Cyril Figgis Posted December 1, 2021 Share Posted December 1, 2021 ((Season's greetings, ho-ho-ho, and deck them halls! It's the most wonderful time of the year, and what better way to celebrate than with an advent calendar? There's nothing quite like waking up and opening your advent calendar to find a little treat inside, but Yours Truly can do better than a piece of chocolate or a Lego figure. In taking a page from our Nordic friends, I'm starting a julkalender--a series to run through from today to December 25th. Now, this won't be a traditional series like Five Little Piggies or The Roundest Rugby Player. This will be more of an anthology series, with each installment standing alone and being unrelated to each other. Some may be one-offs, some may be the start of future projects, but all will be entertaining and delightful--at least I hope. Let me know what you think of each installment and if you'd like to see more--I've got a lot of ideas that I'm dying to share with you all. Have a lovely day and may all your dreams come true.)) DAY 1: GOING OFF TRACK For the first time in his life, Marcello Bianchi felt like everything was going his way. He had gotten a full ride to Cape Fear University as part of their track team, a swanky on-campus apartment with his own bedroom, and a new pair of sneakers as a graduation gift. When he took his first steps onto the campus on Move-In Day, he felt like he should pinch himself to check if this was a dream. After all the trouble he had made growing up, no one, least of all he himself, could believe his fortune. “Hey bro, you gonna stand around all day or are you going to give us a hand?” Marcello tore his gaze from his apartment building—his new home away from home—and glanced back at his sister and mother, who worked to unload the car along with some volunteer seniors. A light pink crossed his cheeks at his sister’s chiding and he jogged over to help get his boxes and bags from the family van. The last thing he needed was a twelve year old berating him in front of his new peers; it was not the most embarrassing first impression, but it was up there. “Come on, Lucia, cut me some slack,” Marcello told the younger girl as he hoisted up the box containing a wire rack shelf. “I’m going to be living here for the next four years; I ought to be able to take it in, right?” Lucia rolled her eyes and tossed a pillow at him. “It’s because you’ll be living there for four years that you can afford to help right now.” “Knock it off, you two,” their mother, Nora, snipped, not wanting to attract as much attention as her daughter. “This is the last time you’ll see each other until Thanksgiving, and you’re going to be bickering? When I saw your Aunt Ramona off to college, I cried my eyes out.” “I’m sure Lucia’s just saving the waterworks as soon as you pull off campus,” Marcello teased as he ruffled his sister’s curly hair. “As if,” the pre-teen retorted as she swatted his hand away. Marcello unloaded the shelf into a rolling bin and took a moment to run his hands through his perfectly coifed hair. It was still early in the morning, but sweat was already beading on his brow and staining his shirt—one of the drawbacks of going to school at the beach. Without a second thought, he whipped off his shirt, leaving him in a tank top that was tight enough to cling to his toned abs and left his ropy arms on display. The swarthy young man looked like he stepped out of a cologne ad, and he attracted more than his fair share of favorable looks while he worked. After filling the bin, Marcello pushed it into the apartment building and onto the elevator. The doors were just about to close when he heard a lilting voice call out, “Hold the door!” He quickly hit the open button just as two girls ran in, each with their arms full of bags and boxes. One was a petite brunette that barely came up to Marcello’s shoulders and looked like she was made out of toothpicks, while the other was a voluptuous redhead that was a hair taller than him and was built like a brick house, especially in comparison to her friend. They were dressed for the weather, but just like Marcello, they were sweating bullets; whether that was the humidity or them struggling with their luggage was anyone’s guess. “Thanks a million,” the redhead said to Marcello. “Second floor?” “No problem,” he replied as he hit the call button for the second and third floors. As the elevator doors slowly closed, the brunette nodded to Marcello and asked, “Are you with the track team?” “Yep,” the young man answered. He put a thumb to his chest and introduced himself, “Marcello Bianchi—sprinter. How about you?” “Tori Munyer—distance,” said the brunette, tilting her chin up since her hands were full. “Chita Collins—hurdles,” the redhead added. She glanced over Marcello with an approving look in her eye, or perhaps that was his ego playing tricks on him. “Bianchi…that’s a nice name. Italian?” “As Italian as a cannoli,” joked the sprinter. The elevator came to a stop at the second floor, and the girls slid on out. Marcello gave the two a slight wave and said, “Guess I’ll see you at the orientation tomorrow?” “Oh! You didn’t hear?” asked Chita. “Some of the other people on the team were talking about a welcome party later tonight. It’s going down at the beach around 10—you should come!” Never one to pass up a good party, Marcello replied, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world; just what I need to unwind after moving in. Catch you two later!” “Later, dude,” Tori hummed as she wandered down the hall. Chita lingered for a second longer before winking at Marcello and telling him, “See you around, Marcello. Nice meeting you!” That time, he was sure he had not imagined it—Chita definitely liked what she saw. Marcello could not blame her for window shopping; he knew exactly what he looked like, practicing Patrick Bateman levels of self-care. His skin was free of blemishes save for a faint scar on his upper lip, his hair was smoother than silk, and he had a deep, bronze tan from head to toe. He looked less like a college freshman and more like an actor ten years his senior pretending to be a freshman, which earned him the attention of many a wandering eye. Marcello decided that what was good for the goose was good for the gander, and he watched Chita’s backside rock from side to side in her short shorts before the door closed. His mother had warned him not to chase girls and focus on his studies, but how could anyone study when a perfect 36-24-36 lived just one floor below? If he played his cards right at the party, he might get to kick off his college life with a bang—literally and figuratively. When the elevator arrived on the third floor, Marcello rolled his bin out into the hall and counted down the room numbers until he reached 312—last one on the right. The door was already open, and when he poked his head in to see who might have been inside, his curiosity was rewarded with a foam dart to the head. “Boom! Headshot,” the assailant cheered. Marcello flicked the dart off his forehead and spotted a guy lying in the bedroom directly across from the door. He was the very model of a surf bum: shaggy blonde hair that hung into his eyes, peachy skin that had freckled in the sun, and an open Hawaiian print shirt that revealed a trim stomach. A pair of silver aviators perched atop his nose, and the hazel eyes behind them were half-lidded. His weapon of choice, a dart machine gun, rested on his stomach while he offered a lackadaisical wave to Marcello before picking up a slice of pizza from a box on his nightstand. “Whaddup, roomie?” the slothful boy asked around a mouthful of pepperoni. “Nice shooting,” Marcello remarked as he rolled his bin inside. “Are you Pete or Carson?” “Pete Langley,” was his roommate’s answer. Pete made no effort to get up, content with munching through his pizza while reloading his dart gun. He slid his aviators back up and told Marcello, “My sister works for campus maintenance, so she was able to get me the room last week.” The swarthy sprinter nodded along, focused more on unloading his bin than anything else. He took note of the layout for the apartment: kitchen with bar counter; common room with a sofa and two armchairs; two bathrooms; three bedrooms. A good setup, even if Pete’s early arrival meant his clutter was taking up a good portion of the space. Thankfully, his personal room was spared, with not an empty pizza box or a stack of soda cans in sight. His bedroom was threadbare in terms of décor, but between the desk, dresser, and bed, it had everything Marcello needed. Soon as he put some posters up and threw some knick-knacks around, it would feel right at home. Well, not entirely like home—the small rowhome he had grown up in only had two bedrooms, which meant that he had to share his space for the last twelve years with his sister. Finally, he could spread out whenever he came home from classes and not have to deal with Lucia screaming at him to pick up his stuff from her side of the room. As Marcello unloaded the bin, he heard Pete fire off another dart, which was met with a loud, “The fuck, bro? I’ve got a TV here!” “Gotta think fast around here, dude,” Pete replied with a chuckle. Marcello poked his head out the bedroom door and spotted a brawny guy doing his best to avoid a barrage of foam darts while holding onto a large TV set. His hair was buzzed down to peach fuzz, and he wore a basketball jersey that left his powerful arms bare. He had the appearance of an old school bully from a bad teen movie—bulky all around, imposing chin, and the broad shoulders of someone who spent more time in the gym than at a desk. Put simply, a galoot. The big guy grunted, “We’ll see how fast you think when I shove those sunglasses up your—” “Let me give you a hand with that,” Marcello offered in an effort to keep the peace. No sense in fighting on the first day—they had a whole year to tear each other’s heads off. The sprinter quickly grabbed one end of the widescreen, and the two boys lugged the TV over to the coffee table. Marcello quickly kicked off the accumulated trash on top so they could place the set down, and he wiped a hand across his brow when they were finished. Once this moving was done, he would park his butt in a chair for the rest of the day, easily. “Thanks, man,” the brawny boy said to Marcello after cracking the joints in his back. “You wouldn’t think something that flat would weigh so much, right?” “Tell me about it,” the sprinter chuckled as he mimicked the gesture and stretched his arms behind him. “I’m guessing you’re Carson?” “Yep,” his new roommate replied while reaching out to shake Marcello’s hand. “Carson Trang.” Marcello glanced down at Carson’s arms and remarked, “Damn, dude—you are jacked. You gonna be a thrower for the team?” Carson shook his head and flexed one of his arms, his bicep firming up and his veins popping. “Nah, son—multis. I’ll be taking home the gold when we’ve got decathlons.” “Nice,” Marcello chuckled as he clapped Carson’s bicep. “We’ll do the whole meet and greet later; if I don’t get back downstairs, I’m pretty sure my mom and sister will come hunting for me.” “Same for my folks,” the bigger roommate smirked. Carson glanced back into Pete’s room and asked, “Yo, Deadshot—mind giving us a hand?” As the lazy boy rolled a slice of pizza into a tube, he replied, “I wish I could, but I don’t want to.” Both his roommates glowered at each other before Carson told Marcello, “Why don’t you head back down? I need to have a little chat with John Wayne here about how there’s no ‘lazy jackass’ in ‘team’ before I meet you down there.” “All right, but make sure he stays in one piece,” the sprinter told his teammate. “We’ll need him for meets, maybe.” *** The rest of the move went smoothly, especially after Carson returned with Pete slung over his shoulders and all but forced him at gunpoint to help out. Marcello rubbed shoulders with a few other residents in his building—all student athletes, albeit from different sports—but he kept close to his future roommates. Pete took his sweet time moving along, carrying just enough to not have Carson breathe down his neck, and Marcello wondered how anyone as sluggish as him could be on a track team. Carson, on the other hand, stayed focused on his task up until a pretty girl caught his eye, which, unfortunately, happened to be every few minutes. If nothing else, the next year would certainly be interesting with a couple jokers like them around. He also happened to see Chita and Tori a couple times more, and each time Chita passed by him, he felt more certain that their attraction was mutual. Tori, on the other hand, did not seem interested like her roommate, but Marcello was not about to judge; he was not so full of himself to think that all women should be into him. They made for good company though, and so long as everyone played nice, they would be good neighbors for the year ahead. When he said his goodbyes to family, even getting a hint of tears from Lucia, Marcello sprawled out on his newly made bed and let it finally soak in. It was not so long ago that college would have been a pipe dream for him: between the exorbitant prices and his constant brushes with the law, it seemed like he would never make it; he would be the example parents pointed to when telling their kids why they needed to stay on the straight and narrow. Only when his mother told him how he was turning out just like his deadbeat of a father did Marcello start taking life more seriously and applied himself. And apply himself he did, as the former delinquent pushed himself to perform better and better over his high school career. His grades were never anything to write home about, placed squarely in the middle of his class, but where his academics faltered, he excelled on the track. All the time running around causing trouble had been good for something after all, as few could catch him when he got moving. Marcello rocketed through the ranks, becoming not only one of the fastest in his school’s history, but even setting state records that would stand for years. It was that speed that earned him a scholarship to CFU, which took the burden of paying for school off his mother and ensured him a place at one of the most desirable schools in the state. A knock on the door broke his rumination, and Carter popped his head in to ask, “Hey Marcello, we’re going to check out the dining hall and get something to eat. You want to come with?” “Yeah,” the lanky boy replied as he rolled himself off the bed. “Let me just get a quick shower in and I’ll meet you guys down there.” After bidding goodbye to his new roommates, Marcello sauntered over to the bathroom and peeled his sweaty clothes from his body before taking a look in the mirror. He looked like a god, something that was said not out of bragging, but simply as fact; women wanted him and men wanted to be him, as the old saying goes. His fingers traced along the contours of his muscles, running a circuit along his abdomen before curving around his pecs, circling around his biceps, and then running down to his pert backside. Everywhere he went, he found lean and imposing muscle, all cultivated from years of sticking to hard exercise and a firm diet. And yet, something did not feel right. It was a feeling that had been growing for the last couple years, but whenever Marcello looked at himself in the mirror, he always felt like there was something off about his appearance. If he could put it into words, it was like if he dressed in pastels, golf shirts, and sweater vests—they might have been nice clothes, but they did not look right on him. In that same way, he felt the same way about the hardened body that he had built for himself, wishing that it was on someone else. Of course, such a change was not so simple as throwing on another pair of clothes, nor was he even sure of what it was that he even wanted. “Whatever,” Marcello muttered to himself. “Just getting into my own head.” He shoved those thoughts back down as he had so many times before, but it would not be long before they were dredged up again. The only question was what sort of body he truly desired, which was something he would explore over the next four years… *** As all the student athletes were moving in, there was a meeting among the heads of the athletic program—the last one before the start of the new year. They had been sure that everything was lined up for the school year, but if there was one thing any of them should have known, it was that nothing was truly set in stone. Anything could go wrong, from a top pick getting injured or arrested, but this was something much more brutal than just one or two athletes being dropped. “I thought we had the budget straight. What happened?” the head of communications asked. “We had to move some numbers in order to secure a last-minute pick for the baseball team,” explained the internal operations director. “Besides, the men’s track team hasn’t performed well in years; they’ve been on the chopping block as long as I’ve been here.” “We’ve no choice,” said the Director of Athletics. “Men’s Track and Field is officially cancelled.” ulvrik, lyle81992, venusderuebens and 3 others 3 2 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
