.

We watched as concerned parents arrived to collect their children, badgering the police to reveal what could have happened to warrant such a severe reaction. Fat girls, large and wobbling, ran as fast as their thick legs would carry them away from the compound and towards the relative safety of their family. I lick my lips as I watch their globular bottoms slapping together underneath their spandex shorts.

Before long the team leads were escorted off the premises in handcuffs. Some were crying, others ashen-faced and resolute. Reporters had started to arrive, tipped-off about an explosion and potential scandal, and were snapping photos as they were bundled into police vans, presumably off to jail. I’m watching them curiously when a chubby young red-haired woman rushes up to me and says breathlessly, “are you the one that was in the room when it happened? Her son?”.

“Ummmm, yes?”, I reply slowly, looking at Maddy for support. She simply shrugs back at me, as confused as I am.

“Interesting... My name’s Stephanie. I’m a reporter... well, sort of. I manage various forums... online-only... they’re... niche”, she mumbles, struggling to get the words out. Her cheeks flush red. Maddy and I look at each other, more bemused than before, which seems to spur the girl into action. ”I overheard some officers talking about your relationship with your mom...”.

I wave my hands frantically to shut the girl up and pull her out of the crowd to a secluded area by the edge of the compound. “What do you know?”, I ask breathlessly.

“Well...”, she begins, clearly a little embarrassed by what’s about to come next, “I know that you and your mom... oh, I might as well just say it - I know you and your mom had sex, and that she fattened you up while doing it”. I try to look ashamed at the admission, though I’m not sure I pull it off. “For most people that would be... undesirable, but I run a website for a very particular and very eager clientele that would be interested in seeing more of you and your mom doing... that. The money is excellent, and it will be the perfect way for you to satisfy your needs. In more ways than one...”.

A short while later, after having agreed with Stephanie that I’d consider her offer, if only to keep her quiet, we return to the throng of people hovering outside the Piggy’s entrance. A burger van has arrived, clearly capitalising on the volume of fatties congregated in such a small area, and the smell of greasy meats wafts through the crowd. My stomach rumbling, I buy myself two quadruple bacon cheeseburgers with fries.

I’m halfway through the first when I hear shouting from the Piggy’s entrance. “Get off me!”, a familiar voice cries, “do you know who I am? What I can do?”. Mom is dragged kicking and screaming from the main entrance of Piggy’s, two burly police officers struggling to keep her thin but muscular body under control. Stephanie and the other journalists turn to watch the scene unfold.

The trio is nearing a police van, which is patiently waiting for its charge a few metres ahead of me when mom catches my eye mid-thrash. “You...”, she seethes menacingly, “I’ll make you pay for this, mark my word I’ll make...”. Mom trails off without finishing the thought. Her eyes glaze over as she looks at my body... or... what I’m holding...

In a flash, mom wrenches free of her police escort and pushes them forcefully to the ground. A sudden burst of almost superhuman speed. She bounds forwards and leaps on top of me, my back crashing into the cool earth below.  Her muscular thighs straddling my much meatier ones, squeezing tight. The wind knocked out of me, I simply watch as she greedily snatches the remaining burger out of my hand. Mayonnaise smears around her mouth as she gobbles down the greasy food. Her pupils dilate - body seemingly acting on instinct alone.

I simply lie there and watch, making no attempt to push her off. Mom’s breasts jiggle up and down as she forces processed meat and cheese into her face, her top haven ridden down in the commotion, and I have a perfect view. My cock is already rock hard, poking pathetically into mom’s firm inner thigh.

I see movement off to my right and tear my head away from mom’s tits just in time to see Amy being escorted past. She is sat in the middle of a large pallet attached to a heavy-duty crane. It would have been more than large enough for a normal person, many people in-fact, but Amy’s impossible bulk is so vast that she spills over its edges. A small white sheet covers her modesty, but as the truck exists the outer wall of the main complex it gets caught on a low hanging branch and left behind. A one-and-a-half tonne puddle of human fat, from a distance I can barely make out her limbs.

“Jack?!”, she moans in desperation, craning five chins over her shoulder to look at the caught sheet flapping pathetically in the wind, “what are you doing? Why aren’t you helping me?”. I feel a fresh pang of guilt, but unfortunately, the damage is already done. Every cellulite bump exposed, every roll on display, Amy is paraded in front of a captive audience, as she is carried naked towards the reinforced truck at the end of the drive. The world’s heaviest woman - by some measure - it's unsurprising that cameras flash and crowd mutters as she is airlifted past. I should rush to her aid, cover her modesty, but I simply lie on the ground and let my mom gyrate and gorge herself on top of me.  

Mom’s speed is impressive. In less than 30 seconds the burgers are gone - now sitting comfortably in her belly - and she turns to the large bag of fries. Behind her, the two policemen stand shakily to their feet. Eyes furrowed, they march towards her. As if aware of their presence looming from behind, mom forces down a final fistful of fries and belches loudly, cradling her now distended belly. Her eyes refocus, and she glances down at me, a look of confusion and desperation etched onto her face. Before either of us can say a word, she is hoisted roughly to her feet and bundled into the back of the police van.

“Oh my...”, is all Stephanie can muster, as she looks down at me. Her eyes rest for a fraction of a second on the bulge in my pants. She smiles wryly. “I suppose that medicine must have increased her appetite. This bodes very well indeed for our little arrangement”. She bends down over my face and whispers out of the crowd’s earshot, “I have connections inside the justice department. I will take a bit of time to set up, but I can make sure this happens as frequently as you’d like. Maybe next time without any clothes on...”.

I squirm pathetically as I come in my pants - unable to keep my throbbing cock at bay for any longer. I moan loudly, to shocked and disgusted looks from the people standing around me, and pant to catch my breath...

- - - -  

Six months later and Amy spends her days in her room at St Jude’s, losing weight under the watchful eyes of Dr. Smith. She was still immobile, but closer to one tonne than two. Today was the first time I would see her for several weeks. I had intended to visit more often, but our relationship had become increasingly strained since the incident outside Piggy’s after her escape. After everything that’s happened with mom, I don’t think she trusts me anymore.

I walk slowly down a grey and sterile corridor, glancing into the rooms as I pass by. I see Lily, a young girl that I knew in passing from my own time here, sitting on her bed, gazing absent-mindedly out of her window. She looks bigger than I remembered, great fat rolls bulging out on either side of her spherical body. She must have been discharged and gained all the weight (and then some) back in the real world. So many of the patients at St Jude’s were ‘re-offenders’, unable to keep their wandering hands from the biscuit tin once outside of these walls. Dr. Smith would have been spitting with rage when she saw that Lily had undone all of her hard work by porking up again.

Walking past her door I spy at least a dozen more fatties in a variety of stages of undress, exercise, or lounging around. My time here was better than at mom’s cruel hands, but certainly no holiday. I’m glad to be a visitor today. Having weighed in just last week at a respectable 412 pounds, I’ve lost enough weight over the last six months that I’m no longer getting suspicious looks from the porters as if I might be a patient about to make a break for it.

I near Amy’s door, and steel myself for another potentially fractious meeting. Two people are sat around her bed, playing what appears to be a game of gin-rummy. Amy, by far the largest of the group, is plopped in the centre of her mattress. She’s wearing the regulation St Jude’s outfit - a blue cotton gown - and fills it out so much that her rolls are visibly straining the fabric. It’s the largest size they had, and she’s only recently been able to squeeze herself into one at all.

To her right, Maddy frowns as she looks at her hand. She was also a visitor nowadays rather than a patient, having decided that the thin life simply wasn’t for her. Maddy seemed to be much happier now that she wasn’t chasing an unattainable dream, but her dress size hadn’t thanked her for the decision. Neither, it seemed, did the chair she was bulging over the sides of. It creaks ominously.

Emma completes the circle, dressed in her pretty nurse’s pinafore. She looks like she’s been spending too much time around her patients and not enough time working. The hours plonked on her bottom rather than rushing around the ward have helped her ass spread wide, taking up more of the cheap plastic visitors' chair that she was perched on than it had when we first met. One hand lazily holds her cards aloft, the other dives in and out of a large bag of chips, scooping up a healthy amount of soured cream dip before making its way into her mouth.

Standing in the open doorway I cough gently to alert the group to my presence. “Oh”, is all Amy can muster, as both her face and her cards fall in unison at the sight of me. A good start...

