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DC Universe Overweight

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The start of something else sprawling and with too many characters from me, written because I'm bored due to work being cancelled due to pandemic. Again, DC because I'm totally unoriginal and derivative even of myself. There'll be several plot lines spanning through this, most of them focusing on characters/relationships I didn't touch on last time I wrote on of these here. I've been rough drafting this for a while on writing.com and have a good idea of where I want to go with it, but it will still probably go a little differently than it did there.

 

DC Universe Overweight.

Chapter 1: The Former(ly Fit) Villains

In the pitch black pit of Gotham’s criminal underworld, the greatest venom was aimed not at crime fighters (be they bat themed vigilantes or the police). It wasn’t aimed at rival criminals, be they old fashioned crooks, pushers and gangsters or costumed lunatics out for massive paydays and massive body counts. It wasn’t even aimed for snitches and back stabbers, for everyone knew that if a Bat dangled you off a skyscraper you’d eventually have to give in.

 

No, the worst bile was reserved for those who went straight. Criminals who put crime behind them, who abandoned thievery and graft in exchange for disgustingly honest work. Insults were heaped upon them, that they’d lost their edge, lost their nerve and worst of all, gone soft.

 

“Oof, who’da thought how accurate that last insult is,” Dr. Harleen Quinzel said to herself one morning, wincing as she examined her rump in the mirror, “it's like I’m smuggling waffle batter back there already and the story’s just started!”

 

Quinzel, or Harley as she liked to be called or Harley Quinn as she’d been called as a criminal, was a pale blonde woman of medium height and on the edge of thirty. Tortured semi-voluntarily into insanity by the super criminal known as the Joker, Harley had been one of the most dangerous criminals in the crime benighted burg. Olympic champion skills at gymnastics had been combined with an unhinged mental state to fight, steal, scam and on occasion kill her way across Gotham’s underworld, first as Joker’s moll and then on her own once she’d started breaking free.

 

“Hey, stop with the backstory, that’s not what people came to see!” the accented ex-criminal suggested.

 

Even now, with her mind trending towards’ sanish Harley retained a detached view of her reality. Inanimate objects still talked to her, her internal dialogue often argued with her and she would often swear that her life was being described to an unseen audience by an omniscient narrator.

 

“Omniscient my overfed tuchus! I know you had to google that!” Quinn returned, then went back to looking at her backside, “Oof, hey Mr. Omniscient, you know a way to get this back to normal?”

 

A gymnastics scholarship had put Quinn through college. It had been a routine she’d kept up as a Psych and as a criminal, keeping the young woman toned, fast and surprisingly strong. Her relatively long legs had been defined and muscular, with strong calves and powerful thighs. She’d had a six pack when training hard and just a defined abdomen otherwise. Although her breasts had been small, Harley’s pride had been her rear end: a creamy 38 inch badonkadonk that turned any underwear into a thong and made any pants she wore scandalous. It was tight enough to bounce a coin off of and begged to be slapped.

 

“Fuck right it was perfect, a real muscle butt,” Quinn replied to the narrator, “why’d you bury it under all this flubber!”

 

Once Harley had, mostly, put crime in her rear-view mirror, she’d had to drop most of her exercises to try and keep her head above financial water. Those hard forged gymnast muscles had started softening, while Harley’s always fierce appetite had continued unabated. Her high caloric needs meant she’d never developed healthy eating habits, usually feasting until over full on junk like pizza, hot dogs and cheap Chinese food. Coupled with no exercise, it meant she’d gained forty pounds in half a year and gotten up to a once unthinkable 170lbs.

 

“Okay, me eating like a pig is a bit canonical but don’t lay me being a chubster on anyone but you perv!” Harley defended, double chin really showing as she looked up at where she thought the narrator’s voice was coming from.

 

An antipsychotic drug that reduced most violent impulses making her lethargic and hungrier didn’t help. Its extra influence having accelerated her weight gain to the point that Harley was now fifty pounds over her old 130lb standard.

 

“You’re a regular comedian,” the 180lb woman grumbled, feeling herself get a bit squishier than she’d been somehow.

 

Six months post retirement had done a number on the once fit clown princess of crime. Her face was mostly untouched, save for a floppy fat roll dangling beneath her chin at most angles. Harley’s firm abdominals had gotten soft and soggy, if she sucked in her belly as hard as she could the pale flesh was just a little untoned but when fully relaxed, Quinn’s midriff was now half way between a starter belly and a beer gut. It was thick enough she could place three fingers beneath its lower slope and bounce it up and down or grab it with both hands. Growing love handles flanked the milky buddha belly, big enough to squeeze tight during sex.

 

“Yeah, that’s what they’re for ya pervert virgin,” Quinn grumbled, patting the side fat where her ribs had once been visible, “like you’d even know what to do with a girl as b-e-a-u-tiful as me.”

 

Harley had never been much upstairs, but packing on fifty pounds had made them worse. They’d grown rather saggy, sloppy and floppy, sagging inside her b-cup bra and drooping like a woman ten years older.

 

“Hey, don’t I at least get fat girl boobs?” she hissed at the omniscient narrator, then reconsidered, “alright, fine. Ya ain’t a virgin and are good with girls. And your narration is real professional and funny.”

 

Quinn adjusted her tight blue bra against her swollen breasts. She’d put on fifty pounds in the last six months, plenty of puppy fat coming with it. Her small gymnast boobs had swelled up like dough in an oven, threatening to pop the band of her blue 34D bra. She considered that she didn’t really need a bra, her chest was just as perky as it ever had been despite Quinn bearing a proud set of fat girl boobs.

 

“Now that’s more like it!” Quinn’s heavily accented voice squealed, jostling her tits against the fabric to test their realness, “if I said you were super smart and buff and gave a girl great cunnilingus would ya make me skinny again?”

 

Unfortunately nothing was going to make Quinn thin again save for brutal exercise and a merciless diet.

 

“Rats,” Harley said, crossing her flabby upper arms over her bust.

 

While Harley’s bust had grown, her always wide hips meant she’d been destined to be a pear. Day by day the muscles of her ass had been replaced bit by bit with squishy fat. Once perfectly round, the overfed cheeks had grown wide and succumbed to gravity, sagging like a fatty housewife. Her ass drooped, hanging out of her red thong panties and starting to merge with her equally thick thighs. Stretchmarks raced across her skin, patterns of cellulite spreading alongside them. If Harley had had the urge to measure them, she’d have found that her backside’s widest point was now 42 inches across.

 

“Hey, I ain’t that fat yet. The story is just starting moron,” Harley snapped, “across is just one face, you mean around.”

 

Harley’s ass was now 43 inches around at its widest point, which was much lower than it had been, the 185lb woman's caboose seeming to grow every time she looked away from it.

 

“Haha, very fucking funny,” the pscyh grumbled, “ya gonna point out how my thick flabby thighs rub whenever I walk now and have got cellulite on em? Or how I’ve got these wobbly linebacker cankles now?”

 

Harley’s examination of herself was stopped by a shout from the living room of her shared apartment.

 

“Harley, are you ready yet? I want to stop and get breakfast before we start the meeting,” her partner in crime/roommate and girlfriend Poison Ivy yelled, "you know how cranky I get when I don't eat enough."

 

“Just gotta get some clothes on, Red!” Harley yelled back, waddling over to her closet and searching for something that would reliably fit.

 

“Well hurry up, I’m hungry!” the plant hybrid and fellow ex-con whined, “someone ate all the doughnuts we’d bought for breakfast last night!”

 

Harley blushed that evidence of her midnight snacking had been found...although she’d only had three of the half dozen donuts meaning that Ivy must have polished off the rest on her own moonlight feast. That idea turned her on to a small degree, her girlfriend’s unrestrained gluttony combined with denial about as sexy as things got to her.

 

“Gotta say there’s worse fetishes to get saddled with for a story’s sake,” Harley admitted, pulling out clothes and struggling her buttery body into them.

 

Abandoning a life of crime had brought severe financial downsides to Harley. Her student loan payments had come back with a vengeance while she lacked any ability to put her psych degree due to losing her license. At first she’d had to work at the skeevy Hooter’s knock off Superbabes as a waitress, portraying a more scantily clad than normal version of herself but the increasing weight brought on by the free food meant she’d eventually been let go. Right now she and Ivy were working on something big but until it paid off, the two had to scrimp where they could.

 

Which meant no new clothes until the old ones were absolutely outgrown.

 

“What a stupid way to try and save money,” Harley grunted, stomach forming into soft rolls as she worked her stockings up her doughy legs.

 

The tights were size tens, four weeks old and dangerously snug. They formed so tight around her jiggly cankles and inflated thighs that she might as well not have worn anything, but they at least covered up the cellulite and stretch marks from easy view. Thin patches wore on Harley’s chafing inner thighs, a warning that the leggings weren’t going to last much longer.

 

“Guess that shows me for getting too thick for any of my pants,” Quinn grumbled, working on buttoning up her skirt.

 

The black fabric was painted on, space showing between all of the buttons and the line of her thong could be seen through the sheer cloth. She bent very carefully to pick up a work shirt, sucking in her flabbiness to get the shirt tails into the skirt. Quinn kept her paunch sucked in as long as she could to get all the buttons done up, feeling a pressure spike when she had to at last let her tummy out. A once baggy and now snug blazer went over it, only two of its three buttons fastenable.

 

“Yesh, I’d have to be crazy to go out in this,” the insane woman said to herself, sliding on a pair of high heels by feel, “good thing I am.”

 

Quinn waddled out of her bed room, finding her better half waiting impatiently at the door.

 

The considerably saner Pamela Isley was staring at a wrist watch and tapping her foot, looking up when Quinn arrived and immediately frowning.

 

“You’re really wearing that to our big meeting?” Ivy asked, red eye brow rising in exasperation, “You know how much is riding on us getting this contract, don’t you Harley?”

 

“Would you rather I wear the size eight slacks I can’t get over my thighs? Or maybe the blouse that I can’t button across my stomach?” Quinn returned, jiggling some belly fat to demonstrate, “this is what I’ve got to work with, unless you want to lend me your shape wear, Red.”

 

Quinn wasn’t the only mostly ex-supervillain to let herself go after giving up crime. The former eco-terrorist turned start-up queen Ivy was no longer the waifish dryad who’d had the city in terror. The botanist retained her dark auburn hair, slightly green skin and petite, 5’1 height but unlike Harley she’d never been a serious exercise nut, depending too much on her plant based powers to fight and a diet to stay slim. The same aggression dampening antipsychotics as her girl friend had kicked that diet out the window just as stress cravings and a middle age spread had come knocking, not that Ivy would admit it.

