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By: BaneOfDreams (https://www.deviantart.com/baneofdreams/art/Gluttonous-Wetwork-Chapter-One-855634991?ga_submit_new=10%3A1600543897)


Summary: An elite mercenary of proud heritage, Snow-White, is tasked with eliminating a problematic magical girl on a long list of them: Candy. What seemed to be a simple task quickly turns into a horrific trip into decadence and decay. 

 

The lone patron of a small-town diner white hair hinted at her peculiar heritage: Thanatonian. An amalgamation of several years of selective breeding to produce a society of elite soldiers. Snow-White was one of the highest profile of her kind and for good reason. The femme fatale has been all over the world facing all sorts of threats that range from the run of the mill warlord that needs to be taken down a notch - or a cyborg that has broken their corporate directives and has gone rogue.

Usually, she would find herself nestled up in a defilade biding her time waiting to strike at who, or what, her handler, Queen, had designated to be her next contract to support the cause; however, this operation was different. It was a bit more - subtle? Down to Earth? Homely? Snow-White contemplated this as she poked at her third calorie-clotted pastry that had been halfway devoured. However, the specifics of her operation were soon overtaken by a burning issue:

The first pastry, not enough cream. Second one, still not enough.

Her analytical mind mused on, usually accustomed to calculating bullet drop, now trying to determine the proper amount of whipped cream would be a suitable amount for her strawberry pasty. The waitress had been so kind to give her an ample bowl of creamy-white-goodness, but she had used almost all of that up already. Snow-White scrapped at the bowl trying to scoop up the last bits of cream and apply it to her yet to be finished pastry.

She let out a little grumble of disappointment seeing as she could only get a thin layer onto her pastry before running out of residue to spread. Truthfully, she wanted to beckon that ginger-haired waitress on over to request yet another bowl, but social situations were not her forte. Instead, she elected to look to her right and view the inky black night. Truly, this was a lonely little town of ones: one stoplight, one diner, one school - but that was typical for rural America. What was unusual is that her work, tracking a high-profile target, brought her here. Usually, if this was a typical operation, she would be in a bustling city or deep wilderness - not some backwoods town where everyone knows each-other.

But she was never one to argue with Queen's intel. So, she passed the time and went go get something sweet as-per her handler's advice. But there still was not enough cream!

"Here ya' go sugar," a sultry voice cooed.

Snow-white turned to face the voice. It was that ginger waitress who, to Snow-White's surprise, managed to creep up on her without her finely tuned senses noticing her. She must be getting tired, incredibly bored from the bland operation, or some combination thereof because even a literal phantom could not get the drop on her. Snow-White's foggy blues were locked onto the waitress with some lingering astonishment and suspicion. The short-skirted uniform that hugged her soft-hourglass alluded that this waitress had no formalized training other than the occasional extra doughnut - a body more suited for pleasure rather than creeping about. After-all, the ginger's full, undimpled, plush thighs hugged each-other so tightly that any fine-tuned movement would probably be off-set by a clap of sorts.

"Uh, sugar, you're makin' me blush with that stare," her milky-white skin had begun to shift to a color matching her ginger hair. She tapped the table and pushed forward another bowl of cream along with an additional pastry, "On the house. Figured ya' had the appetite."

Snow-White realized her rudeness and averted her gaze. She was not one for small talk, so she expressed her gratitude with a small nod and hoped this would dismiss the shapely server. Unfortunately, it did not.

"Couldn't help but notice your pretty-pretty white hair," the waitress put her hand on the booth just behind Snow-White's back and leaned in closer, her bulbous breasts revealed by her slightly unzipped top quite close and on display, and a sweet smell of perfume basking from her fleshy body, "Don't look dyed either, ya one of them legendary fighters?"

Snow-White received her nickname, despite not being the only of her race with white hair, for her refusal to hide it. It was a intimidation factor of sorts and a fun challenge; unfortunately, in these quiet moments, it was a potential draw-back. Most people simply overlooked it or minded their distance, but the occasional nosy individual would start asking questions. "Nope," Snow-White curtly rolled off in a monotone voice, hoping that would discourage the waitress from further prying. This failed once her belly grumbled and sounded that very human sign of hunger.

