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Calorie Girl

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Calorie Girl

Synopsis

Who is Calorie Girl? Following an explosion at a high-tech clean energy research facility, the residents of Plains City, Ohio, are plagued by a wave of super-powered criminals. While the city authorities flounder to respond to the new menace, it seems only one super-fast heroine is able to stand in their way – that is, when she's not snacking on pastries and milkshake as she recovers from her latest show-down. But who is the donut-munching speedster known as Calorie Girl? And just what, the food-obsessed editors of the Plains City newspaper business demand to know, does she think is Plains City's best tasting snack?

Meanwhile, former ace-reporter Laura Lawson doesn't care what Calorie Girl likes to eat. In fact, with the pounds piling on due to her new job as a restaurant critic, she'd rather not think about food at all. Unfortunately for Ms Lawson, the position of food editor at More Magazine was the only job in journalism she could get, after her failed exposé of a shadowy group responsible for fattening up a bevy of former models and starlets throughout the city.

 

 

* * *

Chapter 1: Plains City Blues (part 1)

 

The angry noise of gridlocked traffic filled the stifling afternoon air of Little Paris, the most cramped and badly-planned district of the Plains City metropolitan area. Five thousand tourists milled around the picturesque restaurants and boutiques of the infamous red-light district, and generally got in the way of five thousand office workers making their runs for coffee and snacks, and they all got in the way of the too-many delivery drivers and tour buses attempting to navigate the impossible street layout.

Amid the urban chaos, a mismatched pair of women emerged from a pink-stuccoed building onto Elysée Avenue. They had descended from the second floor, where a small but very ornate restaurant overlooked the street level through modernised plate glass windows.

The first woman trotted down the stone steps at speed. She was a tall, black-haired nineteen year old, wearing brand-new white trainers, fashionably distressed skinny jeans, and a glittery silver tank top. She clutched a leather handbag with chunky silver details that must have cost over five thousand dollars, and her wide-eyed attention was split between the boutique windows and the food kiosks thronging the street.

The young rich girl glanced behind herself and called out a suggestion to her companion.

“We should get donuts!”

The second, older woman's face took on a pained expression, as she stepped gingerly down to the street level. She was a pretty brunette. She was perhaps in her thirties, but she would have been easily able to pass for mid-twenties, were it not for the way her swollen belly bulged over her black pencil skirt. She had clearly put on a fair bit of weight recently, and her plumped-up figure gave away the fact that she was of significantly more mature years than the first woman, and that her metabolism and appetite were absolutely unable to keep up with those of her nineteen year old colleague.

Urp!

“Oh, pardon me! We are most certainly not getting donuts, young lady!”

“Aw! Please, Ms Lawson? I'm still hungry! Those tasting menus only give you like a mouthful.”

The older woman took on an outraged expression, however her attempt to look stern was spoiled when she emitted an enormous belch that left her gasping for air.

Tara!” Snapped the senior woman. “The tasting menus at La Vache Grande – and you've just eaten two of them, on the Magazine's expense account – are some of the finest cuisine that Plains City has to offer! You are not going to shovel down donuts on top of such sublime fare! It would be sacrilege! In fact, I positively forbid you to eat or drink another thing until you've finished writing your attempt at a restaurant review, and I've given you corrections to make.”

“Aww! Ms Lawson! I can't write on an empty stomach!”

Empty! You've eaten enough to sink a battleship, Ms Tate!”

No, I haven't! 'Cos I'm still hungry! I don't mean to be ungrateful, Ms Lawson. I mean, the food at La Vache Grande was really nice! It's just you only get one mouthful, and they don't let you order sides, like in a normal place...”

The older woman ground her teeth at her junior colleague's use of the word nice. It was an entirely inadequate adjective to describe the sublime excellence of the midday repas which had just taken place. Furthermore, the word nice met neither the high standards of descriptiveness nor the precise accuracy that was required of the weekly restaurant review in More Magazine, the publication for which they both worked. Or, more precisely, the publication for which Laura Lawson worked, and at which the nineteen-year-old rich girl Tara Tate had been given an internship by a friend of her immensely rich mining magnate father.

“The chef personally sent you five extra puddings, Tara! And two of those had never been served before: it is an incredible honour, and you should have shown more gratitude.”

“Yeah, well it was nice of him, and I'm going to say how nice he was in my review...”

And, the plates at La Vache Grande most certainly do not bear just a single mouthful each. I hope you observed, for when you make your attempt at composing a review, that, by the standards of tasting menus, those courses were absolutely enormous! In fact, they were much too big! They've left me feeling like a beached whale, even though I have a big appetite, and eleven tasting courses is usually no problem.”

Erm, didn't you have both tasting menus, though, Ms Lawson? I mean, didn't we try both the Classic Menu and the, erm...”

The Seasonal. Yes, Tara, we did. Well done for remembering that, at least. And I only ate around half of each plate, as you may have observed.”

Laura Lawson paused and winced at the twinge of bloatedness that had rushed up from her tummy as her conversation with Tara, the latest in a series of useless interns, reminded her that the magazine had required them to review both of the enormously fattening tasting menus at La Vache Grande – and, due to editorial time constraints, to do so in a single blouse-buster of a sitting. Of course, if Tara had been a competent intern she could have reviewed one menu while Laura tackled the other. Alas, Tara Tate had got her internship effortlessly, despite having no measurable talent whatsoever. No talent, that was, apart from the incredibly annoying ability to stuff her face for twenty-four hours a day while remaining rail thin and stunningly beautiful. Bah! That was apparently another thing Tara Tate had received effortlessly, presumably by virtue of her mother being a Miss Universe who also happened to have two Olympic gold metals (in synchronised swimming and diving).

“Oh.”

Tara sounded as if she hadn't noticed that Laura had only eaten approximately half of the food set before her. Laura wasn't surprised: Tara had been too busy wiping every last drop from her own twenty-two plates, flirting with the waiters, and asking for more – and getting it! Extra helpings at La Vache Grande! It was unthinkable!

And, I swear, the venison and sweet potato mouse alone was enough for a main course at any a La Carte restaurant: and that wasn't even the biggest thing they served.”

“Yeah, the venison froth was delish, Ms L! You're right. You really know your food!”

Mouse, Tara, not froth! Froth has a completely different composition!”

“Oh. Was the foie gras a froth?” Tara asked cluelessly.

No!

“Oh. Well, I don't know how I'm gonna write a restaurant review you'll like. I just don't know all the words!”

“Then you should buy a dictionary! And study the sample reviews I gave to you.” Laura snapped.

Tara looked hurt. As if it was possible for a beast with a metabolism like a blast furnace to feel hurt.

I did.” Tara sniffed.

Laura drew a deep breath and resolved to be nicer to this intern. Tara Tate was, after all, from a fabulously wealthy family, and she was a useful person to know. There was scarcely a high society party in town to which she wasn't invited. Connections that good had value.

Did you skim them for more than five minutes?” Laura asked more politely.

Well, no. But I tried to! It's just my brain hurts when I read for too long.”

Laura sighed, regretting that her blouse had grown so tight that she was unable to do so deeply.

“And, just remind me, Ms Tate. Your brain hurts when you read, but you actually wanted this internship in journalism?”

Oh, yeah!”

Why? If I may ask.”

Well, it was that or work at one of Dad's coal mines, which – although they do have loads and loads of boys – would be horrible for my hair, and don't even ask how you get nails done in the desert! Or... Mom wanted to send me to a big runway modelling house, but they never eat there, and I think I'd starve to death if I went within five blocks: I have a really fast metabolism, Ms Lawson! I got it from Dad. Mom hates it! I got her body, but his metabolism, and he's the size of a mammoth, and he eats like one too! But I'm just really hyperactive, and if I go thirty minutes without food I crash, and I feel like yuk! Say, we should get donuts! They have the best artisan boutique just one block that way, and they make donuts sooo huge Yolanda thought she was gonna be sick when I bought her one, but she wasn't, and she said it was the best thing she'd ever tasted! Oh! You should try some and put them in the restaurant review! I'll run and get you some, and you can say we picked them up on the way home... No, wait the chef at La Vache Grande probably wouldn't like that.”

No, Ms Tate. He certainly wouldn't! It's nice to see you using your brain! Did you get that from your father or your mother?”

Um. Probably Dad. But... It makes me hungry when I think. Say, can I get donuts! Pleeease!”

Oh, very well, Ms Tate!”

YES!”

Laura noted that her rich intern didn't bother to wait to be told twice. Instead, the anomalously skinny young woman disappeared around the block corner at a run. In fact it was more of a sprint, doubtless because her long legs allowed her to achieve an outrageous velocity, so that even in a short distance she was dodging from side to side around other pedestrians on the sidewalk with joint-breaking vigor. Laura felt queasy just from looking, and she heaved herself around and began trudging to the Little Paris monorail station.

Laura Lawson rubbed her gurgling tummy as she walked, hoping to soothe its severe discomfort, She was uncomfortably conscious of her slightly-contouring lycra midi-briefs' constricting tightness, and wished she'd worn something looser or much lower-slung to this afternoon's gargantuan double lunch. She regretted to herself, with hindsight, that she had probably indulged in a little more than approximately half of each of her servings at La Vache Grande. And it wasn't the first time she'd overindulged during a restaurant review in the last six months! Nor had she skimped on breakfast this morning, either: she'd enjoyed the calorific “All American” breakfast at the old-fashioned diner on the street level of her apartment block. It was all far too much for a woman who was once – in addition to being the Plains City Gazette's ace reporter – possessed of a figure so superb that she could stun at twenty paces in a slinky black cocktail dress as easily as she could draw admiring eyes from her male colleagues when she was reporting on Plains City Fashion Week. And that was, in the latter case, despite her having to compete for attention with supermodels. Alas, after losing her job at the Gazette when her investigation into the disappearance of one of those supermodels attracted the ire of powerful vested interests, Laura's new job as a restaurant critic at More Magazine had been the ruination of her once-vaunted figure!

There was no more time for Laura to dwell on her engorged figure, or her professional fall from grace. Her thoughts were interrupted by her newest intern, who crashed to a halt beside her, having apparently run all the way back from her favourite donut place at a phenomenal, tummy-upsetting pace.

Sorry that took me so long, Ms L! They had a huge queue at the milkshake store! I had to go another block. I didn't know if you'd want one, so I got you one too, to say sorry for the delay, and here's your donuts.”

Tara Tate pushed a paper bag – a heavy paper bag, with fabric handles – into her boss's hands. It emitted the most delicious aromas: chocolate, almond, chocolate, toffee, chocolate, coffee, and... Chocolate.

Urrgh!” Laura groaned, and burped. Her tummy didn't feel so good.

What? Not enough? I can get more! I have a loyalty card!”

I didn't want any, Tara. I'm – urp – stuffed! If I so much as look at food once more today I swear I'll explode!”

“Okay. Suit yourself, Ms Lawson! What about the milkshake? It's an extra large banana and toffee whip, but you don't have to finish it!”

“I, erm...”

“It's really good! You can have my coffee and hazelnut whirl if you prefer, but it's more of an acquired taste!”

Urp! Laura regarded the plastic cup containing a quart of syrupy, artery-clogging deliciousness. She really shouldn't have any: not after two lunches at La Vache Grande. Not if she wished to slip back into her wardrobe of slinky cocktail dresses...

I'll just have a little!”

Yay! You won't regret it, Ms Lawson!”

Laura burped, after she took a sip of the syrupy drink. Her poor agonised tummy was already regretting the choice, but the taste of the banana and toffee was sooo good!

The road layout in Little Paris was hopelessly unplanned, but the distance to the monorail station was little more than a block. Even with Laura Lawson setting a slow pace, it didn't take very long to get there. And, therefore, Laura found it all the more horrifying to realise that her companion had practically inhaled in excess of a dozen of the most enormous and fattening donuts she'd ever seen. Just a single specimen had appeared to have six Oreos and a four-inch square slab of Belgian chocolate fused into its artisinal bulk.