Maddy and Emma avoid my gaze as they shuffle their cards back into the deck and make a hasty retreat. Emma mutters something about “getting back to work”, as she passes, and Maddy simply shakes her head at me, jowls aquiver.

I close the door quietly and walk over to one of the now-empty seats. “So...”, I say nervously, unable to read the meaning behind Amy’s powerful stare, “I know I haven’t been myself lately, but I’ve been doing some thinki-”.

“-We’re done”, she interjects coolly, waving a hand to dismiss my words like a cow swatting away a fly. “I thought when you came to rescue me that you wanted to be together. You said all those lovely things, saved me from that basement. But you just couldn’t help yourself...”, she points a sausage finger at my crotch, “from your disgusting fantasies”.

I squirm, how could she know? I kept my regular meetings with Stephanie quiet, and always in a hidden location way outside of town. I tried not to talk about mom unless asked directly, and even then my responses were curt and controlled. I had even managed to play off the incident at Piggy’s where I abandoned Amy to the mercy of the crowd.

Amy snorts a derisive laugh, “you thought I didn’t know? Know that you and your mom fucked? That you fantasised about her as a kid? That you still do now?”. I open my mouth to argue back, but before I can formulate the words Amy snatches up a remote control from her bedside table and turns on the large TV on the opposite wall. She deftly navigates the TVs many menus and selects a recent recording of Channel 7 News.

“... more on that at noon. But first, our very own Annabelle Dewitt was down at the high-court this morning for an update on the so-called ’Fairfax Fattening’ case”.

A thin and pretty young lady flashes on screen. “I’m here at the high court for the third day of what already looks set to be a long and difficult trial. With two adjournments in so many days, Judge Price has now formally banned any food or drink from the public gallery, in an attempt to keep Lisa Fairfax under control. The true effects of the medicine that she was injected with during the incident last fall, which saw her arrested and her global weight loss brand shut down, are only now becoming clear”.

The shot cuts away from the news reporter’s smiling face to recorded footage from inside the chamber, where mom sits at the defence’s table, her lawyers muttering inaudibly by her side. She’s unrecognisable from the woman who had confronted me down in the Piggy’s basement, just a few months ago. I take a sharp intake of breath.

Her body, once chiselled like Michelangelo’s David, was now a perfect cultivator of one thing alone - fat. A prominent jawline had been lost in a thick layer of chub, rounding her face and adding an additional chin to the one God had given her. Arms and legs puffed out like the Pillsbury Doughboy, fat hanging down the underside of her limbs as her mass succumbed to the pull of gravity. A thick and doughy belly sits heavily across her chunky thighs, belly-button exposed as a top that likely fit about two dress sizes ago struggles to contain it. She had to have gained over 200 pounds!

As pleasing as her overall body-shape is, one feature, in particular, gets my heart racing furiously. Mom’s tits once lost to her fitness regime and pecs beneath, have risen like a Phoenix from the ashes. Two enormous fleshy orbs are perched like water balloons atop the crest of her belly, bulging out of her v-neck top. They jiggle as she talks, two bags of fat hanging off her chest, and as she leans forward the camera gets a shot down into her cavernous cleavage, and just a hint of nipple.

“Judge Price also took the controversial step of allowing Miss Fairfax access to unlimited food of her choice during recess. Whether this is to placate her when court is in session, or as payback for what happened to his daughter, Olivia, at one of her camps, this reporter can only speculate. Whatever the cause, he must be getting nervous about the rumours coming from the defence counsel about a so-called ‘magic bullet’ that will get the case thrown out of court entirely. No hints as yet as to what this is, but I’m sure all will become clear in the coming weeks. I’m Annabelle Dewitt, reporting for Channel 7 News...”. The TV switches off.

I realise suddenly that my breathing has become heavy, and squirm as I try to hide the erection throbbing in my pants. It must be too obvious though, and Amy’s gaze wanders down to the conspicuous lump pumping beneath my boxer shorts. “Pathetic...”, is all she can muster, gesturing towards the door, naught but disgust etched into her face. Shamefully I stand up, my chubby cock still pulsating in my pants, and shuffle out of the room. I suspect that I might not see Amy again for some time, if ever, and my heart falls at the thought.

As if on cue to distract me from my wallowing, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. Reaching down I see a message from Stephanie. ‘Finally got the paperwork through. We’re on! Meet me tomorrow morning outside the Town Hall’. I gulp. This was what we had been working towards for some time. And now I had nothing to hold me back...

- - - -

Less than 24 hours later and I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a banged-up Chevy, Stephanie at the wheel. “... and then I had to bribe the prison warden, who thankfully for us is a patron of some of my sites, and wouldn’t want his particular kink to be made public knowledge. It’s been a tougher ride than I thought, but it will all be worth it in the end... you’ll see”. I nod meekly whilst looking out of the window at the countryside speeding by.  

Soon enough a high barbed-wire fence comes into view, followed quickly by the imposing grey bricked building of Highbury Prison. This is where mom was spending her day's in-between court - under lock, key, and the ever-watchful eyes of the prison’s guards.  Stephanie parks the car in the visitor car park and we walk together into the main complex. I follow a few paces behind her plump bottom, which jiggles fiercely as she hurries towards the warden's office. A woman on a mission.  

A minute or two later and I can hear a heated conversation from behind his office door, having elected to wait outside and catch my breath. Sure enough, a few moments later the door opens and a gruff looking gentleman with a frown as deep as his hanging belly waddles past and beckons us to follow. We’re led down a set of narrow corridors, past a loud and busy canteen, and underneath an archway labelled, ‘maximum security’.  

Coming to a stop outside a large metal door, the warden dismisses the two guards standing outside. “Now you’ve got one hour. Just one. That’s all I can give you Stephanie, and damn your evidence against me!”, he barks gruffly once the guards are out of earshot, squaring up to the chubby young red-head. She beams back at him and holds out a well-manicured hand, “deal”. He regards it disdainfully, before turning on his heel and waddling back down the corridor.

Stephanie shrugs off the snub. “Well, no time like the present”, she says happily, pushing down hard on the handle of the door and letting it swing open to reveal the room beyond.  

Mom is sat naked on a large hospital bed in the centre of the room, thumbing lazily through a trashy magazine that rests atop her wobbly stomach. The room is sparsely decorated, and there are no posters or picture frames to hide the cracking white paint on its four narrow walls. Two uninviting plastic chairs have been abandoned next to the bed. Stephanie and I make our way over to them.

Once seated, I take in mom’s corpulent form. She looks heavier in the flesh - her legs are thick like the trunks of a mighty redwood tree, so much so I’d be surprised if she can even support herself on them. Her belly spills out across her lap, and an enormous ass envelopes her lower half in jiggly flesh. She is fatter than she had been on the news broadcast - perhaps another 150 pounds added to her already morbidly obese frame.

Her tits are still the primary focal point of her gain. Two vast melons, surprisingly perky, sit atop her belly. Each had to weigh as much as a small child, and surely no bra in the country could possibly fit those enormous hooters. A pair of puffy nipples poke out like armed torpedoes ready to fire.

“Mom”, I say shyly, “you’re looking... big”. My heart beats furiously as the words tumble out of my mouth. I hadn’t come here to tease, but the sight of mom’s gain had emboldened more than I had expected.  

She sighs heavily, a hint of malice flashes across her face before the mask of calmness is restored. “And who do I have to thank for that I wonder? My fatso of a son. I suppose at least now people won’t be as surprised to find out that we’re related”. I blush, mom’s silver tongue is as quick as ever.

She clears her throat. “We don’t have much time, let’s get down to business”, she says curtly, “I have a proposition that I think you’ll find mutually beneficial, especially now you’ve broken up with that harlot of yours”. Stephanie must have phoned ahead... “I want to be out of this place, and you... well, you want me. The trial is nearing its end, and my lawyers tell me that your testimony is the tipping the jury against me”.  

Mom edges towards me, ripples of fat waving across her body as she shuffles her heft across the bed. A warm, pudgy hand finds my own and guides it up to her bulging belly. “You could have this. All of it, as often as you want. I’d be in your debt...”. My fingers close around a handful of soft blubber. My cock hardens instinctively, and I can’t help but grope feverishly at her fat rolls, as she and Stephanie share a quiet giggle. I let out a low moan - this was quickly becoming overwhelming.