"Oh, woulda' thought considering you have the appetite of a warrior," she teased in response to the embarrassing grumble. She even went so far to playfully poke Snow-white's toned belly.

This unwelcome display of playfulness was met by a sinister glare from Snow-white which signaled for the waitress to back off. A lower, less audible grumble sounded, but was equally embarrassing. "Milk," Snow-white demanded.

"Gotcha hun," the waitress waddled off with swishing hips to retrieve a glass of milk for Snow-white.

Once she returned with the glass, Snow-white waited for the waitress to dismiss herself before downing the entire glass rather quickly. She was rather hungry, but did not want to keep eating and eating, so she decided to try and give herself a bit of a bloat to fill herself up. This was a little trick she learned from long, isolated, deployments - she would typically try to down something filling so she did not have to spend so much time being hungry.

To her dismay, and surprise, her guzzling of the milk was akin to dumping it into a bottomless barrel. No excess pressure built up in her belly, but a peculiar coolness assured her that the was in-fact resting inside her stomach. She glared over in the direction of the waitress who was behind the counter humming a happy tune as she cleaned up. Something just felt – off? No-one had entered the diner for however long she had been in here and the town seemed to be quite dead—not a single car strolling by on the nearby road.

Whatever, she was hungry and had one and a half pastries to finish. She piled the cream from the bowl onto the untouched pastry and planted the half-pastry onto it making a sandwich. In just a few chomps, the fattening treat was soundly inside her. Even this display of indulgence did little to ward off the empty feeling in her gut.  Truthfully, she wanted to gorge some more, but a cruel reminder of what happens to those Thanatonian women who lose their ability to operate effectively. The latent thought was enough to cause her to immediately place far too much cash on the counter and leave the diner.

“Seeya soon sugar!” The ginger-waitress cooed as Snow-white made her departure.

Once outside, it was as if a miasma of some sort had been lifted. The lonely town seemed a little less lonely. A few cars were driving about and the parking lot she exited into was, well, packed. This set off a sudden alarm of danger within her being. She slowly turned around to find that the diner was packed with people.

Instinctively, she lowered her hand down to her belly and felt the slight taut bump through her somewhat baggy black hoodie. She could only feel that she was full via touch, but internally she was still as empty feeling as ever. A wave of alarm came over her and suddenly mission directives that she had forgotten came back to her:

I walked into a trap…

That was the only thing she thought before retrieving her cellphone to report in with her handler. To her shock, Queen had called Snow-White a total of eight times and left a singular text reading:

Rose

The universal Thanatonian distress signal.

Snow-White knew, despite the calm lonely little surrounding town, that her situation was grave.

 

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By: BaneOfDreams (https://www.deviantart.com/baneofdreams/art/Gluttonous-Wetwork-Chapter-2-855730951?ga_submit_new=10%3A1600631877)

I am open to suggestions and ideas. What kinds of things would you guys like to see? I am planning on this being a slow-burn story that can explore several different avenues, so I have lots of room to work in random things. 

 

    Queen was posted in a motel approximately a mile from the diner. The missed calls to Snow-White occurred in rapid succession from 8:51 P.M to 8:55 P.M with the final distress text message coming in at 8:59 P.M. It was now 9:05 P.M which meant their was still hope that Queen was not, in-fact, dead. 


    Snow-White wasted no time and began to bolt it towards the motel. Her mind was calm, cool, and collected - just like the frosty nip of the winter's night she was dashing through. Something went wrong the moment she went into that diner. Considering once she exited the diner, the world became more clear, and suddenly people appeared in the diner behind her - it was reasonable to assume that she was in some sort of illusion. The means of creating such an illusion are still up in the air, but the fact of the matter is that only one other person was in the diner with her: a ginger haired waitress. Could that have been her target?


    Maybe - the dossier on 'Candy' displayed that her transformed form was a gaunt, bulimic, albino girl appearing rather young. This left up in the air what her human form looked like, and this particular quarry rarely look like their human forms, so it was in the realm of possibility that her true form was a buxom ginger haired lady. 