Mmm!” Ms Tate enthused orgasmically. “These are soo good! Are you sure you don't want one? Last chance! I got three extra free with the dozen, 'cos of my---”

Because of your loyalty card. Yes, I know.” Laura rolled her eyes. She also, despite the protest of her overfull tummy, liked the look of the last donut Tara had drawn from her second paper bag. It was glazed in toffee and cinnamon sugar, and it looked as delicious as it was large.

Perhaps I could manage just one.” Laura said.

Oh.” Tara sounded extremely disappointed. “Okay. Well this one is a great choice, Ms L! I was saving it for last, because it's my absolute favourite, but go ahead!”

Mmmm! Ohmigods!” Laura exclaimed in near orgasm, after biting into the ludicrously heavy and fattening donut.

I know, right!” Tara agreed.

Oh, this is so good! But it must be a thousand calories!”

Twelve hundred.” Tara replied off the top of her head.

Laura groaned.

Twelve hundred calories! Urp. How are you not the size of a tank, from eating like this, Tara?”

Tara sniffed.

I told you, Ms L. I have a fast metabolism. It's really hard.”

Oh, poor you.” Laura replied sarcastically.

Yeah, it is, Ms L!” Tara said. “I mean, I've been trying really hard this season to eat more, because ghetto booties are soo in fashion right now! But I just can't gain an inch, no matter how hard I try!”

Oh, boo hoo!” Laura Lawson snorted. Her belly was as tight as a drum, but the toffee donut was dangerously delicious and there was only about five hundred calories of it left. She just hoped she'd left a pair of yoga pants in her office, because her smart pencil skirt was agonisingly tight, and she desperately wanted to change into something more comfortable. Which was clearly a problem the tight-hipped and weirdly flat-stomached Ms Tate knew nothing about!

Yeah!Yolanda – she's one of the other interns –”

I know.”

Yolanda's gained five pounds this season, and her ass looks amazing in booty shorts! Mine's just flat. I wish I had a big round ass like yours, Ms L.”

Laura Lawson was about to snap back, but was interrupted by a hiccup and a churning sensation in her tummy.

Urp! Oh, I don't feel so good, Tara. I should not have eaten that donut. Ooof! It was more like a cake!”

I know how you feel, Ms L.”

I doubt that, Tara. You just ate, how many? Fourteen of those.”

Yours was the biggest –”

“Whatever. And you're not even flushed.”

“No, but, I mean, I've been trying to eat as much as possible before bedtime, to try and get –”

“A booty.”

“That's right! And so I totally stuff myself, and then I try to pack down a couple of quarts of icecream just before I brush my teeth, and so I do know what you mean about feeling a bit overfed, Ms L. Too bad it just vanishes overnight on me.”

Urrrrp! Oooo! I ate too much.”

Don't worry, Ms L! We'll get the monorail back to Midtown, then you have a nice snooze in your office, and – oh no!”

Laura rubbed her gut as it ballooned over her too-tight skirt. There was nothing for it: she was going to have to unbutton her skirt and hope her blouse would conceal the open fastening. At least there was no chance of her skirt falling down, not as bloated as she was, and not with what Ms Tara Tate described – accurately – as a big, round ass. Laura wondered what Tara was on about. They'd just reached the monorail station, and were about to take the elevator up.

What?”

Bad news, Ms L! The monorail's cancelled. Power outage!” Tara read from the announcement screen.

Shit!” Laura cursed her bad luck. She desperately needed to get back and change her outfit.

I know! We'll have to walk.”

Don't be silly, Tara: it's thirty blocks! We shall have to get a cab!”

What, in Little Paris traffic?”

Urp! There's no alternative, Tara! My tummy can't take a thirty-block walk.” Said Laura. It was true, although a thirty block walk might do her figure some good.

Oh.”

Tara sounded disappointed again. Laura had a suspicion the rich girl didn't like having to walk at someone else's more sedate pace.

But.”

No buts, Tara!”

Tara huffed. Laura scowled at the way the sexy intern's sparkly silver T-shirt showed off that her tummy barely bulged at all. Of course, she was so tall it probably didn't need to bulge outwards as much as Laura's rapidly-swelling gut, but it was unfair that it barely bulged at all after she'd stuffed herself like a competitive eater.

But...” Tara added as Laura came down with a bout of burping. “If we walk, there's this amazing cafe on Broadway: they serve amazing pancakes, and I have a loyalty card! And, we could get candyfloss too, just off 44th street, and...”

Urp! Excuse me. Let me guess, you have a loyalty card there, too?”

Don't be silly, Ms L. You can't get a loyalty card for a candyfloss place. I was going to say, then there's a great chocolatier's on 48th, and we could get hot chocolates!”

No! Ms Tate – Tara: am so stuffed I can't eat anything for at least a day. The only way we're buying anything on the way back to the office is if we pass a store selling extra-stretchy yoga pants! I've got so fat they're the only thing I'm comfortable in, and I'm disgusted with myself for getting so out of shape!”

Oh.” Tara thought for a minute. “Well, you should have said. I wouldn't have offered you that toffee donut. They're so delish! I just wish some of the calories would go to my ass! And I don't know why you're complaining about your figure, Ms L: like I said, big fat booties are totally in fashion right now! Just, obviously, with stronger spanx than you're wearing.”

Tara.”

Yes, Ms Lawson?”

Shut up!”

Oh. Okay Ms Lawson!”

Laura burped. Her tummy felt a little better now that she'd surreptitiously unbuttoned her skirt while the towering socialite had been blathering on about her favourite upscale snack outlets. There would be time for a snooze after she got back to the office, then she'd edit Ms Tate's certain-to-be-awful draft of a restaurant review, then she'd go home and dress for her evening's work: she and Ms Tate would be covering the opening of Plains City's new hi-tech clean energy facility. Of course, More Magazine wasn't particularly interested in clean energy, but it was very interested in big parties, and this would be one of the biggest of the year. Apparently, unlimited, cheap, clean energy was kind of a big deal – and all the more so because Plains City's celebrated technologist, Lincoln Knight, had cracked the method way ahead of his better funded rivals in MIT and Caltech. Hence there would be a huge party, and all the civic grandees would be in attendance to associate themselves with the great new advancement.

Good. Now, Ms Tate. Go and find us a cab. I will rest here, and if you're back promptly then perhaps I will give you a few hints on how to begin your review column.”

Oh, great! I'm gone!”

Tara dashed off at a trot. Laura's tummy barely had time to gurgle before the rangy socialite reappeared in the back of a minicab. Laura got in, and Tara got out.”

Where are you going, Ms Tate?”

Oh, well I thought, with the traffic, it'd be quicker if I walk. And I could maybe get candyfloss and hot chocolate en route?”

Laura sighed.

Oh, very well, Ms Tate! But don't be late. You have a review to draft, and then you have to get ready for tonight's opening party at the clean energy place.”

The Knight Labs Entropy Reactor, Ms Lawson?”

Yes, that one. I expect you to charm our way past the staff so we can get an interview with Lincoln Knight himself.”

Oh, cool! No problem, Ms L!”

So don't overeat before the party! I want you looking runway-model thin, and prettier than all our competitors!”

Oh, don't worry about me, Ms Lawson. It's not until seven, right? So I wont have time for a proper dinner and I'm going to be fucking starving by the time we get there. I'm probably going to look way too thin. Yolanda's going with her boyfriend, and her ass looks amazing in a cocktail dress...”

Laura reached to close the cab door.

Oh, and Tara!”

Yes, Ms L?”

Make sure you wear something extra-slinky tonight. My old sparring partner from the Gazette, Mandy Maine, will be there; she's extremely vain and loves flaunting herself in party dresses, and even though I've lost my figure I intend for someone on my staff to outshine her!”

Okay, no worries, Ms L! See you later!”

 

* *

 

 

<I should finish Best Served Wet soon, but I wanted to write this up while I was thinking of it -- Flyer33>

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Chapter 2: The Rounded Reporter


 

Six months later...


 

Saturday brunch at the Serrano Hotel was a lavish affair. The breakfast suite was laden with every manner of dish from canapés to Cantonese, bratwurst to Bolognaise, sushi to soufflé, and omelettes to hors d'oeuvres. The hotel clearly intended that even the pickiest of eaters would find enough tempting treats as to finish the morning absolutely bloated to capacity. But for Laura Lawson, restaurant critic at More Magazine with a professional obligation to sample at least a little of everything, the morning was proving to be a real strain – and not only on the seams of her green knitted dress!

“Oof!” Laura mopped her brow with a napkin, being careful not to get crumbs on her expensively-styled fringe, as she regarded a new tray of pastries with a reluctant look. Then she loaded one of everything onto her plate with a speed that could not really be described as reluctant.

“Five different kinds of croissant really is unnecessary!” Grumbled the brunette reporter. “If I'm not careful I'll be too stuffed for my hot date this evening! Oh, the things I do for this magazine!”

Laura Lawson munched methodically through the Serrano Hotel's five kinds of croissant. They were freshly baked and they were rather delicious, and, indeed, the different toppings of cherry, raisins, almonds, soft icing, and cream did mean the five pastries complimented each other as a distinct medley. The pastry chef was certainly due some praise for that! It was just a shame his handiwork tasted so fattening – especially after Laura had added a thick spread of the hotel's signature home-made butter!

“Mmph! This ish so good.” Laura enthused. “Guess that's my diet fucked for another day!”

Laura's stomach bulged. She'd deliberately worn her stretchy knitwear dress over black maternity tights, knowing they would accommodate a heavy binge without growing uncomfortable. The only problem, Laura reflected, was that her own belly was also all-too capable of taking in a couple of day's worth of calories in one sitting without growing uncomfortable! Oh, certainly it gurgled from the 6000 brunchtime calories Laura's had sampled and about which she'd scribbled in her notebook – but it was by no means uncomfortably stuffed. And that was why Laura Lawson badly needed a diet!

Laura would like to have blamed her recent weight gain – the gymnasium scales informed her she was up to a shocking 196 lbs; and too fat to wear the size 14 lingerie that was the biggest size sold by her favourite boutique – on her work as a restaurant critic. But the hard truth was that Laura Lawson's considerable stomach capacity, and her proclivity to indulge herself in food and drink until even she couldn't face another bite, pre-dated her time as More Magazine's food editor by a long way. Sure, the restaurant reviews didn't help. Of course they didn't! She'd spent the year eating at three or four restaurants a week, and being stuffed every time with complimentary desserts by chefs who had learned the best way to secure a favourable review from the influential but famously-acerbic Ms Laura Lawson was to load up the brunette with sugar until she couldn't think straight. But, in fact, Laura suspected her three gym visits a week could have dealt with the consequences of that, if only she could keep her appetite under control the rest of the time! But she'd never been very good at that.

As her college and state cross country champion three years running (pardon the pun!), Laura Lawson had taken so much exercise that she'd been able to stuff herself whenever she wanted, which was often, and still remain almost supermodel slim. “Almost,” being the operative word: Ms Lawson had boasted an ample but pert cleavage more suitable for a slutty swimming team captain than a lithe cross country star, but it had never slowed her down enough to stop her winning. Her good looks and perky tits had, of course, drawn the svelte brunette a plethora of suitors, and soon won her a reputation as a man-eater – and as a big eater too: many of Laura's dates discovered the best way to get into Ms Lawson's shorts was to feed her, and feed her, and feed her, until she could stuff down no more. Which had made for an expensive but memorable night for a lot of eligible bachelors. And it had given Laura plenty of practice at enjoying sex in spite of - or perhaps because of - having a very bloated stomach. 

