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On 2/12/2021 at 2:19 PM, Nate said:

Great story,  looking forward to more

 

Thank you!

 

Chapter 7: A Journey Within

 

Tessa was only partly relieved that no new memories of how she’d gotten so spectacularly fat were forming.

 

At over four hundred pounds, large parts of the once pencil thin brunette’s career would have been rewritten to accommodate so much girth. Certainly Tessa couldn’t have gained all of this blubber in a year, she’d have been far too fat to be cast in that horrid musical remake, where her character had had such a tiny waist. No, this blubber would have required years to grow, Tessa would have had to start getting chubby ten years earlier, her adult career miscarrying as she ballooned, perhaps even plumping up in the last of the series that had catapulted her to fame. Surely the memories of her youthful good looks failing early, of her star waning before it was born as she failed to live up to her promise would have been miserable…

 

But perhaps not so miserable as the actual memory.

 

“That couldn’t have been real, that couldn’t have been real, that couldn’t have been real,” hammered home again and again and again in Tessa’s mind.

 

While the images of devouring the trainer alive flashed alongside her. Of committing a horrible act of violence with her bare hands and mouth. Of feeling an enemy struggle against her, its motions weakening and dying as Tessa’s gluttonous drive overcame its resistance.

 

Guilt at the murder fluttered through Tessa’s pacifistic heart...alongside the horrible realization that whatever that trainer had been, they weren’t human. Holmes had killed some sort of monster, some living mass of chocolate that could mimic human form and sound close enough to fool the eye and ear. Something that surely couldn’t exist in a rational world, right alongside magical weight gain spells and chocolate slurries that made you gain forty pounds a day.

 

“What the hell is this place,” Tessa gasped, leaning against a statue and trying to catch her breath.

 

Judging by the overinflated silicone boobs and high waisted one piece of the statue, Tessa had only gotten back into the mid 90s after what felt like hours of effort. Moving around at speed while being an out of shape two hundred and fifty pounder had been difficult, moving around at all when she weighed over four hundred pounds felt tortuous. Tessa’s elephantine thighs never stopped touching, having to force past each other as wel as the sagging, drooping weight of the stretch marked apron gut that hung down almost to her knees. Catching her breath felt difficult, the actress was wheezing and gasping from an agony she’d never reached under any workout before. Her joints hurt from carting herself around and a stitch in her side burned like she’d been stabbed with a flaming sword, the easy exercise an agony. The pull of her swinging, naked breasts was hurting her back and sweat poured off of her rolls, evaporating and leaving her cold to the chill night.

 

Every sensation of her lazy, morbidly obese body told Tessa to lay down and give up. That she was too weak, too exhausted and too tired to deal with an insane cult that fattened up and sacrificed celebrities. That she’d already lost and it was better for her to lay down, eat her fill and die, like the pig to slaughter she was...

 

“If I can’t escape, then I have to fight. Mortenson took that choice away from me,” Tessa muttered, pushing herself off of the baywatch statue and waddling onwards, the clapping of her thighs thunderbolts in her ears.

 

It was still night by the time the obese Actress waddled out of the maze and leaned against the Lodge’s massive inner doors, the half mile at the most trek having taking her well over an hour. Tessa was a gasping, bent over wreck at that point, her knees killing her and her head swimming. Dr. Mortenson’s snide prediction about her developing diabetes kept ringing in her head, the actress wasn’t a health expert, she had no idea what diabetes did to you beyond needing to check your blood sugar and hoped that if she had it, she wouldn’t die from it immediately.

 

“Come on, keep going,” Tessa chided herself, moving step by agonizing into the building, barely able to open the heavy doors wide enough to fit her bulked out lard thanks to her sheer width and the weakness of her pillowy limbs, “that *gasp* overrated piece of cheese cake isn’t beating you yet…”

 

There were two things that the actress desperately wanted. One was to lay down, preferably in a pool of ice and let her overheated, engorged body rest. The other was, well if her lumburing appearance didn’t suggest it, the predatory gurgle of her stomach gave it away: to gorge herself sick until the hole inside herself filled up. Guzzling down a hundred and sixty pounds of chocolate hadn’t sated the actress’ hunger at all, instead the stretching her stomach had undergone had just made her more ravenous after rapidly digesting the living fudge.

