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QUICK REMINDER: Last November, "The Harem on the Hill" (previewed here: www.deviantart.com/maverickthe…) made its debut.   It's basically an R-rated, weight-gain-centric, Choose Your Own Adventure-esque serial I created especially for a page I share with my buddy @riptoryx.  We're currently up to Part 36, and our patrons have already molded the story and its characters in a variety of compelling (and titillating) ways.  It's been a challenge to write, but man has it been fun!

I’ll gradually post older chapters here, but should you feel like jumping ahead, or better yet influencing the action yourself, please visit the above link to learn how you can join in on the fun!

Thanks again--


PS: I’ve bolded and italicized the winner.  Did our Patrons make the right choice?





Once you're confident Tabitha is in no medical danger, you swipe-right on your phone to bring up Tina's vitals.  Her heart rate is elevated from the exertion--it's the most she's had in months--but rather than slowing as she recovers in the grass, it spikes as your index finger hovers above an onscreen button.

Your eyes meet Tina's.  "Do it," she mouths silently.  Part dare.  Part command.

Your finger drops and so does Tina.  Her face tenses and she rolls onto her back like a bug sprayed with Raid.  

Splayed limbs and contorted bodies in unitards litter your yard like the scene of some strange yoga-related disaster.  Of course, as the last man standing, you're in charge of clean-up.  

You lift Tabitha in your arms and head up the hill.  After a few steps, you realize that if you're going to continue to carry conked-out concubines, you'll need to get stronger.  It isn't that Tabitha is much heavier than Tina, but at nearly six-feet tall and with her lusciously long limbs limp and languid, it's like carrying an octopus.  

As you enter the house, Tabitha wakes.  Her weary green eyes study you but she doesn't struggle.  In fact, she tucks her legs and crosses her arms which helps you navigate the hallways and corners.  The stairwells are still brutal, but you soldier on under Tabitha's trusting gaze.  It's a little disconcerting actually.  Of course, if your day began with a trip to the gym and ended in the arms of a billionaire socialite, you might be awestruck, too.  

It makes you wonder what would happen if you took Tabitha to your bedroom.   By the look on her face, anything you'd want. 

Despite the temptation, you carry Tabitha over the threshold to her personalized chamber.  Like Tina's, it's modern and furnished to taste, but the guided tour will have to wait.

"Rest," you say, placing her gently on the bed.  Her eyes follow you as you turn off the light and begin the trek back for Tina. 

The return trip is much faster.  You bound the stairs two at a time and shuffle briskly past antiques and sculptures.  Your burning biceps aren't looking forward to another load, but at least it's Tina.  She may have plumped considerably in your care but she's still pocket-sized compared to Tabitha.

Only she's not there.  All that remains of the morning's massacre are faint depressions in the grass. 

"Tina!" you yell, spinning in a circle.  "I don't have time for this shit!"

Right on cue, an alert trumpets from your phone.   A touch of its surface reveals a bare belly that fills the screen and seems to jiggle with your finger's prodding. 

"Look for my ** at the end of the rainbow," comes a detached voice.  Then the display goes black.

"Jesus, Tina."   You drop your head and sigh.  She picked a helluva time for a scavenger hunt.

Seconds later, your head snaps up.  You know where she is.

You follow the perimeter of the house.  The main entrance is actually on the second story, while the first floor is built into the backside of the hill and therefore hidden from the front.  Along the sides, the hill slopes away, revealing the "ground" floor and the bulk of your estate.  You traverse the decline and continue past a flower garden--where you discover the tracks of a mammal wearing size six tennis shoes.

Turning the corner to the back of the house, you reach one of its most impressive features--an infinity pool overlooking the surrounding woods.  It's on a hill, not a mountain, so the cliff effect isn't QUITE as grand as you hoped for, but the view is still impressive.  

Especially with a certain brunette beauty sitting naked at the pool's edge, her ivory skin sheltered by the shade from a large steel sculpture with rainbow-colored tendrils.         