    However, more mental assessment could wait until later. Snow-White was upon the motel - her break neck speed allowing her to reach it in just under four minutes. One would not ever guess she just ran a record breaking mile - her breathing was steady, clear, and rhythmic. She might have been able to go faster if she had not just bloated herself prior to her mad-dash back here, yet said bloat was only evident by her restricted range of movement rather than physical feeling - she still felt empty inside and rearing to consume more. Perhaps the only thing keeping Snow-White from raiding the nearest gas station for bargain bin snacks was that her handler was in danger.


    She took cover at the far end of the motel immediately detecting that something was off. What was not right? This particular motel closed shop nine o'clock on the hour every night since she had been in town, but the "open" sign was still on. Queen's room was on the opposite end of the strip-shaped building and on the second floor room 64, so assuming whoever was causing the distress was still here, they would probably exit here assuming they came by car. 


    Snow-White peeked from the opposite corner into the front-office. Sure enough, the balding, cross-eyed, Indian man who owned this backwoods motel was face down on the desk. It seemed he was still breathing and no visual trauma was apparent, so Snow-White assumed there was some sort of gas in the ventilation system. Hopefully it was only a knock-out type and not something lethal because she was not going to drag out everyone of these people. Furthermore, it was evident that the gas knocked everyone rather quick considering no emergency services were on the scene.


    As she briskly rounded behind the motel, hoping to find an alternate means of entrance to Queen's room, Snow-White reached beneath her hoodie and under her top to her compacting sports-bra that had a special compartment on the right side containing a small kit of useful items: clotting powder, an adrenaline syrette, and cyanide were among these items - but Snow-White was more interested in her handy micro-respirator and compact handgun. 

    

    She placed the micro-respirator into her mouth which had a filtration system that was good for up to an hour once activated. Unfortunately, a major limitation of this compact unit that it did not allow the user to speak while in use due to it being affixed in the mouth similar to a retainer. 


    Once below the back-window to Queen's room, Snow-White give her micro-handgun a quick once over to ensure it was functioning and loaded. This particular model was Thanatonian in origin: Micro-Rail 9mm (MR9) - it was a 9mm handgun that utilized magnetic propulsion to fire rather than gunpowder. This afforded it the key advantage of virtually no recoil and near silent firing, but the main drawback was it relied on a battery to work.


    In a display of athleticism and precision, Snow-White ran towards the spacing between the sets of windows, quite literally ran up the wall just enough, and utilized this momentum to propel herself to the window ledge and gripped it with her left hand, while her right one held her MR9 at the ready. Her left bicep swelled outwards straining to hold her up, and strained even more so as she lifted her own body weight upwards rapidly and shifted her weight, quite literally, through the back window of Queen's motel room. 


    She had propelled herself upwards to go feet first through the window, so she landed right on said feet ready to put a bullet into who, or whatever, might have caused the distress of her handler. Well, to her dismay, and misfortune, the individual who caused Queen to signal her distress was prepared for an impromptu window entry. 


    Snow-White tripped an infrared trip-wire set up on the window and suddenly a gaseous explosion enveloped the room. An acrid, sickly green gas, enveloped the room in a thick fog that obscured Snow-White's ability to assess the situation. It did not help that the lights in the room were turned off. 


    Trusting in her respirator, Snow-White breathed through her mouth and hoped the chemical in the air was not going to melt her skin. She could not call out for her handler, so she simply proceeded forward carefully listening for movement, and remembering the exact lay-out of the tiny room. It seemed that the gas in the air was being filtered by her respirator, so that was one less thing off her mind, so the worst part was the lack of vision.


    She heard something, a shift, a small clank, coming from the bathroom. It was on the opposite side of the motel room just next to the front door. Someone was in there - presumably an attacker. There was only one way into the bathroom, so Snow-White knew for a fact that the attacker was more than ready for a sudden breach. Her mind was filtering through all the information she could discern on her foe. It seemed they specialized in chemical weapons considering they put everyone in the motel asleep presumably through the air intake and because the trip-wire set off a gaseous trap prepared for her. They either had some sort of chemical resistance or a form of protection on to protect them from their own weaponry. It also seemed that they might be not suited to a fair fight considering they elected to engage with a trap initially. 