 

“Harley my shapewear is just to deal with little problem areas,” Ivy lied, hand going to her belly, “it wouldn’t hide an issue as large as yours.”

 

Anyone with eyes could see that Ivy had gained just as much weight as Harley. The dryad’s lean face had grown round and puffy, chubby chipmunk cheeks robbing her face of its previous angular beauty. Pillowy shoulders and chunky arms tested Ivy’s grey dress to the limit and she hadn’t even tried to do all of her buttons.

 

If she’d been forced to acknowledge that, Ivy would have said it was all due to her stupendous and all natural bustline. For such a short, slim girl Ivy’s chest had always been large, hovering at the C/D line but her lime tinted tatas had absorbed quite a few of the calories the gluttonous woman took in every day. Eye catching F cup melons surged out of Ivy’s chest, the tear shaped bosoms kept high by some very expensive lingerie that was replaced the instant it got snug, despite the pair’s financial situation. The redhead wasn’t going to let her best assets get droopy.

 

“Yeah, a little problem area,” Harley said with an eye roll, taking her bright blue peepers off Ivy’s assets and looking down at the strangely smooth surface of the green girl’s stomach, “you can lie to everyone else Red, but not the girl who gives you belly rubs when you eat too much. I know just how big your belly is under them girdles.”

 

Ivy’s waistline had once been a tiny 21 inches during her active criminal days, back when she weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. But that had been seventy pounds ago and big as the apple shaped ex-con’s breasts had grown, most of her fat had gone right to her midsection. The short woman’s gut wouldn’t stop swelling out, going from perfectly flat to pinch ably soft to decadently plump to already sagging beer gut over the last months as she outpaced Harely’s gain by twenty pounds.

 

“I...bloat up when you feed me too much,” Ivy huffed, as if she didn’t beg for the feeding when it happened every night, guzzling chocolate sauce and heavy cream until her belly button popped into an outie, “it's all temporary swelling.”

 

“Yeah, you temporarily grew such a big belly you need two layers of shapewear to fit into a size ten dress,” the taller Harley laughed, poking the clear outline of Ivy’s girdle, “A few more months on funnel feeding and I bet you’ll be wider than you are tall!”

 

Ivy’s greenish cheeks turned beat red in lustful embarrassment, her chubby hand pushing away Harley’s soft finger, “Please, spare me the jokes. I’ve gotten a little bloated but once this sale goes off and we get some free time and better food, I’ll burn this off in no time.”

 

The ex-supervillain might beg and plead to be fed and fondled when it was sexy time with her equally chubby girlfriend, but in any other circumstance Ivy refused to admit having gained more than five pounds. Despite her stomach starting to rest on her thighs when she sat down without a girdle on and her feet being incognito beneath her tummy's fat slopes for a month.

 

“I hope not, you look so cute chubby,” Harley giggled, waddling over to the counter of their shared apartment’s kitchen and picking up a heavy cooler, her weakened arms sagging at the weight, “Hey narrator, how weak do you think I am? I ain’t so bad yet I can't lift up a cooler, save that for chapter eight at least."

 

“Harley, quit talking at the ceiling,” Ivy sighed, her friend's frequent responses to an otherwise inaudible narrator“bring the cupcakes and come along. I don’t want to waste this appointment, it's not every day you get a meeting with an executive at Wayne Enterprises.”

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That was delightful! The way you describe Harley and Ivy's figures is wonderful, and I got a chuckle out of the Duck Amok-like banter between Harley and the narrator. Looking forward to seeing where this goes and how it differs from the interactive!

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35 minutes ago, CyrilFiggus said:

That was delightful! The way you describe Harley and Ivy's figures is wonderful, and I got a chuckle out of the Duck Amok-like banter between Harley and the narrator. Looking forward to seeing where this goes and how it differs from the interactive!

Thanks. The next little swerve will be coming soon

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Wow, this is good! Once I realized that Harley was arguing with a narrator that was warping reality, it got twice as fun to read. Also, I know exactly what art on DA inspired this!!

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2 hours ago, Kara Zor El To Serve Human said:

Batman76

Would you willing to write Fanfic Story alike Twilight Zone's Infamous Episode To Serve Man and To Serve Man Novel

Kyptronian replace Kanamit

Sara Lance and Laurel Lance replace Michael Chambers

Linda Park replace Patty

Not right now

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6 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said:

Wow, this is good! Once I realized that Harley was arguing with a narrator that was warping reality, it got twice as fun to read. Also, I know exactly what art on DA inspired this!!

Yeah, that art was the kick in the rear for finally writing this.

 

And I wanted to go a bit postmodern in it

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Hi, great story as usual, but could I suggest you to convert the text into normal comment font in Curvage? For some reason, your entire story is black when viewed in dark mode.

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1 hour ago, trollforce said:

Hi, great story as usual, but could I suggest you to convert the text into normal comment font in Curvage? For some reason, your entire story is black when viewed in dark mode.

Should be fixed now, It was a text error from copy pasting this from a google doc.

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No actual weight gain and not many fatties in this chapter...but it opens with sex at least. Its all set up for the next, this is plot heavier than I'd planned.

Chapter 2: The Lean, Mean Cat

 

Selina Kyle had been working for this moment for eleven years.

 

A decade of honing her body into a fast and agile weapon. A decade of learning to crack safes, pick locks and hack the world’s best security systems. A decade of scaling skyscrapers barehanded in frigid winters. A decade with some occasional imprisonment under an assumed identity. A decade of kicking the shit out of men two or times her weight while she made off with her ill begotten gains.

 

“How are you going to escape this Batman?” Selina purred to herself, pouty lips stretching into a feral grin, “you don’t have your utility belt, your hands are bound tight, I’ve got you know!”

 

The most troublesome of these men was the one she had pinned at the moment. The Batman, the living shadow of justice and vengeance, who had cut a one man swath through Gotham’s criminal underworld. He’d chased Selina through roof tops and forests, deserts and cocktail parties, even though she was just an extraordinary thief with the occasional kill under her narrow belt. Plans to avoid or kill him had always been foiled, the Bat having an extraordinary sixth sense for danger that bordered on the admirable. Eventually Selina had had to change her tactics to a more subtle approach in order to pull off the biggest heist of her career.

 

Without saying anything, Batman showed her, his tongue rapidly spelling out the letter C across her clit. Selina’s eyes widened to the point their green irises disappeared. Her firm back muscles spasmed, arching her spine until her teardrop C cups were pointing straight at the ceiling, and her the tight four pack of her tapered waist flexed hard enough to pop her back. Selina neared hyperventilation, visible ribs rising and falling at a dizzying rate and a high and wordless scream echoing from her mouth into the sound proofed walls of Wayne Manor’s master bedroom. Her thighs tightened around her husband’s head to the point she worried she might break his neck and her long nimble fingers grabbed his thick black hair tight.

 

The wave of pleasure went on and on and on, rolling until the athletic thirty year old collapsed to the side. Selina’s body was still twitching, her toes curled so tightly that she was afraid they might be broken, when Bruce entered her from behind.

 

“I was thinking of distracting you while I slipped the bonds,” he whispered in her ear, sliding a hand along her hard, muscular side before placing it gently on her clit.

 

 He was fairly large but kept the thrusts gentle, syncing them up with the pulses of her still rolling orgasm so that the sensation only added to it. Selina was deeply out of it, but not enough that she didn’t feel him come deep inside her. He laid next to her for a moment, half asleep, before sliding out.

 

“How...how do you always escape, Bruce?” Selina gasped, wishing for a smoke.

 

“Villains always turn their back at some point,” the billionaire told her, sliding his fingers gently down her back and touching that special spot between her shoulder blades that made her gasp again, “you just have to wait for it.”

 

“I’m just hoping that you don’t use the same move on all your villains,” the short haired woman moaned, letting the massage continue and pulling her legs up to her chest.

 

Selina could never pinpoint the spot when her plan had changed from “Kill Batman” to “Fuck Batman”. There’d always been some sexual tension between the two, two extremely fit people chasing each other while dressed in tight spandex and leather had to have that, and at one point it had just...popped into being. And then some more and more until they were less Batman and Catwoman and more Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle, two people with a very special understanding even though they were on different sides of the hero/villain line. About a year ago had come, well, a question that had made her decide to step over that line.

 

“It’s a special move for the really dangerous ones,” he told her, rising tiredly out of the four poster bed with a yawn.

Selina watched, looking at the defined muscles and the scratches she’d left on his back and not the constellations of bruises, scars and abrasions Bruce’s night time activity’s left him with. That there were continuous new ones left the ex-supervillain with an anxious unease, one that she wasn’t used to. For a little while after the short, private wedding they’d been partners in crime fighting but then had come a little talk about the future that had put that on hiatus.

 

“You’re getting up already? It’s eight in the morning, don’t you usually try and sleep until at least eleven?” Selina asked him, yawning herself, “I was hoping for some cuddles.”

 

“I would, trust me,” Bruce told her, looking back at Selina’s long, lean body on the bed, “but unfortunately I’ve got both a full set of morning meetings as Bruce Wayne and League duties as Batman this afternoon.”

 

“You’re burning the candle at both ends and the middle,” the retired Catwoman pointed out, trailing off at the end.

 

She was about to offer to help him, which wasn’t her usual method. Selina didn’t think of herself as a bad person but she’d been a criminal since she was fifteen. Becoming...nice was as hard a transition as moving from criminal underworld to high society. Was she really about to offer her tired husband some help in taking excess work off his plate?

 

“Let me try and help,” Selina found herself saying.

 

“I would, but I don’t think the League would appreciate you at the meeting. Retired or not, not everyone is as quick to forgive as me,” Bruce sighed.

 

“I gave Wonder Woman that Lasso back,” the thief pouted, “and if she wants to use it on me to test if I’m lying or not, she’s certainly welcome to.”

 

“I’m sure she would,” Bruce sighed again, “if you want to go back to the costumed life, I suppose that could be arranged.”

 

That brought a brief wince to Selina’s face. She wanted to go back to being Catwoman, to feel the wind on her face climbing a building, the rush of a chase, the thrill of a steal. But the reason for abandoning that was still there.

 

“I’ll zip back up next year,” Selina said, hand going to a resolutely flat stomach, “it takes lots of people our age more than just six months of trying.”