“That’s what I thought”, she continues, batting away my wandering hand with a harsh swipe, “and all you have to do is agree to testify in my favour. Say it was that ex-girl of yours, Amy. Say it was all her idea. A sick fetish that she and some of my staff were engaging in behind my back. You came to me for help, and we confronted her. Things got heated, out of hand, and... well, the rest is history”.

Mom sits back with a self-satisfied look on her face. “The judge is in our pocket. We recently found out that his daughter has been doing some freelance work for one of Stephanie’s big girl websites for quite some time, and he’s so keen for it not to get out he’s willing to set aside his previous animosity towards me. This would be enough for him to throw the whole case out of court”. She finishes her speech and looks at me smugly as if the decision had already been made. “So?”.

My brain unsuccessfully attempts to process this barrage of information. Mom is despicable. Evil. She doesn’t care about me at all. She’s thinking about herself and herself alone - as per usual. She deserves this. To be fat, and alone, and unhappy. To live out the rest of her days at the pleasure of the State in this gilded cage. And how could I turn my back on Amy? After everything we’d been through - that I had put her through? She’s owed better that. She’s owed better than me...

Without warning mom opens her legs wide, belly quickly spilling into the space in-between, but not before I get a flash of her pussy, nestled amongst the rolls of her fat pad. My decision is made before her soft paunch touches the white satin sheet beneath.  

My body moves faster than my mind can keep up with. I find myself standing-up, unbuckling my belt, slipping out of my clothes and exposing my morbidly obese body to the room’s other two occupants. I don’t care though, not as Stephanie’s hand slips into her bag and returns holding a video camera, which beeps into life.  

With a huff I heave myself onto the bed, crawling forwards furiously towards mom’s crotch. My face coming to a rest inches above her belly covered pussy, and take a deep, shuddering breath. The calm before the storm.  

I press my hands deep into her cottage cheese thighs and push them out even further, spread-eagled on the bedsheet. With one I lift her heavy lower belly, and the other I guide in what is left of my porky cock. Except... our fat pads are too big. They slap together fruitlessly, the tip of my cock nuzzling her plump lips, but unable to breach through. “What’s... the... hold-up”, mom pants out-of-sight from somewhere over her mountainous belly.

I see Stephanie bend down beside us to inspect the issue. ‘Snap’, ‘snap’, she takes a couple of close-up photos. “Well, it seems you’re too fat to have sex”, she says cheerily, slapping my buttock with her open palm. “Maybe if you hadn’t eaten so much sausage you’d be able to use your own!”, she laughs heartily, now grabbing my fat pad and shaking it roughly. I can feel my member rubbing against my folds, and squirm with pent-up anticipation.  

Mom groans as my cock brushes over her clitoris, teasing. “Must I... do… everything?!”. She grunts, and forces herself into a seated position. After a moment to catch her breath, she swings one enormous leg off the bed, and then the other, and before I can say another word she has pushed me down, lying face up to stare at the single bulb hanging far above. Mom waddles herself around to my feet and heaves herself onto the bed, edging forwards and on top of me.

She gently lowers herself. I can feel hundreds of pounds of woman pressing down on me, pushing me deeper into the already strained mattress. I don’t mind though, and it’s made all the more pleasant as she finally guides my throbbing cock into her pussy, settling herself on my crotch. “There we go...”, mom soothes as she begins to rock herself backward and forwards. An aftershock of fat reverberates with every thrust, as her titanic ass comes crashing into itself. Blubber ripples around her body, causing her juicy melons to sway, heavy and engorged.

My wandering hands can’t help themselves, and grope around her body as she rides me like a cowgirl. Over the bumps and mounds of her tree-trunk legs. Over the gelatinous booty that juts out like a shelf behind her. Over two fat tits, bouncing one in each hand. I slap them together, eyes transfixed on the two swinging pendulums as she pounds me like a fattened hog.  

This couldn’t be further from the first time we had sex. This is mutual, raw, loving. “Come on fat boy...”, mom pants as she reaches climax. Her voice becomes higher, breathier. “Come... for... mommy”.

 This is too much. My cock throbs one last time, and then the dam breaks, a deluge of cum exploding into mom’s warm pussy. I pump over and over, each one as much as I would usually release in a single session, and feel myself collapse into the bed. Spent. Mom shudders, her blubber quivering like jelly on a power-plate, and she arches her back and lets out a final, long moan.

My eyes watering, I look up at mom’s sweaty face. Despite her initial bravado, it looks like the effort of thrusting her few hundred-pound body back and forth for the short few minutes had taken its toll. Her breathing is deep and laboured, and her entire body is shaking like she’s just run a marathon. A surprised exhalation. A final pitiful quiver. Her abs give way, body falling like a condemned building hurtling towards the ground.  

Mom collapses onto my belly, our flabby bodies connecting with a loud ‘slap!’. Her arms are outstretched in a high plank position (not that she had been getting much exercise since she left Piggy’s mind), but her belly hangs so low nowadays that it doesn’t matter. I feel a tidal wave of fat reverberate around my body, slapping together two oversized buttocks on my behind. Seconds later I’m dazed by the pair of enormous breasts that come crashing into my face. Sucker punched by two fat water balloons.  

Mom lays panting for a few moments, Stephanie moving around the bed to get a panoramic shot of her vast ass. My cock still inside her, as hard as it had been when I’d first seen her legs spread open, shows no sign of abating.  

I turn my head to give myself space to breathe, face still smothered by mom’s fat tits, and a rock-hard nipple brushes my mouth. I lick my lips nervously. Mind whirring. Mom hadn’t permitted me to do this. She might not react well...  

I feel around desperately for the juicy teat with my tongue, and once found, clamp my lips tightly around it. It’s now or never... I take a long hard suck. “What are you...? Oh... *hmph*... Oohhhhhh...”, mom groans, her tone moving from angry, to surprised, and finally to a moan of deep pleasure.

A rich liquid gushes into my mouth. It’s thick, more the consistency of single cream than watery milk, with a similar taste. I gulp it down, a hard suck causing an even greater volume to burst from mom’s tits and fill my cheeks. Raising my arms I cup mom’s right breast with both hands. Face still covered, I massage it, encouraging more with each pump of my hands. Some spills between the cracks in my lips, wetting mom’s breast and running like tears down my barrel chest and onto the sheet below. I barely register, too focused on the task at hand.

Once the first breast is spent I pop out mom’s nipple and search feverishly for the other. “Hmph... here you go sweetie”, mom whispers, pushing her fat tits lazily towards me, brushing them across my face and leaving a second nipple a few inches from my lips. It’s hard, clearly ready for what is about to come. I place my lips around it and suckle greedily, mom moaning all the while. I feel a sudden rush in my crotch and I come again, cock pumping as I squirm my gelatinous body under mom’s enormous bulk.

After a couple of minutes, the gush slows to a trickle. I continue suckling desperately, but mom leans back and her nipple pops out of my mouth, leaving a slow drip of thick milk onto my chest. “Tut, tut - greedy!”, she laughs in a mock angry tone, tapping me on the nose like one might tap a naughty dog begging at the dinner table. I blush and relent, slumping back into the bed to finally catch my breath, mom still straddling me.

Suddenly, a knock at the door. It creaks open and a young boy scuttles in pushing a large metal trolley. Its uneven wheels click and clack loudly on the concrete floor. “Sorry to disturb”, he says nervously, glancing between mother and me as we lay on top of one another, “but it’s feeding time, and... and the warden said I have to keep to the agreed schedule”. A bead of sweat drops down his nose and travels the full length of his body before landing with a quiet ‘drip’ at his feet.  

“Not to worry”, Stephanie smiles back, “why don’t you leave that here. I’ll see to it that everyone is properly fed”. The young man looks back at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I suppose feeding the prison whale thrice a day can’t be a particularly in-demand role. He nods appreciatively and slips back out of the room, casting one last confused glance at mom and me straddling one another.  

Mom finally clambers off of me, grunting with the effort. The tip of my cock is freed from her chunky pussy, and I wipe the last of the cum away on the sheets whilst attentions are elsewhere. Stephanie lifts the lid off the nearest silver platter a pleasant aroma fills the room. Deep-fried chicken - crispy but succulent - wafts all around. Mom and I take in a deep sniff.  

I wait for her to rush forwards and snatch it away, for her insatiable appetite to take control, but to my surprise, she stays plopped on the edge of the bed. A frown crosses her brow. She glances unsurely at Stephanie, who shrugs in return. When this happened before she couldn’t keep herself from... she couldn’t keep... she...