    Snow-White would have gladly put several bullets through the bathroom door if the possibility of Queen being behind that door did not exist, so against better judgment she kicked open the door, shifted slightly to the right to partially obscure herself, and leveled her handgun ready to engage her foe. 


    Unfortunately, putting a bullet into her red-ribbon donning opponent was not a possibility. "Hellooo~ Snow-White," a respirator inhibited voice spoke, robotic and cold sounding, and the signature voice of the Gray-Collective's premiere chemical weapons specialist: Griselda.    


    Without her metal half face-mask, perhaps the lithe young lady standing in the bathroom holding a dead-man's switch could be considered cute. She had silky, long, chestnut colored hair affixed in a pony tale by a cute red-ribbon, but this was all off-set by those sickly eyes and the lurching creeping voice, "Want me to fill you in on what happens when I let go of this trigger, hmmm?" The shorter red-ribboned girl creeped forward, "Want to know?" She let out a sick cackle, punctuated by the distortion coming out of her mask.


    Snow-White could already guess by the two barrels and tubes behind Griselda what would happen. Within the bathtub, laid Queen, who was usually punctuated by her rather, well, relaxed clothing. She was wearing her usual interior wear which was simply a spaghetti-strap top that reveled her matronly, large breasts, which were rather distracting to the unacquainted - yet something else swelled equally outwards: her stomach. It was bloated heavily and straining her top to its limit. Her belly-button had went from an inwards to an outwards little speck, almost making her look pregnant. But she was not pregnant, except with god knows what was in those barrels. The dark-tubes from the barrels traveled to a device which was affixed onto Queen's head - only two terrified eyes could be seen through the metal helmet. It seemed that this was a force-feeder device designed to be, well, challenging to remove.


    "I knoww what your thinking. You are thinking that you'll shoot the tubes, but nope - I coated them in graphene. Good luck breaking them, oh and maybe you'll puncture the fatty slop out of the barrels? Well I know the tension the intestine can take and your little fuck-buddy here is ripe to burst! You won't have time to save her if I let up on this little switch." Griselda mockingly shifted her narrow hips side to side, her miniskirt fluttering about, seemingly getting excited from the fantasy of bursting Queen's belly right open.


    Griselda minded just enough distance from Snow-White, so she could not rush to apply pressure to the switch while putting several bullets into the ribbon-wearing poison enthusiast.


    "You'll findddd~ that I am always prepared for you, hm? Remember Super-Detroit? Rim City? Oh, how about Thanaton itself? Every time I've always been one step ahead. You might think, well, I know you'll eventually just shoot me. Your emotions are getting the best of you for maybe the next 5-10 seconds, hm? Right? You'll eventually fathom that your handler can be replaced and shoot me? Then watch her belly burst right open, maybe let loose a single tear, and then call command for a replacement? Right? I can see your finger twitching, but you won't get the chance to shoot me."


    Snow-White, if allowed to, would have shot Griselda just a moment after she finished speaking, if it was not for an unseen force behind her. It seemed the concerningly youthful junior terrorist had delayed her just enough for an accomplice to prick Snow-White with a fast acting injector, and then everything went dark...


    "We're going to have some fun with you..." Griselda mocked. 

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By: BaneOfDreams
 
This is building anticipation for the fun chapter up next. 
 
Snow White shifted about trying to make heads or tails of her surroundings. Unfortunately, the blindfold and bindings on both her hands and feet made it quite hard for her to assess her situation, but not impossible. The shifting from left to right, sudden bumps that would cause her to jolt up and down, along with the less than accommodating space allowed her to assume that she had been shoved into a car trunk.
 
She was not alone either back here. Aside from the physical warmth of another pressed up against her - was also the noise of said individual. A bubbling cauldron of digestion could be heard and the quiet moans, those moans belonged to Snow White's handler, Queen:
 
"Queen - is that you?" of-course Snow White was keen to the moans and the well - contextual evidence of the bloated blubbering sounding from her handler's strained belly; however, Snow White was never keen on starting conversation, so she elected to state the obvious.
 