rokusho310 Posted December 1, 2021 Share Posted December 1, 2021 As an avid fan of advent calendars, I love this idea. Looking forward to to seeing what else you have in store Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 1, 2021 Author Share Posted December 1, 2021 23 minutes ago, rokusho310 said: As an avid fan of advent calendars, I love this idea. Looking forward to to seeing what else you have in store Thank you kindly! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted December 2, 2021 Share Posted December 2, 2021 Something to look forwards too every day! Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 2, 2021 Author Share Posted December 2, 2021 22 minutes ago, Batman76 said: Something to look forwards too every day! It's the gift that keeps on giving! For about three weeks, that is. Then it doesn't give no more. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 2, 2021 Author Share Posted December 2, 2021 DAY 2: PALMER ACADEMY Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: a girl goes away to school, develops a small circle of friends, and turns into a butterball. Maybe she’s got a boyfriend that coerces her into plumping up, or perhaps she has a jealous rival that wants to see her beauty marred with flab. Sometimes her friends experience their own gains, and sometimes they are the source of her weight woes; at worst, everyone in her life plots to fatten her up. It’s a story that’s been told dozens of times before and will continue to be told for ages to come—hell, I’ve written a few of them myself—always repeating the same tired tropes. But this is not your average story. Yes, it has many of the trappings you’re no doubt familiar with: clueless bimbos obliviously gorging themselves into new dress sizes, diabolical feeders who manipulate the aforementioned bimbos, and more lesbian encounters than you can shake a stick at. It may seem lurid, hokey, and cliché, but I can only tell you the truth—no more, no less. This is the very real story of how my friends and I developed into the women we are today, for better or for worse. Much like our minds, there’s so much more to this story than our bodies. We had no idea the darkness we would uncover in the town of Lynchfield and in the halls of Palmer Academy. If we did, we would never have gone to that god-forsaken school—and by the same token, the evils in this town might never have come to light. It all began, to borrow a phrase, on a dark and stormy night… *** If Amy Apple could have, she would have hurled herself from the family car about a hundred miles ago. Driving up to her new school had been the greatest trial of her sixteen years-long life: her father’s junky pickup had stalled out not an hour after leaving home, her mother spent the entire twelve hours talking about every little thing that came to mind, and now, they were stuck in a sudden squall. All this so Amy could abandon her small-town school for a posh academy in a smaller, beachside town that she could not have cared less about. “I’m telling you, I’ve driven through way worse than this,” Finn Apple assured everyone as he leaned as close to the windshield as he could in a vain effort to peer through the sheets of rain. “Remember that blizzard from a few years back? I got us through that just fine!” “Yeah, after nearly driving into five different snowbanks,” contested Marcy Apple, who had little faith in her husband’s driving abilities. “Marcy, do you want to get her there today or not?” “I do, but I also want us to arrive in one piece!” No one bothered to ask what Amy wanted, but that was par the course for her life. Whether it was learning piano, joining the Girl Scouts, or transferring to a brand new school just before her sophomore year, it did not matter what she wanted to do. She was perfectly content with life back on Sugar Mountain, but when her parents heard about this oh so special school, they just had to get her in. They fed her all the typical stuff: it would be a good change of pace, private school students have a better chance of getting into good colleges, she would make important connections, and so on. Garbage, all of it. Amy cared not for getting into Ivy League, nor did she care who she shook hands with. What she wanted to do was hike, play in a makeshift band that would never go anywhere, and read Grand-Stand comics behind the 7-11 with her friends. If she had to hear about how good of an opportunity it was one more time, she swore that she would shave her head out of spite—that would show them that she meant business. Too tired to shut down the constant bickering, Amy put her earbuds in and leaned her head against the window. She cast a brief glance at her reflection and sighed at what she saw: her strawberry hair was frizzing again, her emerald eyes were bleary from poor sleep, and her fair, freckled skin seemed even paler than usual. It was a good thing they were arriving so late in the day; hardly anyone would be around to see the absolute state she was in. As the dulcet tones of Depeche Mode graced her ears and the rhythmic rain pounded against the window, Amy shut her eyes and tried for another round of sleep. No sooner had her eyelids closed than a terrific clap of thunder made her shoot up in her seat. The weary girl groaned at being deprived of slumber and turned her attention outside to the rain-stricken surroundings, watching how the raindrops streaked down the window. It was while tracing one particular drop that she caught a hint of movement coming up on the road—an animal trying to get out of the storm, most likely. She would have put it out of mind and forgotten all about it had a nearby lightning bolt not illuminated the area for an instant. There, at the edge of the woods, was a wildly obese, naked woman running at a breakneck speed, or as close as she could manage. Amy’s eyes went wide and she pressed her face against the glass in an attempt to spot her again, but they were moving too fast and there was no other light to be found. When it became clear that a search would be fruitless, she sat back down and puzzled over the surreal sight, wondering if it had been her tired eyes playing tricks on her. “Something wrong, Amy?” her mother asked as she looked in the rearview mirror. Amy removed her earbuds and shook her head. “No, just thought I saw something out in the woods. No big deal.” “Maybe you saw the Jersey Devil,” her father joked. “They say it stalks highways just like this and is on the lookout for reckless drivers.” “Oh, stop,” Marcy scoffed. “You’re going to give her nightmares.” Her daughter bit back a sharp retort and instead replied, “Mom, I know that there’s no such thing as monsters, especially winged goat demons.” With that, she retreated back to her music and gazed back out on the road. Amy did her best to forget what she assumed was just a delusion, but the sight was ingrained in her mind and refused to leave. When she closed her eyes, she could picture the woman clear as day: dark hair trailing down to the small of her back, breasts the size of her head flopping against a belly big enough to slap against tree trunk thighs, and pasty, sickly skin that made her look like walking dough. Unfortunately, she had not been able to see the Jane Doe’s face; even if it was not pitch black, they were driving too fast and she was too far away to get a good look. All Amy could tell was that the woman, whoever she was, had been running as fast as her fat legs could carry her, like a hippo on the move. A crueler person might have made some quip about her being late for dinner, but that would not explain why she was naked as the day she was born. Maybe a junkie? She had heard enough stories back home about some loony smoking something they should not and doing all manner of bizarre things, and this seemed right up there. It could have even been some sadistic prank by one of the locals, but she chalked that up to her disdain for moving. Whatever the case, she was sure that she would never find out what happened to the mystery woman, if she was even real at all. Amy tried once more for sleep and did her best to forget about the bizarre spectacle, her new school blues, and all her frustrations. There were far more important things to concern herself with than something she dreamed up, but she would deal with those when she got some actual sleep. The rain continued as the Apples drove through the sleepy town of Lynchville, pelting the old truck and filling the streets with water. Once or twice, they hit a deep patch of water that sent a wave up on the sidewalk and jarred Amy awake, but she never saw anything like the mysterious woman in the woods. All she saw when she glanced out the window were dark shops and restaurants, and not a soul in sight; she wondered if it would be as lifeless in the daylight when the storm had passed. Finally, their long journey came to an end as Finn pulled into the parking lot of The Jolly Roger, a motel that looked like it had not been renovated in decades. There were only two other cars in the parking lot, which, combined with the dim lighting and the flickering neon sign, did little to help Amy’s spirits. If anything, it soured her more: her only consolation being that if she were killed by a maniac, it would spare her having to go to Palmer Academy. “I’ll wave when I’ve got the keys,” Finn said as he unbuckled and turned off the car. “Be back in just a few, and then we can get nice and cozy for the rest of the night.” “We’ll be right here,” Marcy replied, as if there was anywhere else for her and Amy to be. After her father ran out into the downpour—minus his umbrella, as her mother grumbled—Amy propped her head in her hand and asked, “So, who do you think is going to kill us here—Norman Bates or Anton Chigurh? Because I’d put good money on Chigurh.” “That’s not funny, Amy,” chided Marcy, who was not one for dark humor even at the best of times. She crossed her arms and scowled as she had for the majority of the drive that day, and Amy knew that she was just itching to get one more rant out for the night. Eventually, the long hours on the road got the better of her and she let out a yawn, allowing her shoulders to relax. “I wish we could have gotten a nicer place too, but this was the closest option to the school—that’s small-town life for you.” Amy wanted to contest that she was trading one small town for another, but she was in no mood to get snippy with her mother. They had already bickered enough about the new school as it was, and after the exhausting road trip they had been on, she did not have any more fight in her. She would swallow her bitterness and trudge into her new school life with a smile plastered on her face and a disdain for her new place. As if sensing her daughter’s sour mood, Marcy turned to look at Amy and gave her a sad, soft smile—the kind that completely failed at being reassuring. “I know that you’re still angry about leaving Sugar Mountain, but this will be a great opportunity for you if you just give it a chance. A change in scenery never hurt anybody, you’ll get to meet all kinds of new people here, and you’ll be getting a college-level education before you even graduate! This is the chance of a lifetime, so all I’m asking is that you keep your mind open about it, okay?” “I’ll do my best,” Amy answered, biting back her intended response of ‘No promises’ for the sake of avoiding an argument. After her father gave them the signal, Amy and Marcy dashed for cover and followed Finn to their room, which sat just a few down from the lobby. The room was modest and cozy, but what stuck out to Amy was how it seemed to be a mishmash of styles: the carpet was 70s, the wallpaper was 60s, the furniture was 80s, and the TV looked brand new. It could have been far worse as far as motels go, but any port in this particular storm would have sufficed for the road-weary Apples. “I think I’m going to sleep well tonight,” Finn remarked as he kicked his shoes off and spread out on one of the beds. “Felt like the highway was never going to end.” “Agreed,” Marcy added, which might have been the first time she said that the entire trip. She went to grab a towel from the bathroom to dry off her hair before asking, “Finn, was there a snack bar or anything in the lobby? I’m famished, and that bag of peanuts we got at the gas station did not help.” “No snack bar, but they did have a couple vending machines. Amy, do you mind grabbing a few things since you’re still standing? There’re some singles in my wallet,” Finn told his daughter, nodding towards the wallet on the nightstand. “You pick whatever looks good, kiddo.” “But no soda,” instructed Marcy. “It’s straight to bed after this, and we won’t be able to get a wink with all that caffeine.” “No problem, Mom. I’ll be right back,” Amy told her parents as she grabbed the bills and made her way out the door. The squall was still hammering down outside, and the tired redhead had to flatten up against the wall to avoid the rain whenever it decided to blow under the walkway. She made it to the lobby little worse for the wear and made a beeline for the vending machines, which beckoned to her like lighthouses on a stormy sea. There were plenty of options, from the starchy to the sweet and plain to the fruity, and they all looked like five-star cuisines to the weary girl. “Personally, I like the honey buns and a bottle of mango juice,” an old voice remarked from Amy’s left. Seated behind the welcome desk was an old lady who was the living embodiment of ‘skin and bones’, looking more like a mummy than anything else. She chuckled raspingly, “It’s just what these old bones need to get through a long night.” “Maybe it’ll help with a little car lag then,” Amy replied with half a smile. She chose the honey buns and mango juice for herself, then perused the racks for snacks for her parents. The old lady behind the desk scribbled away at a crossword puzzle as she asked, “You excited to be going to Palmer? Your dad mentioned it when he was checking in.” Too tired for pleasantries, Amy grunted, “Not especially. The last thing I wanted to do was pack up my whole life and get shipped off to a boarding school three states away because it’s ‘good for me’; I’m not some shoplifter that needs to be sent to military academy to straighten my life out.” Her little outburst was followed by a sigh as a pack of pretzels dropped to the bin at the bottom of the machine. She turned back to the clerk and told her, “Sorry, it’s just been a long day with parents who won’t stop bickering or ignoring me.” “Oh, honey, you’re not the first person to get upset about changing their life so suddenly,” the old woman chuckled, her whole body rattling when she did. “I’ve been running this place for a long, long time, and I’ve seen all kinds of folks come and go in these here rooms. You’ve got your young’uns looking to elope, your couples having affairs, and even your down and outs ending it all; they all find their way here, and I try to lend them an ear if I can.” Amy leaned against the drink machine and glanced over at the old woman, who was looking at her with sunken but warm eyes. The young girl groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose for the thousandth time that day as she asked, “Do you know anything about Palmer Academy? I’m sure you get plenty of students and families stopping by here.” The woman shrugged and answered, “It’s a school, that’s for sure. Never really gave it much mind, on account I never had kids of my own to send there. But people around here talk about it like it’s the greatest place on Earth, so I guess they’re doing something right. Any students that stop by here aren’t looking to talk about their studies; they’re mostly just here for a little hanky-panky.” Even Amy had to laugh at that, sharing a chuckle with the clerk. She collected her goodies from the machine and told the woman, “Well, if I ever need a place to have some fun, I know where to go.” “And if anyone asks, you were never here,” the old woman added with a wink. “You ever need a room for anything at all, you just ask for Gertrude.” “Will do,” Amy tittered as she backed out of the office. “Have a good night, Miss Gertrude.” “Sleep well, dear,” Gertrude replied with a little wave before glancing down at her crossword puzzle again. “Oh, before you go, do you mind giving me a hand with this one clue? 7 Down: a voracious person; seven letters, and I know the sixth is an ‘o’.” Amy paused in the doorway and wracked her addled brain for an answer, though crosswords were never her forte. She tapped a water bottle against her head and guessed, “I’mma say glutton?” Gertrude mouthed the letters as she filled in the boxes and replied, “Yes, I do believe that’s it! Thank you, deary—I’ve been stuck on that since lunch!” “No problem,” Amy chuckled as she ducked out before the old woman could rope her in with another question. Tired as she was, she could barely put 2 and 2 together; the last thing she needed was a brain teaser. As she walked back to her family’s room for the night, Amy took one last look out into the stormy darkness and wondered what would be there in the morning. Venting helped a little, but the anxiousness and frustration still bubbled away inside her stomach—though it might have been hunger rearing its head. She opened a bag of potato chips and munched on a few as she imagined what tomorrow held for her, like if there was any place nearby that made decent wheatcakes… *** When the storm finally passed, the people of Lynchville got to cleaning up the damage it had brought, but there was one thing that could not be cleaned so easily. The new day brought sun, a cool breeze from the coast, and a ghastly murder that would set in motion a series of events that shook the quiet town to its core… venusderuebens, ulvrik, lyle81992 and 2 others 2 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest ratetankmark Posted December 2, 2021 Share Posted December 2, 2021 These are really, really awesome and I am so excited to see the next installment, your writing really is second to none and I love the cast of characters that you have. Great work, mate. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted December 2, 2021 Share Posted December 2, 2021 oh creepy creepy. that's a good horror intro. Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 3, 2021 Author Share Posted December 3, 2021 DAY 3: BEER BELLY BETTY Howdy, y’all! Sorry I didn’t hear you come in: I was chopping wood out back for the pig pickin’ next Tuesday down at Parson Tucker’s place. You folks are coming, ain’cha? Course y’are! Everybody who’s anybody in Yokum Falls will be there, and even if you’re a nobody, you’re still welcome. We’ll have plenty of fixings, like Mama Maple’s blue ribbon wheatcakes and Cousin Skid’s banana pudding, and even plenty of vegan options for your girl. How’re you taking to Yokum Falls? Sure is a far cry from the big city, I bet. Me, I likes the metropopolies just fine, but you just can’t beat home sweet home if’n you ask me. When you’re in that urban jungle, you get to know maybe a handful of people, but the rest are just faces. Here in Yokum Falls, everybody’s a character: you’ve got our resident know-it-all in E. Edison Einstein; our butcher, Freddy Chopin, who can get you any kind of meat you want so long’s you don’t ask questions; and Gizmorelda, who we’re all pretty sure is a robot but can’t nobody prove it. Shoot, I plum forgot you live just down the street from Beer Belly Betty! Lord, if ever there was a hoot and a half, she’d be it. Funny thing is, she weren’t too different from y’all when she showed up a few years back; she was some big shot up in New Cago or Atlando before she came here. If you’ve got the time, I’ll spin her yarn for you while my wife makes some of her world famous sweet tea… *** It's hard to believe now, but Betty never actually intended to come out here; it was just pure coinkydink that her car broke down when she was passing through. Corky brought her car into his shop, but it was one of them newfangled ‘smart cars’ and he didn’t have but half the things he needed to get it fixed. Now, y’all might not know this yet, but it can take a good while for anything to find its way out to Yokum Falls; we’re like one of them tribes that’s out in the Ameezon, all shut out from the world. So Corky tells her that it’s going to take a few weeks for them parts to get here, but she’s fine with it so long’s she got a place to lay her head. We ain’t got no proper motel—not since them rats took over The Flea Trap—but Hops Barley has got a couple rooms open over his bar and let her stay there. Weren’t long before we found that the poor gal was on the run from the pressures of life: a failing bidness, a failing marriage, and a failing apartment; it was like someone done stamped a big F on her report card. Hops, big softy that he is, gave her the room free of charge, no strings attached, but Betty weren’t having that and pitched in however she could around Barley’s. Now, y’all might not know this, on account of Betty being on the wrong side of four hunnerd pounds, but she wasn’t always Beer Belly Betty. When she rolled into town, folks called her Blue Eye Betty ‘cause she’s got the bluest eyes this side of the Mississippi; that ain’t doing them justice, but I ain’t got the vocabalary that Einstein’s got. But she was a right purty thing by anybody’s definition: chestnut hair all done in curls, waist tighter’n a clamp, and legs for days. ‘Course, she don’t hold a candle to my Ginny, but ain’t a woman alive can do that. Anyway, Betty does what she can to help out around Hop’s place, from cleaning at the end of the night to tending bar to singing whenever Lulu Swann got a sore throat. In exchange, Hop gave her a roof over her head, food and drink on the house, and even a little spending money—though he damn near had to litrully twist her arm to get her to take a paycheck. Don’t take long for someone to make themselves at home in Yokum Falls, and Betty weren’t no exception. Y’ask her what made her stay in town, and she’ll tell you that it’s all the local charm that won her heart; that might be true, but I’d bet my best hog on it being the food. We’re the secret food capital of the world, ‘cause nobody knows we make the best durn anything you want. You want icy cream? We’ve got them fellers at Baskin-Robbins beat with thirty-three flavors. You want pizza? Italy ain’t got nothing on Papa Ricotta’s. Hell, you want sushi? Gary Wasabi can hook you up with the best rolls outside of Tokyo, hands down. What I’m saying is we’ve got food for anybody’s taste, and Betty didn’t want for nothing when she got here. It started with the simple fried stuff that Hops makes, which he likes to gussy up by calling it ‘tempura style’, but everybody knows that a tempura’s a thin, light batter—both things that Hops’ cooking most certainly ain’t. Still, Betty took a liking to it before long, but what really helped it go down was some of Hops’ homebrew. I’ve seen a lot of people that like their booze in this town, but one taste of that beer and Betty was hooked. Any time you bumped into her at the bar, she’d be nursing a bottle; chances are, that weren’t her first bottle neither. You’d think that a city girl like her, raised on them fancy wines and liquors, wouldn’t take too kindly to such heavy, homemade stuff, but she was drinking it like a fish drinks water. Starting to see why we call her Beer Belly Betty yet? *** Oh, thank ya, Ginny. We was just talking about some of the characters ‘round these parts, and got to talking about Betty. No, no, not Broomstick Betty—Beer Belly, the one that bought Coker’s farm when he died back in ’19. Oh, they’re the same? Oh, I see…that’s the name the womenfolk gave her. No, I guess that does make sense, given you could pick your teeth with her when she moved into town, but it’s been an awful long time since she was that thin. Well, everybody’s got their own way of naming people ‘round here, I suppose. No, we’re good, sugar. Y’all heading out to Dotty’s for a spell? Give my regards, and tell her that the upside down cake was delectalicious. I’ll get supper going before you’re back. She’s a peach, I tell you what. I’m about the luckiest man in Capp County to land a woman like Ginny Rumm; what she sees in a bumkin like me, I’ll never know. But where was I? Oh, right… *** It didn’t take long for all that Yokum cooking to start catching up to Betty, ‘specially when she was drinking Hops’ beer like it was going out of style. She got a little softer all over—a little cushion that jiggled like Mammy’s apple jelly—but it was her belly that got the most. Folks started to wonder if she was waiting on a little bundle of joy, but one little poke and you’d know that it weren’t no baby she was waiting on. That girl weren’t but a few months removed from the hustle and bustle of city life, but she was already starting to look like a Yokum girl ought to. Now, we treat folks like family ‘round here whether you’ve been here for a day or lived here your whole life, but Betty really started to open up to people after a few months. Guess she wanted to test the waters after all the heat from the city, because she went from being a hair shy to one of the gals in no time. Ginny’ll tell you that she would go down to market and gossip with the best of them, and she even joined Sister Novella’s book club—which we were all tickled by, since that meant there was more’n two people keeping Sister company. She popped up all over town, and before you knew it, she was talking like she’d lived here since the day she was born. Pretty soon, all the womenfolk were coming ‘round to welcome her to this or that—little social functions where they gossip ‘til the cows come home. And you can’t have a function without good eats, so Betty was getting pecan tarts, Yokum Falls hot turducken, and gator nuggets at these little knitting circles. If’n you’re busting your behind all day like yours truly, then all that cooking goes to muscle, but the most Betty was lifting were trays of glasses and bottles. That Yokum diet caught up to her hard and fast, and before we knew it, the city gal that could’a passed for a hat rack was looking plump like a turkey at Thanksgiving dinner. I hope you won’t think me crude for saying so, but her womanly curves got plenty healthy and had a nice bounce whenever she walked. She looked like she was smuggling softballs up her shirt and basketballs down her pants, and let me tell you—Barley’s never had so many folks ‘til the day she started filling out her clothes. But it was that belly of hers, brought up on Hops’ home brew, that really took the cake, tell you what. It grew so fast, you could practiculy see it grow day by day; she was growing it like she was a farmer tending to a prize pun’kin. She’d try to hide it at first, but when it kept on peeking out, she just stopped trying to tug her shirts down and let it hang out. Now, y’all might think that a big girl wouldn’t get quite so many suitors chasing after her, but us folks out here appreciate a girl with plenty meat on her bones. Shows that she’s well taken care of, y’know, and a little bit of cushion always helps in the bedroom if’n you know what I mean. Sure, you’ve got your twiggies and your chicken legs running around, but they don’t turn a head like they would up in the city. Out here, you want a girl with udders as big as a cow’s, a belly that walks in the door ‘fore she does, and hips so wide that she’d start rolling if she fell. What’s that? Your girl’s one of them yogi instructors? Well, you just wait—she’ll come around. Tell me you wouldn’t want something nice and soft to cuddle with on a cold winter’s night, or a lap that’s softer than any pillow. Right? A skinny ol’ thing just can’t compete! I don’t know what I’d do if my Ginny ever tried to go on one of them fad diets; there’s nothing better than getting a handful of her plush belly when we’re lying in bed. Sorry, sorry, I’m a rambler. Anyway, Betty plumped up real quick, and lots of the local batch’lors and batch’lorinas tried for her hand the only way they knew how—wine and dine their way into her heart. Some days, she’d bust her buttons eating barbeque with Louie Hoggins; some days, she’d get ** on moonshine and catfish with Fiddler Krabs. Why, I remember she tried to date two fellers in a single night, and when I bumped into her at Barley’s, she looked like a tick ready to pop. I think most of us was just glad she was having a ball, what with her sob story of a life before all this. Now, the missus and I are sitting down and chewing the fat with Hops for a bit when Betty waddles over with our drinks. She’d been here close to a year by then, and damned if she wasn’t show it from how much she jiggled around. Her jeans were fit to burst like boiling sausages, and that belly of hers made any shirt a crop top; I can’t even recollect the last time she tried to cover it up. Anyway, she brought us our drinks and started making cute with Hops ‘fore another table called her over, and that’s when I realized something—Hops Barley was in love with her! Yes, Hops Barley, the unluckiest son of a gun to ever walk the Earth, was in love with the most wanted batch’lorina since Polly Darton stopped here on tour back in ’83. Well, me n’ Ginny weren’t about to let him give up without trying, so we did what any good friends would do and did what we could do to give him a leg up. I tried to teach him how to be a proper gen’leman, but my wife did the lion’s share by teaching him all kinds of food he could make with that beer of his. Malt chocolate and stout layer cake, Swiss beer bread, beer cheese soup, and so, so many glazes for meat, from pork chops to ribs to steak. We could’a filled a whole dang cookbook with all of them beer recipes, I tell you what. Hops was an okay cook before, but with my Ginny giving him lessons, he was like one of them fellas on the Food Network—a regular Almond Brown, y’know. Even with all her lunch and dinners out, Betty still had to come home to her place over the bar, and Hops would give her his latest creation to taste test ‘fore he served it in the bar. You’d never think that girl used to eat like a bird when she got here, ‘cause she would go at his cooking like a starving pig. She didn’t leave but a crumb whenever she ate his cooking, and you might as well call Hops ‘Colonel’, ‘cause she licked her fingers clean every time. This was all well and good, but it turns out Hops had competition from this hoity-toity French chef, Encule Escargot, who was better at wining n’ dining than anyone else in town. That man used more butter in his cooking than the whole Land O’ Lakes, and I once saw a woman gain five pounds just by eating one of his croissants—I kid you not. It was going to take a small miracle to beat that frog at his own game, but if anyone could do it, it was going to be Hops…with a little help, of course. Now, you might call this old-fashioned and out of touch, but Yokum Falls has always settled disputes with a good ol’ fashioned contest. If two farmers were having it out, they had until harvest to see who grew the best crops; if a couple carpenters were in a row, they had until the next moon to build a house. It’s tradition, y’see, and I’ll tell you what—it’s a darn better tradition than that bedeviled lottery down in Jackson Valley. But when two folks love the same person ‘round here, they’re gonna hash it out the only way they know how, and I’m betting you can see where I’m going with this. Yessir, Hops and Encule got themselves a contest to see whose cooking Betty loved more. It makes sense, when you think about it: a man’s got to take care of his gal, and if she stays with him, she’s going to be eating his cooking, right? Right. And hey, Betty weren’t complaining none when she got invited to take center stage at this little contest; she got to eat plenty of free food and wear a purty polka dot dress made for just the occasion. And let me tell you: with how round that girl had gotten, it must’a taken a whole lotta fabric to cover her up. It was near two years to the date since she broke down outside of town, and she would’a had trouble squeezing into that tiny little toy of a car. She was a mighty big gal now, with chubby cheeks that always looked stuffed, a double chin that rippled when she drank, and arms as big around as her legs used to be. Them softballs in her shirts were big as melons now, and they bobbled around like a bowlful of jelly when she so much as took a step. And anywhere she went, she needed two chairs to get comfy; that’s when you know you’re awfully wide. But it all came back to that belly she’d been growing since that first day. It was like our namesake waterfall, sloping down from her body and over her waist to slap against the top of her thighs, even when she was standing. I was stupefied when I saw her waddle between Hops and Encule; there was no cotton-picking way that was the same twig girl that barely ate a carrot when she got into town. And now, she was getting ready to eat a whole mess of food to see whose hand she’d take. Just goes to show you never know how people’ll change. Them boys got off to a strong start, with Hops bringing out a cheesy beer dip and Encule breaking out one of them...what’s he call them? Char-kew-terry boards. Anyway, that was all finger food for Betty, and she finished it off faster’n a jack rabbit on a hot griddle in the middle of August. They kept bringing ‘em out, and she kept wolfing ‘em down like it weren’t nothing at all. Hops brought the ribs, Encule brought his duck confit, and Betty brought her