 

“...even if it means stairs…,” Tessa whined to herself, gulping at the looming shape of the staircase in the darkness, more terrifying than any primordial monster when your knees and feet were already screaming.

 

Step by step, Tessa managed to haul herself upwards, literally pulling herself up with the handrail. Had her cheeks not already been red with exhaustion, she would have made them red with embarrassment at the every day motion being so frighteningly difficult. Every step made her knees groin and twinge, her feet complain and wince, her sensitive stomach to fall with a slap against her thighs. But every step brought her closer to her goal…

 

Mortenson’s office.

 

The near naked Tessa was weaving on her feet by the time she got into the room, honestly in danger of toppling to the ground. Her pulse had been noticeably faster since yesterday, when she’d crossed the line from a bit chubby to flat out fat, but since becoming immense this night, Tessa had been hearing her circulatory system thunder trying to keep up with the demands of her expanded self. Tessa had to lean against Mortenson’s door for long minutes, until her breath finally stopped coming in gasps and her heart rate slowed down to a dull roar, however her knees still throbbed and her body felt kitten weak.

 

What Tessa would do if she opened the door to find Mortenson was a mystery to her, but there was no use waiting outside. She slid open the door quiet as she could, finding only darkness inside. Tessa tried to slip in without fully opening the door, however her porcine gut prevented that, the door handle ramming straight into her inches of buttery adipose.

 

“Fuck,” the actress seethed, still unable to comprehend how damn fat she was.

 

Gently closing the door and rubbing her naked gut, Tessa found a light switch and started exploring Mortenson’s office. The computer was password locked, Tessa tried a few of the titles of the films the doctor had appeared in sixty years earlier, but kept getting rejected. She tried sitting down for further attempts but failed to take in account just how wide she’d gotten and how narrow the computer chair was. Beneath her broad, flabby ass, the computer chair shot out and Tessa flailed clumsily as she fell with a heavy thud. The impact caused a book, poorly shelved, to fall off and land on her heavy stomach, getting another wince out of er.

 

For a moment, Tessa lay flat, heart pounding in terror that she’d been discovered but gradually, she calmed as no one appeared. Swallowing her terror, Tessa tried sitting up. It was the first time she’d gotten to really look at herself in light and seeing the massive bulge of her own fat, a couch cushion sized balloon bigger than her old body used to be made her head spin. The acreage of pale lard was folded into a dozen rolls, so big it hung down onto the floor on each side and made it hard to breath.

“....Temporary, temporary,” Tessa told herself, trying to stay sane as she tried sitting up, going nowhere.

 

Panic at immobility spasmed along with the pain of her sore abs, but the Actress managed to convince herself that it was just due to positioning. With some effort, she rolled over, gut sprawling across the cold hardwood and slowly, slowly got into a half plank position, abdomen still touching the ground. Getting herself back up required pulling on the corner of the desk and left herself breathing hard again.

 

“I’m...this is dangerous,” Tessa grumbled at herself, looking at the book that had landed on her.

 

Unlike the rest of the books behind Mortenson’s desk, this one wasn’t a dry psychological manual. Instead the pages were brittle and the binding ancient, she opened it with care to see text written by hand before the invention of ball point pens. The handwriting was a stylized cursive that was hard to follow, but Tessa was able to get snatches about great discoveries and wondrous power as she thumbed through it.The journal entries gave way to diagrams with impossible angles burning their way into her brain, into resuscitations of nonsense words with no vowels that stamped their way into her memory.

 

“I need to take this back and…,” Tessa began, stopped by the door swinging open.