After college, Laura had spent her twenties as a rising star reporter at Plains City's best newspaper, the Globe Today. Ms Lawson had discovered to her delight that her fast metabolism meant she could both scale down her race training, and adopt every one of the appalling eating habits of her journalist colleagues, without gaining an ounce! She'd slurped down cappuccinos on top of breakfast muffins, enjoyed boozy lunches with clandestine contacts, munched her way through donuts all afternoon, slipped out early for beers with a hot date, followed by a three course meal with a huge pudding drenched in cream – and still been able to slip into a slinky dress to cover the night's parties at Fashion Week, and look as good as the supermodels doing it!

Hitting thirty had been less enjoyable. Laura had discovered that slacking off down to two weekly gym sessions was not compatible with her squeezing into size six party dresses during the summer months when she drank mainly frappuccinos and booze, and ate cake about four times a day. Her response had been to intend to get her gym sessions back to three or four weekly – which she occasionally achieved – and to invest in some lightly contouring underwear.

Five years and fifteen extra pounds later, and with several major journalism prizes to her name, Ms Laura Lawson had been seriously considering a fitness kick to regain her college shape. But the Gods of journalism had had other ideas.

That had been eighteen months ago. The Globe Today had learned of a nefarious scheme – and one with a great celebrity interest factor into the bargain! Plains City's feuding fashion designers had taken their bitter rivalry to a new level, and it seemed that one fashion house had hatched a scheme to spoil Fashion Week for its rivals: by fattening up their models so much it ruined the shows! For the Globe Today, the story had everything! Pictures! The latest expensive clothes! Celebrity models getting embarrassingly fat! Money! Rivalry! Romance: handsome seducers paid to pose as rich businessmen and tempt their fashion model targets to overeat at expensive restaurants until the poor girls literally burst out of their underwear!

The story promised to be a sensational scoop, and Laura Lawson had got it – by leveraging her looks and going undercover as a model, at enormous risk to her own figure! A lesser woman would have gained stones from all the indulgence in Plains City's night-life that have been involved in getting the story; Laura had gained twelve pounds, but the story was worth it! In fact, there had been even more to the scoop than just a bitter rivalry between fashionistas, and Laura had been on the brink of learning everything... When the Mayor and his cousin, the Archbishop, had come down on the Globe Today like a ton of bricks! They'd demanded the investigation stop, and they'd pulled seemingly decades worth of favours to make that happen. Even the Globe's stalwart editor, Perry Cider, had given in and reluctantly pulled the story – not to mention insisting the intrepid Ms Lawson take a sabbatical from the Globe until matters settled down. At least Perry had pulled strings of his own to get Laura a columnist position for the interim, at the offices of popular but low-brow More Magazine.

“More Magazine. Huh!”

The biggest problem Ms Laura Lawson had endured at More Magazine, aside from the popular publication's paucity of prestige among aficionados of serious news journalism, was the low quality of her co-workers on the writing staff. And the interns! Some of Laura's interns could barely read, let alone write! And the others, even if they could write a bit, had been irksome, air-headed young bimbos.

And the most irksome of the lot had been Miss Tara Tate. Oh...

Laura attempted to smooth her irritated expression. After all, Miss Tate might have been annoying – annoyingly dim, annoying pretty, annoyingly rich; annoyingly able to spend the entirety of an eight hour “working” day eating cake, and yet leave the office as rail-thin as when she'd arrived. But Tara Tate had tried her limited best to do what Laura had told her to... And, it was while following Ms Lawson's instructions that Tara Tate had been grievously injured!

It had been six months ago, at the grand opening of the Knight Labs Entropy Reactor. Ms Laura Lawson had worn an immensely floofy white dress to the party – its creator must have used up Ohio's entire annual production of floof! – in the hope that a six-inch thickness of fluffy fake fur would disguise just how bloated the formerly modelesque reporter was looking. Unfortunately for Laura's self-esteem, but fortunately for her survival, her ploy to conceal her swollen tummy and chubby curves failed. The official photographer had circulated around the party, looking for one or two of the prettiest and most photogenic young ladies to enhance his photographs of the municipal dignitaries and other bigwigs on the stage. When she saw the photographer on the prowl, Laura Lawson had sucked in her tummy as hard as she could, but to no avail! She'd been just too constipated to hide the consequences of her enormous lunch at La Vache Grande! Instead, the photographer had invited Laura's intern, Tara, to prettify his pictures of the Mayor and Plains City's top boffins. Laura had been absolutely infuriated! Not only was Ms Tate her very junior intern, but the skinny rich girl had gorged herself on at least as much lunch as Laura. And Tara had spent the entire party eating like a furnace that was scared it was about to run out of coal; whereas Laura had felt so constipated since lunch that she'd scarcely even picked at her own plates.

Anyway, Tara had been smiling prettily for the camera (and casting hungry looks at her distant plate of muffins) when the Mayor had pushed the button to start the reactor and, with a terrific bang and a flash, the evening had turned into an absolute disaster for Plains City!

The disaster shouldn't have been. The opening ceremony was merely official. The Entropy Reactor had been pumping clean electricity into Plains City's greedy grid for weeks, and the Mayor's button wasn't actually connected to anything. But, all the same, disaster struck!

The reactor had shut down automatically. But not before a great lurid purple arc of ethereal lightning had lanced upwards from the underground containment building. The blast had missed the Mayor and the other VIPs standing at the centre of the event – but it had struck straight through Tara Tate! The unsuspecting rich girl hadn't seen it coming, and by the time the emergency lighting came back she was laying comatose on the ground in the smouldering ruins of her cute party dress. She'd been rushed to Plains City's most expensive hospital, but she'd been in a coma ever since. Her friends at More Magazine had sobbed for days, and sent flowers, but there wasn't much to be done.

So, Laura admitted, it wouldn't do to criticise Miss Tate, no matter how annoying as the towering and over-privileged 19 year old had been.

Instead, Laura patted her swollen belly and headed for the hotel exit! She needed a nap to digest her enormous brunch.

“Ugh! Burp.” Laura groaned, as she saw a final table being laid out with desserts: sticky toffee pudding, and icecream sundaes. “Aw, shoot! My stomach's really getting a workout today!”

Laura puffed out her cheeks, and hoped these puddings would be the last thousand calories she'd have to find room for. After all, she had a hot date tonight, and she didn't want to look too fat!

 

*

 

The sunlight of an early Spring afternoon elicited a groan from Laura Lawson as she exited the Serrano Hotel. The star journalist felt FAT! Her hips were thick and wide; her bottom probably looked huge; her belly bulged so far ahead of her she could easily pass for six months pregnant! Her breasts weighed her down heavily. Her arms felt chubby. She really should have worn a more bodycon outfit, rather than the stretchy green jersey dress over maternity tights!

The very last sort of person Laura Lawson wanted to encounter, as the ex cross-country champion panted and waddled her way to her car, was an ethereally slender supermodel wearing baggy size six jeans and an abs-baring pink crop top. But that was exactly the person Laura found, leaning against the plinth of a statue, with her pert little bottom propped on the stone and her forty-inch legs showing off the same kind of superior slenderness Laura Lawson had once boasted.

And eating her way through a whole box of donuts...

Burp.

Laura looked up. The crop top clung to the ultra-perky tits of a young woman. A very tall young woman.

Laura looked up some more. Supermodel good looks. Sparkly, enthusiastic eyes. Black hair, freshly washed and styled.

The supermodel glanced up from her donuts, and practically burst with enthusiasm.

“Hey, Ms L!”

Laura Lawson's jaw dropped.

“Tara? Is that...”

“Yay! It's me, Ms L!”

“But! But!” Laura spluttered.

Tara Tate had been in a coma for six months. Laura hadn't even heard the girl had regained consciousness. She certainly shouldn't be out and about, and definitely not looking hot!

“I woke up!” Tara explained, then munched some donut before continuing. “Two days ago! The docs didn't expect me to, 'cos apparently I was basically asleep for ages, but then they gave me all kinds of tests and they said they've never seen anyone healthier... So they said I could go out! And so I went straight to surprise the girls at the magazine! Um, and to get donuts, obviously, because I'm fucking starving! I don't think they fed me properly in the hospital...”

Laura burped sceptically. It was just like Ms Tara Tate to think of food when there were far more important concerns she should be considering. What about the other consequences of the disaster at the laboratory? What about all the news events she must knew she'd missed over the winter? Still, Tara did seem to have lost weight – doubtless her coma was responsible for her enviably skinny frame, even more taut than before. In fact, surely it was a surprise that the ultra-lean girl was even out of her bed so soon after regaining consciousness. Huh: never seen anyone healthier, indeed! Absolutely typical of the young rich girl's outrageous good fortune!

Tara chattered on regardless, while Laura panted from the exertion of their walk from the statue garden to her car.

“... So I booked a table for lunch – so we can all go celebrate me waking up! But Candi has a tummy ache. And Yolanda's put on forty pounds since last year, and she says she can't do lunch because her jeans will pop...”

Tara sniffed for dramatic effect.

“But they said I could find you here, Ms L, and that you'd want to come for lunch with me for certain!”

Laura groaned. She patted her swollen belly and then rested her hands on her fleshy hips – trying to point out the thirty pounds of fat and bloat she'd gained over the winter while Ms Tate was lounging around in hospital. Tara, alas, was quite oblivious!

“Will you come with me, Ms L? Please!”

“Tara.” Laura admonished. “I've just finished the most enormous brunch! And I have a hot date tonight, and I need to save room! And, frankly, in case it's eluded your keen perception , I've put on some weight these last six months, Tara, and another restaurant lunch is the last thing I need. I'll get fat!”

Tara Tate looked downcast.

Please come to lunch with me, Ms L! I'm so hungry, and I've booked a table at La Vache Grande because their food was so delish, and...”

Laura's stomach rumbled. The reporter raised a hand. Sure, she was full, and eating more food today would be exceedingly bad for her, but... La Vache Grande! And on Tara's bottomless credit card!

“Wait, Tara. Did you say, La Vache Grande?”

Tara brightened up.

“Yeah, Ms Lawson! And I want you to come with me, because... Well, you know all the best foods, and what's really fattening. And I need that, because I've lost so much weight because of the coma, and I was trying to thicken out a little even beforehand, so that boys would like my figure better, and... Also, you have to come with me, because I don't know which forks to use otherwise! They're all so weird!”

Laura ignored the bait of telling Tara to buy an etiquette book. A Vache Grande! Oh, certainly there would be a price to pay if Laura stuffed herself with a vast tasting menu on top of all of her morning's brunch. But, for the sublime fare of La Vache Grande, a little bloating, tummy ache, and constipation would be worth it! She'd just have to take half a pack of laxatives and a glass of olive oil afterwards, to make room for her dinner date!

“Well, alright, Tara!” Laura assented to the lunch. “I suppose, for the truly sublime cuisine of La Vache Grande I could manage a little lunch, Tara. After all, it's not everyday one awakens from a six month coma, and you do deserve to celebrate!”

“Yay, Ms L!” Tara exclaimed happily. “Oh, Ms Lawson?”

“Yes, Tara?”

“Could you do most of the talking over lunch? I mean, partly because you can tell me everything I've missed out on, but, also, I'm super hungry! I have six months of eating to catch up on, and I'm not supposed to talk with my mouth full.”

Laura eyed the towering intern sceptically. Eating with her mouth full had never impeded Ms Tate before. But the, probably, she was feeling extra hungry today...

“Alright, Tara,” Laura sighed, “get in the car.”

“Yay!”

 

* *

 

Three hours later.


 

“Uhn...” Laura groaned with almost a sob at the half-uneaten bowl of home-made clotted cream and raspberry coulis in front of her.

“Too. Much. Food!”