My hand lunges forwards and grabs a particularly large and juicy drumstick off the plate. I blink stupidly at it for a brief second, my mind many paces behind my body and struggling to keep up. Before I can process the situation I find myself chewing a greasy bite of fried chicken, and then another, and another. Each one more feverish and desperate than the last. Chicken bones discarded in my lap, pooling grease in my deep naval.

The world around me shifts out of focus, except for the bucket of chicken and it’s fattening contents. Mom and Stephanie are speaking, I think, I can’t make out the words over the ringing in my ears. White noise. It’s as if my body has shut down its other sense to focus on... to focus on...

I blink, the fuzzy shapes in front of me coming slowly back into view. How much time had passed? A minute? An hour? The ringing in my ears subsides and I can hear a faint, ‘click’, ‘click’ coming from my right. Stephanie is crouched low and taking photos. An unflattering angle no doubt.

I look down at my lap and see that the mountain of chicken bones has grown many times larger than it had been just a moment ago. Or, had it been longer? My head hurts at the thought. Glancing ahead I can see that the bucket lies on its side, empty, not a morsel remaining.  

“...is big Stephanie, very big. I’m not hungry in the slightest. If this is a repeatable process, and... I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Well, I could be back in my old wardrobe by, I don’t know, year after next?”. Mom’s voice pierces through the ringing. I catch her gaze, and her eyes widen as she registers my return to the land of the living. “Oh, you’re back, I wondered how long we’d lost you for. Not worry, you’ll get used to it. Losing yourself to the hunger that is. The need to feed. I thought I was doomed to it forever. That you had doomed me to it forevermore specifically. But life has a wonderful way of working itself out sometimes, and on this occasion, I’d say it’s worked out rather well indeed!”. She pats me on my stomach, which I suddenly realise is as hard and bloated as it’s ever been. I groan, weighed down by the milk and chicken in my overstuffed stomach, and fall back into the soft pillowy bed. I was doing so well at losing weight...  

“Stephanie, tell the warden we need more time. I don’t care what he says, just get it done”, mom barks at the chubby ginger, who scurries away dutifully. “Now... I think we’re due a little chat about this arrangement of ours... I’d like to make a small amendment to our terms”, mom says kindly, turning back to me. She cups her elephantine breasts and jiggles them, giggling. I groan my cock hardening once again against my better judgement. What have I done...?

- - - -

Mom’s imprisonment ended as spectacularly as it had started. Amy wheeled into court on her Piggy’s hospital bed - one-tonne of woman, accused of perverting the course of justice. Lengthy cross-examination, witnesses called and evidence given, liberally sprinkled with shouts and tears. Mom’s verdict delivered by a stony-faced Judge Price. ‘Not guilty’.

Hordes of angry Piggy’s parents waiting on the courthouse steps, held back by a throng of police officers struggling to keep the peace on this gloomy October afternoon. “Witch!”, “liar!”, “you’d better watch your back!”. Harsh words, but mom’s unfaltering smile made me suspect that she wasn’t particularly concerned. The limousine waiting for us at the bottom of the steps took us straight to mom’s new sprawling country retreat. It has been generously gifted by her old partner Jessica in recompense for not supporting her court case. A peace offering, graciously accepted.

That was eighteen months ago, and since then my life had fallen into another of its strange routines. I was living with mother in her rural retreat. We shared a house, a bedroom, a bed. In fact, there wasn’t much we didn’t share nowadays. The line between mother and son, feeder and feedee, submissive and dominatrix, blurred even more with every passing day.  

But if nothing else, our relationship was mutually beneficial. I needed mom’s body, and she, in a manner of speaking, needed mine. Or more specifically, she needed me to milk her dry once a day, and in doing so pass the fattening concoction that I had injected into her back at Piggy’s onto myself. This daily ritual had, unsurprisingly, impacted my figure quite considerably over the last year...

I stir from my slumber. Deep and peaceful, as it so often is nowadays, blinking wearily at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. I look to my left - mom isn’t in bed. She must already be waiting for me in the kitchen. Best not to keep her waiting.

I take a long, deep breath, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet land with a thud on the cool stone floor. I ready myself for a significant undertaking and try to stand-up. My legs creak and moan under the effort, and for a worrying few seconds, I think that I’m not going to make it. That I’ll fall back onto the bed, unable to leave its soft and fluffy confines. Mercifully though my body relents, and I pull myself into a standing position.

A large free-standing mirror opposite casts back a reflection that I still can’t quite believe is my own. Almost as wide as I am tall, I look like a child’s drawing of a fat person - which is to say, spherical. A heavy and droopy belly hangs over my crotch, which now envelopes my cock completely, and wide childbearing hips which have accumulated several rolls of wobbling blubber. Legs as thick as beer barrels, but significantly softer, rub together from pelvis to my feet and are cratered with more cellulite than you’d find at a weight-watchers meeting. Two tits larger than mom’s at her heaviest sit awkwardly upon my male chest. They have grown substantially since I started drinking mom’s milk, far more proportionally than the rest of my body, and most days I take to wearing specially made bras to ease the burden on my struggling back. For the most part, however, I stopped wearing clothes shortly after I arrived, as it was too much effort keeping my wardrobe up to date with my ever-increasing body mass. I’m now used to seeing my super morbidly obese body reflected back at me from the variety of mirrors that adorn the walls of the mansion.

I waddle slowly and carefully a few steps forward, to the electric scooter waiting for me by the door. This had become a practical necessity about six months ago when the sprawling nature of this rural retreat had become a challenge to navigate with my additional bulk. At over 700 pounds I know that mobility of any kind is going to be a challenge in the coming weeks.

The scooter groans and creaks as I lower myself into it. The last two had broken - ‘weren’t built to hold this sort of weight’, according to the man who took them away and delivered replacements - but this one was hanging in there, thankfully. I set it to top speed (not particularly fast with my bulk weighing it down) and scoot out of the bedroom and across the hall. My tits jiggle ferociously with every small bump of the floor tiles, slapping against my body with an audible sound of fat smacking fat that I’d become accustomed to from my ass cheeks whacking together with every step.

I turn a corner into the lounge. Mom is waiting for me, seated on a large chaise longue in the centre of the room wearing her bright white bathrobe. The last year had been much kinder to her body than mine. Without the serum-induced cravings, mom had been able to revert to her previous diet and exercise regime and had slimmed down to a modest 250 pounds. Still a fatty, for now, but with every passing day, another pound fell off her frame and onto my own.

Her belly is a hefty spare tire around her middle - a single heavy roll with a cute little dimple at the front underneath her deep bellybutton. It is taught and overstuffed - the loose skin treatment purchased at great expense from St Jude’s meant that mom’s body was as tight and beautiful as ever. Chunky legs and ham-like arms give her the impression of a middle-aged housewife that’s given up on keeping trim, letting herself indulge now that she’s settled down. Her tits are the only area of her body that hasn’t changed. Even as the weight fell off the rest of her, mom’s tits stayed as plump and engorged as ever, becoming hilariously large in comparison to the rest of her shrinking frame.

“I wondered when you’d be up”, mom calls at me from across the room, “I’m starting to get a little uncomfortable”. She lifts her tits and lets them fall, the jiggle still visible through her thick fluffy gown. I scoot over to her, top speed little more than a crawl as the electric motor struggles to deliver its heavy cargo. “I think you’ll have outgrown that scooter soon you know. It’s not sounding particularly well”.

I stop just short of mom and await my next instructions. Light streams in through the tall French windows, casting a healthy glow across her face. The last year had been kind to mom. With the stress of life without parole removed and the prospect of returning to something like her old body, she had become a much happier, and as a result, more pleasant person. She was still selfish, that would likely never change, but when we lay together in bed I had recently started to get the sense that she did actually... love me? Her bright azure blue eyes twinkle as she smiles at me. More beautiful than ever.  

“I haven’t seen Stephanie this morning. I suppose that she is sleeping off last night’s midnight snack... I guess this means that you’ll be having a double serving for breakfast today”. My stomach leaps - a double serving! Since we arrived at the ranch I’d been sharing mom’s breakfast treat with Stephanie, whom it transpired had been using her raunchy websites as a mechanism to satisfy her own feedee desires. Shortly after we moved here she and mom had drawn up a revised contract for their ongoing business relationship. Mom would fund the expansion of Stephanie’s operation as an 80/20 partner, allowing her to use the house as a retreat for an assortment of kinky activities on top of her existing offering. Stephanie asked for only one thing in return - a daily dose of mom’s sweet nectar. She’d been hooked it ever since, guzzling down a breast-full per day, and had ballooned into a rather delicious ssbbw as a result (to use her preferred terminology). Today though, she was nowhere to be seen. You snooze, you lose...