Tina smiles as you approach.  "You found me." 

"You're naked."

"I figure it's your turn to be shocked."  Tina lifts her legs from the water and pivots on her butt to face you.  "Like what you see?"

You do.  While the fabric of Tina's unitard squeezed her fattened form into a relatively petite package, free from its constrictions the pounds can be found.  Some cling to her breasts, sagging her nubile nubs ever-so-slightly against her chest.  Some round her arms, which look like drumsticks (the poultry kind) as they prop her.  And even more thicken her thighs, which spread against the deck in the back and rise like dough in the front, partially obscuring her pubic patch. 

But what really makes you grin is a smile-like crease beneath Tina’s abdomen.  It's just a crescent right now, but you expect it will eventually come full-circle. 

"Meh," you say, feigning indifference.  "I was hoping for gold."

"You have enough.  Besides..."  Tina arches her back and pushes her belly out as far as it will go, proudly patting its protuberance.  "This is worth its weight in the stuff."  

You cock your head to the side.  "Are you expecting some sort of reward?"

Tina correspondingly cocks hers.  "Don't you think I deserve one?"

How do you reply?

A.) "That you do." (Fuck her.)

B.) "Not after your treatment of Tabitha." (Punish her.)

C.) "I'm afraid you're still too skinny." (Stuff her.)

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"I'm afraid you're still too skinny."

Tina's head lolls back onto her shoulders.  "Jesus," she says, looking the appropriate direction.  "Fine.  But at least carry me like your cheerleader bitch."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Not jealousy, practicality.   You don't want me burning too many calories, do you?"

Your arms aren't wild about the idea, but the rest of you finds the prospect of carrying a naked and plumped-up Tina appealing.  As you lift her, however, other parts protest.  

"Ooof!" you exclaim, nearly toppling into the pool.  "I won't be able to do this much longer."

"I'm going to make you," Tina adds coyly, wrapping an arm around you.

It's striking how much the weight has transformed the wasp-waisted waif you began molding months ago.  Thirty pounds doesn't seem that impressive--a modest gain that could sneak up on someone if they weren't careful--but in practical terms, it's 25% of Tina's original body weight.  In that context, the dramatic changes to her figure are less surprising. 

They're no less alluring, however.  The sexy spitfire who once tried to strangle you is now swaddled in layers of pasty plumpness.  Back then, her body was sinewy smooth and toasty to the touch.  A furnace of pent-up energy ready to explode.  Now it's thicker.  Colder.  The morning's activity tells you the hellion is still in there, but the fires that stoke her have cooled with the added insulation. 

"Where'd that come from?" you say, spying the tire of flesh forming around her waist.  It ebbs and flows as you carry her, nearly disappearing in wider spaces, but rolling back into view as you cradle her through cramped quarters.

"You did that," Tina answers with a mix of frisk and indignance.  

"You did it to yourself."  You squeeze her beefy bicep with one hand and the floppy flesh of her thigh with the other.  "What would Major Dad say if he knew what a pig you were becoming?"

Tina closes her eyes and rubs her legs together.    

"Maybe we'll pay him another visit in a couple of months.  See if he recognizes you."

"Mmmmm."  Tina spasms involuntarily, nearly bumping her head as you carry her down the corridor to her chamber.  If Tabitha was like lugging an octopus, Tina's like a hooked tuna.     

Fortunately, a few more steps and you're depositing her on the bed.   You turn to leave--fully anticipating what comes next. 

"Where do you think you're going?"  Tina winds her hands through the trellis headboard.
"Feed me."

Smirking, you head to the kitchen and grab whatever junk food you can.  Donuts, candy, ice cream, chips--your arms become so heaped you can hardly see.  Mercifully, all that high-caloried cargo is still lighter than Tina...though you expect the fat content is about the same.

It's difficult to tell which grows wider upon your return, Tina's eyes or her gaping mouth, but by the end of the evening her waist is the winner.  It takes hours--the expanding orb of Tina's belly is your only time-keeper--but you eventually stuff every last morsel inside her.  Playfully at first.  Forcefully by the end.  