Tara looked up brightly from her own big stoneware bowl of clotted cream. She'd scraped it clean.

“Um? May I have...” Tara began asking.

Laura pushed her bowl away, and burped from the exertion. She'd eaten too much! Her stomach jutted out, and bulged like she was nine months pregnant! If only her green dress and maternity tights had been less stretchy, she might not have stuffed herself so much. But the sweet-toothed former hottie couldn't help herself, and now she felt very sick. Her belly was as hard as a pumpkin, packed tight with so many of La Vache Grande's irresistible a la carte courses. She knew she should have eaten far less! A light salad should have been the most! But she'd watched the insatiable Tara Tate demolish ten of the most sublime a la carte courses in the whole of Ohio, all selected at Laura Lawson's express recommendation, and Laura simply couldn't say “no” to accepting a plate of her own, each time. And now she feared she was going to burst! And her too-compliant maternity tights were to blame! She could never have overeaten so heavily in the spanx she was forced, by the demands of fashion, to wear quite frequently these days! And more frequently still, with the fat she was sure to gain around the middle from today's binges!

Tara looked up from licking her second bowl of exquisite clotted cream. Laura gave as disgusted a look as she could manage without sitting up straight and putting pressure on her overstuffed belly.

“You did not just lick the bowl, at La Grande Vache, did you, young lady?”

“Um. Oopsie.” Tara replied.

“Yes. Oopsie, indeed. BURP! Oh, pardon me!” Ms Lawson admonished the bottomless pit that passed for her intern.

“Would you like any more, Ms Lawson?” Tara inquired. “Only, I'm feeling a bit full. I don't think my tummy's used to real food again, yet.”

Laura emitted a long, resonant burp.

“No more!” Laura groaned. “I'll explode like a nuclear warhead!”

“Oh, Okay. Um, in that case.” Tara called the waitress. “Could I have a slice, no three slices, of the cheesecake to go, please?”

Cheesecake to go? At a restaurant of this quality! Are you mad?” Laura fulminated as the waitress disappeared to pack a doggie bag for Ms Tate.

“Well, I just thought I'd ask!” Tara protested, as she drew her credit card to pay for the multi-thousand dollar meal.

“It's sacrilege! I. BUUURRRRRRRP! Oh, my belly!

A tear rolled down Laura's chubby cheek at the pain of her overloaded guts.

“I can get you something too, Ms L, if you like?”

BURP! Absolutely not, Ms Tate! I swear, after you stuffed me with all this lunch, I shan't be able to even look at a dessert menu for at least a month!”

“Tirasmisu? Another treacle mouse? Oh, what about one of those big foie gras and salmon terrines, if you don't want something too sugary? I could totally go for another of those... But I want to save room for donuts!” Tara suggested.

Laura glared.

“No! And we're going home via a pharmacist! It's going to take an entire shelf of laxatives to get me into my little black dress tonight. Not to mention about a ton of Alka Selzer to make my tummy feel better!”

Tara's brow knitted in concentration.

Oh! Your hot date, Ms L! I totally forgot! Um... Who's it with?”

Laura grumbled.

“Never you mind, Ms Tate!”

“Is is Ben from Accounts?”

“Certainly not.”

“Is it. Um... No. Um... Is it, your editor from the Globe?”

“Of course not! Have you any idea how old he is?”

“Um.” Tara thought.

Ms Tate continued thinking all the way to the car. Laura Lawson had stocked up on laxatives and digestive supplements, and arrived home at her apartment and settled on the chaise longue to give her aching legs a much needed rest, before Ms Tate gave up making stupid suggestions – or so Laura hoped.

“Oh. Well I don't know who it is, then.” Tara admitted.

Laura hadn't intended to say. But the smug thought of Tara's face when she realised that her boss was going on a date with the hottest young stud on the writing staff of the Globe was too much to refuse herself.

“It's Devon Drake, Ms Tate.” Laura informed her intern smugly.

What? But he's like, Plains City's most superhot-stud! How the fuck?” Tara demanded.

Hah! Laura smirked.

“Charisma, Ms Tate. Charisma and intellect are the things which attract the finest of dates. Perhaps you could learn some, if I give you some hints!”

Tara rubbed her head.

“No. That's not it!” Said Tara.

“What do you mean, that's not it?”

“Oh, I mean, yeah, you're real nice, Ms Lawson... But so's Yolanda, and she tried to get into Devon's shorts a while ago, and he totally blanked her... Until! Aha!”

“Aha, what!” Laura demanded.

“So, Ms L. Your superstud date was raised on a dairy farm in Wisconsin, right?”

“Yes. So?”

“Well, he's probably totally into fat girls! And that's why you got a date with him! With that huge tummy, and those boobs, Ms L, you must really be catnip for him!”

Laura's chubby cheeks reddened in outrage!

“How dare you, Miss Tate!”

“No! I'm being helpful, Ms L! See, when Yolanda tried to date him, he totally wasn't interested, until the time she started trying to fatten up her booty, and she once ate an entire cheesecake, and apparently he looked a bit more interested in her after that! So! We have a plan!

Laura burped, and started opening a pack of probiotic supplements.

“What are you talking about, Ms Tate?”

“Oh! Well, you see, Ms L! I've thought about it, and I'm totally sure your new boyfriend loves big girls with huge appetites and huge curves! It just makes sense! So...”

“So, what?”

“So, if you want to get him into bed, Ms L, you have to eat! And I mean, really stuff yourself! I mean, really! Not just like what you ate for lunch! Like, I've seen you eat way more than that before, and I think you need to eat like, the most ever! And, maybe tease him that your eating habits are making you put on a little weight? And, maybe, wear a dress that shows how big your tummy is and how fat your hips are getting! And...”

“Tara!” Laura snapped.

“Yes, Ms L?”

“Shut up!”

“Oh. Okay, Ms L! But I know I'm right! So, maybe... If he doesn't want to go to bed with you, um... Could you mention that he's welcome to feed me cheesecake until I'm sick, if that's what he's into?”

Laura glared at Tara until the intern shut up.

That done, Laura pondered. Hmm. It was true that Devon Drake – who was, she was forced to admit, a super-hot twenty-two year old she was lucky to get a date with these days – had asked her out when they crossed paths in the elevator on a day when Laura Lawson had been feeling as fat as a cow! She'd just returned from reviewing a 21-course tasting menu, and her size 16 contouring midi-briefs were not doing enough to prevent her black-clad belly from bulging ahead of her. On his way out of the elevator, Devon Drake had brushed past her with a grin after she'd accepted his dinner invitation. Laura had thought she'd simply been too fat for the stud to squeeze out without touching, but maybe not...

Well! Laura thought. She might be closer to forty than thirty, and her metabolism had certainly slowed down over the years, but she had intended to make dating Devon Drake the impetus she needed to regain her super-fit college physique. But maybe not! Not if, as the irksome Ms Tate imagined, Devon Drake was a dairy-born chubby chaser. Well. In that case, regaining a fitness model body would hardly be the route to sex with the man of most women's dreams. On the contrary, if the dim Ms Tate were correct, the next few weeks of dating were going to be very bad for Laura Lawson's waistline. But, in that case, which Ms Lawson suspected was the case, her former sports-champion figure and collapsing fitness were just going to have to take one for the team!

Laura closed her eyes and rubbed her gurgling belly. She hoped she'd be able to handle a good evening blowout once her dietary supplements did their thing.

“Hey, Ms L! I'm gonna get donuts. You want anything?” Tara chirped as she dashed out the door.

“No... Wait. Yes, please, Tara. Perhaps just one chocolate donut for me. I wouldn't want to look too slim in my dress tonight, now would I?”

Tara smiled happily to herself. She had been helpful!

“Okay, Ms L! But Imma get you four. Because I'm hungry and I don't want you eating mine! And, don't worry, I'm gonna help you get nice and huge for your hot boyfriend!”

That said, Tara Tate dashed out of Laura Lawson's front door, on her way to the donut stand.

 

*

 

What Tara didn't expect, was that the 2 mile dash to her favourite local donut stand – which she'd thought would make a nice jog for her to stretch her legs after all that time of forced bed rest – would take her all of 0.75 seconds...

 

*

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I was hoping you'd have an update soon! And you didn't disappoint, Laura's over gorged predicament as her teenage appetite writes checks her middle aged metabolism can't cash is amazing, especially the description of her portly gut and hips.

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12 hours ago, Batman76 said:

I was hoping you'd have an update soon! And you didn't disappoint, Laura's over gorged predicament as her teenage appetite writes checks her middle aged metabolism can't cash is amazing, especially the description of her portly gut and hips.

Aha, thanks! I thought I'd try again at this superheroine story...

So, we have Laura Lawson, acerbic ace reporter rapidly plumping up as she approaches middle age. Her new boyfriend is certain to be a disaster for her once-firm physique, and I can only imagine how embarrassing the next Plains City Fashion Week will be for Ms Lawson. I can't decide whether her boyfriend should be (1) a regular, though super-hot, young man, or (2) an alien survivor of the doomed planet Zafton, who derives powers of super-strength, flight, etc not from the radiance of Earth's sun, but from the testosterone rush he receives from watching gluttonous human women getting fat, or (3) a villain. I need an interesting effect for Zaftonite crystals to radiate, in case 2. 

And there's Ms Tara Tate, a speedster. Tara loves food and boys, and she wants to get curvier to lure more of the latter, but her super-speed powers mean that she just can't make calories stick... Hence, her swimsuit-clad super-heroine alter ego is always hungrily asking for food rewards whenever she saves the day from a nefarious villain.

I can't think of what sort of villains Plains City should have. The only one I've got so far is the Batter Baron - a corrupt former cop, turned vendor of cheap donut batter with which he seeks to drive all the city's independent donut shops out of business and establish a donut monopoly that will give him total control of the city's rank and file police. I think he might go on a rampage, destroying independent food outlets with his fattening Batter Cannon, and Tara Tate might be the only person fast enough to stop him.  

Any suggestions, especially for villains or obstacles? 

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I like the Zafton idea to be honest, super man but only if horny for fat girls sounds amazing! As for crystals, literally anything is possible, I've got some extra ideas in one of the entries for an origin

 

 

So some possible allies and villains, villains first!

 

Madame Mass: a concubine of Queen Louis XVI, whos unbelievable figure drew many envious eyes until courtly decadence fattened her up and made the king's eye go to younger, thinner women. Spending her fortune on a magical amulet to restore her youth succeeded, giving her magical powers in the process. But the necklace was stolen during the revolution, leaving her a ghost trapped inside. When the necklace winds up in plains city, say around Laura's neck, madame Mass possesses her, slimming her down and using her restored powers to fatten up any fit woman in sight....like Tara!

Lady Death: a matchless fighter who pretends to be an ancient princess of a Himilayan assassin cult to hide she's really a  Michigan woman named Cathy Li. The cult she took over in the late 80s  is real though, with powerful resources, namely the Vanity pools. These subterranean lakes form wherever women fretting too much about their weight, those who bathe in them with the proper rites are returned to physical perfection for ten years, with the bonus of moderate mystical powers. Lady Death killed the last leader of the cult with the help of the vigilante Shade, her lover/sworn enemy/father of her genetically engineered daughter Helena. She cares little for petty crime but lives for beating the crap out of powerful opponents with kung fu to fuel her ego and ritually sacrifice them for her once in a decade rebirths. She killed Shade for her most recent one a decade ago, earning her daughters hatred, and is back in town scouting out new worthy opponents for her next bath...