I flick the scooter to top speed (denoted by the small picture of a hare next to the dial) and follow mom through the lounge and into our designated ‘kink room’. Ever since the house had become the nation’s premier feederism getaway, the kink room had become a well-stocked playroom for horny fat admirers. I come to a stop by a wide electric chair and look at mom nervously. “A little help?”. Her hands sink deep into my flesh as she hoists me under my arms, rubbing the bumps of my cellulite-ridden hams. After significant effort, I sink into the deeply reclining chair and pause to catch my breath.

Having helped me into place mom pulls down a wide rubber sling from its home in the ceiling above. A routine so well practised that I barely notice my mouth start to salivate. Pavlov’s feedee.  I lick my lips expectantly.

Mom pulls the sling down to chest height, its arms about shoulder-width apart, and in a single elegant motion shrugs off her dressing gown. Despite the recent weight loss, her body is as meaty as I remembered, a thick spare tyre wobbling around her middle. Plump arms, chunky legs... I can feel myself harden under my folds.  

She lifts her enormous tits into the sling, which carries their weight and lets them hang freely. They slosh around gently like two overfilled water balloons about to burst. I press the ‘up’ button on my chair and it creaks into life, slowly lifting me into a seated position. From my vantage down below I can see her creamy moons edging ever closer, filling more and more of my view until they’re all I can see. I open my mouth unconsciously. Just a few centimetres now...

My lips close around a puffy nipple. An explosion of rich and creamy milk fills my cheeks and runs down my throat into the depths of my gut. I gulp down mouthful after mouthful, hands squeezing and prodding at mom’s under-boob to encourage as much milk out as possible. When the first is spent I greedily bite at the other, mom groaning with pleasure as I nibble at her other teat. The same gush of milk. The same furious fondling. I’m full to the brim by the time this tit also runs dry.

‘Uuuurrrp’, I belch happily, patting my enormous gut as I feel mom’s milk sloshing around inside me. That was quite the breakfast! I know that today is going to be one of those days that I lose myself to the food - blackout and wake-up an hour and many bowls of fries later. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to do it.

Mom catches her breath - milking time was always quite an experience for her - and shovels her enormous bosom back into her dressing gown. “I wondered if you’d be able to finish both helpings now you’ve got so used to just one. I guess I shouldn’t ever be surprised by your appetite though should I?”, she teases, grabbing a handful of my hanging gut. Suddenly the ground begins to tremble - a quake? - growing gradually louder and more thunderous. Mom’s breasts quiver beneath their silk covering, and my body trembles from head to toe.  

The pounding reaches its climax as an enormous figure bounds into the room. Stephanie looks a complete mess. Hair frizzy and unkempt, pyjamas dishevelled, and a thick sheen of sweat covering her brow. She’d clearly just undertaken her first serious exercise in many months, and her body didn’t appear to be thanking her for it.  

Speaking of which, she looks like she’s piled on at least another 50 pounds since she turned 24 this Spring, bringing her somewhere close to what I was when I first stepped foot inside this house. Her gut has grown from soft and chubby to meaty and fat, bulging out in front of her and covering her plump pussy. Ass, legs, and arms have all expanded, taking up three or four times the space they used to. Cellulite craters her stretch-marked body, and overall she’s become the picture of gluttony - weak, morbidly obese, and a slave to her appetite.

Stephanie huffs her way over to mom and me, floor still quaking with every thudded step. When just a few feet away she pauses, doubles over, and grasps for breath. “Did... I... miss...”, she manages to crane her head up to look at me, seated in the feeding chair, a splash of milk still dribbling down my chin. “No...”, she moans pathetically, looking at mom with puppy-dog eyes.

“Perhaps”, mom snaps back, an impatient edge to her voice, “if you had waddled that fat bottom down here a little earlier then you’d wouldn’t have missed feeding time. And, the foundations of my house might still be intact. I’ve said it before Stephanie, you need to start using your scooter - one more cracked tile and I’ll start making you pay the cost of your new monthly wardrobe”. She struts over to Stephanie and gives her sides a hearty jiggle. Stephanie pants and splutters in protest, but lets mom have her way nonetheless. Deep down Stephanie enjoyed playing the submissive.

As Stephanie continues to be fondled by mom I feel a strange sensation rising in my chest. It’s oddly warm and starting to pulsate, ever so slightly at first, but getting stronger with every second. My heart pounds in my chest. Was I having a heart attack? No... it was more... pleasurable. My chest feels tender, sagging... full. I look down to see my tits quivering gently, and then...  

It starts as a dribble. A few drops of milk falling gently onto the crest of my stomach. As I exhale in shock the dribble turns into a stream, jetting out across my belly in two perfect jets. White, creamy milk, similar to that which I had been gobbling down for the last couple of years, bursts from my body.  

Before I can utter even a single word I see a blurred figure rushing towards me in my peripheral vision. I flick my eyes right just in time to see 350 pounds of red-headed sprinting towards me, faster than I’ve ever seen her move - fat or thin.

Stephanie luges forwards slapping into me with considerable force and straining the bolts and screws of my feeding chair. Milk splashes across her chest, dribbling down between her tits, but it’s my hefty pair, not her own, that her entire being is focused on. She forces her mouth around one of my teats, stemming the flow. I feel her warm lips pressing down hard, and her tongue working its way over the bumpy surface of my nipple. A shape intake. I hold my breath.

Milk explodes from my breast as Stephanie takes a long hard suck, the dam well and truly broken. My eyes roll back in my head as organismic pleasure the likes of which I have never experienced pulse over me, great waves of ecstasy breaking against my flabby shore. My cock rock hard, after just a few seconds I can feel myself coming all over her vast thighs - over and over with every suckle of my tit. I can hardly breathe when she starts on my other moob, sucking even harder, desperate for her to empty it into her enormous belly. A glorious minute or so later and I’m spent - body and mind a nervous, shivering wreck.

“Urrrrp”, Stephanie belches as she forces herself off of me and cradles her sagging belly. “Too much... too full... but so hungry...”, she moans, as her belly begins to rumbles ominously.  

Another voice cuts through the moans and pants, for the first time in minutes. “Stephanie”, mom says gleefully, grin wide and eyes dancing, “this is perfect! Long term exposure to my milk causes, not only intense hunger but also reproduces the same effects! We can use this... I can use this...”. Mom strides over to me, body bouncing underneath her robe, which loosens a little with every step, revealing her obese tits beneath. Mom grabs a hold of my own tender breasts and squeezes them hard, inspecting them like a farmer might inspect a fattened pig ready for the butcher. She caresses them, massage them, and I moan softly, utterly at her mercy once again...

- - - -

I’m awoken by the sound of nearby people, clunking machinery, and a familiar sensation over my chest. Opening my eyes blearily I see the smiling face of Kate, mom’s latest personal assistant, fixing a large suction cup to one of my vast melons. A clear plastic tube hangs down from the ceiling far above and is fastened to the sucker, ready to whisk its pricey contents away to the processing plant out back.

Glancing left I can see the other stalls, or ‘cowsheds’ as mom had lovingly named them, each with their own blubbery occupant sitting in specially-made reinforced chairs. Stephanie is two doors down. The second fattest here after myself, she had recently celebrated her one-tonne milestone and had been rewarded with additional feedings for her good behaviour. And it certainly showed - her arms now pinned to her side by the rolls and rolls of blubber weighing them down, and an ass that spread so wide she’d recently needed an upgraded seat to accommodate it. Immobilised by her vast size, Stephanie sits on that gargantuan bottom 24 hours a day, dozing, gorging, and producing her own sweet nectar.

It hadn’t taken long at all for Stephanie’s body to reproduce the same biological changes as mine, and she had been the second willing volunteer to mom’s growing milk empire, which two years in boasted 13 permanent ‘milkers’ and about four dozen others that come and go as they please, that is until they succumb to the same inevitable affliction that claimed the former group - immobility. With each new, helplessly dependent, blob that waddled onto her books, mom’s bottom line swelled as much as her milkers own vast bodies.