Once the final crumb has been crammed, Tina removes her hands from the headboard and probes the round mound heaving heavenward between her hips.  Her touch is delicate.  Her breaths are shallow.  It's as if she might pop.  And considering the amount of food inside her, she just might.  

Tina seems afraid to move anything but her eyes, but they eventually find you.  "NOW do I deserve a reward?"   

You expect she does.  What shall it be?


A.) "I'll give you a little time to rest before the next course."

B.) "Would you like to help me fatten Tabitha?"

C.) Mount her.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter falls more in the NC-17 category.  Reader discretion advised!   


Tina holds her belly like a beach ball ready to be tossed. Swollen and pink from the evening's abuse, it actually looks like one wobbling above her comparatively svelte form. Although a game of catch is impossible (both the ball and its fatty contents have found their forever home) you can't resist playing with it.

"My God," you say, patting its protuberance. "What have you done?"

Tina writhes with the weight of your dribble. "Fuck me," she groans. Her painful expression suggests the statement is a lament rather than a request, but that's not how you take it.

"Gladly," you say, moving to the foot of the bed and unbuttoning your pants.

Tina peers over the crest of her stomach. "Now?!?"

"A prized hog should be stuffed and mounted." You step from your pants and pull your shirt over your head. "We've done one, now it's time for the other."

You crawl onto the bed as Tina parts her legs. Beyond their fleshy gateway, her balloon of a belly wobbles to and fro with the mattress' movement.

"Think a prick will pop this thing?" you ask, tapping its drum-like surface.

"Jesus," Tina groans. "Let me flip over."

Tina capsizes to one side and slowly props herself onto all fours. She moves like a matron, with no sign of the grace and fluidity that marked her months ago.

From behind, she still looks relatively svelte, but it's a mirage. The burden of her belly pulls the skin taut across her waist and torso, forming an artificially sleek silhouette, while her ass-up position keeps her posterior perky. Ironically, it's her disappearing thigh gap that most betrays the illusion, as the gelatinous flab that fills it shows none of the youthful resiliency found elsewhere on Tina's body. A few more pounds and you suspect the backs of her legs will be dimply, pock-marked messes.

Your stiffening manhood pokes between Tina's ivory orbs until it finds its mark and she gasps as you plunge inside. Whether from inexperience or the thousands of calories packed around it, her orifice is tantalizingly tight. Deeper and deeper you thrust, until each pounding probe is punctuated by a satisfying 'slap' against Tina's jowly cheeks.

Once in a rhythm, you reach around and caress Tina's tummy. "Soon this will reach the mattress," you whisper.


Your hands slide up the sweaty slope of her stomach until they're stopped by her flapping funbags. "And these will never be perky again."

"Oh, God!"

You knead Tina's tits like dough, rolling them against your hands. You can almost feel them fattening between your fingers as her belly gradually deflates (almost as if your penile penetration caused a leak) and digestion spreads the caloric wealth throughout her figure.

"Keep eating like this and no guy will want to fuck you," you chide.

As you enter the home stretch, you lean into Tina like a jockey, pressing your face behind her ear. Her floral fragrance, which you once enjoyed in the courtyard, is gone, replaced by an aroma of fear and oily perspiration. Clutching the shallow between Tina's bounding belly and bobbing breasts, you work her like a giant piston. Up. Down. In. Out.

And as you finish you add a final whisper:

"Not even me."


PS: I wanted to end on a climax (ha! ha!) so no choices this week. 

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You awake to your cell phone clattering to the floor.   It was on vibrate and must have crawled its way off your sleek lacquer nightstand.      

Groggy, you watch it shake and hum across the hardwood like a summer Cicada.  Or perhaps a firefly, as every vibratory cycle is accompanied by a harsh glow that illuminates the pitch-black room.   