Knock Out: Meek and mousey, but sweet and loyal Kayla Kain is an unlikely friend of Tara's and the reason the rich socialite passed any high school class. The sole short, skinny nerdy girl in a family of sports stars and models, she grew up in their shadow, slowly being more and more resentful. But the genius young scientist research into genetic manipulation unlocks her alter ego, Pin Up! With the looks of a fitness model, the boobs of a porn model the speed and strength of a bullet train, the appetite of a bear and the morals of a mafia don, the gorgeous stunner spends every night taking over the criminal underworld and eating/screwing to her hearts desire. Kayla takes the damage, waking up stuffed, exhausted and rapidly gaining weight!

Freya: Norse goddess of sex, magic and war, she's come to plains city for fighting and fucking. Completely invincible, she soon has Tara and other heroes as her slaves in Valkenberg, a mystical realm. The only way to beat her: get her fattened up and then knocked up until she turns into Frigga, sweet and matronly goddess of mother hood. But who will do the deed...

Glutea the grand: once an angel of purity who fell and became an immobile demoness of sloth and gluttony, glutea delights in turning the noble, athletic and diligent into the fat, lazy and slothful. Her cult has infiltrated the city government, pushing anti athletic (no bike lanes, no gym licenses, a salad tax, no sports leagues) and pro obesity (tax free  food, restaurants only zoning, free vending machines, multiple fast food restaurants at school cafeterias, plus size hypnosis add campaigns) that leave plains city the fattest town in america! Glutea avatar is currently disguised as the mayor's assistant, an ethereally skinny young woman. But as the city gets fatter and lazier, her power grows and even those with a super metabolism might find the pounds stacking...

Leandra Lord: a super genius ceo of a fast food chain with a powerful hatred of supers after a super heroes slip up made her fat in college. Made perfect again via chemical means, at the cost of her hair, Lord dreams of a world where everyone has become a fat, dull eyed cow in thrall to the hyper addictive chemicals Lord adds to their food, being an expert at finding ways to depower heroines. And if that fails, well she has plenty of fire power in her power armor!

 

As for some allies:

Shade II, Helena Holmes: genetically designed and raised to be the ultimate assassin by a secretive cult, she was freed by the deceased hero Shade and made his side kick and adopted daughter, inheriting his publishing company (which owns More Magazine) when he died. In control of her own diet for the first time and in fat trap Plains city, the socialite is in the middle of an embarrassing, slow weight gain that is starting to affect her performance, something she stubbornly denies. Currently twenty eight and sixty pounds above her fighting weight, she's still stronger and faster than regular humans, but her genetic boosters are wearing off as the pounds pile up, making her half as effective than at her best. A brilliant fighter and tactician, she remains a very resourceful veteran hero who could take a rookie or three under their wing... And may need too given how tight her utility belt is getting! Her primary enemies are various gangs and maniacs, as well as her own immortal and totally amoral assassin cult leader mother Lady Death, who switches between trying to kill her daughter, taunting her weight and pestering her for grand b**s.

Diana Drake: in the mid 90s, Might Woman was the most famous hero on earth, a blonde flying brick with a feisty personality and the best rack on the planet. A Zafton refugee who's power was fed by discreetly fattening up models at the agency her alter ego Diana drake ran, she seemed unbeatable... Until a young leandra Lord dosed her with earth's only sample of gold zaftonite, rendering her forever powerless! Diana has long since become a house wife to a rich ice cream magnate in Wisconsin, having had two kids (Devon and Daliah) and become unrecognizable due to gaining three hundred pounds. Both studly farm boy Devon and curvy farm girl Daliah have moved to plains city and unknowingly inherited their mom's powers, which will kick in as soon as they've gotten enough of a rush from watching attractive women gain weight... Not hard in this town! On seeing a new generation of heroes arise, she heads back to plains city to mentor them... Whether they want the giant, near mobility scooter bound milfs help or not!

Devon Drake, Might Man/DaliahDrake, Might Woman II: the twins of the former might woman, both thought they were normal humans. Life on a dairy farm with a kind if demanding mother made them grow up consciencous, kind and gorgeous, at the pinnacle of their towns athletics. It wasn't until late college and some beer weight settling onto the curvy physiques of their cheer leader girl friends that the two received the hormonal rush that unlocked their power set. Both are extremely selfless and kind, but are also naive to the point they don't know their mom is an alien or that their twin is also a super, despite not wearing masks. Their flying brick powers activate after seeing an attractive woman have a "fat moment" either complaining about her weight while pointing out problem areas, wearing clothes that fail to fit, grossly over eating, tearing clothing or struggling with exercise. This must be in person and lasts for a few days, gradually fading. Devon has taken a job as an intern at more magazine while Daliah is a waitress at a super hero themed hours/aspiring model. Being human/Zafton hybrids, they both lack one of their mom's old powers: Devon doesn't have heat vision or super hearing, while Daliah lacks super hearing and a super metabolism, which hasn't bothered her... Yet.

Adam Wrong, PI: a young minor wizard and handsome detective specializing in solving paranormal mysteries. Unfortunately a curse by Glutea means he can't leave plains city limits, double unfortunately his magical powers don't work if he's distracted by a sexy woman and triple unfortunately he has a fat fetish, sharply limiting his utility. 

 

 

 

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Oh, awesome! That's an outstanding set of characters... 

I love the Drakes - that's a very well-rounded set of characters! It makes perfect sense for Devon Drake to have asked Laura Lawson on a date, because the plumped-up milf provides the perfect fuel for his powers - and, by dating an older, already-overweight woman, he thinks he won't have the ethical concern of fuelling his powers by fattening up a younger, fitter girlfriend, and spoiling her figure. Of course, it also means he's dating a woman with a much-declined metabolism...

The others are great too. The Mayor enacting a salad tax ("To protect jobs in Plains City's critical sausage and lard industries")! Laura Lawson stealing a haunted amulet, reputed to have slimming powers, in order to look at her best in Fashion Week, and inadvertently depowering her superhero boyfriend as a result! Diana Drake being defeated by gold zaftonite (and her gluttony for icecream, and inability to limit herself to human-sized portions)! 

I mean, if you want to do any stories with these characters at any time, feel free to drop them in and I'll go with it. I suspect I won't get much written for a while (and you have a list too), so no time pressure!

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Tell me about it. If the stars align tonight I might get my da story completed, then it's just a collab, the calling epilogue and then back to DC to wrap that up! I'm planning to try and finish some old stories too this summer, but keep getting ideas, lol.

 

Anyway....

Devon drake accidentally knocking up Laura, leading her to meet the even fatter and only a little older/fatter Diana who she idolized as a kid would be pretty funny.

the super girl analogue would get powers by tempting her co waitresses into over eating out of the cheap costumes they wear/persuading her room mate to embrace body positivity, but not notice her own increasing gain as a paunch grows under her huge boobs.

The batgirl analogues increasing tubbiness could make her a good power source for either of the Zafton twins, especially if her kevlar costume isn't a match for her new ass. She can also be a victim of the model weight gain scandal Laura was investigating, her corrupt board wanting her fat and happy and off their backs.

A villain known as the anti fit equation, a weight loss AI driven mad from a virus picked up on a weight gain porn board. It seizes computers and smart phones, hypnotizing women into over eating!

 

 

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Right then. As a special bonus, @Batman76 has written some outstanding contributions to the story of Plains City and its superheroines / villains, and if you are all good then he will hopefully post them here in due course! I for one am delighted to have him contribute some fantastically lustful characters! 

For my part here, I've written up chapter 3 of Calorie Girl, which brings super-heroines officially back to Plains City, Ohio. 

As a total aside, I discovered while doing my setting research that there actually is a Plain City in the real Ohio - but it's a village in the suburbs of Columbus. In my Ohio, Plains City basically replaces Columbus, except much bigger, and with a high-rise centre, and it takes over Chicago's role as the major transport, finance, and cultural hub of the Midwest (there is still a Chicago, and the Chicago Manual of Style is still the go-to reference for journalists such as Laura Lawson, but it's relatively less important). If anyone would like, I can write up a few setting notes - so that if anyone is minded to write a story in brooding Gothic City to the east, Coast City to the far west, or the magic-drenched settlement of Gainesburg, Florida, then they can have some names to go on. 

 

Chapter 3: Calorie Girl

 

Tara Tate skidded on the cracked sidewalk of Augustus Boulevard, once the grand thoroughfare of Plains City's run-down East Poland district. By the time she came to a halt she'd nearly tripped twice, spun around once, and semi-noticed the twin black tracks of melted rubber leading twenty yards back to where she'd wanted to stop.

“What the fuck?” Tara began asking.

Then she moderated her language in deference to Honest Ivan Kowalski, elderly proprietor of Ivan's Donuts. It was the store to which Tara had run from Ms Lawson's apartment. Two miles away, in fashionable Lincoln Village.

“Um. Hi Mr Kowalski!”

“Tara!” Boomed the seventy-year old donut shop owner as he leaned through his window at the sound of Tara's skid. “I've not seen you in months! How you doing?”

Tara stood carefully with her arms out for balance – as if, as many people might believe of the long-legged, rail-thin, but perky-busted young woman of 6'4'', she was having problems balancing. She prodded the sidewalk suspiciously with the toe of her pink trainers. But the crumbling concrete was no different from normal. Tara's smouldering trainers, on the other hand...

“Um...” Tara began. “... Hey Ivan! I was in hospital for a bit, but I'm better now. Um. Say, has the city been working on the roads? Like, um, shortening them, or something?”

Ivan chuckled at the very idea of the authorities ever maintaining the roads. This was America, after all, and not just America, but Plains City!

“Hehe! Working on the roads? The city? That's a good one! If only, Tara! There hasn't been a repair crew on Augustus Boulevard since nineteen seventy-three. Give or take. Now then, what do you think of this, Tara? My latest invention: Cinnamon and Walnut Caramel.”

The sight of the old master-cook proffering a vast pastry in her direction prompted Tara to quit worrying about the boulevard, and how she'd been able to run its length faster than a – um – very fast thing. Instead, she realised she was very hungry! Doubtless because she hadn't eaten enough lunch. She'd been careful not to eat very much at La Vache Grande, because she didn't want to risk a tummy ache on her first day outside after the explosion at Knight Laboratories. So Tara had only slurped her way through ten plates of the restaurant's haute cuisine, and they hadn't been very big servings. She hadn't really felt full afterwards but Ms Lawson had been glaring, possibly for bad table manners, so Tara had made an excuse and finished her meal early. Hence the need for donuts! Infelicitously, Ms Lawson had refused to take a detour to buy any from a drive-thru, even though Tara had tried sobbing a little to show how hungry she was. And not only hungry: Tara felt so skinny she was afraid no boy would ever look at her again – well, she was an heiress to a multi-billion mining fortune, so maybe they might look at her, but with her current sub-size six ass there was no way they'd ever look at her lustfully! And that would mean she might have to go to society parties with a second or third-choice escort, and Tara lamented at the social shame of such a scenario.

“Mmm!”

Tara's eyes bulged at the sweet, rich flavour of the cinnamon and walnut.

“Mr Kowalski, this donut is amazing! It's... Heavenly!”

Ivan Kowalski beamed at the compliment. He'd hoped his favourite (and biggest-spending) young customer would enjoy his handiwork. She loved all his donuts, so he'd been confident, but the unalloyed happiness on her face was the greatest reward any chef could receive. Well, apart from a lucrative order, of course, and it just so happened that the pretty Ms Tate offered that prize too!

“May I have a box of a dozen of these, please? No, two dozens?” Tara implored, waving her shiny credit card. “And, also, four, no, five assorted dozen boxes! And a milkshake, please, Mr Kowalski!”

Mr Kowalski smiled benevolently, and set about the order – first of all putting six small complimentary sugar donuts in a bag for Ms Tate to munch on while she watched him box up the rest. Those didn't last her very long, so he tossed a toffee bun in her direction and watched her catch it with the enthusiasm of a performing dolphin.