 

Working up to the conversation on children hadn’t taken that long. Bruce had already had far too many adopted ones in her opinion, especially as all of them had at one point or another interrupted a job she was on, but Selina had wanted one that was theirs, the best of both of them. And although they’d wanted more time together there hadn’t been a lot of time to wait, Selina was 33 and Bruce five years older. She might have a twenty year old’s body and libido but the Catwoman was getting up there in childbearing terms. But despite three or four sessions of love making a week over half a year there hadn’t been a positive result and a doctor’s appointment hadn’t found any reason for it.

 

Bruce smiled, slightly sadly, “Well, that’s true. But if it takes that much longer we should see a specialist.”

 

“Please, I’m not going on fertility meds. Gaining thirty pounds already is bad enough,” the lithe Wayne Matriarch pouted, “but those things blow you up like a balloon before that and I want to get back into my cat suit and not just be a fat housewife.”

 

Vanity was one of Selina’s sins. She was by any measure a gorgeous specimen: 5’10 and 130lbs of svelte curve. Fit and strong without being bulky, lean and slinky without being scrawny. Her legs were incredibly long and she had just the right flare of hip and fullness of chest to be a svelte hour glass. There was no reason at all her costume had ever needed to be skin tight and having her natural A cups boosted to Cs had only made her career as a thief harder, but she liked to show off her physique, luxuriating in the power it gave her over people. Lust from men and jealousy and/or lust from women as well.

 

“I doubt you’d ever be that and I was thinking some one more esoteric,” Bruce told her, idly scratching the sensitive spot where her fringe of black hair ended just behind the ear and making her purr, “but how about the morning meetings?”

 

That startled Selina out of the somewhat stereotypical scratching session, “You’d let me take the company? Not just be arm candy at parties but actually make deals and decisions?”

 

“I’d let you have company duties. We’re co-equal share holders aren’t we?” he reminded her, continuing scratching, “by all rights you should be on the board as an executive.”

 

Acting somewhat Cat-like was only a minor compulsion to Selina. Almost everyone in Gotham was crazy to some extent or another and it could have been a lot worse. Her kleptomania was far more annoying, especially when paired with near supernatural thievery skills.

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t have me sign a pre-nup,” she purred, “I could just divorce you and steal eighty billion dollars, you know that right? That this could all be a con?”

 

“Selina, don’t take me for a fool,” Bruce told her, “you’re an intelligent thief, you can make far more money running a megacorp than stealing from one.”

 

“And people called me a thief,” she smiled, standing up and sashaying towards the shower, “come now, I think this calls for another celebration.”

 

The Manor thankfully had excellent water heaters, enough that Selina was able to actually wash up when they were done. She near collapsed against the tiles as the water washed suds off of her, numbly realizing that Bruce had just gotten her to take on half of his daily responsibilities and had sex with her, all while making it seem like it was her idea. She’d be insulted if she wasn’t impressed by the cunning of it all.

 

“I was thinking, if I could ask you a favor,” he started from outside the shower glass, already drying off and getting dressed.

 

“Hmmm?” she hummed back, IQ currently around the level of tapioca after two backbreaking orgasms in half an hour.

 

“Maybe you could bring Cassandra with you today,” he asked her.

 

Selina’s eyes uncrossed and narrowed. She didn’t like the sole girl among the horde of adopted children she’d suddenly found herself mother too. Granted, most of them were thoroughly out of the house (very thankfully as the eldest was only five years her junior) and she didn’t have to deal with them. Cassandra was the only one who wasn’t, a girl born, bred and trained to be the perfect assassin at the expense of speech couldn't exactly ship off to college at 18 like normal. It was less any actual behavior Cassandra did around Selina that put her on Catwoman's shit list, apart from disgusting eating habits the girl was perfectly quiet, not that she had a choice, and Catwoman could go days without actually seeing her. Really it was because two years ago, on their very first interaction, the new Batgirl had handed Selina the very worst beating of her life, landing her with nine broken bones and a six month stay in a secure hospital wing before she’d manage to escape, lugging a cast behind her and with a flabby midsection from being unable to train while eating high carb hospital food. Her ankle still hurt when it rained after that and it had taken four months to get her abs back.

 

“Does your daughter actually want to go?” she asked him, “I’m sure she’d rather stay here, punch punching bags and scowl.”

 

“She’s lonely, it’ll do her good to leave the mansion not in a costume,” he suggested, his voice too reasonable to contradict.

 

“...Fine,” Selina sighed, “its not like she’ll make noise.”

 

….

 

Cassandra Cain was tired, cranky and bored.

 

The busy hum of Wayne Enterprises’ executive floor throbbed around her: phones and faxes and emails and typing and stepping and talking, talking, talking, talking. Worse was the far easier to understand, for her at least, body language: stress and tiredness and ambition and occasionally lust all showing clear as day to the body language reader.

 

It was distracting and tiring, pushing Batgirl to her edge of tolerance. She didn’t do well with crowds or noise, her abusive background and neurodivergent status making her want to flip out. Why she’d been dragged out of bed after an all night patrol at such an ungodly hour as 8:00 am was inexplicable to her and the short, thin girl wanted to do nothing more but curl under the covers and sleep until it was time to train.

 

The young half-asian woman  fidgeted in the office chair she’d appropriated, wishing that the waiting room to her adoptive fathers office had a couch. She wiped sleep from her eyes, her hand scared and callused from constant training and fighting, and tucked her dense, muscular legs up under the fold of her black hoody, pressing them against her jacked eight pack and small breasts so she could rest her chin on her knees. Batgirl debated just leaving, she counted twenty ways she could just leave the building without anyone knowing or any security cameras seeing her, but Batman had ordered her to be here for a reason.

 

What that reason was, Cassandra had no idea. She assumed it was to watch Catwoman, who she trusted about as far as she could throw the Batmobile. Selina’s every action radiated superiority and contempt and pride, Batgirl had to assume she was supposed to catch her stealing.

 

 But the mutish girl was loyal to the mission above anything else...not that she had anything else to be loyal to. Due to her rather unique and abusive upbringing the ex-assassins options were either crime fighting or crime and she was far too empathetic to do the later. Being able to read the pain you caused people made her restrict herself purely to those who deserved the beatings she could hand out, her surprising strength, endless martial arts training and ability to predict body language making her the best fighter in Gotham.

 

So despite being groggy and grouchy and bored, she’d stay here and just...watch.

 

She didn’t have long to watch, as the door to the waiting room opened and two supervillains strode in.

 

Cassandra’s honed reflexes engaged the moment she recognized Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, legs shooting out of her jacket to let her stand. But just as quickly she discounted them as threats, while she’d beaten both to a pulp before, both were on the “safe” list of retired villains kept pacified and docile by Wayne produced psychiatrics. But then she started to notice the ...changes to each woman.

 

Ivy and Quinn had always been slim, the former lean and fatless save for her boobs while the later had been a thin girl with water balloons down the back of her pants. In the months since both had retired though they’d...well, ballooned. Batgirl stared at both of them, mouth agape inside her hoodie to see two of the most dangerous women in the city turned into plump piles of pudge.

Cassandra usually dealt with the more dangerous criminals, fit and lethal men and women one and all, and avoided wider society. So this was really her first time dealing with seeing a flabby pair of cankles propped up by 3’ heels or witnessing the cellulite of a chunky thigh through a run in a stocking. It was certainly the first time she’d dealt with an ass that was as big and soft as a pair of soccer balls inflated with sour cream before.  She watched the jiggles ripple up and down Quinn’s soft, decadent body, one that had been had and toned last year. Despite her flabby weakness, Quinn radiated confidence: her shoulders were thrust back to keep her plump fatgirl cleavage high and on display and she didn’t care at all that her squishy stomach was muffintoping over her skirt fiercely.

 

Batgirl felt her cheeks grow warm, overcome by a new emotion and only grew warmer as Ivy paraded by.

 

Unlike Quinn, Ivy projected exhaustion and envy. The legs emerging from Ivy’s dress were more flabby than bulky, but clearly couch bound, and the older woman shot a glare of envy at the vigilante’s firm stems as she lumbered past by. Ivy was moving strangely, back far too straight, like she was wearing body armor over her thick midsection. It took the inexperienced girl watching a minute to realize it was some sort of clothing to press in her stomach, a new and fascinating concept to the accidentally sheltered girl. And if Quinn had been busty, Ivy’s breasts were the size of her head, lime green giants that shook like jello with each halting step, the top two buttons of her grey dress hanging unfastened to let the mammoth melons breath. They were pushed up high, almost to touching Ivy's flabby additional chin.

 

Ivy announced herself with a deep breath to the secretary, Cassandra seeing the stitching on another button start to give way. The secretary waved just Ivy forwards, the redhead going down the hall and to the office. Cassandra watched her, noticing that her ass was completely flat and that Ivy gave a sneer to the new family portrait right before the door, the one that had Selina on it curled up next to her adoptive father.

 

Quinn shrugged to not be admitted and plopped her elephant buns into a chair opposite Batgirl. Then she unzipped her purse, pulling out a paper bag instead of the expected gun. In the bag was a doughnut that Quinn started eating...

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That was such a fun chapter. Loved the play between Bruce and Selina (that opening scene alone, man...), and having Cass be this sullen, bored child was adorable. Looking forward to seeing how this goes!

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1 hour ago, CyrilFiggus said:

That was such a fun chapter. Loved the play between Bruce and Selina (that opening scene alone, man...), and having Cass be this sullen, bored child was adorable. Looking forward to seeing how this goes!

Thanks. I'm aiming to hit characterization hard in this.

 

And I'm looking forwards to your next chapter for regirth

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Chapter 3 is here and is a long, long doozy. But the massive weight gain will be beginning next chapter. Until then enjoy some gluttony and clothing damage.

Chapter 3: The Insult and the Awakening.

The difference between a villain and a supervillain, was all about presentation.

Selina’s skirt suit was custom made and jet black. The tiny skirt showed off a staggering length of firm leg, honed by daily jogs, yoga lessons and pilates sessions into the pinnacle of female perfection attainable for mortal women. Her blouse and jacket were made with the minimum of fabric, tapering tight to her toned tummy and cut low to show off her artfully crafted breasts. A pair of 4' stiletto heels only added to her honed calves and firm thighs, emerald earrings framed her lean face and complimented her gleaming jade eyes, while tasteful makeup hid her minimal signs of aging and ruby red lipstick drew the eye to her dazzling smile.

Checking herself in a hand mirror, Selina was happy with what she saw. Since retiring she'd been afraid of becoming a domesticated fat cat. She loved the power her tight, leggy body gave her over Batman (beloved husband he might be, but she still loved putting the Dark Knight in his place...between her hard thighs) and men in general.