You're loath to respond to its beacon.   The phone is out of reach, the floor is frigid, and you were in the midst of the soundest sleep you can remember.  Years worth of effort went into your tryst with Tina, more than some of your Fortune 500 companies, and the release was as explosive and draining as you could have hoped.  For the first time in a long time, "what's next?" wasn't the prevailing thought on your pillow.  

Plus, you know why the phone's all a tither and don't want to deal with it.  The clock on the nightstand shows 3:15 AM.  It's too early to be anything else.

Grudgingly, you throw off the covers and retrieve the bright buzzy nuisance.  A check of the screen confirms your suspicions and, after donning a robe and a pair of slippers to shield your feet from the chill, you trudge to your office.  

Tabitha's voice arrives before her image on the monitor. 

"---me out of here!"  

She's on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, screaming into a camera.  Another camera--the one covering the entrance--is off-line, its carnage strewn across the floor beyond Tabitha's crimson face.            

You pinch the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger.  Maybe you should have intervened sooner.

"I know who you are!  You can't keep me forever."

Tabitha's batting .500 so far.  A few points higher if you consider her piñata of the entrance cam.   

"Calm down, Miss Reynolds."

Your booming voice startles her so much she nearly falls off the chair.  She steadies herself before resuming her verbal assault.    

"Let me out of here!  I didn't sign any contract!  I know my rights!"

Contract?  Tabitha must still be deluded on Tina's 'reality show' diversion.  You don't follow the genre but can't imagine kidnapping and captivity are a thing (much less taser-level shocks).  Still, it's probably preferable to contemplating less seemly alternatives.  

Which gets you to thinking--what approach should you take with her?  You hoped your tact with Tina would help establish some sort of template, but if you've learned anything from Tina's capricious nature it's the folly of that reasoning.  

How do you proceed?     


A.) Keep up the reality show ruse (playful).

B.) Tell her what's going to happen (domineering).

C.) Sympathize with her (friendly).

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"Ms. Reynolds, I'm going to need you to calm down so we can have a little conversation."

"Calm down?!  Fuck you!  I'm not goin--"

With the stroke of a key, Tabitha falls silent.  You lean back in your chair and watch as she jaws into the camera like a dog eating peanut butter.   If only you could mass-produce a button like that for unruly wives and girlfriends.  (The Nag Gag?  The Silent Partner?)  You'd make billions. 

While crickets fill the vitriolic void in Tabitha's wordless rant, you punch a separate button to bring-up Tina's quarters.  Surprisingly, she's awake, enjoying an after-midnight snack of ice cream on the sofa.  Her opaque skin radiates in the dim room, a mix of post-coital glow and iridescence from the television.  The white sheet she's wrapped in enhances the ghostly effect. 

Another keystroke produces a split-screen between the two chambers, and you wait for Tabitha's luscious lips to stop flapping.  Eventually, she runs out of breath.  Her chest, pressed overripe by her unitard, heaves in and out of camera view as she wobbles on her perch.  The flimsy kitchen chairs you purchased weren't meant to be stood on, especially by someone of Tabitha's generous proportions.  Considering your ultimate intentions, investing in sturdier furniture would have been more prudent...but far less fun.  

"Are you finished?"

Tina, from her side of the screen, looks confused by your query until Tabitha answers with a curt, "Yes."  At that point, Tina turns off her TV and digs a generous spoonful of Chunky Monkey.  Apparently, she anticipates the closed-circuit action to be more entertaining than whatever passes for programming at 3 AM.  

"Good.  Congratulations."

"What for?"  

"For realizing it's better to listen than talk."  

"Fine," Tabitha bristles.  "Let's get this over with.  What do I have to do?"

"First, I need you to eat what's in the fridge."

"Let me guess, bull testicles?  Horse rectum?"

"No, nothing like that.  Take a look."  

Tabitha clambers from her wobbly roost and opens the refrigerator door.  Just a few inches at first, as if she expects some sort of culinary ambush, but swings it wide when she sees its filled with fattening fare.