 

“Ah Miss Holmes, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Mortenson’s voice cooed, “either about all that extra fat you managed to pack on or it being you who somehow resisted the interrogation.”

 

The doctor was in a very short nightgown of bright pink silk. It clung so tight to her as to be barely decent, dipping low to show off her bountiful cleavage and rising high on her wide hips. To Tessa’s surprise, the golden age film starlet was carrying much more weight than she had carried at dinner: her hard, muscular calves had shrank as tone faded away, while shapely thighs bulged with cellulite spackled lard. Round hips had given way to matronly decadence, saggy cheeks hanging out of the night gown as Mortenson waddled in. Her belly jiggled with droopy flab and her zeppelin breasts looked deflated, hanging sadly in their cups. The woman who had been Lillian Lincoln had seen her perfect face alter, jowls coming in aggressively and big brown eyes shrinking as her cheeks puffed up. She didn’t look like one of the sexiest women who’d ever lived, instead she looked like an overweight house wife.

 

Tessa sneered back at her, considerable anger bubbling in her considerable stomach.

 

“You did this to me, you did this to all of us,” the British woman snarled.

 

Mortenson or Lincoln, whatever her real name was laughed, a triple chin forming, “Please, you did it to yourself, just like I did it to myself. Fat is what we are on the inside and its inevitable that it comes through on the outside too. The Lodge just harnesses that for the greater good, not that you’d understand.”

 

“Is that what Remington told you n ‘63?” Tessa asked, trying to goad the blonde, “when you showed up here with a ruined figure and a dead career? Because it was probably true for you.”

 

A look of complete and total hatred shot across the near century old blonde’s face, “Shut your mouth of things you do not know of.”

 

“I guess I wouldn’t know about my career depending solely on being hot. I’d have been able to get rolls chubby, but you?” Tess pressed, seeing red anger spread across Mortenson’s tan features, “You were nothing but perky tits, a skinny waist and a fat ass attached to a porn actress’ abilities. How did it feel when you were too fat for anyone to care about you?”

 

“I said, shut the fuck up, you fat limey bitch!” Mortenson snapped, lunging forwards to slap Tessa, a whip crack in the room that made Tessa see stars and stumble backwards, her vast ass knocking more books from the shelf

 

“And I said,” Tessa gasped, spitting blood from a bitten lip, “I said...Fthnght!”

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Aha, books of ancient lore. I expect Tessa will have the advantage over Lincoln in using unpronounceable magic words (though I guess Lincoln has a lot more experience).

 

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Random thoughts from the past couple chapters now:

  • So the statues, were mostly the same actresses as the failed Hero Girl casting calls. Were they all sacrifices to this "Goddess" like the Evelyn Stone inscription implies? Is there some connection to them being sacrifices and the mysterious chocolate pudding? Is their sacrifice what's fueling the pudding supply and therefore the pudding people orderlies?

 

  •  Given all the other "is it real? Is it all in your head?" kind of goings on here, I guess this whole story could taken a real dark/morbid  turn if the pudding person Tessa gobbled down on ended up actually being a real person and she had kind of gaslighted herself to thinking all of this weight gain stuff was real when maybe it wasn't. Would take the story into "not my cup of tea" territory, but I'm half expecting some other kind of big twist in the mindfuckery kind of avenue, whatever that may be.

 

  •  The inscriptions on the statues- are they just like magically updating in real time what's going on and how much weight everyone has gained?

 

  • Back to the statue inscriptions, the one for Remington mentioned taking up a vigil and sigil until relieved. Obviously Mortenson took over that role, but Mortenson's inscription mentions her being Queen and High Priestess forever more. Any significance to that difference there? Or just a matter of the inscriptions not updating until Mortenson is defeated and replaced?

 

  •  Tessa conveniently finds Mortenson's (or maybe Remington's?) spell book or similarly ancient Elder God tome that probably has some significant powers within.