She'd already gone through three previous cut throat corporate meetings, full of soft businessmen underestimating Wayne's bride as just leggy eye candy. Selina had metaphorically gutted them, using her power as a joint share holder to its fullest to run roughshod over them. She'd gotten what Bruce would have wanted in terms of what research to fund, but had done it in her rather brutal fashion that would make the board suck up to her better half all the more. Now there was only one left...

"Who's next?," Selina purred through the intercom to her secretary, looking at her black painted nails.

Selina found that she liked it, cutting down shitty old men who couldn't decide whether they wanted to look at her thighs or bristle at her harsh tone.

"A sales pitch from a start up," the secretary, Brittany not that it was important, said.

"Hmmm, sounds pathetic," the cat burglar sighed, twirling a pen she'd stolen from the same secretary without really meaning too, "any reason for me to not blow them off?"

And head home for a quickie before her next pilates session, she added to herself.

"Well, they're part of the Convict to CEO program, I know Mr. Wayne is very keen on that program being a success...," the secretary dragged out.

"Fine," Selina sighed, "who is it? And don't say Kite-Man."

"One Dr. Pamela Isley, she's a few minutes late though...she used to be Poison Ivy," the secretary whispered conspiratorially, "I can't believe someone that dangerous is let out and about. Can you believe a supervillain is gonna be in this office?"

Selina suppressed a snort, "I'm sure, send her in when she gets here."

Catwoman considered seeing another ex-villainess for the first time since going straight. Would Ivy judge her for leaving the life behind? She shouldn't, Ivy had taken a plea deal to go on the experimental anti-psychotics that ended her misanthropic impulses and neutered her powers. Selina had done the same, she'd just done it without having to go on pills and with considerably more sex. Sometimes she questioned if she'd ever really gone straight instead of just stealing half of Wayne Enterprises.

But Ivy...it wasn't that she hated Ivy. The supervillain game in Gotham was a old, evil boys club. If you were a costumed lunatic with a uterus you had to get help when you could. Selina, Ivy and even Harley had occasionally worked together, not a partnership like the clown and the dryad had, but the occasional team up. And the occasional...team up during a stint at Arkham when she and Ivy had been roommates.

Yet Ivy was still...vain. It wasn't that Selina wasn't vain herself, she didn't spend four hours a day working out just for her health, but Ivy pushed vanity to a truly ridiculous level. Sexy outfits were one thing, but some of Ivy's costumes had her be near nude. Selina had seduced her fair share of marks in her day, but Ivy often relied on mind controlling people (especially men) to a frankly unnecessary degree. Combined with the botanist being extraordinarily self righteous, always claiming what she was doing was for the good of the planet even if she was turning people into zombies with modified plants and making a jungle fortress out of Gotham's central park, and Selina often found Ivy more than a bit annoying.

"Ms. Wayne," the secretary chirped, interrupting Selina's thoughts, "security says that your next meeting just entered the front door. About your daughter..."

"She hasn't left has she?" the thief asked.

She really hoped that the silent vigilante was there. Cassandra might be a quiet weirdo in her opinion, but she was also one of the most frightening fighters on the planet and incredibly stealthy. Selina didn't want to have to go searching for her or have to drag her back, she'd only been able to get the kid into the Rolls-Royce because Bruce had directly asked the dangerous mute.

"No, she's just sitting there. Is it really safe for her to be here if there's...supervillains coming in?" the secretary asked quietly, "she seems so quiet.”

"I'm sure she's fine," Selina yawned, "as long as she doesn't touch anything."

"Oh...okay," the secretary stated, not knowing the drowsy young woman had the deadliest hands in the country, "should I get her anything, she looks miserable.”

"I don't know, get her a juice box, whatever it is kids like," the thief shrugged

“She’s a little old for juice boxes isn’t she?” the secretary replied.

“I don’t know, I’ll pick up parenting as I go along,” Selina shrugged, wondering if maybe she was really cut out for this parenting thing.

Maybe she should be nicer to Cassandra. Yes the girl had beaten the living shit out of her and was quiet and weird, but well...Selina had been a criminal. And from what she knew, the girl had plenty of issues some sympathy could help with. Ugh, maybe she was going soft.

Her musing was ended by the secretary's knock, the door opening to admit...

Selina's hand went over her mouth, threatening to smear her make up as she stifled a laugh. Bruce’s secretary nodded at her (then ducked away to a private listening spot) and in walked, almost waddled into Selina’s office, a woman who was unmistakably Poison Ivy. She knew of no one else who had pale green skin and permanent leaves in their red hair. But Ivy...

"Pam, you're looking...," Selina reached, lips curling into a smile, "prosperous."

....

Harley wasn't exactly in hog heaven.

That place, with its mountains of fried food and rivers of bubbling soda and trees groaning with piping hot snack cakes, wouldn't have had such a punishing long walk from the garage like Wayne Tower did. But this waiting room with its comfy chairs and this big bag of donuts ready to join the 750 calorie triple mocha latte and 900 calorie breakfast sandwich she'd eaten on the drive in would be a good substitution for a porcine afterlife. She slid a cream filled chocolate long john from the bag, licking her plump lips at the sight of the pastry and savoring the build up of desire that would come from biting into it.

"Lotta words to say a fatty was excited to over eat," the ex-psychotic whispered to where the narrator's voice was coming from.

Across the room from her, Cassandra's eyes were locked entirely on Quinn, the rest of the office building ceasing to exist for the former assassin. Cold sweat was forming on her forehead and her cheeks were burning red, while her mouth was going dry and butterflies were filling her rock hard stomach. Batgirl had been attracted to other people before, but this was something different...

"Probably don't need these calories," Harley mused to herself, "really its irresponsible to eat like this when I've already got so much butt blubber to drag around..."

Harley might miss aspects of her old life, like being fast and agile and dangerous. Knowing even the simplest of her old acrobatics was beneath her was a little humiliating, about as much as whenever she burst a button. But the thing was, Harley was coming to enjoy every extra bit of jiggle.

“I am?” the clown looked around, seeing if someone was going to answer her, but the only one visible in the room was the quiet girl staring at Quinn from across the palatial waiting room.

Quinn might be slow and clumsy and sedentary, but wasn’t she also round and curvaceous and busty? Every time she and Ivy were together it seemed like there were new squishy folds to dive into and fresh sensitive curves to explore, virgin ounces to bounce and newborn limits to stamina and flexibility to find. Getting fatter and lazier, just a bit more every day, was really turning her on, as much as Ivy’s own adiposal increase was appealing to her.

“But is it really?” the chubby Quinn asked, “I kinda liked being able to jump around and fight…”

And after a lifetime of being, at her largest a small B, the knowledge that her 34D bust had no where able to go but up would have made her over eat even if she hadn’t become a completely inactive glutton. Why if she moderated her diet, her mammary mountains might deflate in an instant!

“Geesh I get the point,” Harley said with an eye roll and a heft of one large boob through her blouse, “but I want at least an F cup by the time I hit the big 2-0-0.”

Quinn bit deep into a foot of fried heaven, cream squishing out against her lips. The rich blend of dough and powdered sugar and chocolate icing and whipped filling was delightful on her tongue, the doughnut starting to disappear like a magic trick. Every time she swallowed and her snug clothes got just a little bit tighter, the thread around the button on her skirt starting to stretch just a little bit more and the visible slit of pale belly fat between her blouse button widening just slightly, Quinn barely suppressed a sigh of arousal.

“Okay, gotta admit that I am getting just a bit damp from all this,” Harley admitted, licking frosting from her lips.

Every bite was making the ex-henchwoman heavier, slower, weaker, bigger and above all fatter. If she didn't have a whole pint of rich chocolate milk to wash it down with, Harley would worry about dehydration just from how wet her panties were getting at the thought of her climbing weight. She might occasionally complain about losing her gymnast figure, but every new ounce of bounce gained was driving Harley wild on the inside.

"You bet, a girl doesn't earn DD cups just eating salad, does she?," Quinn whispered, tugging on her increasingly snug bra, porcelain cleavage jiggling through the unbuttoned neckline. 

Across the room, Batgirl shivered, the emotions pouring off of Harley's body a flashing neon sign of lust and satisfaction complete with bells and sirens to a body language reader like herself. The blue eyes rolling in Quinn’s head, the tremble of her chubby thighs, the rapid rise and fall of her surprisingly large breasts...all of it was a wild and desperate satisfaction. Usually Cassandra just read fear and anger and hate off of criminals and their victims, never before had she seen someone so... happy. She'd seen people in love (her adopted father Bruce and Selina, her best friend Stephanie and step-brother Tim) but she'd never seen someone exude complete joy and inner peace so much before.

The Clown Princess of Crime crossed her chubby thighs, seams in her skirt sending warning groans, and pressed the doughy limbs tight to stimulate herself. She pulled a round jelly doughnut out of the bag and started going to town, messy icing and grape jelly squirting out around her lips as it disappeared. Quinn was breathing harder by the time she was done with it, belt getting uncomfortably tight.

“Sounds like I should give myself some more room,” Harley smiled, licking the jelly off her lips and undoing her belt, its holes all horribly stretched out from trying to contain her rapid gain.

Cassandra’s eyes bulged out at the same pace of Quinn’s stomach surging outwards. The well padded paunch stretched Harley’s red skirt even tighter, one of the four strings holding the button audibly snapping. Cassandra crossed her muscular legs, any thought but watching the gorging clown driven from her head. 

“Crap, this is the last skirt I could squeeze into,” Harley sighed, pressing in her swollen gut to get a look at the barely attached button, “oh well, I’m sure Ivy will get us a big contract that’ll let me size up. I’d hate to let these cake donuts go to waste…”

….

Pamela Isley, or as she preferred, Poison Ivy, wasn’t doing very well.

Her conditional release from Arkham had been predicated upon being dosed with truly horrible medication that left her feeling lazy, hungry and partly depowered. Mostly cut off from the Green, Ivy’s terrifying complete control over all plant life on earth had declined from being able to twist a dandelion into a building size plant-kaiju at whim down to being able to alter the size and shape of a plant’s fruit with a lot of effort. That she, avatar of poor abused Gaia, had to suffer such punishment just to fit into the society of destroying humanity would have driven her homicidal if the drugs weren’t dulling her anger.

Also, living off cheap, disgusting processed food was making her glorious body just a little bloated. The cheaply made, designed to be disposed of clothes she wore tended to shred at just the small pressure of her stomach, when it didn’t shrink down to a ridiculous extent when washed. Why, just to fit into this grey dress, Ivy had had to wrap herself into two layers of shapewear! If she hadn’t known better she’d have thought she was fat.