"What do I have to eat?"

"All of it."

"All of it?  That will take weeks!"

"It better not.  You don't want your erstwhile classmate, Laura, to get the best of you." 

Tina's head lolls back against the cushions.  Her microphone is muted, but you can tell she's laughing.

"What's my reward?"

"You get to move onto the pantry."

Tabitha shuts the fridge and struts to the pantry, providing an excellent view of her caboose and the pistons powering it...and eliminating all doubt as to where her recent couch-potato pounds accumulated.  

When you spied Tabitha last year, her flawless face and chiseled chest were the men magnets, but since then her plumpening rump has formed a holy trinity of hotness, balancing her hourglass figure and wresting visual dominance.  With emerald eyes, lush lips, and a dazzling dimpled smile, Tabitha needn't worry about wandering eyes face-to-face (even with such a top-self, um, top-shelf), but from behind you'd defy anyone to avoid being hypnotized by the tick-tock metronome of such satisfyingly spherical shapes.    

Of course, you know that while exercise may have kept her ballooning buns like gravity-defying orrery orbs, their contours were created via implant--administered orally in the form of midnight pizza and soda binges.  Tabitha's 'Triple-B' triumvirate of beauty, breasts, and butt may distract people, but there's evidence her Gremlin-esque gobbling may further metamorphose her physique: a bulge in the nylon around her lower-abdomen, shadow-like creases beneath her shoulder blades...and a blossom of skin beneath her chin as she recoils from the vast volumes of junk food lining the larder.

"What reality show is this?!  'So You Wanna be a Circus Fat Lady'?"    Tabitha's quip and the disdain in which she utters it slaps your manhood from its post-sex slumber.  

"This is YOUR reality, Tabitha.  Time to dig-in."  A tap to the keyboard and she vanishes from the screen.  "How was that?"

"The ice cream or your conversation with Tabitha?"  Tina tips her empty container towards the camera.  


"Delicious."  She suckles the spoon then holds it aloft.  "You have to promise me something though."  

"What's that?"  

"No matter how much weight I gain.  No matter how fat you make me..."


"You make Tabitha fatter."

You smile.  "Sweet dreams."

"I just had one."  Tina runs a hand along her waist, pressing the draped sheet against the swell of her belly.  It's as pronounced as it was during last night's stuffings, and will likely grow once the ice cream finds its mark.  

Though you're tempted to join her for another round of "fuck the fatty," you resist the urge, adding a quick "goodnight" and turning off the monitor.

Wide-awake despite the hour, you pivot in your chair and contemplate the harem you're developing.  Despite some loose ends and unexpected twists, mostly courtesy of Tina, you can't complain.  Two of your three finalists are safe and secure in your care and both are gaining (although Tabitha's weight-wounds have been self-inflicted thus far).  Still, you feel you're at a crossroads.  

As an entrepreneur, you're inclined to accumulate assets.  "If you're not growing, you're dying," your father always said, and that adage has served you well.  You've built the basement to house eight girls, but more than a dozen are doable, especially once a few are fattened beyond the point of fleeing.  Variety is the spice of life and more girls could benefit morale.  Ask any good cattle farmer and they'll tell you cows fatten better in a herd than in isolation.

Of course, the pragmatist in you advises caution.  You're not a cattle farmer and these aren't cows.  Get a dozen girls together and whatever "herd mentality" they develop is unlikely to benefit the guy.  Add in the risk inherent in their capture and a slow-and-steady approach might be prudent.

You've also considered involving Tina on the fattening front.  Over the past few days, she's been your partner-in-crime and your partner-in-bed.  Having her serve as a sort of Valide Sultan, a ruling housemother to the other girls, could speed production and free you to plan and protect your empire...as well as enjoy the fruit it bears.  Tina is an enigma wrapped in a fattening shroud, but she's proven loyal as long as you've indulged her, and you'd rather have someone of her cunning work with you than against you...at least until she grows fat enough to control completely. 

What tact will you take?