Mom’s business model was at once devilishly complex and brilliantly simple. A portion of the addictive, fattening milk would be used to maintain her flock, keep us contented, satisfied, and impossibly large. Once an individual started producing their own milk they were forced, by threat of having their supply cut-off cold turkey, into joining the swelling ranks of milkers, hooked up to industrial breast pumps every day.

The rest of the product is sold at a premium to a variety of nearby fast-food restaurants. Local health officials could only look on in horror as the queues outside ‘Belly Burger’, ‘Chicken Shack’, and ‘Doughy’s Doughnuts’ grew longer and longer with every passing day. Innumerous fine-dining restaurants shut down as the masses snubbed them in favour of four greasy patties stacked with cheese, or a bucket of fried gristle.

The local populous was not to know, of course, that their sudden penchant for the deep fat fryer was a result of mom’s secret operation. But even the most uneducated among them couldn’t have helped but notice that everyone within a 20-mile radius had blown up faster than a party balloon.

Whilst I’d been confined to the cowshed by my vast bulk for some time, making trips to the high-street a practical impossibility, I did enjoy watching the increasingly desperate local new coverage. Wide-angle shots of fat bottoms waddling down the street, people gorging themselves into a stupor and collapsing in kebab shop doorways, the panic buying of XXXL clothes and the shortages that left half the populous stuffed into ill-fitting clothes. Fat families, all stuffing their faces and growing wider, heavier, meatier with every mouthful. An obesity epidemic the likes of which had never been seen before.

Government officials had recently declared a state of emergency, and the state school system had temporarily closed, partly because no teacher nor student could concentrate with ever rumbling tummies, and partly because none could fit behind their desks! The local youth had borne the brunt of mom’s devious plot, their little bodies ballooning outwards at a rate their poor legs simply couldn’t keep up with. No less than 50 were hospitalised and completely immobile - great puddles of flesh - desperately shovelling anything they could get their hands on into their hilariously chubby cheeks...

“How’s our best piggy doing this fine winter morning?”, Kate asks me with a smile, snapping me out of my reverie. “It’s getting nippy, right?”, she continues, as I notice her breath hanging in the air, “let me turn up the heating a little...”. She strides over to a control panel on the wall to my right, and a few moments later a pleasant glow starts pulling down from a heat lamp above. “There! Can’t have our prize producer catching a chill now, can we? And speaking of nippy...”. Kate leans across my vast belly and gives my nipple a gentle squeeze. I shudder, a squirt of milk bursts from my tit, and a familiar organismic rush crashing over me in a powerful wave.

She giggles, and back hops down, her generous boobs bouncing up and down as she does so. Kate is a plump young girl, with a wide pair of hips and an ass that formed a sagging bubble jutting out from behind. She wasn’t mom’s first personal assistant, that accolade went to a quiet but hardworking Indian woman named Desi, who was currently plopped on her ass a few stalls down. She’d made the mistake of taking a sip of my milk a few months in, and try as she might, she couldn’t resist going back for more. Mom wasn’t happy until she’d realised Desi’s potential, and from then on had been quietly complicit in her skimming a little off the top. When the day finally came that Desi couldn’t heave her enormous brown bottom up and down the mansions plush marble stairs, she was awarded a place alongside Stephanie and me - in return for her product of course.

Kate had also recently started sampling my goods, so to speak. I warned her not to, told her it was irresistible, would make her get incredibly large, but the appetitive enchanters in the local food supply must have been too much temptation for her to handle. Her formally tight behind was now thick and sagging, her body having accumulated around 100 pounds of fat that had previously been wanting. Her soft gut was no longer contained by her uniform, and hung proudly over her waistband, jiggling with every step. She wasn’t a resident of the cowshed yet, but now she’d had her first taste of its produce it was only a matter of time.

Her shorts munch happily on her fat booty as she walks back over to the control panel. “Before we pump this morning’s product I think you’re overdue a check-in big boy...”, she giggles. A few clicks later and a digital display flickers to life on the wall opposite. ‘1639 LBS’ flashes back in angry red text, and Kate gasps audibly. I knew I was getting larger every day, but that’s over 100 more than I was 8 weeks ago! At this rate...

“Woah, nice job fatso! I know cows have four stomachs, but even so!”. Bouncing back over to me Kate grabs a handful of my belly and heaves herself up my body, resting her fat ass on my gut. She raises the second suction cup into place over my melon but pauses before attaching it. “Hmmmm…”. I can see the turmoil in her face. She licks her lips unconsciously.

Before I can say a word Kate lunges forwards and places her mouth around my exposed teat. Mom’s milk has engorged my tits far beyond anything I thought possible, and my nipples had also swelled such that each was about the size of a golf-ball. My fleshy nipple fills Kate’s entire mouth, and I groan as her soft tongue tickles at it, working its way over its surface, as she takes a deep breath...

Kate rolls off me a few minutes later collapsing onto the floor between my legs, with a belly so bloated that she’s burst the top button off her shorts and is threatening the remainder on her tight cotton shirt. “Ugghhh”, she moans, helplessly flailing her arms, unable to get up. The automated milking system kicks in, sucking my left tit dry, but today mom will have to make do with half measures, the remainder sloshing around the groaning girl’s gut. As I gaze at Kate my eyes suddenly feel heavy, this morning’s excitement having caught up with me, and my world fades to blackness as I fall into a deep sleep.

I’m awoken by the unmistakable pitter-patter of stilettos on stone, growing slightly louder with every step. This, of course, can only mean one thing. Mom is on her way. 

Glancing down at the lightly snoring Kate, who remains collapsed in a heap between my thighs, I use what little movement I still have in my foot to try and nudge her awake. “Kate... Kate...!”, I whisper, attempting to rouse her from her food coma, but it’s too late. The footsteps come to a sudden halt ahead of me. I look up nervously, locking eyes with a familiar face.

Mom is wearing a tight floral maxi-dress, the soft silken material hugging her toned curves. The last few excess pounds of her prison ordeal having melted off some months ago, mom was almost back to her pre-injection levels of fitness. Legs thick and powerful, stomach washboard and flat, arms wiry and strong. She was the picture of physical fitness in all but one respect.

A pair of enormous breasts, out of place on her otherwise muscular figure, hang ponderously off her chest. Vast titties sloshing around with the same fattening milk as mine. The world’s hardest-working bra keeps them pushed up and perky, creating a cleavage deeper than an ocean trench, and far more pleasant to look at.

She surveys the scene with a smirk. Stepping out of her high heeled shoes, bare feet kissing the cool stone floor, and moves silently across the enclosure towards us. Six inches shorter, the hem of her maxi-dress trails on the floor behind her. Her engorged melons wobble violently with every step. Somewhere deep within my folds, I can feel myself getting excited...

Mom stops just short of Kate’s snoozing body, towering over her, before bending down into a deep squat. A sharp prod in the belly rouses Kate from her slumber. “Oooof... what’s...? *urrrrp*... oh... Miss... *uuuurrrrp*... Fairfax!”, she belches, hands frantically groping at my thigh rolls to push herself into a standing position. Mom places a hand on her shoulder, forcing her back into a sprawled position, fat ass on the floor, back lent into the belly that hangs over my crotch.

“Oh dear, oh dear. Not another one!”, mom giggles in a mock angry tone, “you were such a skinny little minx when you joined us. Flaunting yourself around the house back when I was still shifting my last few pounds. Well, I can see where they all went!”. She places an index finger from each hand between the strained buttons of Kate’s shirt and gently pulls. With a succession of quick ‘pops’, each button pings off across the room, allowing Kate’s fat, tanned gut to pour through the opening and land with a jiggle on her lap.

“You’ve been dipping your hand into the company cookie-jar”, mom smirks at the bloated young girl still wedged pathetically between my thighs. “I’ve known for months. Lower yields here, strained clothes there. I’ve been tracking your morning weigh-ins. Data sent directly my phone. 234 pounds... you’ve become quite the porker!”.

Kate groans again, as mom grabs two handfuls of her belly and kneads it lovingly. “Watching that tight ass get wider and saggier every day. Cellulite creeping up those perfect pins. Belly bursting out of your shorts. Jawline lost to wobbling jowls. It was enough to make me forget about your betrayal of trust”. She lets go and slaps Kate’s belly hard, a ripple of blubber spreading across her soft body. “But even your obvious weight gain can’t make me forget about the dent in my bottom line. I need producers, not free-loaders. I suppose we’d best expedite the process...”.