And all the salt in that food was making Poison Ivy dehydrated. That was the only explanation for why she was barely able to catch her breath following the mid-fifties secretary leading her to her meeting with that despicable dunce Bruce Wayne. Ivy suppressed a snarl of hatred at just thinking of the ecosphere destroying billionaire, knowing that his claims about working on green energy and oceanic plastic collection and rain forest restoration were surely fake. She sent scowls of hatred at the progressive portraits of the admittedly handsome aristocrat, who seemed to defy aging even as each portrait showed him with an ever accumulating amount of orphans. Gaia, the only one who collected brats like him was Batman!

Then in the last picture, just as sweat was starting to really pour off Ivy’s brow, the botanist saw Catwoman. Selina looked like a million bucks, designer clothes and jewelry worth at least that much clinging to an essentially perfect body. Tall and leggy and toned, why it set Ivy’s teeth on edge to think of how much photoshop Selina had probably insisted. Catwoman was so vain and obsessed with her own looks that Ivy had always been annoyed by her, even when the two had occasionally shared a bed. Surely marrying a billionaire and leaving the caped life behind had made her plump up like an aristocrats house cat, no matter how slim and smug she appeared in the picture.

Ivy shot one last glare at the photo and then activated one of the few powers available to her: a rush of pheramones from her skin that made any man who smelled it her slave. The drugs were supposed to eliminate this ability, but instead they’d just reduced it from turning small armies into semi-permanent zombies into charming a man blind for a few minutes. It would be enough to get a dunce like Bruce Wayne to fill her purse with grant money. Perhaps she’d even let Wayne experience an in shape woman instead of that assuredly lardass Selina…

The secretary knocked on the door and Ivy’s stomach did a metaphorical flip when a throaty, feminine voice bid them enter. Not that it could flip, for despite her shapewear layers Ivy was having to suck her stomach in so hard she was about to cry. She had just enough time to curse her own bloating as the door opened to show not that manipulatable moron Bruce Wayne, but his wife and the retired Catwoman Selina.

“Pam, you’re looking prosperous…,” Catwoman smirked, not quite hiding the smile on her slim face with one manicured hand.

Selina looked gorgeous. Every aspect of her appearance was flawless from her short black hair down her patrician features and slim neck, to her high (if fake) breasts, across her tiny waist and down her long, long and very toned legs. With her not dodging batarangs across roof tops, the other retired villain’s gym bill alone must be worth Ivy’s monthly rent. Her clothing was probably worth the entire building. Gaia, her shoes were worth Ivy’s car!

So shocked was Ivy that she forgot to suck in her stomach, a potbelly briefly bulging into being beneath her overloaded spanx. 

“The bio-technology start up life is clearly doing wonders for you,” Selina went on, “it doesn’t look like you’re having to cut back anywhere.”

Ivy’s pale green cheeks burned red in anger. What was Selina possibly implying?

“I… and you look...fine,” Ivy decided on saying, trying to find some sort of flaw and failing, “I didn’t really expect you to be here…”

“Oh, Brucie is just letting me take the old megacorp out for a spin,” the rich woman purred, looking down at the massive diamond on her wedding ring before picking up a file from the massive desk her toned derriere was sat upon, “but what about you Pam? I was told you were bringing me a business pitch of some sort. It looks like your little start up, IsleyQuinn is making...diet food.”

Selina looked up from the file, jade green eyes running over every inch of Ivy’s body.

“Seriously Ivy, you’re making diet food?” Selina snorted, “I can’t even believe that.”

“Its… a bit of a step down from trying to save the world I admit,” the redhead admitted, “but a laudable source of funding if you have to exist in a capitalist economy. I can assure you that the food is entirely effective, non habit forming and has no side effects.”

“Ivy, you don’t see the reason why that’s unbelievable?” Catwoman snorted, “I mean...you obviously crammed yourself into that dress this morning, probably using a shoe horn.”

“Just what are you implying?” Ivy asked her, anger in her voice.

“Ivy...you’re fat,” Catwoman giggled.

….

Cassandra’s immensely strong thighs were clenched tight under her hoodie, steel cable muscles standing out through her leggings. Her mouth was hanging open, a thin stream of drool going to her black, Bat symbol hoodie. Usually the vigilante was aware of even the smallest detail around herself but she was so wrapped up in watching Quinn finish her feast that a herd of elephants could have stampeded through the office.

Quinn’s stomach was so swollen that she looked ready to pop. Her skirt’s zipper was down as far as it could get, the button hanging on by a single thread. The blouse buttons across her stomach weren’t in a much better state, diamonds of pale flesh showing through the gaps, and her two jacket buttons looked like a faint breeze might pop them off.

“Oh boy, I might have overdone myself with that third breakfast,” Harley wheezed to herself, patting the temporarily rock hard dome of her gut, fat layer jiggling over the packed pastries, “why’d I eat so much again?”

She was having to take rapid, shallow breaths due to being so full. Due to this an endless earthquake of tit flesh was jiggling around in her bra, Harley’s suddenly ample breasts threatening to pop her top. If she kept this rate of over-eating up she’d need to size up to a DD that afternoon.

“Oh yeah, that’s the reason,” Harley groaned, wiping sweat off her forehead, “all worth it for the extra cups.”

Batgirl’s eyes were following the rising and falling cleavage with such intensity the vigilante was getting a headache. The sheer satisfaction with her gluttony pouring off the ex-villain was threatening to overwhelm the quiet girl. 

“Say, if I kept eating, how soon do you think I’d get an F cup?” the delusional Quinn asked, eyes going over to the cooler she’d lugged all the way from the car.

It would probably be a bad idea for Quinn to eat those muffins.

“Yeah, but like ya said, I’m a fat girl ain’t I?” Harley asked, licking her lips and thinking of the delicious baked goods.

Really, it would be a terrible idea for Harley to eat those muffins.

“But you want me to be so big and lazy and squishy, don’t ya?” Harley asked the invisible narrator, reaching towards the cooler while seams popped in her jacket’s arm pit, “A giant pile of vanilla dough that can’t do anything but stuff her face? With an ass so big I’ll need to hire a guy with a wheel barrow to keep it from dragging on the ground…”

That was biologically improbably and extremely arousing...but eating those muffins would be an awful idea given how full Harley was.

“Full? Please I’ve got plenty of room left?” the stuffed Quinn insisted, slapping the slope of her paunch.

A wince cut across Harley’s face, her sensitive skin screaming in pain at the slap. Her stuffed stomach rippled at the slap and the inevitable happened. Those horribly tight buttons popped off like a machine gun firing.

“Shit!” Harley squealed in surprise.

Batgirl was thirty feet away from Quinn and fully aware of her target. Dodging gunfire at that range was childs play for her, but the adopted Bat-kid was so wrapped up in the overpadded pear in front of her that she didn’t react to the projectiles. A thick, black blouse button smacked Cassandra right beneath her left eye, bringing a yelp of pain from her mouth and involuntary tears to her eyes.

“Shit shit,” Harley stammered, suddenly realizing that she wasn’t alone in the otherwise empty waiting room and had engaged in an embarrassing display of gluttony in front of someone, “Uh, you okay?”

A more than occasional murderer she might have been, but Harley didn’t think of herself as a bad person. Hurting someone on accident, when it wasn’t funny, was terrible in Quinn’s book. And as the heart beats stretched on and the girl didn’t do anything but wipe tears from her eye, her guilt made her squirm more than her lust had.

“Jeesh, laying it on thicker and thicker,” Harley grumbled to the narrator, “hey, you’re fine, right?”

Again the girl didn’t answer and Harley gulped nervously. Ivy had made it clear this was going to be their last shot and that Harley had better not fuck this shot up. She was to say nothing to anyone, do nothing but wait in the waiting room and certainly not blind some random girl waiting in front of Bruce Wayne’s office. Why some college age girl in shorts and a hoody was sitting in such a prestigious place baffled her, maybe it was the secretary’s kid, although the secretary had been black not Asian. Harley risked a look at the desk, eyes widening as she took in the immense framed portrait of the current Wayne Family.

There was that nice hunk Bruce Wayne and good old Selina, who was looking great. But right next to them, amid a small forest of identical looking adopted sons, was a short, muscular Asian girl with close cut hair.

“Oh shit I blinded Bruce Wayne’s daughter,” Harley gulped, trying to come up with some sort of idea to fix this.

….

An outside, omniscient observer could have heard a pin drop in the office.

“Did you…,” Ivy began, green face turning beat red, “did you just call me...fat?”

Selina hadn’t meant to call the redhead fat. But seeing the once svelte Ivy waddle into her room looking like a lime marshmallow was too funny to believe. Ivy’s nymphish facial features had bloated up, making her look dazed and bloated, especially with her red hair up in a bun. Her always large D cups had inflated into melons that looked fit to burst, while her waist was clearly being held in by a girdle or two given Ivy’s frankenstein gait. She couldn’t be sure, but Selina knew her old ‘friend’ had to have put on at least fifty pounds!

“Well, you are a little bit fat,” Selina giggled, “you’ve gone, dare I say it, to seed.”

“I am just a little bit bloated, from the horribly processed food of modern industrial society,” the plump plant woman insisted, rising higher as she spoke, “which the new varieties of fruit I’ve invented will shortly fix once it’s in production. Why, one ‘thin-berry’ muffin will vaccinate the person eating it for years!”

“You’re telling me you’re waddling around like that when you have a choice not to?” Selina laughed, “Why haven’t you eaten your super weight loss foods then?”

“Well...making the fruit has been a little bit difficult and expensive…,” Ivy admitted, metaphorically deflating a little bit, “I’d need some extra cash to get them into a mass production. I’ve been having a bit of trouble keeping them alive…”

“Oh, right. Those marvelous anti-psychotics you had to take to get out of jail,” Selina smiled, idly running one hand across her own lean hip, “it must be so hard for you not really being able to access your powers. I remember you bragging how great it was being able to wrap any plant to your will, how you could control your own metabolism to eat what you wanted and how you could brainwash any man. Tell me Pam, does that sting losing all that?”

Ivy’s face had been getting redder and redder, her eyes getting narrower and narrower as Selina piled on the jabs.

“That seems rather easy for you to say, sitting there like the cat who fell into the cream just because you managed to hide your real identity from the cops and had Batman vouch for you,,” Ivy snarled, the office plants twitching at the botanist’s anger, “tell me, does ‘Brucie’ even know who you really used to be? Does he know about your little roof top affairs with Batman? How much is it worth for him to not know?”

Selina had to stifle a real laugh, both at Ivy’s helpless anger and at how no one seemed to be able to put two and two together.