A.) Aggressive growth: Expand your harem.

B.) Slow-and-steady: Focus on the girls you have.

C.) Calculated growth: Shared responsibility with Tina.


Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this extra-long TWENTY-FIFTH chapter of my epic weight-gain serial, "The Harem on the Hill."  Learn how to take control of the action here: https://www.deviantart.com/maverickthewriter/journal/Serial-Preview-818531396

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"That cake isn’t eating itself, piggy." 

Tabitha stares at the layer cake heaped in her hand.  “I can’t.”

"Jesus, Tabitha, no wonder you’ve never accomplished anything.  'I can’t.  I won’t.  What’s my reward?'   That’ll be on your epitaph.  Either that or your high-score in Fortnite."

Tabitha forces the clawed clump of confection into her gaping maw.  Most makes the mark, but some catches her cheeks and chin to form a growing mask of icing and crumbs.  Though she wasn't beaten, Tabitha definitely looks battered.  “Why are you doing this?” she cries, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. 

“I like it.  What I don’t get is why you don’t.  This is your dream.  All you can eat, all you can drink, all the videogames you can play." 

“I want to go home!”  Tabitha pounds her fists on the table, sending remnants of cake skyward. 

"Why?  Everything you did there you can do here, and with none of those pesky societal responsibilities.  Bills are paid.  Shopping is done.  You don’t even have to worry about maintaining that dream figure of yours.  Unless you consider eating junk food maintenance." 

“I don’t want to be fat,” Tabitha sobs.

"You’ll come around.  In the meantime, I expect that gone within the hour.  Then get you and your sty cleaned-up, piggy.  It’s almost time for inspection."

Tina jabs a button on the keyboard and the monitor goes dark.  “How was that?”

“Delicious,” you say, taking a bite from a pint of strawberry Häagen-Dazs.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

“Sorry.”  You hold up a spoonful and Tina gobbles it greedily.

Tina leans back to savor the bite, her bare butt squeaking in her seat.  “I kind of like the captain’s chair,” she says, then she spins around in it like a top.

You hold up another spoonful of ice cream.  Tina misses it on the first pass, but grabs it in her mouth, spoon and all, on the second.  On the third, you stop the chair with your foot, remove the utensil, and kiss her creamy-cold lips.

"Mmmm," she says.  "I thought you wanted to inspect the troops."

"I'm starting with the top."  You run your hands up Tina's naked thighs until they're wedged between soft leather and even softer skin.  "Captain may need a new chair soon."

Tina juts her bottom lip in a playful pout.  "Captain may be stress-eating."

"It's a stressful job," you say, lifting another spoonful to her eager lips.  

A drip of cream dribbles between her breasts until it's diverted by a deep crease of fat running horizontally beneath them.  Following the milky trail, you slide a finger down her softening sternum until it also disappears in the fold.

Tina lets out a doughboy giggle.  "It's like the Bermuda Triangle."

"I think that's further south," you say, kissing her again.

"True.  Your dick always disappears down there."  Tina allows you some time to fondle her flesh but interjects before things progress too far.  "We do have business to discuss, you know."

"Fine," you say, reclining in your own chair.  "Has anyone ever told you you're a taskmaster?"

Tina smiles slyly.  "Repeatedly.   Especially Tabitha.  Shall we start with her?"

What do you say?


A.) "No, let's talk about your progress first."

B.) "Sure, tell me about Tabitha."

C.) "No, let's discuss the new girls."

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Tina takes a clipboard from the desk and reviews its contents.  "Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabitha."  She punctuates the red-headed hottie's name with back-and-forth pivots in her chair, before adding a final exclamation in the form of a devilish grin.  "You're going to love the report on Tabitha."

"Thrill me," you say.  It's like one of your staff meetings with middle managers from back in your corporate days.  Only this time the manager is naked and her middle bloated with Häagen-Dazs straight from the carton.

"Hmmm."  Tina scours the clipboard as if looking for a crucial stat, even though you're certain she knows it by heart.  "Twenty-five pounds."