Mom’s hands reach behind her back, pinging open the clasp of her bra. In the blink of an eye, her breasts succumb to gravity, pulled down by their hefty mass into two fat teardrops. She shrugs off her shoulder straps, casting the comically large bra to one side, before lifting them out and over her dress. Nipples already hardened by the cool temperature of the cowshed, a dribble of milk escapes from the tit on her left. She must not have fed anyone yet today...

“No... too full...”, Kate groans, but mom is already leaning in. I can only see the tops of their heads from my vantage up above, but the nuzzling sounds and occasional gasps for breath can only mean one thing. Kate’s grip on my legs loosens, her arms falling limply by her side as she concedes defeat. After a couple of minutes, mom leans back, tucking her enormous tits back into her maxi-dress. “Can’t... breathe... can’t... move...”, Kate mumbles, as mom slips a phone out of her pocket and taps out a short message.

A few moments later two burly men turn the corner into my pen, the taller pushing a large reinforced wheelchair. “Time to get you to bed Kate”, mom smiles, stepping out of the way so the two security guards can reach her, “I think it’s time I hired a new housekeeper. You’re simply too much of a greedy glutton to fulfil the role any longer. I’ll have to find another use for your fat ass...”. The young girl groans in reply as the two men heave her up into the chair. I can see their muscled arms rippling under the strain.

Fat bottom wedged safely into the chair, belly still spilling out onto her lap, Kate is wheeled away to metabolise her meal. I feel sorry for the girl - mom would keep her addicted to the fattening milk until she’s immobile, like me. “You didn’t need to do that...”, I say meekly, averting mom’s gaze.

She laughs heartily in response, “I know, but I just can’t help myself! There’s something so delightfully arousing about watching other people get hopelessly fat. Speaking of which...”. Mom pulls a lever on the control panel.

A familiar clunking far above my head is followed shortly afterward by a whirring sound as mom’s patented ‘feeding funnel’ descends from the ceiling. Whilst her milkers were still treated to a box of doughnuts or plate of fried chicken on occasion, the majority of our food was delivered via these funnels, which pump a high fat, high calorie, high oestrogen mixture directly into our mouths. It was the easiest way to keep the ravenous hunger at bay and produce maximum yield for her business operations. “Sit still sweetie, you know the drill”, she whispers in my ear, as she attaches the funnel to my face. It covers my nose mouth and ears, muffling my breathing. “There we go, almost ready...”.

Mom’s muscular glutes jiggle underneath her dress as she turns away, and a short button press later and a thick, sweet liquid tickles my lips. Chocolate flavour, my favourite. I start to gulp it down, a prize hog munching from my trough. I know that the machine won’t stop until I physically can’t eat another bite, and frankly, I wouldn’t stop myself either. Mother’s milk had ruined my appetite as much as it had my metabolism.

“Now you’ve been a particularly good boy recently. Your yields are up, you’re eating well, and I see that you’re over 1600 pounds now”. Mom caresses my thighs, kneading handfuls of my doughy flesh. “I think I’m finally ready to forgive you for that horrible business with that ring... for what you did to my body...”. She runs her gently hands over her toned hips, turning sideways to show me her profile - stroking a tight ass on one side, cupping hefty tits on the other. “Now let's get my baby comfortable...”.

Before I can open my mouth to protest mom presses a large blue button on the side of my chair, and it creaks into life, lowering my top half down to the ground. The feeding funnel follows, and after a few nervous seconds I am laying flat on my back. I’ve never liked this position, far too fat and weak to think of sitting up or rolling over. I’m like an upturned turtle - exposed and vulnerable. My legs and arms are splayed, pinned to the floor by hundreds of pounds of fat. Helpless.

I gulp down another mouthful of the chocolatey weight gain formula. My stomach is nearing capacity, and sure enough, after a couple more mouthfuls the pump whirring high above powers down, and the feeding mask pops off my face with a satisfying hiss. *Buuuurp* “Mom, let me... let me up...” *Burrrrp!*, I pant.

She appears by my side, towering over me. A familiar sense of powerlessness wells up from within. Followed by a gentle stroke of my hair. “Shhhh, there there, everything’s alright. Mommy’s going to give you a nice scrub down. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”. I want to resist, but my mind’s eye is already picturing mom’s soft hands rubbing in between my folds, fondling over my tits. Another deep belch. I nod meekly, submitting to mom’s dominance once again.

She turns away, beautiful buttocks jiggling as she fetches a bucket and sponge from the corner of the pen. Whilst filling it up with warm sudsy water she looks back over her shoulder, and hurriedly blurts out, “do you regret using the ring?”. I’m stunned into silence. Why was she asking this, and now of all times? Of course I regretted it! All the hassle, the heartache, the immense weight gain and loss of my fit young body. Though... even as I ponder my mind also races through my time spent at mom’s hands. As her unwilling feedee, captive and bedbound. As employer and employee, watching her splash around in my pool. As a conjugal visitor, being ridden like that fat pig I’d become. As lovers, sharing a bed and drinking milk from her bosom. Am I... happy? I hadn’t stopped to ask myself that question in some time, afraid, perhaps, of the answer I might get. I expected to be miserable. Aroused yet ashamed. But the more I think about it the more I realise...

“No... I... I don’t regret it at all. I... I love you mom”. The words tumble out of my mouth, and I can feel my puffy cheeks flushing crimson. Mom strides back over to me, bucket carried by a taught and muscular arm, water sloshing over the floor. She places it down by my side and bends down until our faces are inches apart. I can feel her warm breath on my face, see the hints of wrinkles on her otherwise flawless face, hear her whispered response, “I love you too dear”. She cups my face and we share a long and passionate kiss. I want nothing more than to take her in my arms, grope her perfect body, but they are stuck to my side by their sheer size and unable to move an inch.

She pulls away, a cheeky grin etched across her perfect face. “Oh, you are a naughty boy. I was just going to bath you, but I suppose there’s no harm in...”. Mom trails off, dropping her shoulders once again and slipping her arms out of the maxi-dress. It falls to the floor, revealing a pair of enormous breasts hanging off an otherwise Amazonian figure. Her legs are chiselled out of marble, not a hint of cellulite across their smooth and taught surface, and her arms look strong enough to lift any man (except me of course). Only mom’s tits show signs of her past life as a fatty - ravaged with stretch marks and hanging low due to their immense weight.

Picking up a sodden sponge from the soapy bucket, mom wrings it out over her body. Water cascades down her shoulders and into her deep cleavage. I can barely contain myself as she turns and bends low, flashing me her pussy in the process, and picks up a nearby bottle of body lotion. She hangs there, bent over, ass just inches from my face, and I imagine myself burying my face between her legs.

A quick peck on the lips. She flicks the cap off the bottle of lotion and upturns it upon her chest. The greasy liquid dribbles over her tits, running between the crenellations of her abs and down her thick legs. Winking at me, she begins rubbing her breasts, lifting them carefully in both hands and rubbing them slowly. “Hmmmph”, she quietly moans as she traces a finger around each plump nipple. Mom catches my eye and moans louder still. She’s teasing me. Successfully.

Hands cupped underneath, mom jiggles her greased-up water balloons. I watch her fatty orbs bounce up and down. I want to grope them, suck on them. Desperation overcomes me. “Please... please...”. I beg, patting as I feel the blood pumping around my crotch. Somewhere deep within my fat pad, a cock has hardened like steel. Not that anyone would ever see that is...

“Oh you poor thing”, mom teases, “does someone want a go on mommy’s titties?”. She moves behind me, legs tickling my scalp. She then lifts her tits in her hands, the effort showing in her muscled biceps, and bending down into a deep squat, lowers them onto my face. Two engorged breasts eclipse my world. I feel her oily skin touching my own. Feel the warmth of her chest on my cheeks. I can’t help myself. I shake my head furiously, expelling a deep breath as I motorboat her gigantic tits. They slap loudly into my flabby chins and reverberate off my puffy cheeks. I can hear mom giggling somewhere up above as I’m smacked repeatedly by her hanging melons. “That’s right, you like mommy titties don’t you? It’s because of you they’re so big after all”.

Mercifully, as I start to run out of breath mom sits up, her tits rising with her. She turns, and I see lotion trickling between her round cheeks, disappearing into the space between her legs. Hands massage the lotion around her shiny bottom and run up and down her legs as she eyes me hungrily. I’m squirming now, wishing that I could touch myself to relieve the immense pressure building up between my legs. Just a few strokes to blow my load.