"W- White - I d- d-" a sudden belch parted from Queen's lips and then a shifting grumble came from her belly. Normally, Queen was calm and collected, and like code name suggested: regal. Yet, the strain and humiliating circumstance had stripped away all of her more noble attributes, "I don't... feel... good..."
 
This was trouble. Snow White knew their lives relied on her getting them out of this trunk, eliminating any pursuers, and hauling themselves away. Problem was her soundly-swollen handler was not moving fast or far anytime soon and Snow White was lacking any element of surprise or proper equipment.
 
After-all, this was Griselda and possibly Candy she was facing. Snow White did not know for certain if Griselda was in the car, but it was likely considering she was their when whoever/whatever injected her from behind with some sort of knock-out chemical.
 
"I-" Queen croaked out a single word before being cut off by a bubbling noise from within her. It sounded as if it was coming from the very center of Queen's body. Snow White could feel a warm, fleshy, feeling pressing ever so lightly against her now. There had been just enough space between them before hand to allow for about an inch worth of space, so the sudden contact between them might have just been Queen shifting in pain, but such a notion was dismissed when the bubbling became louder - Snow White three points of contact against her. A firm feeling and two soft warm globes of familiar flesh, quite familiar in-fact, after-all, how could she not know for certain her handler's most familiar bountiful breasts were pressing against her.
 
Space only continued to get tighter in tandem with the bubbling noise that had shifted from a low rumble to an outright symphony of sloshes and shifts. The hard point, presumably Queen's stomach, did not appear to be pressing any harder, but it appeared those two soft masses, Queen's breasts, were in-fact, well, swelling. It was only noticeable by touch, yet said touch was enough to know that Queen's poor back was going to suffer more weight than it previously had.
 
Snow White, despite some detached horror, remained calm and began to reason her way through the situation even if Queen began to panic and cry:
 
"White? White? I - no... no... they're growing! She pumped me full of this stuff and my tits are swelling!"
 
Great, she was yelling in her ear. Hopefully the screaming did not attract the outside attention of the drivers. Snow White turned her focus back to her bindings. It appeared to be duct-tape judging by the sensation of adhesive against her hands. This was fortunate, now, all she needed was something sharp to whittle away at the bindings with. She woke up in the trunk, so she could be several hours into this journey; therefore, she had no guesstimate at how long she had before they reached a destination.
 
Nonetheless, it would not even matter if she knew in the first place. The trip could be anywhere from five minutes, five hours, to five days. Although, Snow White did not imagine it would be a very long trip considering her captor elected to use duct tape. Griselda was the face of the Grey Collective - she rarely made mistakes and operated with intent. That very fact, and the moaning of her handler as the bubbling continued and the space got ever-so-slightly more tight, caused Snow White to resign her attempts of cutting the duct tape in favor of looking for an opening when she was in a less contained state.
 
"White? Answer me!"
 
She broke her silence, "I'm here."
 
"They're so heavy. I'm scared, White," a light belch cut off any further remark from Queen, who simply let out a small pout.
 
"Me too," Snow-White said calmly - an obvious lie, but an attempt at creating some sort of commonality. If anything, she was confident that her later attempt at escape, once she was out of the trunk, would be successful.
 
"My stomach too. It... it... hurts. There's so much pressure," a sob escaped from Queen's lips. Handler's were not meant to endure such torture. This was reserved for field operators.
 
Snow White tried her best to pull out any level of empathy from within her. The small amount she could muster amounted to her quietly remarking, "It's going to be okay."
 
And, as Snow White assumed, the car stopped. The only noise now was a low rumbling from within Queen, not nearly as loud as before, but still noticeable. A random thought came to Snow White's mind as she laid in that trunk, awaiting to be pulled from it:
 
I'm hungry...
 
A low rumble came from Snow White's belly. One of hunger, but similar enough to the odd bubbling to alert Queen, "Did she pump you full too?"
 
Apparently, Queen was loud enough for the person outside to hear her. "Nope nopeee~ we have something more... fitting in store for her." It was unmistakably the voice of Griselda, "Now, if you don't mind - would you please move them Candy?"
 
"Yes indeedy Candy will!" A sugary sweet voice called out. It echoed signaling they were in a large enclosed area.
 
And the trunk flew open...
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