"Twenty-five pounds!  In one month?  Holy cow."

Tina's chubby cheeks go full chipmunk.  "She's becoming one."

Twenty-five pounds.  It was hard to fathom.  Blessed with more curves than the autobahn, you assumed Tabitha's plumping pace would rival that of the vehicles on that famed German motorway--especially with indulgent tendencies already in place--but the first few months had been nothing but exercises in frustration (and frustrations with her exercise).  She stubbornly refused to cooperate despite promised rewards and administered sanctions.  You weren't sure what was more aggravating--her childlike petulance or her monklike willpower.

In business, you excelled at providing the initial impetus and creative direction for your companies, but like most visionaries, you found the day-to-day minutia a ** tangle of red tape.  So, at Tina's urging, you stopped micromanaging Tabitha's progress and turned over the reins of her gain.  You hadn't even checked her vitals in weeks.

"Twenty-five pounds," you repeat again.  "What have you been doing to the poor girl?"

"Does it matter?"

You jab the keyboard and Tabitha's kitchen returns to the monitor.  Having finished her cake, Tabitha cleans as instructed, plodding back and forth between the table and sink in nothing but her underwear, the spring in her step weighed down by circumstance and twenty-five additional pounds.  

It's the best look you've had at her since her arrival.  Tabitha thwarted previous peeks at every turn--obscuring cameras, hiding behind furniture and under covers, and even bundling up like an Eskimo--but now she makes no effort to cover up.  If she knew you were watching, you're certain she'd at least suck-in the glorious **-belly doming over her hot pink panties.

"It just happened so suddenly," you say, hypnotized by the undulating flesh poking beneath said panties as Tabitha delivers a load of dishes to the sink.

Tina joins you in admiring Tabitha's fattened frame.  "It helped that I convinced her to stop sneaking in work-outs."

"How did you do that?"

Tina tosses the clipboard back on the desk with a clatter and hefts herself from the chair.  Her labored movement is accompanied by a suction sound as her hips pull free of the padded leather.

"Why ask so many questions?" she says, swinging her legs over your armrests and plopping her plump posterior in your straddled lap.   "Can't you just be satisfied knowing there's been growth?"

Despite topping 200-pounds, Tina remains nimble; however, the prodigious poundage pressing your pants suggests you were wise not to skimp on the quality of your office furniture as you did in your concubines' quarters.

Tina places one hand on your shoulder as the other explores your torso.  Eventually, it's between your legs, grabbing both your manhood and its attention.  She smiles as it stiffens.  "Your growth certainly satisfies me."

"I'm intrigued by the process," you say, running your hands along the supple skin of Tina's thighs.  They're plusher than the chair's calfskin armrests.

Tina guides your hands to her billowy bi-folded belly.  "I thought you were a results man."

Your hands follow the crease in Tina's stomach opposite directions around her waist until they rest on her shelf-like ass.  "The bottom line is important," you say, giving it a healthy squeeze, "but I like to be kept abreast."  You peck the tops of Tina's tits as they spread against your sternum.

"Ignorance is bliss."  Tina kisses the top of your head.  "You of all people should understand that."

In a flash, you're on your feet.  Tina gasps and dangles from your neck like an oversized choker until you plant her--hard--back in her own chair.

"What's your game, Tina?" you huff, trying to appear as if tossing Tina had been effortless.  A few months ago it would have been, but today you and your spasming back regret the decision.

Conversely, dumping Tina on her ass should have stunned her, but the collision between two such well-upholstered objects hardly phases her.  "No game," she retorts.  Tina settles back in her chair and pokes her belly, indenting its flab.  "We all have skeletons buried."  Then she looks at you and cocks her head.  "Some just deeper than others."

You force a tight-lipped smile, then pivot and stride from the room as straight as your back allows.  Clip-clopping down the hall, your mind is awash with hearings, trials, and an assortment of other unpleasant memories you're pissed to relive.  That's why you took early retirement and moved to this backwoods town in the first place.