“Ah, business is good!” Said Mr Kowalski to no-one in particular, as he took Tara's payment. If there was one thing Ivan Kowalski liked to see, it was a young woman with a bottomless appetite for sugar at the counter of his donut store!

“That's good to hear, Mr K!” Replied Ms Tate as she munched contentedly on her five hundred calorie toffee bun snack.

“Of course, the Batter Baron running so many of the city's independent donut shops out of business helps – just so long as he doesn't come around my poor little neighbourhood!”

Tara interrupted her munch at the words “running out of business” in the context of donut shops.

“The – mmph – the what?”

“The Batter Baron, Tara! You know, surely! He's turned half the city's stores into franchises. And, frankly, his stores selling donuts made with his cheap crappy franchise batter is half the reason I've been doing so well lately. Touch wood!”

A businessman buying out donut shops and forcing them to sell inferior product. Tara didn't like the sound of that!

“That sounds horrible. How many stores has he bought, Mr K?”

Ivan chuckled. Young Tara had no idea how business worked in Plains City.

“He doesn't buy them, Tara. He threatens to smash them up!”

Tara gasped. What villainy! And threatening her favourite, or at least second favourite after icecream, type of shop!

“But, but! The police!” Tara exclaimed. “Can't the police stop him?”

“Nope! The Batter Baron is the police. Or, he was. He was a corrupt cop, and he still has dirt on half the station chiefs in the force. So they let him alone. Besides, he gives them free donuts...”

“Yeah, but of lower quality!” Tara sobbed. “Can't anything be done to stop him?” She demanded.

“Shouldn't think so. For me, I'll just pay up some protection money if he comes by this way.” Said Ivan.

“But, but... Wait.”

A thought ran through Tara Tate's mind. It had taken a long time to arrive, because she'd been distracted by sugar and pastry, but it arrived.

Tara smiled sweetly, and asked for another milkshake.

“So, where can I find out more about the Batter Baron, Mr Kowalski?” Tara asked.

Ivan Kowalski scratched his grey chin.

“Well, Tara, have you ever heard of something called television news?”

 

* *

 

Sunset in Lincoln Village saw Laura Lawson swaying her way, a little tipsily, along the short route through the park to a rather fabulous local bistro. There, she anticipated, the hottest young stud in Plains City awaited the delectable opportunity to wine and dine the irresistibly gorgeous star reporter! Had Laura been less tipsy, she might have added that she wasn't quite so irresistible, pound for pound, as she had been in her twenties: the chubbiness of her face, the heft of her overfed belly, and the girth of her bum saw to that. However – and this was a big however – after three tequila slammers and two vodkas, Laura had fully come around to the opinion of her intern, Tara, that Devon Drake saw a voluptuous and plump Laura Lawson as even more irresistible than the in-shape young college athlete the milfish Pulitzer prizewinner had once been.

It had taken two additional tequila slammers for Laura to accept Tara Tate's suggestion of letting the rich-girl intern rummage through Laura's wardrobe in search of the perfect ensemble to lure a chubby chasing boyscout to bed on a first date. It had another taken three vodkas for Laura to agree to Tara's selection. And it had taken two whole packets of probiotic and herbal digestive supplements, along with a glass of olive oil and a large volume enema, to prepare herself physically for a third heavy meal of the day. And then it had taken two spoonfuls of an appetite-stimulating syrup (which Laura claimed she possessed purely for professional purposes as a restaurant critic), four regular cigarettes plus a large home-made “herbal” one, and a few minutes of drooling over images of Devon Drake on Tara's phone for Laura to really feel hungry. The pictures of the hot young farm stud had done the trick, however, and then Laura had prepared and poured herself into Tara's outrageous outfit selection and taken one final tequila for good luck before heading out.

Laura had to admit it: six tequila slammers, five vodkas, and Tara's selection of “clothing” for a date was a fantastic idea! The vain reporter was certainly enjoying the looks she was drawing!

Across the park, a trendy Lincoln Village mom stared as she vaped – and noted with annoyance that her teenage son was also staring at the obscenely-dressed thirty-something brunette who was wiggling her way across the park. “Ugh!” The brunette was fat! Far too fat, and quite possibly too pregnant as well, for the skintight black  unitard into which she'd squeezed her overfed curves. On top of that, the brunette wore “fuck me” heels and a laced leather halter-neck bustier over the top of the plunging neckline of her bodysuit. She was at least a D-cup. And at least sixty pounds too fat for an outfit that would have been outrageous on even a 130 pound girl in a nightclub on her eighteenth birthday!

“Outrageous!” Muttered the trendy mom. She noted with annoyance, however, that her son's mouth was agape and his tongue hung out. She turned towards him, to began a stern lecture on the importance of not staring at slutty overweight milfs – especially not when one's trendy mom is in a permanently-irate state due to her low-calorie liquid-only diet, to which she has to adhere to stave off post-pregnancy weight gain and delay the day her rich husband trades her in for a younger model.

 

*

“Why, hello there, Mr Drake!” Laura Lawson slightly slurred. She was gratified by the clear effect her attire and physique exerted on her studly date, who had stared open-jawed as she wiggled from the restaurant entrance to his table.

As a cynical journalist, Laura prided herself on being a shrewd judge of character. It was usually easy for her to tell what people were thinking about. Pleasingly, just as Tara and Laura had decided over afternoon drinks would be the case, Devon Drake was clearly concentrating on Laura's plump middle. That was good! It would mean Laura could relax and enjoy her dinner, without any concern that she should have worn crushing shapewear or deny herself dessert in order to make sure she could prize off Devon's pants later! Indeed, the bulge within Devon's pants made it clear Laura was going to be enjoying a second pudding tonight, and quite possibly a third, while sitting smug in the expectation of a damn hard fucking afterwards! Still, Devon's obvious interest was no reason not to make his hard-on a little harder already...

“I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long...” Laura drawled, while turning sideways to show off her pregnant-seeming silhouette. She had gorged twice today, and her lower belly swelled like a dome, but there was room for more on top – in the space below her bulging, leather-clad boobs. Laura patted her tummy to emphasise her next point.

“... But it took me a little longer to squeeze into this old thing than I'd expected. I confess I've put on a little weight since I used to wear this clubbing. Um, I hope you don't think it's too much?”

Laura inquired with false shyness, but smiled like the predator she was when Devon replied.

“You look great, Ms Lawson!”

Laura smirked.

“So do you, farm boy! ” Said Laura, licking her lips and running her hands over Devon's shirt, and the hulking but lean pectoral muscles beneath. “And call me Laura – after all!” Laura leaned to whisper in the ear of her buff date, making sure to squish her boobs into his chest in the process. And, not accidentally, pressing her tummy bulge into his crotch, to gauge just how hard she was making him – and, well, well, the answer was superhumanly! “A girl can hardly indulge herself in fantasies of dragging her hot date to bed for a good, hard, night-long fucking until he's on first name terms!”

“Laura!” Devon gasped, this throat dry as the zaftig milf touched on all the sexual fantasies he'd never revealed to any of the lithe cheerleaders and college fitties who'd been brave enough to date him in the past.

“Mmm! That's better!” Laura drawled with a hungry squeeze. “Now. Let's eat!”

Devon sat and drank in the luscious, overfed curves of the older reporter. She was his dream woman! Well-fattened from a life of overindulgent meals – just like any dairy farm boy wanted in a woman! And, had she already talked about sex on their first date? Devon gasped at the thought! Not that other dates hadn't thrown themselves at him. As a prime example of clean-cut American beefcake, Devon had had cheerleaders and even lingerie models practically tearing their underwear off as soon as they got him in a room alone. But they weren't Ms Lawson! They'd been perky eighteen year olds, with B-cups and C-cups – not enough for a boy from a dairy farm – and they'd barely had an ounce of spare bodyfat on them. Some of them, sadly, had even crash dieted before their date, in the misbelief this would make them more appealing to the hot stud. It hadn't. Ms Lawson, on the other hand, had clearly not crash dieted in her life! In fact, she looked even more rounded tonight than Devon had ever seen her before – as if she'd come to dinner after stuffing herself with a vast, indulgent lunch! The thought of Laura Lawson cramming down a huge dinner on top of an already bulging belly made Devon almost painfully hard. Even more, As Laura Lawson sat, spilling out of her leather top and straining her tight black Lycra skinsuit, Devon realised she obviously wasn't wearing any underwear! That thought pushed him from “almost painfully hard” to “very painfully!” But in a good way.

Laura Lawson teased her hot date mercilessly, from the moment she sat down with the certainty he was a chubby chaser, until she demanded he help her to stand up after her third dessert (an overindulgent treacle pudding), cheeseboard, cream liqueur coffee and her several-th glass of wine. She did, in fact, need all the help she could get: she'd eaten far too much! She'd popped away mouthful after mouthful through her crimson-painted lips, until her belly hurt very much! Her immense seafood platter starter had followed breadsticks, pork cracking, olive and cheese appetisers; then a huge hunk of steak with which she'd coaxed Devon into thinking that having five side-orders had been all his idea, then cheesecake, and icecream sundae, and... It all added up, and Laura's already pre-stuffed guts were not happy! She felt like she'd be able to do nothing all night but lay back, push her bloated belly out for relief as far as it would go, and get fucked, fucked, fucked, by a hot stud doing all the work! Felicitously, that was exactly what the night had in store for Ms Lawson!

Fairly soon, leaning heavily on her immensely-strong date whose muscles felt harder than structural steel, Laura found herself in her bedroom slurping a high-caffeine energy drink in between tearing off Devon's clothes and ordering him to do the same for her – she was too stuffed to get out of her skinsuit without help.

And then the milfish Ms Lawson had discovered just how spectacularly well-endowed her new boy-toy was. Oh! He had to be way over twelve inches, and deliciously thick in proportion, and so rock-hard she would need a whole tub of lube just to begin the evening. College-athlete Laura might have tried to take him in cowgirl, and spend the night trying to break his stamina to see who was the greatest fuck in Plains City... Late thirties Laura could only laugh at the naïvety of her younger self, and instead lay back on her silk sheets, pushed her bloated belly out for comfort, and demanded Devon Drake to pump her full of his cream until she could take no more! Alas, Laura grew utterly exhausted after five tectonic orgasms, and could take no more... But Devon had proved so ardent a follower of her demands, she invented some more for him. Including bringing her a whole tub of cookie dough, which he brought with alacrity – and, Laura was pleased to see, one spoon, with which he proceeded to feed her the entire quart.

Eventually, happy, sated, overfed, and well-fucked, Laura lay perspiring and flicked on the TV.

Bah!” Laura grunted.

“What's the matter?” Devon asked, from his position laying on her fat breasts.

“It's that skinny news bitch, Mandy Maine. She used to be my junior in the Globe. I see she's been stuffing down the Lord diet pills to get herself on TV. Hah! Actually, television news is about her level.”

That said, Laura proceeded to watch as the vapid Ms Maine breathlessly emoted the news into her PCTV microphone, from the channel's logo-covered newscopter...


 

*

“You're joining us as, right below, as we soar at six-hundred feet in the PCTV newscopter, the first bona-fide supervillain fight in Plains City for the last twenty years has just taken place...”

Laura Lawson chortled as Mandy Maine checked her peroxide hair was being held in its perfect coiffure, despite the roaring wind blowing through her “newscopter.” Still, it was annoying to see the airheaded Ms Maine get such a scoop! A superhero fight! The first in years. Decades, even!

A superhero fight would most certainly be tomorrow's front page story on the Globe, and the lead story in More Magazine too. Despite the fact that the fight itself was far from vintage.