 

  •  Without knowing exactly what Mortenson and her cult's end game is, man, do they have shoddy security. And I still can't quite tell if Mortenson is playing 4D chess with Tessa and letting her get this far in terms of Tessa evading her mind control or if Mortenson is just way too overconfident and genuinely hasn't figured out that Tessa is kind of piecing everything together almost as rapidly as her weight is inflating.

 

  • Mortenson again with the case of rapid fattening. Wondering how/why that's happening...obviously the chocolate/pudding is key to Mortenson having control enough to turn all perfect hourglass once she starts chubbing out combined with her Elder Goddess jibberish spells. Does she have to make sacrifices on a set schedule in order to appease the Elder Goddess and keep her blimping out under control or on a longer timer? 

 

  • Along those lines, is Mortenson blowing up solely because of her having to balance chowing down on the chocolate to fuel her powers, which in turn makes her fat, but allows her to use her body contouring spells? Then trying to piece together the inscription on the statue for Mortenson- it said she gained 800 lbs and then lost 850lbs. I'm assuming that took her back to bombshell hourglass proportions. Then maybe if she doesn't sacrifice people she gets fat again and that's what we're seeing? I'm guessing there is some price/cost to being High Priestess/Queen...

 

  •  Tessa very quickly turning the tables on Mortenson and getting under her skin super easily. Now Mortenson is the one losing her cool as Tessa has hit a nerve on Mortenson's own origin story. Is this the start of Tessa maybe flipping the script on Mortenson in terms of being the one that eventually gaslights Mortenson?

 

  •  If the pudding/chocolate is maybe the key to some of this Elder Goddess body contouring power, is Tessa all of a sudden powered up just like Mortenson? And she just uttered some kind of Elder Goddess jibberish, combined with being powered by pudding people...is Tessa going to magically slim down like Mortenson? Or did she just invoke some other kind of magic? Maybe shifting the weight around on herself again or on Mortenson? The selfish part of me wants to see a super hot hyper hourglass Mortenson but I'll leave that to Batman76 :)

 

 

 

 

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Now for a catasstrophic backfire...

At that moment, Rachel Fast had been in the Black Mountain Lodge’s luxurious kitchen.

 

The pop starlet had been bent over, the cellulite covered bean bag chairs that were her immense ass cheeks hanging out of her fraying underwear. An industrial refrigerator was open in front of her, dully backlighting her heavily pear shaped figured. Beefy, saggy thighs were halfway merging with her ass and half way merging with her cankles, the mega-pear’s lower half taking on so much lard Rachel’s once iconic legs had become indistinct. 

 

“Mmmphhh, fuck so, mmmmmmphhhh,” the red head’s deep, husky voice gasped through a double handful of chocolate cheese cake, “so...fucking….good….”

 

Rachel’s bent over posture wasn’t easy for her to maintain. Weighing near four hundred pounds, the gluttonous feedee had ** problems aplenty that were making her knees creak and ankles complain, while her big toes had begun to throb with a case of gout from her over rich diet. But the pure, perfect flavor of the triple chocolate cake overcame the ** pain in a tide of gluttonous joy, motivating the pop starlet to keep eating even before the pleasant throb between her legs.

 

“Come on, mmmphhhh, goooo,” Rachel gasped, one hand abandoning the cake to plunge between her cottage cheese thighs, weak wrist straining to hold up the lower fold of her FUPA.

 

The stretching pain of her stomach, overloading at the multipound midnight snack and the mind searing pleasure of Rachel’s budding orgasm wrapped together, her gluttony and her lust turning into one.

 

Two months earlier, Rachel’s actual boyfriend had mentioned liking the bounce of the small booty the famously pencil thin starlet had grown after needing a dose of steroids for strained vocal chords. That little spark of memory had been enough for the Lodge to implant ever more detailed memories of feederism and sexual perversion, kindling that spark into a firestorm of disordered eating and sexual lust. Despite thinking that she was at a weight loss clinic and losing several pounds a day, Rachel still committed a nightly pilgrimage to the kitchen, where a carefully prepared fridge awaited her. 