Angry, frustrated...and more than a little horny, you find yourself at the entrance to your basement.  Time to relieve some tension.

What do you do?


A.) Remind Tina who's boss.

B.) Get under Tina's (thickening) skin with some quality Tabitha time.

C.) Pay a visit to one of your two new girls.

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Tina turns on the light to find you seated in her living room.

"Jesus!  she screams, clutching her chest and the terrycloth robe that covers it.  "Do you want me to have a heart attack?  Just keep pumping me with junk food and lurking in the shadows."

"I was on my way to Tabitha's to give her an in-person inspection, but wanted to deal with you first."

"Don't forget the new girls," Tina says, regaining her composure.  "I know you like to break them in before I break them."

You strum your fingers along the armrest and contemplate the blimping brunette.  "You're getting a little big for your britches, aren't you?"

"Why do you think I've been going around naked?"  Tina smiles and twirls the tassel-tie of her robe...but stops when your fingers strum their way to the cell phone in your lap.  "Look, I'm sorry about the skeleton comment.  It's just that every once in a while you need to be reminded we're partners in all this."

"The last partner I had bilked me for millions."

Your corpulent concubine yanks the tie of her robe.  It falls open, revealing a pubic triangle shadowed by the belly above it. "Do all your partners want to screw you?"  She steps closer but freezes when you level the phone at her face.  "Put that thing away."  Tina attempts to sound indignant, but the fear in her eyes belies her.

You spin the phone in your fingers as Tina fidgets under your scrutinous gaze.  The silence is as thick as the waistline peeping through the curtain-like gap of her robe.

Finally, she blinks.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

What do you say?


A.) I'll forgive you...if you can fit into your old Cornicuppia uniform.

B.) I'll forgive you...if you put on 10 pounds this week.

C.) I'll forgive you...if you convince me you're a subservient little piggy.

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"Ten pounds?  In one week!?  What if I can't?"

"Then you'll have to gain 20 next week." 

Tina stares at you with her mouth agape.  It's the longest you've seen it open without her shoving something inside.   "What will that put me at?"

A quick swipe of your phone brings up Tina's vitals.  "235 luscious pounds."

Tina's jowly jawline quivers and a look fills her eyes you've not seen in her before.  


"That's double what I weighed before." 

She was actually 120 pounds when she arrived (maybe a few pastry pounds from the coffee shop had slipped onto her undetected?), but for all intents and purposes, Tina will be twice the woman she was.  

It's glorious.

Some women have the frame to support a sizable gain, but Tina is not one of them.  While the thirty pounds Tabitha's added is like insulation on a well-built house, Tina's fat behaves like an invasive species, morphing the landscape and making it unrecognizable.  Unrecognizable and, by traditional standards, ugly.  In any case, the lithe coffee shop nymph that caught your eye has disappeared.

Tina closes her robe around the beach ball that used to be her waistline and cinches the belt.  It does little to define her Weeble shape as she wobbles to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator.

As she chugs through its contents, you train your eyes on her caboose.  While Tina's entire figure has been vandalized, the breaking of her inverted heart ass is akin to iconoclasm.  Its crescent curves have gone full-circle--rounding out before collapsing like a failed soufflé. Now boxy and wide, Tina's butt battles her belly in the excess baggage department, but without the latter's prominent protuberance.  

The retired barista removes a tub of potato salad and plops down at the kitchen table.  Dowdy.  Defeated.  Even Tina's bob hairstyle, once so trendy against her well-structured face, looks as sloppy and overgrown as the rest of her.

"I wouldn't worry," you say, rising to your feet.  "That new girl packed-on six pounds this week and she's not half the woman you are."  

Tina doesn't acknowledge your wink or your exit as she plows through her potato salad.  Oh well, she'll come around...once she's round.

Time to issue more marching orders to your troops.  Who do you visit next?


A.) Tabitha.

B.) One of your new girls.

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