appetite, and even when she ate more than a whole family, she still weren’t satisfied. That’s when the boys brought out their big guns—the booze. Hops and Encule are both kings when it comes to homebrew, only Hops makes beer and Encule makes wine with his own private vine yards, and out they come with these big ol’ kegs. Now, have you met Encule since you got into town? The man’s like Pepe le Pew—he sweeps women off their feet and promises them the world n’ all the finer things in life. Hops Barley though? He’s a simple man of the Earth and takes it one day at a time. He makes enough to get by and lead a simple life, and that’s enough. Well, I don’t know what was going through Betty’s mind up there—belly full of food, good lookin’ men on either side, and drinks aplenty—but Ginny tells me that she was thinking about what she came from and that settled her mind. She didn’t want no fancy pants to promise her weight in gold and all the riches in the world; she wanted someone that embodied Yokum Falls, and damned if that ain’t Hops Barley in a nutshell. She grabbed the hose of the keg and drank that sucker dry, popping out of that dress and guaranteeing Lina Thimble even more bidness. And they lived happily ever after that, as the story goes. Hops bought himself a little land and built a house and still for him and his new wife, and they’ve got a nice little bidness going between the bar and his homebrew. Since Betty’s too big to really move around the bar that easy, she works from the back office and crunches the numbers, which Hops had been needing for a long, long time. She still pokes her head out when she’s free, and she can drink just about anybody in town under the table. Einstein says it’s on account of how big she’s gotten, and I’m fixing to agree—the gal’s a balloon, only she ain’t filled with water. There’s not a damn thing small or sharp on Betty these days. She looks like she got stuck on one of Hops’ taps and never let go, filling up to the brim and blowing up until she’s round as a bubble. Her arms can’t sit down straight, and her fat ass keeps her from sitting in most chairs proper. When she waddles around, she’s got to kick her legs out to the side and swing them to get going. She’s got tits as big as her starter belly, and her belly’s almost touching her knees. And you know something? She wouldn’t have it any other way. *** Anyway, that’s my story—or Betty’s story, I should say. She tells it a heck of a lot better’n I could, so y’all oughta swing by there sometime and pick up a case of beer. Best stuff in the whole state, I tell you what. I best get to making up dinner: Ginny’s an angel until she gets hungry; when that happens, you best run for the hills. But if it means getting a little more of her by the time we’re finished eating, it’s all worth it. Y’all want to invite your gal over? I’m making up some gumbo, and I can prepare some without shrimp or sausage. We’re all about hospitality here, and if I can help a friend put a couple inches on his lady love, you’re welcome any time. Batman76, lyle81992 and ulvrik 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest ratetankmark Posted December 3, 2021 Share Posted December 3, 2021 I love the way that you've written this one and kept the character, it feels different to your other fics in a really good way, I love the atmosphere and the charm of this one. So excited to see what you have up your sleeve for the next one, too. Great work. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 4, 2021 Author Share Posted December 4, 2021 DAY 4: WEIGHTALITY Depending on who asked Zhen Hu what the mark on their neck was, they would say it was a tattoo, a scar, or a birthmark and then change the subject. After all, how does one explain a boar’s head seared into their flesh like a brand? They could not explain it, and it had been on their body for as long as they remembered. Their parents had no answer for it either, but Father used to joke that his uncle had a set of freckles that looked like a horse when they connected the dots. Cute, but not the answer they were looking for. Thankfully, the mark was something that was easily put out of sight and mind, and Zhen Hu lived a normal life as best they could—well, as normal as life can be when your father is a martial arts master and your mother is a stuntwoman. They were kicking as soon as they could walk, throwing punches that could shatter bones when they were still in grade school, and rolling through trips and falls like a gymnast. Father was a jovial man most times, but he demanded perfection from all his students, and that included his only child. Mother was less strict, but Zhen still learned much from their time on film sets, like how to turn any ordinary object into a weapon and so, so many ways to blow stuff up. It came as no surprise that they grew into a daredevil, taking risks that few others would and facing them all with a big grin. They lived minute to minute, drove like the Devil was after them, and pushed their body to the absolute limit, and that was just how they liked it. That search for the ultimate thrill took them to all the corners of the Earth, from bucket list material like running with the bulls in Pamplona to skinny dipping in arctic waters to the more illegal, like playing Russian roulette in a seedy bar in Saigon and underground fights in only the finest cesspools. A muggy summer night found them in one such place: an aircraft boneyard in the mountains of Tennessee, where the fighters refreshed themselves with a bottle of moonshine between each bout. These sorts of shows attracted all types of brawlers, from the hulking giants that could lift the moon to fleetfooted dancers that could dodge bullets, but all of them paled in comparison to Zhen, who was on a serious winning streak. It was child’s play to deal with such rank amateurs, as the giants could not hope to catch them and the dancers were not fast enough to get away from their blows; even those who came with weapons soon found themselves disarmed and staring down the blade of their own knife. Four fights in, and Zhen had already made a killing. They relaxed against the wheel of a jet and took a few gulps of whiskey as their latest opponent was dragged off to lick his wounds in a nearby hangar, where the bookies worked. The lone wolf cut an intimidating figure as they sized up the competition, eyeballing the other fighters with cold, calculating glances before closing their eyes and returning to their drink. There was an itch to smoke that caused their feet to tap out a jazzy beat, but they held strong to the promise they made to their mother earlier that year—no more cigarettes. That did not stop their cravings though, and quitting had them even more agitated than normal, which explained why they were taking no prisoners that evening. “Hey, champ, how’re you holding up?” asked Carlito, one of the bookkeepers and the one who tipped them off about tonight’s events. “I’m bored, but fine. Couldn’t scrounge up better competition?” asked Zhen as they stretched out on the wheel. “I’ve had harder fights with kids in my dad’s kwoon.” “Telling people that you’ll be in a fight night is good for crowds, not so good for fighters,” Carlito explained while flipping a coin between his fingers—one of his nervous tics. “I had to break out all the stops to get fighters in for tonight, on account of your breaking some of the best around. You know that Southpaw Nash still can’t use his left hand right?” “Serves him right for getting rough with one of the fans,” Zhen replied. “He’s lucky I didn’t break more than I did, because I don’t tolerate that crap. Plus, I got a little action that night for putting on my shining armor, so no skin off my back.” Carlito glanced over at the reigning champion and shook his head. Zhen Hu was one of a kind: the mold was broken when they were made, lest another monster be unleashed on the world. They had the taut, tight body of a fighter, with not a shred of fat to be found; instead, there were only sharp angles and sharper muscles that could cut paper just by flexing. A mastectomy took away their most obvious feminine features, and the crisp boy cut they sported gave them an androgynous look that only Grace Jones could match. A variety of tattoos covered their body, the most distinctive being the boar’s head at the nape of their neck, but Carlito knew better than to ask about it. Everything about Zhen spelled ‘danger’, which only made them more of an attraction at his matches. “Maybe I’ll wear a mask and call myself something like ‘Frostbite’ or ‘Tarantula’,” Zhen teased. “First person to get the mask off gets double the prize money.” Carlito chuckled and retorted, “And risk more of the local talent getting their hands mangled? Thanks, but I like making money a little too much for that.” The two colleagues relaxed in the humid Tennessee night and watched the fireflies flit past them until one of the other bookies ran up to Carlito. He puffed out, “Carlito, we’ve got a problem up front. Some guy’s up here trying to force his way into the matches, and he’s already busted up a couple of our bouncers. Could you give us a hand?” “I’ll be right there,” Carlito sighed. He looked back at Zhen, who poked their head up in curiosity, and asked, “I hate to ask, but you mind giving me a hand? I’ll throw a couple extra hundred on there if you can make this clown scram.” The fighter shrugged their lean shoulders and answered, “Why not? Maybe this punk will actually give me my money’s worth.” The two walked back to the hangar, where they came across a duo that looked like they belonged at Comic-Con, not an underground fight ring. On the left—and hoisting a 350-pound bouncer over his head like it was nothing—was an olive-skinned man with muscles for days and the garb of a Viking. On the right was a dusky woman that barely came up to Zhen’s waist, had a bodybuilder’s physique, and looked like a harem dancer. A few of the bouncers sat off to the side, nursing their wounds, while the petite woman laughed with a canary-like voice. “These are your guardsmen? Pathetic! The guards of Nordia are hulking sentinels that feast on the bones of trespassers, while I’m pretty sure one of these had mustard stains on his shirt,” the woman mocked. “Bring me your mightiest, or I will have Yotun smash his way through you all until he finds what he’s looking for.” Zhen’s foot hammered the ground as their blood boiled just under their skin, but this was not the same twitch as before. Their lips spread into a devilish smirk as they realized that this was the challenge they had been waiting for all night—perhaps even their entire life. “I was wondering when you’d show up!” Zhen announced as they walked towards the intruders. “I’ve been bored off my ass with all the jobbers they’re sending my way, and I’ve been craving a real fight. I just hope your boy there’s the real deal, and that those muscles aren’t just for show.” The woman turned to the approaching Zhen and put her tiny hands on her hips. “So, one of you is bold enough to step forward? Hella admires your bravery: and when this battle is through, we shall craft your bones into a crown worthy of a king.” “Oh, don’t tease me with a good time,” Zhen retorted, licking their lips like a hungry animal. “You’d better bring your A-Game, because I eat guys like your boyfriend for breakfast.” Before Hella could reply, Jotun tossed the bouncer over his shoulder like salt and sniffed the air in front of him. He stomped forward and glowered down at Zhen, who only returned the glare with equal intensity. In a voice as hard and cold as marble, he grunted, “I smell the Mark of Beelzeblud on you; you are part of the Grand Kumite.” “The hell is a ‘Beelzeblud’?” asked Zhen. Yotun responded by pulling away a fur strap from his shoulder, revealing the same boar design that Zhen had carried all their life. The hulking brute snorted, “This mark brands us as children of Beelzeblud, god of conquest. It is fate that we should meet and battle in the Grand Kumite—the war that will decide the fate of all worlds.” Zhen narrowed their eyes as the explanation went over their head. It made no sense, but then again, so did the mark on their neck, which itched like a sunburn the longer they stayed around these two. They kept their cool and hummed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I want whatever drugs you’re on—this sounds psychedelic.” “You’ll pay for your insolence with your blood, boy,” Yotun grunted before swinging one of his anvil-sized fists down at Zhen, who avoided the fist with ease but not the following shockwave when it hit the ground. They stumbled back from the blow, and had just enough time to weave away from a follow-up where the giant lunged at them. Their eyes went wide when they glanced at the dent Yotun had made in the ground; no normal human could do that with their bare hands, drugs or not. Maybe the story about Beelzeblud had some weight to it, but they could not afford to dwell on it for long. Big and bulky as he was, Yotun proved to be just as fast and charged at Zhen like an angry hippo, who just barely dodged it with a nimble leap. “What the hell are you?” they asked as they spun around to face their snarling opponent. Yotun did not reply, opting instead to throw wild haymakers at Zhen with so much force that the air popped around his fists. Hella spoke up for her combative companion, snickering, “The fool doesn’t know that he is part of the Grand Kumite! Poor you, that you should have to face the champion of Nordra in your first bout; taking this world shall be but child’s play!” The taunt made no sense to the uninitiated, but Zhen could not afford to lose their focus for even a second while dodging Yotun’s punches. They ducked, weaved, and redirected the blows as best they could, but they could not keep it up all night; unlike the other giants they normally fought, Viking Hulk was not tiring from his punches. It was only a matter of time before Zhen was hit, and that time came sooner than they hoped, as Yotun swung low and caught them in the stomach, sending them reeling back into a fence. They clutched at their stomach, expecting to find a gaping hole where their lower intestine used to be, but they remained remarkably unharmed—almost. When their fingers reached down to their abs, they found that the honed muscles they had chiseled for the last two decades were nowhere in reach. Instead, a small paunch took their place, giving Zhen enough fluff to literally pinch an inch and a slight pooch over the waistband of their tights. It was just one more bit of oddness on top of an ever-growing pile that night, and Zhen began to wonder if they were even awake or if this was a bizarre dream. One pinch of the little bulge in their stomach was all they needed to confirm they were conscious, which only served to frustrate the fighter. “Well, shit,” they grunted. “Can’t let that happen again.” From her spot on the sidelines, Hella nearly fell over as she cackled with impish glee. “Not such a hotshot now, are you? By the time Yotun’s through with you, you’ll be fatter than a cow! Maybe we’ll even roast you for a victory feast.” Zhen narrowed their eyes and clenched their hands into iron fists before declaring, “All right, here’s how this is going to go down: I’m going to kick that giant’s ass so hard that he shrinks like a dick in a cold pool, and then I’m going to punt you into the next county after you tell me what the hell this is all about. Sound good? Good.” Before Hella could burst out laughing, Zhen zipped forward and struck Yotun with a series of lightning fast chops to nerve centers across his body. They batted aside his sloppy punches and continued their barrage, their hands going for pinpoint strikes along Yotun’s bulky frame like scalpels. Any attempts to strike the nimble Zhen were in fruitless, returned tenfold as they dislocated bones and numbed nerves until their opponent could barely lift his arms. By the time Zhen stepped back, the formerly domineering giant could barely stand, instead swaying like a tree in the breeze. That was not the only change that had come over Yotun, as the same bizarre effect his punches had carried over into Zhen’s rapid-fire strikes. The ogrish man’s brawny body was encased in a blanket of fat, so much so that he looked less like a roided-up gorilla and more like the winner of a county fair pie-eating contest. Tight pectorals gave way to flabby breasts the size and shape of potato sacks, an already thick middle ballooned into a belly that could fit a basketball player inside, and powerful legs that propelled him across the battlefield became thick as barrels. When he tried to throw another haymaker, it was so sluggish that Zhen saw it coming from a mile away and walked out of its path before tripping him, sending him to the ground like a water balloon. “That’s a first,” Zhen remarked as they studied their hands for anything that might have caused their hulking foe to turn into a mass of blubber. They were the same hands that they used to win four matches earlier that night, and the only difference was that the knuckles were a little more bruised than before. None of their opponents had ever grown into landwhales before, except for the one guy who took a loss quite hard and drowned his sorrows in fried chicken for a year. “I wonder if we’ll get the same effect on you,” they then jeered at a quivering Hella. The impish woman quickly threw up her hands and told Zhen, “Wait, wait, you don’t want to hurt me! I could be of great use to you: a fighting champion needs someone to seek out opponents for them and sing their praises so all know their glory! With me at your side, there is nothing you could not achieve; you could even win the entire Grand Kumite!” Her pleas and promises fell on deaf ears, as Zhen stormed forward and sneered, “Don’t know what your kumite is and really, I don’t care. You made me put on a couple pounds? Fine, I’ll work it off in a couple weeks. But you made one grave mistake—I ain’t no man.” The angered fighter then leaped through the air and battered Hella with a series of kicks, landing a dozen blows on the diminutive hypewoman before landing on their feet with the grace of a cat. When they dusted off their tights and looked over their handiwork, having turned the shortstack of muscles into a shortstack of fluff. Hella’s hard body had been replaced with inches of bulging, pillowy fat that strained her silken garments, from inches of ebony tit pouring over her cups to a sloping belly that folded into two tiers as it ran down over her crotch. And even though Hella’s legs had grown so wide that there was no room left in her billowing harem pants, there was a little voice in Zhen’s head whispering like a devil on their shoulder, ‘Finish her.’ Zhen had no idea how or why they did it, but they reached out and slapped a hand atop Hella’s flabby gut, sending ripples through the woman’s blubbery body. Rather than slow down after a second, the ripples continued and intensified as they spread through her torso to her chest, legs, and even fluffy arms and chin. The quaking in her body brought a scream from the woman’s lips, but Zhen continued; they were not sure they could stop even if they wanted to. A fiery heat coursed down their arm, poured out through their palms and fingers, and seeped into every pore of Hella’s body, spreading a burn through the rotund woman until she felt like she might explode in a ball of flames. And then, she exploded—just not in the way she imagined. The rippling across her body reached a crescendo and gave way to a rapid fattening that would have taken a savage beatdown before. Fat piled up around her neck and shoulders that her head seemed to shrink into her body, her breasts blew past her bra and grew as big as she used to be, and her belly raced outwards until it reached the ground. Luckily for Hella, her massive backside counterweighted her gut as she grew as wide as a pickup truck bed and her legs became so full of flab that her feet vanished inside her cankles. Her arms, if they could even be called that from how much blubber encased them, were held upright by the sheer mass of her body—not that she could use them anyway. When the act was done, Zhen took a step back and glanced between their hand, which still radiated some of that bizarre heat, and the pile of pudge that was Hella. In the span of just a few minutes, their entire world had turned upside down; monster men, superpowers, and the existence of other worlds were dropped on them like a ton of bricks. They now had some idea what the mark on their neck meant, but they still needed more information—and they now had a captive to question. “You know, you’re kind of cute with your mouth shut,” they hummed as they sauntered up to Hella and grabbed a handful of chin. “But I need some answers from you about all this, and you’re going to give them to me, one way or the other.” They then turned their attention back to the stunned crowd and told them, “How about that for a fight night? Now, who wants to make a little money loading these hogs up onto a truck for me?” lyle81992, Batman76, venusderuebens and 1 other 2 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest ratetankmark Posted December 4, 2021 Share Posted December 4, 2021 Another fantastic job, mate, I don't know how you write like this in this quality on a daily basis?? That's some serious dedication and I love how all of your fics are different to the other ones that you've written for this. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 5, 2021 Author Share Posted December 5, 2021 ((Before we start today's installment, I wanted to preface this by saying this is a fanfiction based off VL by @expanderjack, whose work has inspired so much of my writing. Thank you, ExpanderJack--you're humble and lovable.)) DAY 5: THE VOLUPTUOUS LADY Jenny often wondered at what point her life had gone off the rails. She had been so fat for so long that she had trouble remembering a time when she could fit in most cars, wore clothes that did not have a single X or L on the label, or ate meals that were 500 calories at most. Somewhere between starting college and the present, she lost complete control of her life and wound up six times heavier than she used to be. There were only a small handful of women close to her size in the area and only one that was heavier than her; if she ever went back home to Greenville, she would stick out like a sore thumb. Then again, most people did not have a gaggles of feed-happy girls gravitating towards them to stuff their belly each and every day. After a long day of manning the store—which mostly consisted of filling her face these days—she had one of her few moments of privacy in her apartment and could reflect without any hedonistic distractions. Her globular body barely fit into her recliner, and in another few pounds, she was liable to break it all together, but that was a problem for Future Jenny. Present Jenny wanted to put her feet up after exhausting herself in the short walk from her car to the elevator, and from the elevator to her apartment. It should have been an eye-opener to how vast she had become and how badly she needed to lose weight, but the Southern blonde was too used to such inconveniences to care. Christina was late coming over for dinner again, and even though Jenny tried to get used to an empty apartment more often than not, it still panged her that her maybe-sort of-possible girlfriend was out and about eating God knows what with God knows who. She had no idea why she even cared all that much about the woman that cheated on her and left her for a woman with a bigger belly, but Jenny held onto the hope that they could turn things around. If they ever had a chance, maybe they could play some of the games they used to, back when both of them were still under 300 pounds. Maybe that was the reason she still held onto her tubby Tina after all this time—those first couple years together had been magical. Jenny was sure she still had a picture of the two of them when they were working at The Sandbar and she could still see her feet. They did not talk much at first beyond pleasantries, and even those were sparing since both were kept so busy between the kitchen and the dining room. It was only when Tina started to fill out her chef pants that Jenny took notice, and it was not long after that she started bringing the increasingly chunky chef increasingly larger portions. She was so unsure of her feelings back then, and chalked it up to Tina resembling the sort of boys she used to date—chubby, out of shape, and meek. At the time, the naïve and sheltered Southerner chalked it up to her gay roommate, Kate, rubbing off on her, but she quickly came to realize that this was not some mere flirting with another walk of life. Jenny saw less and less of her portly paramours and focused exclusively on Tina, who grew into a perfect pear as she was plied with beer, pizza, and ice cream. Those calories found their way onto her own body, but since they only served to enhance her T&A factor, she paid them little mind as she continued her plan to get an increasingly thick Tina. That was her first mistake. If she had really paid attention, she might have noticed Tina’s subtle (and not so subtle) manipulations to turn the tables on Jenny—as intended from the start. It was not long before Jenny was the one filling her belly while Tina coaxed her along, and then came the day she was too big for The Sandbar and most of her wardrobe. Her appetite was out of control, because she was eating even when Tina was not around; she should have been able to keep herself in check, but it seemed that any pretty face could get her gorging. All the warning signs were there, especially when she ate for almost an entire day when she got the job at Voluptuous Lady, but they were all ignored. Good ol’ VL…it would have been a small miracle if Jenny managed to stay in the low 200s working there, but she soon found another admirer of her increasingly chubby physique in the store manager, Gwen. She was the biggest woman the blonde had ever seen at the time, clocking in at 425 pounds; compared to Jenny’s current 790, that was practically tiny. A fellow country gal, Gwen was the first to introduce Jenny to the idea of an inner piggy—a glutton just waiting to break free from its restraints inside the still reluctant blonde. Jenny sensed there was a spark between them ever since her ‘interview’, wherein she ate the biggest pizza she had ever seen to that point, but it would still be some time before her supersized superior made a move. By the time Gwen did come on to her, Jenny had ballooned to 420 pounds and was being fed, fucked, and fed-fucked by three other women. Tina had grown distant from her as her attention focused on an old ex, Brigitte was more of a rebound than anything else, and Kate helped her get some vindication on Tina’s cheating ways—fulfilling relationships, these were not. Jenny was almost as big as Gwen was when she started at the store, and she was having second thoughts about gaining so much weight. Her boss and crush must have sensed something there, because she led Jenny back to her office for lunch one day under the pretense of another promotion but ultimately ending in the Carolina Girl with a bloated belly full of pasta. She wanted to say no—should have said no, given how big she had become—but Jenny was a slave to her desires and never once refused to eat. Gwen helped her reach new heights by letting that inner piggy loose like no one else had before, bringing out the hedonist inside Jenny and helping her to embrace the fatter side more and more. It felt good, and for the first time in a long time, Jenny was almost happy with her fat now that she had someone giving her the attention she wanted. Brigitte and Kate were good—the best—but Gwen was on a whole other level and almost made Jenny give up her fantasy of having a lover fatter than her. Sadly, that relationship grew strained as Gwen took on more responsibilities on a corporate level and could not afford as much time to Jenny, whose fear of commitment always left her lovers at arm’s length. Jenny had always been the one in control of her relationships until she met Tina, and she was more than happy to leave one of her boy toys when they no longer pleased her. But when Tina cheated on her and left her fat ass for another woman, she was heartbroken and scared to fall into someone else’s arms, lest they stray like that dark-haired temptress. Whether it was the bratty Brigitte, the sadistic Kate, or the loving Gwen, Jenny refused to let them get too close, always pushing them away under the pretense of being scared of her gains. But she did enjoy her time with each one, as all her lovers were as different as cookies or pizza. Brigitte was her first attempt at getting over Tina, the two of them spending a weekend of decadence and glutting at Brigitte’s (father’s) mansion. On one level, they were both bubbleheaded blondes that loved to party, which made every get-together an absolute blast that helped Jenny forget her doomed relationship with Tina. Part of the fun came from Brigitte’s desire to grow, which played to the feeder inside Jenny, and they would drink gainer shakes like frat boys chugging beers until they were too bloated to move. Brigitte thought that they were good for each other, and Jenny was often inclined to agree, though she was thinking more with her pussy than her heart. In truth, the relationship was never going to last for long. Ignoring the fact that Brigitte was younger in her years than Jenny, the two simply were not on the same wavelength when it came to gaining and what they wanted from each other. Brigitte was first drawn to Jenny by her voluminous breasts and desired a similarly curvy figure, but she quickly found her weight spiraling out of control and growing to a peak of 530 pounds. The difference between her and Jenny was that the rich bitch had some modicum of self-control and took measures to lose weight—something Jenny never could. More than that, Jenny constantly prolonged their getting together by stating that she wanted a lover fatter than herself, which was difficult to achieve when she showed no inclination of slowing her pace. They parted ways when Brigitte got liposuction to lose a good portion of weight and wised up to how noncommittal Jenny was, but like any fling, it left little impact on the ever-growing blonde. Kate, on the other hand, was a different story entirely, as the petite geek never truly left Jenny’s life from the minute they were paired up as freshmen roommates. They proved somewhat incompatible at first, between Jenny’s popular girl status and Kate’s bookishness, but they helped each other grow into new people over the next year and a half. Their time together came to an end when Jenny moved in with Tina, but they would not be apart for long. Kate reentered Jenny’s life during a night on the town, when Jenny and Tina bumped into Kate and Sara—an old fling from Tina’s past and the ‘other woman’ for Jenny. Thanks to a team effort on their part, Kate and Sara were able to help Jenny overcome her insecurities and embrace Tina as her girlfriend, and Jenny was still not sure if she should thank or hate her former roommate for that. When her relationship soured, Jenny ran into Kate’s arms and reached out to the bespectacled blonde for assistance in getting some payback in the bedroom. It was a tempting proposition, since Kate had long desired Jenny, but unlike many of the girls in the Southerner’s life, Kate was almost turned off by the sheer bulk Jenny had accumulated. The keyword was ‘almost’, because while Kate was no particular admirer of fat, she loved to be in control in the bedroom—something Jenny would never have guessed from the formerly tiny nerd. Their first rendezvous was the most humiliating, degrading, and hottest experience of Jenny’s life, as Kate shackled her to the bed, forced her to eat from a trough of cake and ice cream, and plowed her like an animal; considering all the oinking and squealing she did, Jenny might as well have been a hungry sow that night. The busty blonde swore she would never do anything like that again, but she always waddled back to Kate whenever she wanted ‘payback’ against Tina. It was easier to get over this fling, since Jenny more or less considered Kate a booty call, which meant that she was less torn up when they stopped spending as much time together whenever Kate got together with a girl. The only real downside to their parting ways was that Jenny ached for someone to play with her and tease her body as only the stout blonde knew how. Lonely nights were spent stuffing her belly and insulting herself as she struggled to reach that same level of dominance Kate had over her, but it was never the same. With Brigitte off on her own, Kate seeing other women, and Gwen tied up at VL’s head office, that left a vacuum in Jenny’s life that was filled with little dalliances here and there. She welcomed the attention of her fellow employees, the bakery staff across the mall, and even a lucky few loyal customers into her life. They either brought goodies with them or Jenny had some prepared, but the food always found its way into the manager’s ballooning belly; this was followed by copious amounts of cuddling and belly rubs, but things never escalated beyond that as much as Jenny really wanted. She always told people that this was a one time thing, that she could not afford to get much fatter, but talk was cheap and proved worthless when Jenny still expanded without their assistance. There were, thankfully, a few bullets she managed to avoid as her weight reached new levels. When Jenny started out at VL, there had been a rather cute girl working in the stockroom by the name of Julia, who somehow managed to stay relatively thin despite