 

“Yes, yes, come on,” Rachel gasped, her right hand’s plump thumb on her clit and two soft fingers sliding up her slit, while her left hand shoved another messy handful of cake into her lips, “ummffff…”

 

Thoughts that millions of dollars in ticket and record sales were on the line if she didn’t return to skinny did Penetrate Rachel’s red hair, but were dismissed. After all, she was losing weight here, according to the scale every day, and it wasn’t like she was on a dead line to slim down. Really, every handful of cake she shoved into her mouth was the fault of the lodge, right?

 

The sheer perversity of her actions, intentionally gorging at a weight loss clinic, only turned Rachel on more. The only thing she really lacked for was someone to feed her. Her mind turned to her friend Tessa, who’d always seemed so proper and uptight but was looking beyond cute with that ** belly. Maybe tomorrow night the two of them could sneak down and feed each other. Maybe a little more than that, hoping the trainers didn’t catch them...

 

“Ummmmfffff, place really needs...ugghhhh...better security….,” Rachel groaned, piggish green eyes crossing as she started coming strong, “Ahhhh!!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!”

 

The pop starlet collapsed backwards onto a well placed bench as her legs gave out. Waves of pleasure shot through her body, weak, atrophied muscles twitching and wobbling the fat layers that had buried them. She screamed, loud enough to wake the dead and sharp enough to deafen anyone close by, decades of singing experience being brought to use again. The Lodge’s kitchen was sound proofed by means technological and geometrical and the hidden things that leeringly watched the singer couldn’t be harmed save by consumption, but Rachel still felt a ping of pride that she could scream that loud despite her miserable physical condition and lack of vocal training over the past months.

 

But as she came, visions of her friend Tessa’s smaller bulk pressing into hers shooting through her head, Rachel began to change. Runes and sigils her green eyes couldn’t see surrounded her, invisible tendrils and force and time stretched down from the ceiling and plunged into her supine, rippling bulk.

 

Twin seas of dimpled, stretch marked, milk pale fat pressed around her wrist, the singer’s once perfect legs turned into waddling piles of cottage cheese. With every gasp of her orgasm, the lardy covered limbs began to shrink. The fat roll over her knees began to pull up, the folds on the sides of her thighs smoothed, a distinction began to appear between calf and ankle. FUPA fat pressing into Rachel’s wrist began to fade, pulling back into her stomach while her love handles contracted back to give her a waist. The starlet’s beefy, hot dog rolled neck narrowed, her chins withdrawing upwards as her face shape went back to a heart instead of a pie, Rachel’s green eyes becoming larger and luminous. 

 

“Come on, fuck, fuck yes, god I wish she was eating me out,” Rachel moaned, no longer gasping and the constant pain of her joints fading away.

 

A thigh gap appeared between Rachel’s now quite shapely legs, but just the hint of one for her thighs were still thick. The sprawl of her ass was now a quite enviable booty, round and smooth and spankable, if a bit wide if a bit wide and a little soft. Her face had a slight double chin and softness over her cheeks. Instead of floppy C cups, she had quite round new Ds.

 

“Fuck me, I never had an orgasm that good skinny,” Rachel moaned to herself, wiping sweat off of her forehead with a slender hand.

 

The singer stood up, with the ease of a thirty year old woman who was quite healthy if a little softer than at twenty. Rachel’s frame was as it was when she’d first entered the lodge, a tall woman who’d gotten a little too curvacious for popular tastes but had decided on losing weight instead of shapewear. Enchantments embedded in her brain struggled for a moment but soon fabricated new memories of rapid weight loss down to almost her goal weight.

 

“You know...being this thin again is cause for celebration,” Rachel licked her lips, going back to the cake filled fridge…

 

…..

 

“....Fthnght!” Tessa screamed.

 

Saying the nonsense word felt like getting punched in the mouth. Tessa felt her lips chap, canker sores form on her gums and a tooth begin to throb. It wasn’t a word any human being should ever say or could ever say, but when the actress said it…

 

Power flickered somewhere, a storm answering her call.