In the Supervillain's Corner, Bobby Ball, the Batter Baron. The Batter Baron was a corpulent corrupt cop. Aside from dealing in corrupt influence over the rank and file of PCPD, Sergeant Ball traded in general extortion and protection rackets. Some time ago, he'd extorted a small donut store from a new owner who'd recently inherited – only to find the former storekeeper had been some kind of gadgeteer. Sergeant Ball had adopted the name of the store – the Batter Baron – and used his newly-acquired gadgets, including a super-fattening batter cannon and an exoskeleton suit necessary to carry its massive batter tank, to force the other donut shop owners of Plains City to pay him protection money or sell up their stores to his mega-franchise for a derisory price. The Baron's police influence – and the free donuts he supplied to all police officers – had made him untouchable. But no more, apparently.

For the superheroes, or more accurately heroines, a tall girl with black hair and runway-model leanness, in a shocking pink swimsuit and eye mask. Laura Lawson suppressed a grunt of envy at the young woman's figure: she had quite big, C or even D-cup tits, but elsewhere she was rail thin. Probably because she was a speedster. Not a very good one, though.

The Batter Baron had arrived at the Arcade District: a seedy entertainment venue, and one with plenty of snack outlets. He had announced, though the loud-speaker of his Batter Armor, that the local fast food association had earned his ire by refusing to pay protection money. And then the Baron had begun the punishment: blasts of destructive batter from his cannon destroying scenery and waistlines alike, as its fattening goo caused instant bloating of the store owners and innocent bystanders by the dozen.

Then the girl in pink had arrived – Calorie Girl, as Mandy Maine had instantly coined the name, due to her behaviour after the fight.

Calorie Girl was clearly not a seasoned speedster. A skilled speedster would have blasted the Batter Baron with their kinetic lightning, and shorted-out his cheaply made mecha suit. What Calorie Girl did was attempt to tackle the corrupt cop with flying kicks and shoulder charges. She was, however, terribly poorly co-ordinated, and kept missing her target, overshooting, and flying into walls with a smash and a painful, rather sad sounding, “ouch.” In her defence, the Batter Baron's armor seemed to have an auto-defence system, and its servo motors hopped him aside with super-human speed whenever Calorie Girl managed to get a well-aimed kick on target. And Calorie Girl had even learned, eventually, to use her environment to her advantage: she'd kicked over barrels of cooking oil, creating a huge spill around the Baron, and then, just as his suit batteries were going flat, she'd got another kick on target, and, when the Baron jumped aside with his failing suit motors, he'd slipped on the slippery oil and fallen on his tremendously fat ass! Then, due to the weight of his massive batter tank, and the failure of his batteries, he'd become trapped under a great spill of his own fattening batter!

Then, as the defeated villain swelled to a ton-weight, and had to be collect by a flat-bed truck for delivery to Coalville Prison to await trial for extortion and the use of a weapon of mass fattening, Calorie Girl had slumped in an exhausted sobbing heap. She'd only cheered up when the grateful junkfood vendors offered her a congratulatory hug – and free food! Hence the name, Calorie Girl. The skinny 6'4'' speedster hottie had gorged herself gratefully on donuts, burgers, burritos, fries, cake... It was a display of outrageous gluttony that Laura Lawson found mildly nauseating! And Laura wasn't an abstemious eater herself. But Calorie Girl – annoyingly, Laura was certain that Mandy Maine's name would stick – was even worse than Tara Tate!

Still, the news would all be about Calorie Girl tomorrow! Questions needed to be answered. Laura Lawson already knew the key questions that More Magazine would need to investigate.

What was Calorie Girl's cup size: C or D? Her favourite flavour of donut? Did she have a boyfriend?

And, more darkly: how long before one of Plains City's legendary rogue's gallery took her down?

 

* * *

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Damn this whole thing was amazing, especially that climax between Lara and Devon. I wonder when he'll realize his new power set? And how Tara will survive the gauntlet coming at her!

 

And of course, I need to post up my little inserts...

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While Calorie Girl was the city's newest sensation, it was true that there had been other heroes before her.

And while the new speedster's abilities were mighty, or would be when fully tested, her predecessor Might Woman had been far, far more powerful indeed. A city busting power house of steely muscle and a drool worthy mass of muscular curves that was the last daughter of the dead planet Zafton, Diana Drake, super model by day and super heroine by night. She'd earned back to back covers on prestigious magazines and saved the world repeatedly with her immense amount of mighty powers. All while sleeping her way through the city's most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes, eating her body weight in ice cream once a week and sabotaging the diets of every woman around her to ensure she had the little hormonal pep to keep her powers humming.

But that had been over twenty years ago.

And twenty four years without her powers, while eating as if she still had them and having twins, had changed Might Woman for the...rounder.

Diana Drake was in that happy, blissful, half asleep wonderland where she could forget she wasnt invincible anymore, only reached after a couple gallons of rocky road topped with a pint or three of hot fudge when she got the news there was a new heroine.

There was always something that ended the blonde milfs blissful  post lunch snack ritual. Once it had been various natural disasters and attacks, summoning her alter ego Might Woman to save the day. The last daughter of Zafton had saved lives by the million, jailed villains by the thousand and ruined waists by the hundred to keep her powers full. Coincidentally that had put her at the forefront of the modeling world and the super hero one, as the nineties sexiest and most powerful woman.

But that had been a long time ago, back when the human appearing Diana had scored a new magazine cover per week and six to seven new sexual partners per week as a highly fashionable, bisexual bomb bombshell super model with a six pack abs and a 40 inch bust.

Who'd still eaten thirty thousand or so calories on a light day, as the delicious earth food hit a tongue evolved to live off of crystals and caused an immediate dairy addiction.

Then, after her first and final defeat had left her forever powerless there had been other distractions: the pain of her stomach as the now powerless Zafton woman found her capacity no longer limitless. That had been followed by the pinch of wastebands and then the pop of buttons as her abs padded over into a paunch.

Realizing her powers weren't coming back, Diana had gotten married. To the handsome, muscular Wisconsin football player she'd dated in high school turned dairy magnate who'd watched rather gleefully when during a got milk? campaign a bikini clad Diana had guzzled nine gallons of heavy cream without bloating. He'd been dim enough to never put two and two together with her old identity, not that anyone else had either, but also had kept up the thrice daily minimum oral sessions the Zafton needed, even as she grew increasingly zaftig.

Diana had told herself that she'd tame her appetite after her six pack had turned into a paunch requiring control garments, as well as start her own business and finish college. The once feisty woman had failed all three goals. Exercise was no fun without powers and dieting a curse, especially when her husband's hyper successful ice cream line gave her gallons of free stuff a day. She'd been chubby getting married, full on plump after gaining thirty pounds on her honey moon and obese by the time she gave birth. Luckily and unluckily, her husband had been just as much of a chubby chaser as she had been during her modeling days so her sex life had been good. But as swelling ankles and breasts tested her during pregnancy, the proud might woman decided to relax and became nothing more than a bloated trophy wife, intellectually and physically lazy, her inflating figure a testament to her family's prosperity. It was customary for prosperous farmers to keep a wife too fat and useless for any chore and the models inflation made her the biggest trophy of all. Diana only cared about stuffing her face, having sex and eventually helicoptering her kids though their athletic events until they'd gone to college.

The blob shaped woman in the customized office chair of would easily have made four of the not at all light figure of the old Might Woman. She was still 6'2 but had long, long ago out grown her height's ability to hide her bulk. Her famous G cups had swelled to a K and an M respectfully, straining a sweat stained customized push up bra that sighed with each breath, the sea of tan cleavage behind them rippling like the tide. Beneath them was a massive gut, so big that Diana was unable to drive a car. Matching it was a butt four feet wide, long merged with her calves to be a match for her apron gut. Normally the waterfall of fat dropped to her monstrous calves, but currently a factory worth it Spanx was containing it up into massive dome. She wore straining negligee that would be exchanged for customized skirt suits after her next snack, so she could head to her dead husband's factory and check on things by eating more ice cream. At a quarter ton and chronologically fifty five Diana looked strangely vibrant.

Despite the loss of her powers, she remained a Zaftonite, product of long genetic engineering. Her blood pressure was still borderline normal, diabetes would never trouble her and her tan skin lacked stretch marks. Dianas metabolism was still that of a twenty year old runner, despite not waking more than a thousand steps a day for years, testimony to just how much she ate. If the acres of fat had been removed from her, she'd have looked at most thirty five and her hair was still a vibrant gold. 

She still spent thousands a month in her appearance but nothing towards burning any of her bulk. The vain woman was now a feedee instead of a feeder, since her husband had died three years ago she'd even begun employing a milf loving set of feeders to keep her fat and happy 

But as the news came on and Diana snorted awake, from a pleasant memory of saving the 1999 Victoria's secret fashion show models and then a week long orgy that had left the human women tubby for months, it was clear the weight was taxing her.

"Ugh, I hate the news. Always so unpleasant," she yawned, five chins wobbling, "where's the remote..."

Said remote was on the coffee table of her living room. 

Ten feet away.

The woman who'd thrashed the Red Ravager over Warsaw in 1990 pathetically reached out an arm thick as her old chest for a long moment. When that failed, she let out a pitious moan, letting the arm flop onto her paunch. Shed gone ten rounds with the champion of worlds to preserve Earth's freedom in 92 but just holding the droopy limb out made it's buried muscle burn.

Slowly wiggling side to side, hauling herself up with a large metal bar installed by her chair for that purpose, Might Woman slowly rose up with a groan of joints. The effort made her sweat and puff, more than diverting a Texas sized meteor in 96 had, and the woman who'd raced around the world ten times in a minute in 94 to stop the parasitoid invasion took a short fumbling step forwards.  Her knees were hurting and already her feet were swelling up but Might woman never quit! 

With a groan of triumph, Diana put manicured sausage fingers into her target... The handle of her mobility scooter.

Diana had been using one since 2007, her weight so long stalled at just below immobile her kids had never seen her so much as hurry. Gasping in relief, the once invincible heroine slowly motored over to the coffee table, the scooters battery about to die. She fumblingly used a handy scoop to pick up the remote, fat fingers clumsily fumbling for a new channel.

Might Woman would have preferred pornography, although her weak, stubby limbs prevented get doing much with even they most salacious feedee porn. Instead her fat fingers turned up the volume!

"And today in Plains city, an unusual story," the anchor, rail thin blonde Mandy Maine, "the first super hero, super villain fight in nearly twenty years!"

"A s-super fight?" Diana asked blue eyes huge.

"Yes a super fight, between a mysterious speedster dubbed Calorie Girl by this enterprising reporter and a madman calling himself the Batter Baton!" The trim anchor said, footage showing streets covered in thick batter and tubby citizens, "apart from vague and never proven sightings of the so called "Shade", this is the first time a super hero has been in Plains city since there disappearance of famed heroine Might Woman in 2000. Are we seeing a new generation of heroes?"

As her own much smaller image flashed on screen, Diana's stuffed gut flipped inside her. Breaking out in a cold sweat, she began the laborious job of turning her scooter around and panting for her servants to pack her luggage and get the lear jet fueled up. If new heroes were entering the stage, they'd need to be warned!

Because the villains who'd turned her from the world's strongest defender to its fattest, laziest milf were still out there!

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Outstanding character. I love Diana Drake / Might Woman!

I'm delighted to see the advanced genetic engineering of lost Zafton, because it fits with a high-level villain for the future: Feastday. Feastday was genetically engineered by the geniuses of Zafton's Gourmet Guild, to be the perfect glutton (for a reason probably related to the eventual destruction of Zafton)...

 

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I had an idea just now that Zafton collapsed due to the combined tonnage of its female population, the civilizations love of fat girls having led to an unsustainable sexual arms race, with Diana shot away from the planet with dna altered to have a super metabolism...that unfortunately was disabled.

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Anyway, here's the other side of the power spectrum, Lady Shade, the heroine so stealthy no one noticed she existed...

 

In the pent house of a Plains City high rise, a relaxing classical music mix was suddenly cut off by an emergency news alert.