“Now, that’s enough foreplay...”, mom whispers in a sultry tone, “time for your bath young man”. I groan as a pump of pre-cum oozes somewhere in my fat pad. Mom picks up the soapy sponge and starts to rub it up and down my arms, caressing them gently and inspecting every fold. “I never thought you’d get so big you couldn’t lift your arms. To be so... helpless. Someone could take advantage of you. Do whatever they wanted and you couldn’t stop them... Lucky for you that you’re here with your mommy, hmm?”.

Mom moves on to my flank - my overflowing muffin-top. She gently washes in-between my folds, squeezing my excess flab, pressing her body into mine. Her enormous bosom bulges against my hips, fat on fat. After a minute or so she disappears out of sight, and I feel her straddle my left leg, laying her body flat against mine as she works her hands over its surface. I feel her hot, wet pussy against my thigh, working into way up towards my belly. “Hmphhh...”, I groan louder still as she clambers on top of me, sitting atop my mountainous gut.

“Nice and deep..”, she whispers, tracing a soapy finger around my navel. Without warning it delves inside, descending many inches into the black hole of my belly. Mom’s lubricated finger slowly thrusts in and out, simulating sex that I’ve long been too fat to perform. Satisfied, she climbs further atop my body, settling herself just below my chest. I can just about see her flushed face poking out above the mounds of my body.

Hands grab roughly at my monster milkers, pinching my nipples and releasing their last dribble. “I bet you never expected to have the biggest boobs in the family”, mom teases, bouncing them up and down, “I have to admit, I’m jealous of these big, flabby, soft boobies. They’re definitely juicier than mine. Just goes to show quite how fat you’ve let yourself become... ”. 

Mom edges forwards over my tits, straddling my chest and looking down at me from her throne high above. Our eyes meet, we share a bashful smile, and I’m reminded of the mom I used to know before I interfered with time. My gaze falls - down her perfect breasts, rock hard abs, hairless crotch... I lick my lips, drawn to her wet pussy like a moth to a flame. Damn her for fattening me up so much... If I only could lift my arms...

“I’m up here sweetie...”, mom teases, waving a hand that snaps my gaze back to hers. Any prior embarrassment washes away as a mischievous grin crosses her lips. “I know you haven’t seen any action in a while but, well, I suppose boys will be boys...”. Mom shuffles forwards, her oiled-up body sliding down my chest, feet plant on the floor either side of my head with a thud. I look up, greeted by mom’s damp pussy between two muscular legs. Ready and waiting.

Powerful thighs working effortlessly, mom lowers herself into a deep squat. Her cool ass comes to rest on my red-hot cheeks. My lips touch hers. I kiss them, nibble them. She shudders, her pussy becoming wetter with every pass of my tongue. I work it furiously around her pussy, exploring her wet folds, edging towards her clitoris. Muffled moans from somewhere high above are snuffed out as her thighs squeeze tighter against my head. Caught in a wonderful vice, all I can do is pleasure her.

She starts to rock back and forth, globular cheeks slapping into mine, pussy pressing hard into my face. I finally find her clit, teasing it with my tongue. “Ohhh!”, mom moans, loud enough even to penetrate her thick thighs, “yes... yessss!”. Needing no further encouragement I quicken my pace, circling her clit feverishly. Her body quivers with anticipation, building every second like a pressure cooker ready to blow. Eventually, her back arches into my flabby chest and I feel her body shudder as she orgasms over and over.

“That... that...”, mom pants, gasping for air. She steps off my face and staggers to the side, grabbing hold of my weighty moob for support. I squint as my eyes readjust to the bright halogen bulbs above, and fight to catch my breath. Whatever I had been expecting out of today it had definitely not included that...

A few moments later her face reappears over my own. There is a sheen of sweat across her unwrinkled brow, and her normally pristine hair is frizzy and wild. Our lips touch in another long kiss. “That was... unexpected. I’ve been so busy with all of the work to get this place up and running, I didn’t realise how badly I... well, now you definitely deserve your treat...”.

Tracing a finger along my body mom saunters towards my lower half and out of sight, running her hand across every bump and roll as she goes. My foot tickles, as she reaches my full height and continues around to the inside of my thigh. Obscured from view, the other side of a tonne of fat, I sense her edge closer to my crotch. Hands plant into my fleshy upper thigh. She must be kneeling.

Without warning, I feel mom’s face press deep into my fat pad. Her unmistakable button nose and prominent high cheekbones plunge into my soft fat. She shakes her head vigorously. “Oh... Ohhhhh!”, I moan, as she returns the favour and motorboats my crotch, the vibrating fat jiggling my cock below until it’s harder than stone. She nibbles at my pudge, hands groping at my fat pad all the while.

Mom comes up for breath. “I was so pleased when Desi told me that you’d finally lost your cock to your blubber, you know. I thought it was a fitting punishment for what you did to me. Depriving you of your manhood. The silly childhood lust that led you to meddle with time in the first place”. She sighs, “but now I’m starting to wonder whether it would have better to keep the little guy free. It’s hard for you to please anyone with this!”. She gives my fat pad a hearty shake. A generous squirt of pre-cum escapes somewhere deep below. I moan again, pathetically.

“No matter...”, mom continues, “I’m sure if anyone can tempt it into life then it’s going to be me”. One oiled hand lifts my bulging fat pad whilst the other reaches underneath and delves into my pelvic folds. I feel her greased-up hands sliding around, groping at fistfuls of fat, looking for a needle in a haystack. “You’re such a big, handsome boy...”, mom mutters softly, “I want you bigger... fatter... all mine...”.

Though I haven’t seen my cock in years I can sense that mom is edging closer. “Yes... yes... anything...”, I groan from the other side of my belly. Fat presses against my throbbing member. I feel fingertips pressing just an inch or so away...

My eyes snap wide open as mom’s fingers finally clasp around the head of my penis. I choke on my breath, momentarily blinded as my world turns white. A rush of pleasure, greater than any climax I’ve ever experienced, explodes throughout my enormous bloated body. Muscles that haven’t worked in years contract and pulse wildly, straining at the very fibres of my being.

I groan loudly as my cock deluges pump after pump of cum over mom’s fingers. Her hand reaches further in and grasps the shaft of my cock, rubbing up and down vigorously, lubricated by my fluids. “Ohhhh!”, I scream as I orgasm even harder, years of unfulfilled sexual urges pouring out of me in one glorious moment.

After a few more seconds mom’s hand slows, and my cock finally abates, utterly spent. Her arm retracts from its blubbery cave, and I can feel my cum slowly dribbling out from between my folds. As I catch my breath I feel mom dabbing me down, cleaning away my mess like the helpless child I am. My heart pounds furiously, struggling to pump blood quickly enough around my vast frame. I can barely breathe, body sapped of energy like I’ve just run a marathon.

Mom appears by my side, mops my brow, and brushes tousled hair from my face. Fat watermelons pressing against my head, she gives me a gentle kiss on the lips as the world shifts out of focus. “I love you...”, she whispers. I want to respond in kind, but the words are stuck in my throat. “Shhhhh”, she soothes, caressing my cheek with a soft hand, “my big boy. I’ve been neglecting your needs. You’re a red-blooded male after all”. Mom giggles, and grabs a handful of my milky tit. “From now on once you’ve finished sucking on these”, mom lifts her breasts and lets them slap onto my face, “you can suck on this”, she stands and flashes her dripping pussy. I open my mouth to scream in agreement, but all that escapes is another gasping breath. “Now, time to sleep...”. My body groans in agreement. Eyelids heavy, I succumb to a deep and peaceful slumber...

- - - -

Meanwhile, in the estate’s large processing plant my milk has been quality checked and pumped into unmarked bottles. They are packed tightly on a large wooden pallet marked ‘Mother’s Milk’, the trading name for mom’s fattening operation, and is carefully lifted into the back of a patiently waiting truck. It is bound for a large chain of chicken shops, her first foray into the national market, and would soon be adding pounds to the waists of unsuspecting gluttons all across the land. Though the ring was destroyed in our fateful encounter, its devilish influence was still rippling across the land. Bloated bodies swelling ever outwards. Hungry. Gluttonous. Growing.

As I doze the truck’s engine splutters into life, and it drives out of the ranch’s impressive cast-iron gates, to new beginnings...

The End

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