 

Tessa’s brown eyes bulged to see strange shapes appear before her eyes. Triangles with four angles, squares without straight lines, circles without radii and two sided rectangles, all made of lightning and all dancing around her. She saw other sigils in the room, ones of illusion and power and energy. Over Mortenson’s blonde curls was something that without words said “Preservation” and across her hips was one that said “Breeder”. Tessa’ looked down at her own voluminous gut, a sigil’s non letters glowing softly to say “Sow”. Then the runes around her shot inwards, slapped into the actress’ body with the force of gunshots, making her flesh ripple and bounce.

 

“You had every spell within that tome, a hundred years worth of careful research by the mistresses of the arcane,” the plump Mortenson sneered at her, “and that spell, that spell is the one you chose to use?”

 

“I, had to try something,” Tessa gasped, ripples of what felt like an intense orgasm shooting through her body making her drop the spell book and feeling herself start to...stretch.

 

“For one thing, to cast without a channeling device requires you to clear the head with an orgasm, and be very well hydrated,” the blonde actress turned cultist giggled, the plump jiggles of her floppy breasts and puffy tummy following, “especially someone like you, Miss Type 2 Diabetes.”

 

Tessa was already far from the waifish woman she’d been. Her gut was an immense apron of fat down nearly to her knees, her arms were pillows of fat and her face was unrecognizably round. Her joints hurt, her wind was bad and she was feeling dehydrated and exhausted from a short walk.

 

She began to feel worse heartbeat by heartbeat. A great heat overwhelmed her face, her cheeks began puffing up further around her eyes and she felt her four chins merge into one horrible jowl bigger than her breasts had been, sagging down almost to her new set of floppers. Seams ripped in the pleather jacket, Tessa’s pillowy limbs swelling to uselessness as her forearm fat spilled over her wrists and her fingers grew hard to bend.

 

“But casting that spell?” Mortenson laughed, “That spell? Do you know how fucked and hated by the Gods you must be, to cast the spell that transfers all the fat of the biggest pear in a hundred miles onto you?” 

 

“I’m...no, God no what did I do…,” Tessa stammered, heart thundering as she saw her belly plunge downwards just a little bit more, the limp sack of fat stopping to suddenly puff forwards…

 

“Gave me an immense amount of trouble is what you did. Its going to take...days to get that pervert singer back into sacrificial condition,” Lincoln laughed, “but seeing you, the first actual witch blood to actually get their hands on the book fuck up, cast the wrong spell and gain another three hundred pounds in thirty seconds? Oh its fucking worth it!”

 

Tessa’s legs had been long and shapely for her height. They’d earned her adoration for her whole adult life, while her tits had always been small, her legs had been perfect and she’d always had quite the booty too given how thin she was. Her staggering weight gain had made them soft, shapeless and flabby but most of the bulk had gone to her gut and upper body...until now.

 

Shoes that were already tight split and ripped, her feet swelling up with fat just as they screamed with gout. Drooping cankle flab hit the carpet, her lower legs having run out of room. Knee joints complained of their burden, arthritis developing even as her thigh fat spilled over them. A roll formed on each side of her cellulite coated thighs, and then another and another, stacks of lard spilling in every direction. Tessa’s flabby ass began to inflate outwards, her left cheek getting stabbed by the desk corner and her right overflowing a bookshelf, knocking tomes to the ground. Her piggish eyes widened when the back of her ass cheeks pressed into the back shelves, meaning she was completely trapped.

 

“My my, look at yourself...well, if your neck could bend I suppose. This is a strangely accurate representation of your natural propensity, a nice mix of gut and ass,” Mortenson laughed, picking the book up from where Tessa had dropped it, “so enjoy what you would look at while weighing seven hundred pounds before I reset you to an apple.”

 

“Fuck *gasp* you,” Tessa managed, barely able to breath.