"All citizens are urged to avoid the six block district near the city's main police precinct as what appears to be a super villain attack is taking place!" Mandy Maine said, "we're seeing a super villain, super hero match up for the first time in years here in Plain's city!"

That made a pair of steely black eyes pop open, Plains City's sole defender for the past fifteen years jumping to attention from her yoga pose!

"A full villain? And in the day time, no less!" Helena Hunt, CEO of Hunt Publishing snarled from the floor, "what fiendishness!"

Since the depowering of Might Woman and the fall of the old Hero League, the general public had been convinced that there were no more costumed crusaders. But they were wrong, deeply so, as the secretive hero known only as the Shade had protected Plains City from the shadows for another decade. That Shade was himself long dead, betrayed and murdered but his legacy lived on in the shape of Shade Girl...or Lady Shade more appropriately, given she was pressing thirty.

Nor would anyone looking at her current form assume she was a vigilante!

Helena rolled nimbly up to her feet from her yoga mat with a ballerina's grace...pausing only to tug on her spandex panties as her belly popped over them. Unconscious of the wiggle in her hips, the plump and pale heroine left her exercise partner behind, a dark tan woman letting out a frustrated groan and collapsing onto the mat to pant and sweat.

"Helena dear, really, let the police handle this, we were just getting into the groove!" the red haired Brazilian model Andi Korin sighed, batting her long lashes in a fruitless attempt to get Helena back to the yoga mat, "Come dear please, that ice cream place on 3rd and 8th is calling me and if I don't have you around I"ll never resist it!"

"Once I beat this batter shooting weirdo I'll take you out for a treat, just like the old days," Helena insisted, touching an innocuous button on her wall to make a hidden wardrobe pop out, a ninja's jet black armor and weapon's not gleaming.

"In the old days my butt was smooth and my thighs didn't touch. I don't need you feeding my fat ass anymore, I swear Helena, since starting this diet with you I've only gotten fatter!" the s accented redhead moaned, patting her thick lower body for emphasis, jiggles shooting along her thick thighs and up to her jiggly belly, "This yoga is no good!"

"Yoga is a perfect strength building exercise, old girl, you'd know it if you stayed at it without needing a break every five minutes!" the black haired Helena told her, stripping off her workout gear.

That super model Andi Korin and fashion/publishing mogul Helena Hunt were dating wouldn't have surprised anyone. Brazillian model and the wild child socialite had been off again and on again for years. Nor would anyone be surprised at the cover girl Andi looking a bit dumpy given the aftermath of the Plains City model wars, which had ended inconclusively only a few months ago. Lord Industries and Hunt Publishing had gone to war, bulking up its others models and aiming at each other's CEOs via doses of appetite stimulants and hired feeders. Lord had had more models hit but Hunt had suffered the highest ranking casualties: top model Andi and Helena herself!

The 5'9 Andi was famous for her perfect legs and bulging butt, both voted sexiest in the world several years running with her abs and breasts being in the top ten. Unfortunately a feeder disguised as a dietician had dosed Andi with a drug carrying a significant cocktail of appetite stimulants and metabolic depressors, while her bribed personal trainer had put her on a routine heavy with meditation and light on actual calorie burning. Thus stimulated, the 32 year old model's latina genes had gone into overdrive, taking her from unattainable perfect to suburban mom dumpy, with a filled in thigh gap, love handles eroding her hour glass figure and plenty of cellulite over her once perfectly round butt. Gossip mags had had a field day when she'd walked Plains City fashion show with cottage cheese craters up and down her lumpy ass and heavy thighs rubbing together or when her insurance company said it wouldn't pay out the billion dollar policy on her ruined legs due to "Weight gain being an act of God."

"Ay carumba, I know I'm chunky anymore, as if the tabloids would let me forget! If I saw one more More Magazine paparazzo while I'm getting my daily starbucks I'd set them on fire if I still could!," she sighed, patting her not so little gut, "but are you sure you can fight this guy in your...condition? Want some help?"

Years earlier, the model had been an aspiring super villain with flame powers and flight, using her good looks as cover for various thefts. Helena had beaten her, depowered her by hiding away her mystical amulet and reformed her, as well as dating and hiring her. Andi knew she got a bit nuts when her powers had been active but the energy she could burn with pyromancy would help her thighs from touching!

"ha, not on your life. You know how impulsive those powers made you, besides I couldn't give them back if I wanted," Lady Shade said smuggly, standing naked and grabbing her under armor, "and what condition do you mean?"

Andi considered what to say.

Helena Hunt's public image wasn't of the spoiled daughter of a billionaire, she was known as a wild party girl who'd had to model eating disgusting Lord Corp burgers in a bikini after her father had cut her off during one drunken rampage too many had tarnished the family name. Since her father's death, she'd left running the massive enterprise to middle men and stayed an impressive party girl long after her cohorts had retired.

But the truth was, Helena was the world's last remaining superheroine. Born from a eugenics experiment, she was sharp as a razor and strong as an ox, able to dodge bullets and bend steel despite being a slender wisp of a woman.She'd been raised by the mysterious cult of the All Mother, turned into the perfect heir for that nefarious group of assassins' current ruler, her own mother Lady Death. But Helena had escaped at a young age, becoming the side kick to her biological father, the Shade, known to the public as Michael Hunt. Since his death, she'd fought from the shadows, preventing the rise of many other super villains and letting the world think it was at peace.

"Well, Helena its just, well," Andi tried to say as Helena got her pants up, "you're not your best, you know that some one at Lord spiked you with a genetic cleanser during the model war, you've lost your abilities..."

"My genetic boosters are fading, not gone," Helena said gruffly, face going bitter at the reminder someone had robbed her of powers, "I know I'm not as strong as I was or as fast, but I'm still much more so than the average person or even my father, who fought crime with no powers at all! When they're gone, I'll just have to fight smarter! I'm certain I can take down a man with a batter mecha!"

It was true that Helena's moderately enhanced abilities were fading away at a rapid clip. Once she could have sprinted a mile in a minute, now she struggled to do five. Similarly, her old 500lb bench press was down to a struggling three hundred and falling. But the real problem being considered under Andi's curly red hair wasn't what was declining but what was growing!

"I know that Helena, Amor, its just that...you've gotten a bit..." Andi considered.

During the model war, Andi had packed on twenty five pounds and added twenty more afterwards,more than her leggy build could hide and then some. And the much shorter Helena had gained just as much, for despite never weighing over 110lbs, she'd had a diet overwhelmingly packed with junk food burned off by her active life style and genetic prowess. Now all of that unthinking eating was becoming apparent, Helena's days of being deceptively slender were ending even before her enhanced abilities were!

For being 5'5, Helena had had long and slender legs. Legs that were now plush and cuddly, starting to touch at their tops. Girlish hips had flared outwards into a bottom heavy girth, while her tiny, taut butt had puffed up until they were as big as her latina GF's. Despite looking so skinny, Lady Shade had had some pretty solid abs...now a rather puffy looking paunch that had sparked several bump watches from her own gossip mags. Her perfect patrician's features were as yet untouched save for the most delicate little double chin growing beneath her jaw line.The billionaire was looking rather chunky and out of shape, her BMI having pushed her into officially overweight. She was still exercising every day, but until her genetic gifts wore off completely the exercise wasn't enough to really burn anything, perversely she was in too good of shape to lose weight still! Not that Helena looked it, her flabby body devoid of tone. Together she and Andi looked more like flabby trophy wives going out for fattening snacks rather than a super model and her super heroine girlfriend.

"A bit what, Andi? Please spit it out, you know I've got to get going," Helena asked, hauling her black kevlar pants up her thighs, which fought back at the tight armor's passage, leggings getting stuck at the mid thigh.

"A bit well," the model wavered, knowing that her perfectionist GF had never admitted gaining a single ounce.

How the secretive superheroine hadn't noticed the near fifty pound gain was a mystery to Andi. Surely she felt her thighs chafe and her belly bounce, or how chairs were more comfortable or how snug her clothes were. But it had been several months since Helena had dressed as the Lady Shade, having kept most of the super crime down with stealthy take downs for years, that perhaps she merely couldn't admit it even to herself.

But she was saved by the metaphorical bell.

"It appears that a super heroine has arrived on scene and she seems to be defeating the batter baron!" the news caster explained as blurs shot across the screen.

"Another heroine?" Andi asked, brow rising in surprise.

"A rookie, one who's going to need some *Ugh* serious training," Helena muttered, still battling to get her pants over her engorged butt, "I'm going to need to make sure she knows the stakes of this game..."

It took time, the heroine literally squeezing her pudgy body into her tight fitting armor, but soon the warrior was in her intimidating black armor, katanna over her shoulder. She swung through the night, leaving Andi alone.

"Ugh, this diet is never going to start,"the chunky model sighed, already looking at food ads on her phone, "unless...I fatten her up enough she has to acknowledge it..."

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3 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said:

How did I miss this? I love the world building you’ve started! Your styles mesh together really well — Flyer’s feasts and Batman’s bods. With powers combined, we have Captain Planet

Lol, we've got some really good stuff coming up... start of her gain, busty bisexual cheer leader having her fat fetish activate super powers level good in fact

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5 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said:

How did I miss this? I love the world building you’ve started! Your styles mesh together really well — Flyer’s feasts and Batman’s bods. With powers combined, we have Captain Planet

Hehe. Well you've been putting Catwoman on the Chonk Chart for us (She Chomnk), so you've been engaged in important work, with convincing use of the Catwoman's natural idiom too. 

Once I write the next chapter, possibly involving a party thrown by Tara Tate's billionaire parents, Batman76 has some delicious sections to come. That said, I am being held up by my interest in world-building: important questions like when/where does coal mining wealth come from (Ohio is not a bad answer) and what related businesses are there. Most likely people will be more interested in "what fattening luxury canapes might a rich Ohio mining magnate offer at a party" which I will also investigate. 

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4 minutes ago, flyer33 said:

Hehe. Well you've been putting Catwoman on the Chonk Chart for us (She Chomnk), so you've been engaged in important work, with convincing use of the Catwoman's natural idiom too. 

Once I write the next chapter, possibly involving a party thrown by Tara Tate's billionaire parents, Batman76 has some delicious sections to come. That said, I am being held up by my interest in world-building: important questions like when/where does coal mining wealth come from (Ohio is not a bad answer) and what related businesses are there. Most likely people will be more interested in "what fattening luxury canapes might a rich Ohio mining magnate offer at a party" which I will also investigate. 

West Virginia is where the coal is at; it’s the only economic activity in that state. It’s also right next to Ohio.

And wait until you see my attempt at Harley’s accent. If I screw it up, it’ll sound like George Costanza.

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3 minutes ago, >_< 0_0 said:

West Virginia is where the coal is at; it’s the only economic activity in that state. It’s also right next to Ohio.

And wait until you see my attempt at Harley’s accent. If I screw it up, it’ll sound like George Costanza.

West Virginia appears to have a coal mining governor named Jim Justice, who could practically be a comic book character himself - possessing both the name and the style. But my research indicates that it is plausible for a coal mining dynasty to have settled in Ohio, near to the Appalachian coal seams but also, in this case, in the midwestern metropolis of Plains City. I've decided the Tate dynasty has to have some other interests besides Appalachian coal in order to be super-rich, so I've also given them assorted global coal interests (Wyoming, Poland, Indonesia) and some other businesses (salt mines, palm oil plantations, and general old money investments). 

Anyway, will look forward to Harley's accent! 

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Just the most moral business interests for her family lol.

Could be some nice tension between her and Helena Hunt... Who also inherited her wealth and doesn't hesitate to fire models who pick up some chub, if she's not dating them, and runs gossip mags specializing in celeb weight gain, that isn't her own...

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