“Why Ivy, it drives him wild to think he’s gotten himself such an exotic specimen as me,” Selina grinned, stretching her lean body magnificently, “so, how big of a check will you want while you work on your little project? Five hundred thousand? A million? I wouldn’t want you to go hungry and waste away now…”

“I…,” Ivy kept glaring, her need for funds warring with her anger, “surely you want to see my samples…”

“Why, I don’t need them,” Selina shoveled in, patting her slim waist, “why quite the opposite, I’ve been over doing it with the exercise lately and getting a bit thin. The food at high society soirees is terrible. I really envy you, being able to pile weight on without having to care about people worrying how fat you’ve gotten. Especially as your pheromones, which I can smell by the way, couldn’t seduce a desperate virgin.”

The first part was a lie, Catwoman always worried about her weight and worked hard to keep it stable. But Ivy didn’t need to know that fact. Better to let the over-ripe tomato of an ex-supervillain stand there and fume while Selina painstakingly wrote out a check for a cool million.

“Here you go Ivy, we are so looking forward to your results,” Selina purred, “let’s hope you get that weight loss formula fixed before too long.”

The red faced Poison Ivy snatched the check from the near cackling Selina’s hand and waddled out the door.

….

“Shit shit shit,” Harley muttered in a panic, trying to figure out what the hell to do and coming up with nothing.

“Oh you’re a big help,” she muttered upwards, jostling herself up from her chair, rounded and exposed paunch hanging free in the air, “you put me into this you stupid narrator, now tell me how to get out of it!”

Comforting someone she’d hurt wasn’t one of Harley’s strengths. She was good at hurting people...well was good at hurting people. She pulled what remained of her old psychology training out from the musty pages of her memory, recalling that gifts were typically a good way to make up for accidents. 

“Gifts? Her step-dad’s like, richer than China and all I’ve got is some ruined fat girl clothes and some muffins…,” Harley’s eyes darted from the seemingly crying girl to the cooler, a light bulb forming over her head, “Idea!”

Pulling out one of the muffins, Harley waddled over to the muscular girl who was wiping her eye.

“Sorry about that kiddo, you know how it is when you get too chubby for your clothes,” Quinn said, realizing that this girl had so little fat on her she could easily cosplay as Batgirl.

“Weirdly specific reference,” Harley said, stretching out the muffin, “but hey, just...keep this between us, right?”

Thankfully the quiet kid took the muffin without a word, letting Quinn hitch up her ruined skirt and waddle back to her seat, inflated ass cheeks pulling the ruptured garment lower with every step. She’d just about gotten to her seat when Ivy burst back into the waiting room, a check in her hand and fury on her face. Harley had just enough time to pick up the cooler of muffins and hold them across her belly before Ivy got to her.

“Harley, let’s go,” Ivy snapped, nearly crying in anger and grabbing the former clown by her shoulder, dragging her to the elevator by pure will, where she finally noticed her girlfriend was hanging out of her clothes, “what happened to you?”

“I got a little snacky,” Quinn admitted, “hey, you got the check! That’s a lot of zeros!”

“You didn’t eat the muffins did you?” Isley asked, eyes narrowing, “its very important that no one eats those muffins.”

“Uh, no not at all,” Quinn smiled, hoping Bruce Wayne’s daughter counted as no one, “not a single bite. They are all present and accounted for.”

“Good,” Poison Ivy smiled, “because our line of research is going to drastically change and I wouldn’t want my little test subject to be immune to weight gain.”

“Oh good,” Harley smiled, before realizing she was the test subject, “hey what do you mean test subject?”

“I mean that you’re going to be piling on some weight Harley,” Ivy grinned ferally, “and so is that stuck up, soon to not be so skinny bitch Selina.”

…..

Back in the waiting room, Cassandra shrugged. Her eye smarted a little but she was totally unharmed, more unnerved by her own fascination with Quinn’s flabby body and gluttonous behavior. That anyone could enjoy eating so much confused and enticed her, leading the once homeless girl to shove the entire muffin into her mouth to replicate the feat of lust.

She didn’t get that, the muffin was bland and tasteless. But food was food and the tired vigilante swallowed it down and curled up to sleep on her chair, unable to get thoughts of over eating out of her head...

 

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God, that was good.  I can only imagine how confused Cassandra must feel after that display--you did such a great job with how she read Harley.  The back and forth with Ivy and Selina was great, and served as a wonderful catalyst for everything to come.  I see big things to come in Catwoman's future, if the original interactive is anything to go off of.

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9 hours ago, CyrilFiggus said:

God, that was good.  I can only imagine how confused Cassandra must feel after that display--you did such a great job with how she read Harley.  The back and forth with Ivy and Selina was great, and served as a wonderful catalyst for everything to come.  I see big things to come in Catwoman's future, if the original interactive is anything to go off of.

Thanks! These last twenty pages have all been build up. 

Now for some payoff and then more build up and more pay off and more characters.

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The narrator trying to tell Harley that she enjoys overeating reminds me SO much of how AI Dungeon stories usually go down 😂 

Nice jab at how all the “Robins” look suspiciously similar.

Also, if the MacGuffin is a muffin, then should it be called a McMuffin? 

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2 minutes ago, >_< 0_0 said:

The narrator trying to tell Harley that she enjoys overeating reminds me SO much of how AI Dungeon stories usually go down 😂 

Nice jab at how all the “Robins” look suspiciously similar.

Also, if the MacGuffin is a muffin, then should it be called a McMuffin? 

It should be, but I'd hate to get sued😅

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Generally just looking here or searching by user name.

 

Here's chapter 4, which is only 16 pages long. Its unfortunately double spaced due to uploading it to Deviant art first but its too long for me too fix.

 

Chapter 4: Tortures and Desperation

 

Harley Quinn's life had had plenty of torture: the endless, knee pounding practices to become an Olympic level gymnast, the pure hell of putting herself through med school, being literally tortured by the Joker into her current somewhat lunatic state and the often horrible therapies at Arkham.

 

But right now, Harley was more afraid than she'd been in her entire life.

 

"No more, no more. I'll do anything, just don't do it again," Harley moaned, vision blurred with sweat and heart pounding in her ears.

 

Her tormentor came forwards, arms quivering under the weight of the torture implement: three gallons of pudding and whipped cream.

 

"Not that, alright, not that," Harley panted, trying to stand up and failing, "damn it why am I stuck?"

 

The stomach sprawled across her thighs was part of her failure. Quinn was familiar with a lot of bloat, even when she'd had steely abs at her best her ravenous appetite had left her with a food baby three or four days a week, one big enough to see through her jester's suit or to make her short shorts unbuttonable. But after a month of being stuffed silly twenty four hours a day, Harley's stomach capacity had soared to frightening heights. On an empty stomach she could take three gallons easy and only be mildly full.

 

But her stomach hadn't been empty in weeks.

 

A gut worthy of a full term pregnancy with extra large triplets surged well past Quinn's naked DD cups. Enough baked goods, snacks and deserts to send a state champ track team to fat camp all summer gurgled within, making thick layers of fat jiggle and quiver. Under that layer of softness it was firmer than her abs had ever been, barely able to take anything more.

 

"See! Listen to the nice pervert narrating!" Harley begged, struggling against her stuffed stomach, "I'm already full, ready to pop even! You wouldn't want that! This isn't that kind of story at all, check the tags!"

 

Her tormentor sat the pudding down next to Harley, turning around to fetch an extra large ladle. Harley took a deep whiff of the delicious lemon pudding, mouth immediately watering. The quasi-anti heroine tried to stand up, undecided if she was going to run away or start eating, but even as she overcame the bulge of her gravid gut the blonde had to contend with the rest of her body.

 

"Come on, my ass ain't that big!" Harley snarled, trying to get the cheap chair off of her balloon buns, the basketballs of her hips wedged tight.

 

Skinny Harley had had a big butt, her glutes massive thanks to two decades of squats and jumps and twirls, while all her snacking had put a nice little fat layer on them to accentuate the bounciness. The muscle and fat ratio had more than switched, the now lazy Quinn's exercise routine of sitting on the couch playing video games making her award winning muscle's atrophy away while her career of over eating had seen the little fat layer thicken with inch after inch of lard. Harley's ass was about as soft and jiggly as the pudding, but not quite as smooth thanks to her ever spreading cellulite patches. Pale fat mushroomed through the spokes of the cheap chair, turning red due to the pressure.

 

"I'm not that fat yet, its only the fourth chapter!" Harley whined, trying to think how much she'd eaten since Ivy had gone deeper off the end and put all of her focus on making the most fattening food possible.

 

How long had it been? A week, a month? Enough for her to beat all of the Dark Souls Games and to go from too fat for any of her nice clothes to too fat for any of her shorts and sweat pants to so wide across the hips she hadn't worn panties for at least a week. And all that time, Ivy had been using her as a guinea pig for treats dosed with increasingly complicated formulas. Long enough that 170lbs seemed absolutely skinny now, what was she at 200lbs of pure butter? Maybe even more?

 

"220lbs isn't that big," Harley gulped as Ivy came back with the ladle, "why'd you have to give us such cheap ass chairs?"

 

"Harley, what are you doing and who are you talking to?" the dryad asked, one red eyebrow arcing, "you know that I've almost got the formula ready, we just need a little more testing."

 

"Um, no one Red just...I'm kinda full right now so how about we split the desert?" Harley asked with a nervous grin.

 

"Me? Eat deserts? Psah, you know I'm on a diet due to that horrible withdrawal bloating from those unnatural Wayne pharmaceuticals," Ivy boasted, licking whipped cream off of her mouth, "a few more days and the last of it will be gone, I don't want to jeopardize those results just because you have a tummy ache!"

 

Since getting a boat load of grant money, Ivy had gone off her legally required meds. Harley didn't see much difference beyond plants starting to stretch more towards their mistress as the drugs made their way out of her system, but her girlfriend wasn't changing much in behavior, be that denying reality or eating anything in front of her. For every pound Harley had gained, Ivy had gained one and a half.

 

Ivy flicked a strand of crimson hair off her shoulder, the hand puffy and the shoulder pillowy. She was wearing an F cup bra about to break apart at the seams, her lime green cleavage overflowing the cups top and bottom, and a "kiss the cook" apron of eco friendly hemp. The apron was two years old, from when they'd tried to kill Bruce Wayne's third adopted son only for Robin and Batgirl to somehow foil them, and fitted for an Ivy with a waspish waist. Love handles poured out the side of it, soft flab drooping over her mostly unchanged hips, and an immensely meaty gut distorted the apron's text. The string was just barely tied in the back, wedged into rolls of back fat and held on mostly by pressure.