 

“I don’t fuck patients and I don’t fuck fatties,” the golden age sex symbol tittered, “but I will think of you, all red faced and swollen the next time I get reamed. Now relax, you’ve got serious blood pressure problems and cholesterol higher than the national debt...I can’t lose another gut gainer so quickly, can I?”

 

Tessa’s brain was reeling with the latest change. Her joints were screaming and it was hard to breath...but this was the only chance she had to ask about Evelyn Stone…

 

“Another? What *puff* happened to Stone?” the rotund, far fatter around than she was tall, actress wheezed.

 

“Why, she went home. I don’t lie, save for my age and weight and natural hair color,” Mortenson smiled, “what I told Downton the day you arrived is true. If someone asks to leave, they leave. She’s home now, with a husband brainwashed to be a chubby chaser and a daughter who thinks mommies always been a beached whale in a mobility scooter. She’s never going to act again, save for something about a circus fat lady perhaps and her mind is a mess from the memory wipe, but she’s got a long, happy life...well, maybe not long given her arterial plaque…”

 

“Then *puff*...then let me...home…,” Tessa wheezed, cold sweat covering her body.

 

Fear gripped her. She was fatter than she’d ever imagined and literally trapped by her own lard. Her legs were screaming and she couldn’t get enough air, her left arm feeling painfully numb.

 

“Oh, are you tired of our little game? I’m not, your the first real challenge in ...decades, since at least the seventies. I must admit I’ve gotten pretty damn rusty and lazy, I only have trainers watch doors the first night anymore and don’t even lock the doors. Too dependent on my charges being lazy idiots. I’ve even been letting myself get chunky at night for extra comfort,” Mortenson said, patting her flabby ass for emphasis, “I really should have realized you were a witch too. We’re prone to bad conditions, cancer for you, fertility issues for me.”

 

Following the rambling sentences was getting hard. Tessa closed her eyes and heard a deep thud, opening them to find herself on the floor.

 

“I did realize the irony of being a sex symbol who couldn’t carry a pregnancy full term,” Mortenson said dryly, “just as you must recognize being known as a brainy brunette who’s brain tried to kill her. I think its nature trying to get rid of our sorcerous ilk.”

 

“P-please, I can’t *gasp* breathe,” Tessa managed.

 

“Oh sweety, that’s the coronary. But its really a good thing. Because do you remember what I said? I can only keep you here if you’re having a health emergency that makes you a danger to yourself or others,” the chubby doctor laughed, tapping the glimmering black diamonds of her necklace between her saggy breasts, “and given how full your arteries are and your obvious propensity for over eating….I’m afraid I’ll be extending your stay…”

 

The doctor slid off of the desk, pressing her soft flesh into the living mattress that Tessa had become. She put her head to the actress’ saggy breast, giggling as she listened to the thunder of her heart. Tessa would have tried to push her off, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breath and things were getting so dark…

 

Vwsdcnzmkp,” Mortenson whispered, the words a whip crack.

 

Immediately the chest pains stopped and feeling returned to Tessa’s arm. She took as deep a breath as she could, which wasn’t much with the fat coating her chest, but the cold air was the best sensation she’d ever had.

 

“Now now, can’t have you dying, can we? What would the papers say, “Tessa Holmes, sex symbol dies of heart attack as a big fucking pig?” Think of the reviews!” Mortenson laughed, “but then, if you died, there wouldn’t be a world to print tabloids, would there be? Almost a pity, they were always on me about the shape of my ass or if I’d lost another baby. If it wasn’t for everything else, I’d let the world die.”

 

“W-what?” Tessa managed, blinking, barely comprehending again.

 

“Oh just rambling, you’re the first real person I’ve gotten to talk earnestly too in years, save for when I go visit dear bitch Reminginton,” Mortenson sighed, “so relax, you’re going to be completely safe for the next few days as I pamper and feed you and stop your heart from failing. I won’t brainwash you, I’ll explain everything...and then I’m going to feed you to a God.”

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