 

"Yeah toots, I'm sure you'll be bikini ready by Friday," Quinn observed, sitting down with a sigh and a creak from the overloaded chair, "I've just got one question before we get started."

 

"Go on," Ivy said, spooning a massive mouthful of pudding and cream.

 

"What's with the handcuffs?" Harley asked, rattling the restraints holding her wrists to the furniture.

 

"Harley, you asked for them," Ivy said with a sigh, "Now think about how fat and jiggly and gross Selina will be once I've got my formula perfected..."

 

....

 

Cats are not patient creatures by nature, as anyone who owns one could tell you. Lazy they can be, but they aren't patient when denied what they want.

 

"Come on, come on," the stylish Selina muttered as she paced back and forth in one of the Manor's palatial bathrooms, "give me a plus, give me a plus you stupid piece of plastic."

 

It was early morning, when the Bats were mostly asleep. All of Selina's pleas were mostly directed at the pregnancy test in her hand, the minutes until it cleared passing like centuries for the lingerie clad woman. Externally Catwoman might look like she'd just left a photo shoot, wearing stylish black lace lingerie, but on the inside she was a mess.

 

Another month of screwing around at least once a day had passed since she'd lombasted Ivy and sent the wobbling hybrid off with a million dollar pocket change payment. While Selina had enjoyed her new place at Wayne Enterprises so much that she'd spent every morning there now, she still wasn't pregnant. At her last doctor's visit, the reproductive health specialist had suggested that Selina might want to try fertility treatments. Catwoman loathed that idea, those pills made you a lard ass before pregnancy and she was already frustrated in her appearance.

 

Somehow she'd gained three pounds in the last month, despite not changing her routine or diet at all. It didn't show anywhere on Selina's long, slender body and she blamed it on stress messing with her. But it didn't make her desire to go on pills notorious for weight gain one iota.

 

So when her monthly visitor was six days late she'd started hoping enough to try a test.

 

"Come on a plus, a plus," she insisted, staring at the shape resolving on the stick...a minus, "Damn it."

 

She tossed the thing into the trash, burying it deep to make sure that it didn't get found. Bruce had mentioned esoteric help but damned if Selina was going to let some Justice League magician or super scientist root around in her uterus. She was still Catwoman damn it and if she couldn't get pregnant the easy way...she'd find a way to steal her way into it.

 

Which she already had.

 

"You really want to do this, Cat?" she asked the leggy, svelte woman in the mirror, staring into her green eyes, "is it really smart to jeopardize everything just because you want to do it all on your own?...Of course it is."

 

Silent as a, well as a cat, Selina tip toed from the bathroom and got dressed in the early morning light coming through the window. Selina slid into some casual clothes, popped open her brief case and slid her real work suit into it. Bruce was still asleep, having just returned from a battle with Mr. Freeze the night before. She planted a kiss on his brow and slunk away, knowing that it would be worth it.

 

....

 

Trying to figure out a fetish is difficult.

 

Trying to figure out a fetish when you can't google it due to being mostly illiterate is nightmarish.

 

For Cassandra, the weeks since she'd seen the rotund Harley Quinn eat herself out of her clothes had been a time of sweaty confusion. Attraction was something she found difficult to work with at the best of times, attraction to something specific and weird though? Normally she found it hard to talk, the one time she'd tried to ask someone she felt comfortable around enough to ask she'd gone totally tongue tied. But the thought of overfed, squishy, feminine softness was still filling her mind, to the point that during the last night's fight with Mr. Freeze a mook had almost landed a punch on her.

 

Eating herself hadn't done anything. Cassandra regularly ate six or seven thousand calories a day and burned just as much thanks to her near compulsive training and crime fighting as Batgirl. Adding a few slices of chocolate cake a day to that hadn't even taken the shine off of her eight pack somehow. Not training might have helped but she was loathe to cut back on crime fighting though, her intense desire to save others and perfectionism not allowing Cassandra to let her skill level drop.

 

So, Batgirl had turned to softening other women in her life up.

 

The former assassin was incredibly stealthy, even in a family of stealthy vigilantes. She watched her step-mother like a hawk whenever possible, which made it easy to do things like add real sugar and cream to Selina's coffee instead of skim milk. Or swap out her zero cal dressing with full fat for Catwoman's salad.

 

As much as the little, subtle acts of sabotage had aroused and appeased the quiet vigilante, they weren't paying any visible results beyond making the new Wayne matriarch crankier. Apart from a tiny jiggle in her buns, Selina looked exactly the same. Given Cassandra's narrow social circle, that left only a few other women to feed.

 

Right now, a blonde girl wearing a Black Canaries t-shirt and a pair of purple panties was stretched out on Cassandra's bed. Stephanie Brown, or the Spoiler, was a budding vigilante in her own right, Tim's girlfriend and Cassandra's only friend. She was tall and leggy, with the narrow hips, small breasts and hard muscles typical of a stealth focused vigilante, while her face had an innocent, girl next door gorgeousness to it. Her stomach, normally flat, was swollen into a modest food baby from too much pizza consumed during a post battle girl's night before bed and kept full by a slow, careful drip of whip cream.

 

Batgirl slowly traced the swollen ball of her friend's belly, its turgid dome warm to the touch. Her hand shivered at the sensation, resisting the urge to make a firmer press lest she wake Spoiler up. All of her own splendid muscles were trembling from excitement, making the tiredness of not sleeping the past three hours since coming home vanish.

 

"Ssshup I know all the answers to that test," Stephanie Brown muttered to herself, having a quiet, early morning nightmare.

 

Cassandra withdrew her hand until Stephanie had stopped squirming, then slowly picked up the bottle of whipped cream. She quietly shook the canister, then pressed it to Steph's pink lips. The blonde coed's mouth wrapped around the nozzle, sucking on it as if it were a nipple and smiling faintly.

 

Batgirl's brown eyes widened at the sight, feeling herself grow aroused. Clad similar to Stephanie, her small nipples hardened to see the blonde swallow the decadent cream. She'd liked Steph since she'd met her, the blonde girl was funny and smart and bubbly and pretty, her long blonde hair, easy manner and having appreciable breasts making her catnip to the socialization starved Cassandra. The idea of her friend getting heavier, softer and rounder was driving her crazy. Cass knew she needed to do something about this, that she needed to talk to her mentor Barbara, the original Batgirl, to get these feelings out in the open before she exploded herself...

 

The groan of a door shook Batgirl from her focus. Doors shouldn't be opening in the manor this time of day, something had to be up and that something had to be Catwoman. Cass slid to her feet without a sound, silently opening the door to her bedroom and peeking out to see Selina going down the stairs at the end of the long hallway. Irritation and secrecy raidated off Selina's hunched shoulders, making Cass even more suspicious.

 

Cassandra glared. Catwoman was up to something, she had to be to be heading out at dawn. Fascinated with fattening her step mom up she might be, but Cass didn't trust the ex villain despite Selina and her adoptive father being so evidently in love. And she was going to prove why...

 

....

 

"Please, please, no more," Harley whined as the spoon was pulled from her mouth, "Red, I'm gonna pop."

 

Before, Harley had been an overfed fat girl tied to a chair. Now she was an immensely overfed fat girl about to pop and tied to a chair. She was sweating buckets and almost hyperventilating, her near E cup breasts bouncing hard enough to put her back out if she was standing. Once just large, her stomach was a turgid balloon sprawled across her lap, deep and angry rumblings coming from it. A new stretch mark was coming into being around the badly stretched skin, the clown looking ready to explode.

 

"Fuck yes I look ready to pop," Harley gasped, "please Ivy, please, let me up..."

 

Poison Ivy glared at her and then at the pudding, a third of which was still left.

 

"This should give you uncontrollable appetite and a near bottomless stomach," Ivy hissed, "the formula isn't perfected yet. Damn, how am I going to get Selina and all those superheroines with their perfect bodies fat?"

 

"Ugh, I don't know Red but could I have a belly rub please? My tummy's feeling like there's a blender on in there," Quinn gasped.

 

"Fine, but let me toss this pudding first," Ivy said with a defeated sigh, looking at the pudding with a fat girl's desire, "the thing is so tempting and I'm on a diet."

 

"Hey, waste not want not. Food waste isn't eco friendly is it?" Harley asked her, seeing an opportunity for her own kink, "besides, you're looking bony Red, you know I like a girl with some curves. I think you've lost a couple pounds too much. Why don't you kill two birds with one stone? Pour that puddin over me and then lick it off, it'll feel great on my skin..."

 

Harley didn't expect that to actually work.

 

"Hmmm," Ivy thought, her vanity and gluttony warring for a minute before deciding to compromise, "I suppose I have been looking a little thin lately. I'd hate to conform too much to corporate beauty standards, I need to stay at least 110 lbs."

 

The morbidly obese dryad hefted the large bowl up with a grunt, waddling over towards Quinn with it.

 

"Oh thank you narrator," Quinn smiled.

 

...

 

6 am isn't the best time to rob a museum. You might actually be seen in the early morning light by some curator getting to work early. And then would come 911 calls and police and chases and an awkward conversation with your billionaire husband.

 

"In and out in five minutes, no problems," Selina promised herself atop the Gotham City History Museum.

 

She'd been breaking into this museum since she was a teenager, she knew all of the security measures forwards and backwards. A scrambler on the security system and cameras, picking the lock on the skylight and a rope down to the exhibit of her choice: the gem of Hera.

 

"This is crazy and desperate and stupid," Selina hissed to herself as she slid down towards the Amazonian artifact, "but its a crazy and stupid world."

 

She'd seen the artifact few months before, when she'd been serving as Bruce's replacement during a gala. Then she hadn't given the strange little gem so much as a second thought, but as her infertility became more and more apparent, Selina's thoughts had turned to the object more and more. Specifically it had turned to the description on the display, that the gem had been loaned to Gotham city by the Amazons of Themyscira and any woman who possessed the gem would be quickly become the perfect mother.

 

"One Cat-Bat baby coming up," Selina smiled while deftly picking the lock of the display, sliding out the tiny emerald and replacing it with one taken from her own jewelry.

 

So satisfied was the jewel thief that she didn't even look at the second paragraph of the display, which claimed that the Gods of Olympus were overly fond of very literal punishments.

 

Selina slotted the gem into her own belly button ring. Immediately her stress seemed to vanish, her mood becoming gentler and happier. She'd go home and soon she and Bruce would have a little one of their own to love and cherish. Selina thought of bringing their surely adorable little baby to visit her husband at the office...

 

"No, wait. Its my office, what am I thinking," Catwoman shook her head, scrambling up the rope to the roof easily, "if this thing works then I'll have to get used to not being able to do that again."

 

She was realizing she should have said "For a while" when she heard a throat clear behind her.

 

"Selina," rasped across the museum roof, Catwoman turning to find her least favorite Bat waiting atop a gargoyle.

 

Cassandra was in her frightening get up, a tight suit of black armor with a full mask, its mouth crudely stitched up into a nightmare grin. The tight armor showed her step daughter's jacked muscles, making the girl seem even more dangerous. Selina had seen, and felt, the girl fight before and knew how dangerous a fighter she was.

 

She'd have to plan this fight well if she expected to triumph against Cassandra...her step-daughter...her precious...delightful...step daughter...

 

"Cassandra, dearie," Selina found her voice saying, voice dripping with sympathy, "Baby are you feeling alright? What are you even doing awake at this hour you poor thing? Oh look at you, you're positively wasting away..."

 

....

 

Ivy supposed that a little cheat day wasn't going to hurt her.

 

After all, what was a mere gallon of lemon pudding? Fourish thousand calories before one got to the special ingredients Ivy had mixed in? Practically nothing, she'd been so strict with her diet lately, having not had a cheat day since the quart of ice cream she'd chowed down on as a midnight snack six hours ago.

 

And she'd been exercising so hard recently baking all of this food and going to the store to get ingredients, walking three or even four thousand steps a day. Why Ivy's black Gotham U sweats were practically ripping off of all of the muscle mass she'd piled on recently. No wonder she couldn't get back to her old 110lbs with all of this unsightly bulk weighing her down. Really she needed to eat more, as the avatar of feminine Gaia she couldn't look bony or masculine.

 

"And I thought I was crazy," Harley giggled as the pudding poured across her breasts, spilling down her gut and thighs as a tide of cold delight, "don't forget the whipped cream Red!"

 

Ivy grabbed the horribly un-ecofriendly cannisters, spraying Harley with them and then tossing them aside. Her girlfriend was a big pile of delicious flab and the increasingly hungry and horny Ivy wasn't exactly practiced with self restraint, pausing only to undo her undersized apron and bra. She started high, bending to kiss speck of whipped cream of Harley's lips, her own over round stomach and pendulous honkers smacking into Harley's desert covered curves.

 

Ivy followed the curve of Harley's double chin, nibbling and sucking the calorie heavy goop off of her girlfriend's soft skin. She licked it from the hollows of her collar bone, the one place Harley hadn't gained weight, and the folds of her extra flabby biceps. Ivy's face went down the slopes of Harley's almost disturbingly pert DDs, the probing of her tongue making the hand cuffed blonde moan with pleasure before she hit the nipples. She spent some extra time there, making the sticky jester writhe and moan while getting some of the lemon flavored desert onto her own considerable curves. The apple shaped dryad finally went lower, gently licking and tickling the rockhard dome of Quinn's usually squishy stomach.

 

"Oh dammit but your are good with that tongue," Harley cooed, while Ivy slowly dragged her own paunch across Quinn's puffy knees to get at her thighs, feeling herself get fuller and slower.

 

A small lake of desert was gathered in the crevice of Quinn's jumbo thighs. Ivy slurped up the delicious yellow slime, Harley opening her legs to reveal a sopping wet pussy covered with sugary desert. Ivy was on her knees at that point, her arms holding up Harley's heavy, churning gut, while her own sagging belly and pendulous breasts hung down. Due to her minimal muscle mass, the plant hybrid's limbs were already trembling by the time she got to her girlfriend's clit. Luckily Harley was about to burst in more than one way, coming hard and fast as an earthquake, her thick, warm legs wrapping tight around Ivy's head and not giving her an option to pull back.

 

"Keep going, keep going, pop me like a grape you big green bitch!" Quinn gasped, wishing she could touch her nipples, "eat me like you eat ice cream!"

 

Ivy had plenty of access to her own nipples, one set of plump fingers almost involuntarily squeezing her breast while the other was hastily jammed to her own bud. The pair's plentiful house plants started to twitch in rhythm with Ivy's pleasure, their leaves darkening and stems growing. Ivy's green tinged skin, mistakeable for a minor stomach queasiness after the drugs, began to darken, going from lime juice to spring grass, while flowers started to appear in her hair.

 

Harley finished coming, muscles slack and body completely spent. All she could focus on was trying to breathe and uncross her eyes, sleep beckoning the exhausted woman into its warm embrace but soon felt a heavy weight pull itself onto her lap and a semi-soft bulge press into her sticky gut. She got her eyes uncrossed and saw Ivy, panting and trembling, spraying whipped cream onto her own pussy, having to lift up her bulging gut to do so.

 

"How lazy can you be?" the hybrid gasped, "you sit there while I do all the work and then start falling to sleep when its my turn?"

 

"Ooof, Red just drag me to bed and I'll get right on it," Harley whimpered, eyes bulging in alarm as Ivy crawled onto what little free space there was on her lap, semi-turgid gut slapping into Quinn's stuffed one, "Ivy, wait, don't this chair can't take it!"

 

"Please, this chair can easily take three hundred and fifty pounds. I'm a little bloated but I can't be more than 115lbs so there's plenty of safety margin," Ivy muttered, trying to get her heavy, bloated body up the slippery, sticky slope of Harley's body, "now shut up and eat! I'm wet as the rain forest in monsoon season and need to go!"

 

Ivy's small feet were jammed under Harley's doughy hips and the once graceful dryad ignored both cramps in her thighs and groans from the chair to shove her throbbing clit into her girlfriend's face. Harley ate as ordered, looking up at the under side of the gut resting on her forehead and hoping Ivy fell back when the inevitable happened. She didn't wait long, Ivy began to bounce up and down as she came and all four legs collapsed.

 

Quinn managed to not bite down as she fell but still groaned, sore from head to toe and with two hundred pounds of orgasming Poison Ivy collapsed across her face. Her girlfriend didn't seem to notice the fall, the stuffed redhead twitching and squirming head to toe for several minutes and only rolling off just before Quinn died of asphyxiation.

 

The obese pair of no longer quite reformed criminals lay panting on the floor for long minutes, out of shape bodies failing to regain their breathes after such strenuous exercise. The house plants had tripled in size, their leaves pulsing with Ivy's after shocks.

 

"Pretty good puddin," Harley muttered, "you're coming harder and harder now that you're off those pills..."

 

"Damnable pills," Ivy grunted, annoyed at being awake, "I hate those damn things, they made me so bloated and...Quinn that's it! The missing ingredient was in front of me all along!"

 

....

 

Batgirl might be unable to read text but she could read body language easier than eating pie.

 

When she'd seen Selina earlier at the manor, her step-mother had radiated irritation and secrecy. Those emotions from Catwoman hadn't changed after Cassandra had tailed her to the art museum, save for anger being added to the mix when Batgirl had announced herself. The young assassin had expected all that, fighting was her first language after all, and she knew that Catwoman was about to go for her whip with her right hand and throw some caltrops with her left.

 

Batgirl was just about to leap over the whip lash and plant a kick into Selina's solar plexus, when the older woman's body language suddenly changed. Her tense shoulders relaxed, her flexed leg muscles eased, she stood up straight from her fighting pose and her narrowed eyes took on a kindly openness. The secretiveness, irritation and dislike that Catwoman always showed towards her evaporated, replaced by a deep, bottomless love mixed with matronly worry.

 

"Cassandra, dearie," Selina, voice sugar sweet, "Baby are you feeling alright? What are you even doing awake at this hour you poor thing? Oh look at you, you're positively wasting away. Have you even eaten breakfast yet?"

 

"...No?" Cassandra managed, the word harder than normal due to her confusion.

 

This wasn't what Batgirl had expected, for once she was thrown for a loop, standing frozen as the leather clad woman with a model's body wrapped her in a hug worthy of a kindergarten teacher. Cassandra found her face pressed tight between Selina's fake C cups, the saline breasts warm and soft as a pillow. Confusion and arousal warred in the bisexual girl's head, only growing when Selina started stroking her back.

 

"Oh you poor thing! Your nothing but skin and bones, let's get you out of that horrible costume, off these dangerous streets and back to the manor," Selina cooed, "I'm going to cook you a big breakfast of eggs and bacon and pancakes and waffles and crepes and hashbrowns and sausage, just what a growing girl like you needs!"

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There’s so much brilliant stuff going on all at once! Ivy and Harley trying to perfect a weight gain formula (“It’s not that kind of story! Check the tabs!” 😂😂🤣🤣😵), the epiphany of how Ivy realizes the missing ingredient, the way ALL of them are slowly returning to their old ways...

Then there’s Cassandra thrown in, who doesn’t even know what’s going on around her or more importantly with herself.

So much weight gain factors! Ivy and Harley have stuffing fetishes, Catwoman is matronly, Cassandra is secretly feeding every woman she can find, Ivy’s making a weight gain formula, and the pills have side effects! This plots about to explode.

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1 hour ago, >_< 0_0 said:

There’s so much brilliant stuff going on all at once! Ivy and Harley trying to perfect a weight gain formula (“It’s not that kind of story! Check the tabs!” 😂😂🤣🤣😵), the epiphany of how Ivy realizes the missing ingredient, the way ALL of them are slowly returning to their old ways...

Then there’s Cassandra thrown in, who doesn’t even know what’s going on around her or more importantly with herself.

So much weight gain factors! Ivy and Harley have stuffing fetishes, Catwoman is matronly, Cassandra is secretly feeding every woman she can find, Ivy’s making a weight gain formula, and the pills have side effects! This plots about to explode.

I'm going to shove a lot of kinks into this.

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So many beautiful things in this chapter: Ivy's deep, deep denial; Harley's reverse psychology on Ivy; Catwoman's accidentally cursing herself (with something that gives us an in with Wonder Woman, no less!); Cassandra's rebirth as a master feeder.  This was fantastic, and like Harley said, it's still only Chapter 4!

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2 hours ago, CyrilFiggus said:

So many beautiful things in this chapter: Ivy's deep, deep denial; Harley's reverse psychology on Ivy; Catwoman's accidentally cursing herself (with something that gives us an in with Wonder Woman, no less!); Cassandra's rebirth as a master feeder.  This was fantastic, and like Harley said, it's still only Chapter 4!

I plan on ivy bring in denial well after she's to big to physically stand up. And yeah, that's an in on wonder woman. I'm going to let this spread out after a couple more chapters...

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