people putting on five pounds just by being near the store. Julia was a bit of a ditz but was nonetheless sweet and playful, which helped to make work at the store even better; if Jenny ever needed a pick-me-up, she knew to hang around Julia for a few minutes. It would be some time before they ever looked on each other in a romantic light, when both were well past the 500 pound range. Julia always seemed destined to be on the thinner side of the store employees, but all that changed when the seductive Mia joined the staff and took the stockroom girl under her wing. Jenny had Mia pegged for a dominatrix from the moment they met, and she very nearly fell under the curvy woman’s charms, saved only by the strength of her love for Tina at the time. Julia, being single since her boyfriend dumped her, fell prey to Mia’s wiles and they entered a feeder/feedee relationship that saw the formerly thick Julia grow to almost 250 pounds—and Mia blew up to 385. The relationship was nothing like anyone had anticipated, and it was difficult to tell who was in control at times. That was until Julia pushed her luck too far one day and came on the receiving end of a punishment that saw her gain over two hundred and fifty pounds in nine months—plus an additional one-seventy over the next three once that had finished. Julia went from being rather spry and agile to having the girth and grace of a blimp, huffing and puffing after just a few feet despite being a track star just a couple years prior. Jenny knew that Mia was bad news from the minute she laid eyes on the domineering woman, but she never knew how bad until she saw Julia sprawled out on the store floor after the last night of her punishment. Of course, Julia was not exactly innocent either, as Jenny found out once the lardy girl was free to stretch her bingo wings once more. There was a reason that Mia had packed on so much weight before she reasserted control over Julia; as much as she came off as a ditz, Julia knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. When she was thinner, she had fantasies of being a thick, sultry dancer for Mia, a bloated sultana whose body was too flabby to get up, and for a time, it seemed like that was on track to become a reality. After piling on so much weight that Julia became the sultana of her dreams, that fantasy shifted to one where she had her own harem of lovers, thin or fat—and that harem included Jenny as one of her fattest. Mia and Julia, two bullets that Jenny was lucky to have dodged. The former was the bullet she knew was coming—a gun pointed right at her with plenty of room to duck for cover. The latter was the shot that Jenny never saw coming, and she very well could have been sniped if she had not managed to push Julia away during one of their trysts. Part of it was because of her fears in gaining even more weight on an already blubbery body, but after seeing how things went down between Julia and Mia, Jenny knew she did not want any part of that. No one can dodge bullets forever though, and despite missing out on Mia and Julia, Jenny found herself 360 noscoped by yet another blonde—Sylvia. The girl was a new hire to the store and she was kissing as much ass she could in order to leap up the ladder, and by God, she was good at it. She knew how to pull out all the stops on getting into peoples’ good graces, and it was not long before she wormed her way into Jenny’s ‘inner circle’. Jenny promised herself that she would not give into the temptations this bubble butt was presenting, but she found herself in a dry spell and needing some attention that only a feeder could provide. It was wrong—she was still trying to patch things up with Tina—but Jenny could not resist for long and eventually let Sylvia stuff her like a Christmas goose before licking her like a Popsicle. She wanted to blame it on Sylvia seducing her like so many other women, but in the end, there was only one person Jenny could blame for her girth. It was the same person who agreed to play that stupid stuffing game with Tina, who ate a massive pizza just for a job, and who let any pretty woman stuff her belly until she was ready to pop. The only person Jenny had to blame was Jenny herself. When she looked back at old pictures of herself in high school, she found the pleasantly curvy girl utterly recognizable from the landwhale she had become. Sure, the eyes, hair, and fashion sense were the same, but the Jenny in those pictures was thin enough to dance, party, and walk without getting winded. Now, there was so much fat packed onto her frame that she was pretty sure she would roll if she ever fell over, and she lost a couple inches thanks to her thighs being forced so far apart and her hundreds of pounds of lard weighing down on her spine. Even the most basic of tasks was made difficult as she grew bigger, but Jenny could not correct her course even if she wanted to. How much fatter could she possibly get? All of her measurements were in the triple digits, and she was starting to outgrow even VL’s largest in-store items. Her breasts were bigger than pumpkins and required a bra so big that it was coded with the Greek alphabet, something that a few girls she knew would kill for. That same greedy belly that controlled her was a great, sloping mass that slapped against her thighs and crept closer to her knees day by day; said knees were coated in so much flab that they were all but hidden anyway. The curvy backside that used to turn heads was now so large that both cheeks were the size of beanbag chairs. Even her face, which remained thin for months into her gain, was now buried under several inches of flab. She kept telling herself that she would change one of these days, that she would lose this weight and get back to the way she used to be. No longer would she be the fat plaything in her relationships, so eager to please her lovers that she would demean herself as much as they wanted in exchange for affection. She would be the one in charge of pleasure, making pretty girls eat her out before stuffing themselves into a stupor and bursting out of their clothes. Jenny told herself that she was going to take control of her life and stop this spiral into obese oblivion, but she knew deep down that it was just a pipe dream—and not even one she wanted. What she wanted was someone to take care of her, to spoil her like a princess and give her all the food and loving she asked for. Jenny would get as fat as possible for the woman that did that for her, but she wanted it to be special—not some fling like Brigitte and Kate had been. She wondered if Tina or Gwen were the ones for her, but between Gwen’s business life and Tina’s hot mess of a life, she felt like there was little chance of anything happening there. Maybe Sylvia was the one for her, since she was so eager to please, but that was just asking for trouble; she would be better off chasing after Mia and Julia. One day, she would find the answer she was looking for, but it would not be that night. After eating so many pastries that she felt like she was 50% butter, the only thing Jenny wanted to do was sleep. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment before she was stirred by the chiming of a new message—from Gwen, of all people. “Hey Jenny, u still up? I got a box of beef chow mein with ur name on it ; )” She knew that she should not, but Jenny licked her lips and texted in the affirmative. “Only if you’ve got egg rolls to go with it ❤️ “ Batman76, executiverogue, venusderuebens and 1 other 1 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest ratetankmark Posted December 5, 2021 Share Posted December 5, 2021 This was really something else, I have no idea how you have the energy to put this quality out on a daily basis, but I really admire you for that and this was another fantastic part of this series that you've got going on. Fantastic work. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 6, 2021 Author Share Posted December 6, 2021 DAY 6: THE GOLDEN MEAL TICKET Once upon a time, there was a poor little girl who lived in a ramshackle house with her parents and grandparents. The family did their best to get by, but they always lived off of pocket change from the many odd jobs the father and daughter worked, and that simply was not enough some weeks. The girl wished that things were different, but she had long since given up dreams of tomorrow; dreams were for the lucky, and at ten years old, she knew that they were the unluckiest family in town. That all changed when she won a trip to the local candy factory. She was one of five children to visit the factory, where they were given a tour by the eccentric owner and shown how all sorts of candies were made. Throughout the tour, the various other children proved themselves to be rude, crude, and disobedient, so much so that they were forcibly removed from the tour. At the end, the owner was so impressed by the little girl that he declared he would give his factory to her, and the girl got everything she wanted. You say you have heard this story before? Well, my friend, you might have heard the story of that Buckets boy, but that is one big, nonsensical fairytale. Do you really think that Oompa Loompas exist, or candy can make people turn into blueberries? Preposterous. Besides, that bloody anti-Semite ripped off the story of Chandi Baaltee from top to bottom and replaced her with a slice of white bread for a protagonist. My apologies—you are here for Chandi’s story. The fact is that she inherited the Wunder Corporation after impressing the owner while on a tour of the factory, but the other children she was with were not subjected to cartoonish punishments set to songs. They were escorted off the premises for touching things they should not have, stealing from the assembly line, and harassing the workers—not for drinking from a chocolate river. Which leads me to my next point: there was no chocolate river, candy forest, or magical gobbledy-gook; the Wunder Factory was an impressive facility, but it was a normal factory all the same. And then, there is the idea that a child could inherit a factory and start running it on the spot. Things were a little more complicated than that: Chandi’s name and face were used in advertising, but she was more of a figurehead until she turned 18; until then, she was mentored by Wilmer Wunder and her parents had to sign all contracts and documents. This led to a messy court case when she finally came of age and fought with her parents over a trust that had been established when she became owner. She won the case in the end but gave the money to her family regardless, on the caveat that they never speak to her again. It might not be the happiest ending, but no one ever said that the kid who got everything they wanted lived happily ever after. Once the court case had been settled, Chandi was 23 and ready to finally focus on the company that was rightfully hers. She went through business school in the interim and learned as much as she could about her field so that she could hit the ground running when she took over, and even Wilmer was impressed with how she took to it. There was still plenty of that honest girl that caught his eye so many years ago, but the time since had sharpened her mind and hardened her spirit so she could weather anything the corporate world threw her way. It was a tough racket, especially with other companies doing everything in their power to steal her trade secrets, but Chandi came out on top every time. But even the mighty must rest at times, and the new owner of the Wunder Corporation was no exception. Chandi thought that she was used to burning the candle at both ends after years of early newspaper deliveries, school, then errands until nightfall, but trying to run the top candymaker in the world was on a whole other level. There were times when she would go without sleeping for days on end, crashing only when her body could take no more and she fell asleep for close to twenty-four hours. It was no way for anyone to live and everyone knew that, but there was only one person willing to tell the young CEO the harsh truth. “You’re killing yourself, my dear,” Wilmer remarked as he sat across from his protégé and sipped tea from a mug shaped like a buttercup. “I worry so much for you, the way you push yourself; no one can expect to keep up that pace.” Good old Wilmer, still watching over her after all these years. If the bastardization of Chandi’s life got anything correct, it was casting Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka, because he was the spitting image of Wilmer Wunder. His strawberry blonde hair was grayer and wirier fifteen years after that fateful tour, but his eyes were still a striking shade of blue and he still had a penchant for purple suits. Even though Chandi had largely taken over as the face of the company, he felt that he had an image to maintain—just like that charming colonel out in Kentucky. “I’ve worked hard all my life, Wilmer,” Chandi replied, stirring her own tea with a candy cane. “I don’t know any other way to live. And I want to prove them wrong—all the people who say that a kid from the slums doesn’t deserve to be head of anything.” Time had not been kind to her in a variety of ways, but at least it helped Chandi grow from a scrawny child to a healthy, beautiful woman. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders like an obsidian waterfall, framing a full face that could be equal parts joyful and fearsome. Professional clothes often kept them hidden, but she had generous curves that would catch plenty of eyes were she concerned with attention-grabbing. Constantly snacking on candy left her a little plumper than she would have preferred, but after a childhood of starving more often than not, she would take a few extra pounds over counting her ribs. “My little gobstopper, you’ll never be able to win over all the people in the world, even if you managed to recreate all the works of Jesus Christ, Lord Buddha, and Muhammad. Do the best you can, but take time for yourself whenever you’re able,” Wilmer advised Chandi. “Otherwise, you’ll start licking the walls and talking about snozzberries.” Chandi sipped her now peppermint tea and hummed as she mulled over the thought. The air hung quiet and still for a moment before she finally answered, “There’s another reason, actually. Truth is, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without this job; I’ve got no one waiting for me back at my house and nothing else to do outside the factory.” Wilmer pursed his lips and replied, “I know the feeling: you get so wrapped up in wanting to make this place as great as it can be, and you forget everything else around you. You know what you need? A girlfriend.” Tea almost went all over her desk before Chandi caught herself and sputtered, “Wh-but-that…a girlfriend? What makes you think I even swing that way, Wil? Maybe I’d like a boyfriend!” “Oh please, Chandi, you can’t fool this old man,” Wilmer chortled. “Frankly, I’ve known ever since I first met you; you couldn’t take your eyes off Veronica Shaker until she was removed from the tour. You’re a consummate professional, but I still see you giving little looks over some of the women in this building—especially that cute little redhead in security with a penchant for donuts. What you need is someone you can spend time with and help you forget the stress of this place for a little bit of the day. Take it from an old man: you need something worth working for, otherwise you’ll simply implode.” The former owner then took a sip of his tea and added, “But what do I know? I promised my factory to a child who had not even hit double digits.” Chandi put her head in her hands and groaned like a door with frighteningly bad hinges. She peeked through her fingers at the one parental figure she still trusted and asked, “God, was I really that obvious? Does anyone else know?” “Couldn’t quite say, and see the previous answer,” Wilmer answered as he reached over the desk to peel the girl’s hands from her face. “Chandi, darling, you must stop worrying about what other people will think and do what makes you happy; you’ve spent far too much of your life fretting about other people when you should have been thinking about yourself just a little more.” It was a difficult pill to swallow, but Chandi knew it was true. She gave her mentor a weak smile and told him, “I’ll try, but I don’t know how good I’ll be at romance.” Wilmer winked at his stressed student and replied, “You could run this place better than me while blindfolded with one hand tied behind your back; I think you’ll manage to get yourself a girlfriend without much trouble.” Whether that was true or not remained to be seen, because what Chandi did not realize was that her busy-bee secretary had overheard everything. And if Denise Stone overheard anything juicy, it would not be long before everyone in the company heard it. This? This was the juiciest bit of news since Remi Rothschild had an affair with that intern… *** People often asked Michelle Reit how much security was really needed at a candy factory, and she was quick to answer that it was much more necessary than they thought. Anyone might sneak out with a prototype candy for the competition, schematics for one of the state of the art machines Ms. Baaltee had procured, or food meant for everyone. That last one was only really important to Michelle, and was more than a little hypocritical of her, considering her own proclivity for swiping more than a little food for herself. Case in point, she monitored the cameras in her office while munching her way through a box of donuts that the floor manager had brought in; in her defense, there was still plenty left for everyone to have one. Just one, but still, it was the thought that counted. “Oh, Mr. Dunkin, we really must stop meeting like this,” Michelle cooed as she gave bedroom eyes to the Bavarian cream donut in her hand. “I love our little get-togethers, but I worry about what they’re doing to my waistline! I’ve gotten ever so fat since I got here—just look at this belly!” The security guard used her free hand to wobble her sizeable gut, which was split in twain by her belt and strained the buttons on her uniform shirt. She pouted and told the donut, “Isn’t it awful? You must think I’m such a piggy. What’s that? You can’t tell? Oh, you’re so sweet.” “I don’t know why I bother watching the TV in my office when I could just come here for entertainment,” came the squeaky voice of Paris Denney from the doorway. Michelle shot out of her chair when she realized her coworker was watching, and she frantically stuffed the donut back in its box before throwing it under her desk, as if Paris could not see the entire thing. She sat back down and spun around in her chair, red-cheeked from embarrassment and moving so fast, and said, “Oh, Paris! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” “You’re a mess, you know that?” the bespectacled woman teased as she sauntered into the security room, her thick bottom straining her white slacks. “Like, could you be any more of a cliché? The fat security guard that loves her donuts more than doing any securing is so 1989.” “Hey, I’ll have you know that I do plenty of monitoring, thank you very much,” Michelle huffed, ignoring the other parts of the statement. “Just earlier, I told one of the floor monitors about a possible leak over in the chocolate tanks!” “And I’m sure you’d have run right over if Mr. Dunkin hadn’t dropped by for a visit,” Paris remarked with a smirk. “You really ought to consider getting back on the floor before that jelly belly gets much bigger, Michelle. Any bigger, and you’ll have to go up to XL shirts.” Michelle’s cheeks turned even pinker as she put her hands on her belly. She knew that she was getting fat, having made plenty of jokes about it before, but to hear it put so bluntly left her uneasy. “It’s not that bad, is it?” Paris planted her rump on Michelle’s console, very nearly knocking over the box of donuts in the process, and plucked one from the box. She answered, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you, sugar—you’re getting pretty chunky. I’ve seen plenty of girls pack ‘em on when they work here, but you might just set a record for the fastest gain, and that’s not exactly something to brag about.” “I can’t help it! This place is a sinner’s paradise—it’s Hell on Earth and delicious,” Michelle whined, slumping down in her chair. “I’m like one of those Pavlov dogs: soon as I smell something good, I just start drooling; it’s gotten so bad that I’m even doing that outside work.” “I know what you mean,” Paris replied while munching through a blueberry donut. “I try and limit how much I take in, and I’m still up to Size 10 pants since starting here. If I wasn’t so far removed from most of the food, I’d be waddling around with hips bigger than a Hula Hoop.” Michelle grabbed her paunch without any of the heated affection from before and sighed, “Can you believe that I used to play lacrosse back in high school? Now, I can barely run up a flight of stairs without needing to catch my breath and my old jersey fits me like a bib. I swore that I’d never be one of those out of shape ex-jocks, but here I am.” Paris patted her friend on the shoulder and slid the box of donuts closer to her. “It happens to the best of us, Michelle. Maybe we ought to start some kind of workout program here for anyone that wants to lose weight; we could probably get a whole class in minutes.” “Doubtful—there’s not many people here as fat as you two,” sneered the last woman Michelle or Paris wanted to see at the moment—Julie Kinnear. The accountant walked in with her head held high and her hefty bosom thrust out proudly, like a bird puffing up its chest to seem bigger. She considered herself the most attractive number-cruncher in the industry, dolling herself up in tight clothes that displayed all her best assets while straddling the line between professional and lewd. Like the annoying girl with the curly hair in that Christmas special, Julie loved to tout that she was naturally top-heavy, and any weight she gained would go straight to her bosom. That was not entirely true, as her skirts pinched a little more than they used to, but she coasted on the idea that her tits attracted all the attention. “Put a sock in it, Julie,” Paris snipped at the unwanted accountant. “This is between me and Michelle; even if we had a workout club, you wouldn’t be invited.” “Unlike you two porkers, I don’t need it,” Julie retorted with a flip of her hair. “I’m perfect just the way I am, especially with my double Ds. They might even be triple Ds at this point; my bras been feeling awfully tight lately.” “Sure it’s not your panties? I’m pretty sure your ass wasn’t that big the last time you darkened my door,” Michelle grunted. Julie scoffed at the suggestion but still put her hands behind her back in a vain attempt to cover her rump. “I don’t know what you’re talking about; my ass is just big enough to get looks, and that’s it. Unlike you two, I actually care about my physique.” Paris glowered at Julie and seethed, “Slapping on a ton of makeup to cover your crow’s feet isn’t taking care of your physique, Julie, and neither’s covering up those early grays with a cheap dye job.” Michelle winced and rolled her chair out of the way, lest she get caught up in the fight that was brewing between the two widening workers. Paris was generally well-meaning with her barbs, but when she wanted to, she could absolutely go for the jugular. And if there was one way to really get under Julie Kinnear’s skin, it was to make fun of how she was on the wrong end of 30. She pulled the box of donuts onto her lap and retrieved her Bavarian cream in anticipation of the forthcoming spat, but Denise’s timely arrival interrupted the affair. “Girls, you’re never going to guess what I heard!” the gossiper announced as she slid into the room. “Oh, this is big—bigger than King Kong! This could shake up the whole factory; we might have another ‘Gold Ticket Rush’ on our hands!” “Denise, we were about to have an old fashioned throwdown,” Paris snipped at the new arrival. “Get to the point so I can get back to throwing out this trash.” Denise took a moment to compose herself, as running from workspace to workspace took a lot out of the voluptuous woman. After gulping down a gallon of air, she informed her coworkers, “I just heard Chandi and Ol’ Wil talking, and he’s telling her that she needs to get herself a girlfriend.” Paris and Julie’s jaws dropped, but Michelle just raised an eyebrow at the announcement. She asked, “Wait, Ms. Baaltee’s gay? What’s so special about him giving her dating advice?” “Gay as apparel,” Paris answered. “And don’t you get it? If she’s looking for a partner, then that could mean anyone—even anyone in the factory! If you were dating her, you’d be set!” “You’d be living the life of luxury,” Julie purred as her thoughts drifted to fantasies. “You’d never have to work another day in your life!” Michelle pursed her lips before taking another bite of donut. “Oh.” scl04, venusderuebens and lyle81992 1 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 8, 2021 Author Share Posted December 8, 2021 DAY 7: AMANDA WON'T GAIN WEIGHT I have a writing problem. You’ve checked out my page for years, watching as I weave stories of beautiful girls plumping up to zaftig proportions, be they superheroes, pro wrestlers, or college athletes. In some of my stories, it’s just a single girl that gets fat; in others, most of the cast turns into butterballs. I’ve even written one or two male-centric stories, because what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. My characters have ranged from Caucasian to Middle Eastern, just 18 to middle age, and short to tall, and I plan on continuing for a long, long time. So what’s the problem? The problem is that there’s one character who refuses to gain weight no matter what I do. You might think me crazy, but just wait until I’ve finished and maybe you’ll have some idea the trouble I’ve got. Back when I first started getting into weight gain fiction, I wanted to tell a story about a girl named Amanda—your average American girl who suddenly finds that everyone in her life wants her to be fat. Her friends share their lunch with her, her rivals plump her up with snacks, and her boyfriend encourages her increasingly gluttonous behavior, which are all staples of this niche genre. The story would continue and expand—no pun intended—until Amanda was the fattest girl in the world; nowhere near the city-crushing sizes you see in some tales, but easily a good thousand pounds. The trouble started when I first put fingers to keyboard and tried to write it. Amanda was a fairly simple character to describe: modest height, blonde hair to her shoulders, and a casual dress sense; all incredibly generic, but I hope you’ll forgive a fifteen year old for lacking in the creativity department in his kink fiction. I wrote the introduction just fine, but as soon as I got to the scene where Amanda was supposed to put on her first few pounds, I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t that I had writer’s block or I suddenly developed a conscience for a fictional character; I literally could not move my fingers and get them to type what I wanted. At the time, I chalked it up to writer’s block and decided I would move on to some other activity to pass the time—Twilight Princess, I think. I resolved to come back to it tomorrow with a fresh mind and a better take on things, but the same thing happened again; as soon as I got to writing, nothing came out. Again, I wrote it off as just my brain being stubborn and moved onto a future part of the story, where Amanda goes to a sleepover with her rivals and is stuffed to max capacity. When the same thing happened again, I became concerned, but not as much as I should have been. “It’s just not a good story,” I told myself. “I’m just ripping off what I like and barely putting on a fresh coat of paint. This must be the universe’s way of telling me to come up with something original.” So, with supposed writer’s block impeding progress, I saved Amanda to a thumb drive and left her to the dustbin while I moved onto other little stories that would be more cooperative. It would still be some time before I ever published anything, but I dabbled in other projects over the next few years. Girls fattened up just fine in my other stories, and the concepts became more elaborate, like introducing superheroes to the fold and remaking a couple of forgotten, anonymously-contributed stories. By the time I returned to Amanda, I had already been publishing fat fiction online for close to five years and was on the cusp of starting another story. I was browsing through a drawer one day and came across the thumb drive containing her story and others that I decided were best left forgotten; no one deserves to suffer through my Ed, Edd n’ Eddy fan fiction. Just for laughs, I took a look back through the drive and came across concepts I had completely forgotten about, like my own take on DC’s New 52 relaunch and a script for a sitcom that would have been even worse than Big Bang Theory. It was funny in a ‘so bad, it’s good’ kind of way, and that feeling only grew when I got to Amanda’s story once again. Looking back over the material and notes I had, I could not help but cringe at how much I was ripping off other, better writers at the time. I’m pretty sure Mollycoddles would have had reason to sue for how much Amanda stole from their Alice series, because how many other stories involve girls breaking out of fat camp? Still, I was tempted to come back to it after all this time and experience, as I was sure I could put a unique spin on such a stale concept. Maybe play it for laughs and parody other trite concepts while calling it ‘Not Another WG Story’. I sat down to write her story again, and I was amazed at just how smoothly everything flowed this time around. It was like I had hit some kind of runner’s high and was just pumping out word after word, sentence after sentence, and page after page. Amanda went from thin to chubby to fat to immobile as every played out trope in WG fiction occurred to her, from all the previously established ideas to over-generous grandmothers, mix-ups with protein shakes, and even a mad doctor using her to test a feeding machine. It was everything dumb and delightful about this genre, and I really thought it was going to be my magnum opus when I managed to finish it in a day. And then I went back to read it, and I realized something bizarre had happened along the way—Amanda never got fat. Twenty pages later, fifteen hours, and almost fifteen thousand words, and Amanda never once put on a single pound; she was no bigger in the end than when she started out. I was baffled by what I read, as Amanda neatly sidestepped every opportunity to gain weight and maintained a healthy diet with moderate amounts of exercise. The segment about visiting her grandmother and getting stuffed with cookies? She spent the entire trip helping with chores and putting her grandma’s house back in order. Feeder boyfriend was dumped, sinister rivals were pranked, and encouraging best friends were shown better ways to diet than to simply share their food. Had I suffered some dissociative episode where I imagined writing all those words? I was under a lot of stress at the time, so anything was possible. The story was closed and I moved on to clear my head with a good night’s sleep, but I could not shake what had happened. My body tossed and turned under the sheets as I struggled to get some rest while this problem plagued me. When I finally shut my eyes, I figured that I would tackle it the following morning and get it done right this time. The next day, I woke up with a start and got right to my computer, stopping only to get a Red Bull to give me strength. I was determined to get this story done without any mistakes this time around; nothing was going to stop my from writing the perfect parody. Each word was read aloud as I typed, and I checked each sentence once, twice, three times before moving on. By the time I had to head to work, I had made good progress and felt sure that the story was right where I wanted it to be. Except it wasn’t. When I got back from the store, I read through the morning’s draft and found that the same thing had happened; even though I had triple-checked every last letter, Amanda never gained any weight. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and I reread everything to make sure that I was not hallucinating, but the evidence was right there in front of me. Amanda somehow managed to avoid gaining weight, never once going a pound above her natural 120, despite all the forces of the universe converging to try and make her a blob of a woman. It was befuddling, perplexing, and positively peculiar, and I went from royally pissed to downright alarmed. I deleted everything thus far and just decided to write something—anything. I went for a simple explanation of Amanda struggling to put on her jeans, which no longer fit her after a summer of indulgence left her with twenty extra pounds. It was pretty basic stuff, but it covered everything such a segment needed: huffing and puffing, pudge pooching over the waistband, and Amanda unable to suck her stomach in enough to close her jeans. Here, I’ll even write it for you now: Amanda rummaged through her drawer and found a pair of jeans that she had not worn in a few weeks—possibly even the start of the summer. Despite all the time spent away, they fit snug as a glove around her fit frame, giving her tush a little extra bump. She was glad that she managed to resist the temptations of the snack bar and ice cream truck at the pool, unlike her friends, who needed to get new bikinis by July. It was her senior year, after all, and she wanted to end high school looking as good as she could, without any extra weight to speak of. Do you see what I mean? I would never write anything like that, but the words just came out like that when I typed them up. Any time I try and write a piece with Amanda in it, she always manages to avoid gaining any weight, and I’ve put her in some absolutely contrived situations in order to make this happen. I’ve copied every story on the Web and put her in every possible scenario, from The Munchies to Sarah Made a Choice to Capes and Cuisines, but she always managed to escape the fattening fate that had befallen countless women before and since. It’s as if she knows what I’m trying to do with her and twists the narrative to avoid any gains, as crazy as that sounds. I came up with that theory on the fifth day of trying ton rewrite her story, after I tried squeezing her into the lead role of Freshman 500. The way the story played out compared to what I had in mind was uncanny, as though the words knew what I had in store and deliberately twisted into something entirely different. I could start off talking about Amanda falling under a witch’s spell, but when I start typing, the spell backfires and the witch turns into a ball of fat instead. I even made a recording of my fingers typing out a page, letter by letter, and panning up to reveal that none of the things I’d written made it to the finished product. After wracking my brain for days on end, I decided that enough was enough and just deleted the story from the thumb drive all together. There were far more stories to be told with far more reliable characters who wanted to turn into chunkers; Nicole would never have given me this much of a hard time. I resolved to move on and work on other projects while Amanda and her cursed story drifted out of sight and out of mind, left in the creative dregs of my personal history. But some things refuse to be forgotten, reader. Some things want you to remember what you did, and they stick with you like a bad penny. Such was the case when I opened up my file explorer and came across a document called ‘MBFL’—‘My Big Fat Life’, the same name for Amanda’s story. Had I saved a copy to my laptop without realizing it? It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that happened to me, but I moved to delete it, only to find that the file couldn’t be deleted—only opened. My curiosity got the better of me, and I regret to say that I opened the file to see what was inside. It was a story about Amanda, all 5’5” and 120 lbs. of her, but this was different from anything I had written about her before. Rather than simply dodging around the events that fattened her up in my notes, she caused them; she was behind every single gaining event that happened in the course of the story. When she had lunch at school with her friends, she always brought too much and claimed that she was trying to lose weight, so would they mind eating some of her lunch for her? When she went to sleepovers with her rivals, she drugged their sodas with appetite enhancers that made them gorge on every bit of candy and junk food they bought for her. And she lured her boyfriend in with the promise of sex if he ate everything on his plate, only to leave him hanging when he was stuffed to the brim. It was everything that I wanted the story to be, but rather than happening to Amanda, it was happening to everyone around her. She was no longer the victim of a bizarre fate; she was the master of her own destiny, and she would not be used like a plaything. All her friends and family were dopes who walked right into her fattening traps, packing on the pounds at a frightening rate as the seemingly innocent Amanda used every trick in the book to make them grow. She would cook meals for her mother and sister with heavy cream and copious amounts of butter while making lighter versions for herself. She got the captain of the track team hooked on shakes with more sugar than protein. She even coerced a teacher into eating an entire apple pie that she had baked, all for a better grade. And this was not some short story, dear reader, with five to ten pages to its name—this was a novella. Amanda’s tricks continued for page after page, with a new prospect introduced every chapter only to be inevitably stuffed and fattened before long. She was a manipulative mastermind who played everyone around her like a fiddle, enticing even the most steadfast dieter into breaking their fast if it meant getting into her good graces. It was downright diabolical how good she was at getting people to eat themselves into XL clothes, and I found myself taking notes from her works for future stories. By the middle of the story, Amanda was surrounded by out of control fatties left and right; she was a hog farmer like no other. Her mother, who was never thin due to her stay at home lifestyle, had ballooned to such a degree that she had trouble heaving herself off the couch—not that she had much interest in going anywhere else. Her sister, a budding fashionista who was studying at the local community college, was too big for the trendy clothes she enjoyed so much and had to settle for unflattering, tent-like garments at Lane Bryant. Even her kindly grandmother was not exempt from gains, as Amanda enlisted her as a taste tester and had her more concerned with stuffing her own mouth than others. Her two best friends, Kayla and Joy, were no longer the naïve enablers I designed so long ago. Thanks to Amanda’s machinations, they were little more than eating machines that waited hand and foot on their leader in the hopes of getting more snacks from her. They took up two chairs each when they sat down to lunch, and Amanda no longer needed to ask if they would help eat her lunch—it was expected of them. Likewise, her rivals on the track team had become such hedonistic gluttons that practice time was spent snacking under the bleachers, engorging themselves on candy and soda. Candy and Rhonda were once almost on Amanda’s level; now, they could barely waddle from one class to another without getting winded. I think she must have reserved a special punishment for her boyfriend, who was originally meant to be a rather innocent despite encouraging Amanda to put on some pounds. Trevor had fallen under a trance thanks to his devious girlfriend, who lured him from meal to meal with the promise of sinful pleasures afterward. Like any young man, he was too busy thinking with his cock to realize what all those hefty meals and desserts were doing to his figure. He started the story with a lean body, but he was cresting 300 pounds by the 20th chapter, bursting out of his tux on prom night when Amanda had him gorge on fondue until his belly was stuffed with bread and cheese. Any thoughts of a fatter girlfriend went out the window, as eating and the occasional blowjob were all he cared about. By the time I finished the story, Amanda lived on a ranch along with all of her fattening victims, where she kept them in pens like livestock. It was dark but fitting, considering that their minds were all but gone as food took over their lives; I’m sure some of you out there would have loved it. Though it was an absolutely incredible story that would have been remembered for ages, I could never share it even if I wanted to. It was something that should not have been and needed to be destroyed, so I promptly deleted it and went on with my day, though the myriad scenes of gaining and stuffing played out in my mind until I finally closed my eyes for the night. I’m sure you know what happened when I turned on my laptop the following morning. Yes, there was another file called ‘MBFL’ in my file explorer, but this was one was smaller than the one from before. It took place after the events of the last story, with Amanda sitting comfy in her ranch house after giving Candy and Rhonda their daily milking. She suddenly got an idea and decided to write something on her computer—a story about a man named Cyril Figgis, who wrote about women gaining weight so much that he decided to give it a try himself. I immediately deleted the story without finishing it, and a cold sweat ran down my neck at the thought that the story was no longer taken from me—I was the subject. My first thought should have been to have the hard drive completely wiped out and the computer thrown in a fire, but for some reason, I did not do that nor did I reach out to my nearest priest for an exorcism. Instead, my first thought was that I was nervous, and that a little food would help calm me down. A little food turned into a lot of food, and I woke up the next morning sprawled on the couch with wrappers and crumbs all around me as I nursed a sore stomach. The story was still there when I dragged myself to the laptop, and I forced myself to read until the end to see what would happen to the fictional version of myself. Amanda was good—damn good—at her descriptions, and I am ashamed to say I was a little aroused at the fate that befell my doppelganger. She laid out an excellently crafted story of someone falling into desires they never knew they had, too fat to even type out stories anymore as he became a character himself. I did not delete the story this time, because how could I delete something so good? It’s been about a year since then. I’m writing less and less these days, as it’s hard to type when your hands are busy with a fork and knife. Story ideas come and go, but the drive to create them is almost nonexistent; when I do get the urge to write, a little voice in my head tells me I should have some brain fuel first and I wind up forgetting all about work. I know that I’m inching closer and closer to what Amanda had in store for me, but there’s nothing I can do about it at this point. I could never control her before, so how could I stop her now? This will all sound insane, and if you’ve made it this far, thank you. You don’t have to believe me, but everything I’ve said is the truth. If you look on my computer, I still have Amanda’s story sitting in my file explorer, waiting to be opened and read by the masses. You really, really should give it a look; she’s a remarkably good writer for a fictional character. In fact, that might just be my final story that I post—My Big Fat Life, as told by Amanda. I took a look at it recently, and she made some additions that make it quite the page-turner. She’s got a knack for this, and I’m sure that when you read her work, you’ll agree. Who knows? Maybe you’ll like her so much that you’ll try to write a story about her. Just remember what your old friend, Cyril, told you in the title: Amanda won’t gain weight. lyle81992, venusderuebens, Batman76 and 1 other 1 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted December 8, 2021 Share Posted December 8, 2021 Legitimately creepy. Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 8, 2021 Author Share Posted December 8, 2021 11 minutes ago, Batman76 said: Legitimately creepy. Y'all thought the creeps were done with Five Little Piggies? Oh no, the creep train keeps on rolling. Batman76 and Tony Watt 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 9, 2021 Author Share Posted December 9, 2021 DAY 8: TLC--TENDER LOVING CRYPTURES It was the biggest moment of Opal’s life and career as a Crypture Trainer. She had traveled the country of Arcana, beaten the ten Guardians, and even stopped a terrorist plot by Equipe Nexus, all on the way to facing the five Battle Sages at the top of Mt. Ivory. The battles were taxing and pushed her precious Cryptures to their limit, but with strategic thinking and faith in her friends, she managed to overcome the odds and become Crypture Champion. Tears of joy filled her eyes as she embraced her companions and ascended the podium to receive her victory medal, only to slip and break her leg when she got to the top. How pathetic she must have looked when she was rolled back to Genesis Burgh, one leg bound in a cast and the other in a boot after spraining it trying to get up after the fall. The joy in her neighbors and friends’ faces when she arrived helped to boost her spirits some, but when the thrill of celebration died down, Opal found herself slipping down into a dark pit. After coming so far and experiencing so much, she was hobbled and would not able to continue her journeys for at least another two months. That was an eternity for someone like her, whose wanderlust had inspired her to venture outside the gates of her small town with her trusty Pegaseed, Sappy, at her side. Try as they might to shake her funk, no one was able to get a smile out of Opal, who longed to feel the wind in her hair as she rode her bike down the Lonely Highway or flew through the air on a Ryukite. Her mother made all her favorite meals, but she did not have an appetite; Professor Cedar tried to impress her with findings from his various expeditions, but it only reminded her of how much longer she had until she recovered. Even her best friend and rival, Topaz and Jasper, could not pull her out of her gloom, though they visited frequently and helped make treats for their partners. It seemed that Opal had fallen into a deep depression with no escape, and her friends and family were not the only ones to notice this. Sappy, now a fully grown Pegasage, had been with Opal the longest, ever since she first picked him when offered by Professor Cedar; as such, he knew her best and realized that she needed help. It did not take much convincing for the other Cryptures on her team to assist, as each one had grown exponentially and experienced great joy since being bound to her. They agreed to do what they could to cheer her up and take care of her, especially once her mother was called out to Boreas Town to help redevelop the Guardian Shrine there. “You’re sure you’ll be all right, honey?” Lala asked her daughter for the hundredth time. “I’m sure I could get someone to come look after you, and—” “Mom, it’s fine. I’ll be all right,” Opal replied, though Lala had a hard time believing that. She was so pale these days, her normally caramel skin blanched from being inside so much, and her vibrant blue hair hung limp past her neck. The pictures of Opal from just a few months ago showed a very different girl—bright, cheerful, and ready to tackle the world; the girl that sank into her wheelchair looked more like she was on her last legs. “I’ve got my friends with me.” Lala glanced over to Sappy, who nodded and nudged her shoulder with his snout—the only way he could give a reaffirming pat. The matron pet the trusty steed on the nose and sighed, “All right, you two. Just be safe, and call me if you need anything, okay?” “We’ll be okay, right, Sappy?” Opal asked her longtime friend, who whinnied in response and gave a flap of his leafy wings. It took further nuzzling from Sappy, but Lala finally relented. She had to accept that this was not the same, irascible child who ran around town pretending to be a Crypture Trainer; Opal had grown into a fine young woman who stood atop the Crypture world. Besides, with nearly two hundred Cryptures in her possession, her daughter would not be wanting for capable company. “I know you will,” Lala replied before giving her daughter as big a hug she could manage. She then did the same with Sappy and told the duo, “Take care, you two!” As Lala’s luggage was loaded into the taxi waiting outside, she glanced back inside and saw Opal’s various other partners waving to her. She returned the wave with one of her own, though she still fretted over her daughter’s wellbeing. Hopefully, she would be in a better place when this trip was over—Lala hated to see her wasting away like this… *** That first day with just her Cryptures had Opal feeling more or less the same, though she did crack a smile when some of her more playful companions put on a show for her, like Acrognat flying through smoke rings generated by Sneegar and Djinferno juggling fireballs. However, it was just a brief glimpse of happiness before she sunk back into gloom, and after putting her to bed, Sappy called an emergency meeting of the other Cryptures. The nighttime meeting held in Opal’s backyard was unintelligible to humans, but we have done our best to translate for the sake of readers. “Okay, we’ve got to do something for Opal—we owe it to her after everything she’s done for us,” Sappy told his peers. “When we were cold, she gave us blankets and her coat; when we were thirsty, she gave us water and lemonade!” “Why should I? Her happiness is no concern of mine,” grunted Dagonus, Watcher of the Deep and Devourer of Sins. “Were it not for her, I would still be sleeping peacefully at the bottom of the sea instead of watching over her like a nanny.” Vampat slapped Dagonus on the back of the head with one of her wings and hissed, “Stuff it, Daisy—we all saw you cuddle with her when she gave you that doll at the Midsommar Fair.” Before the two Cryptures fought, Sappy silenced them with a barrage of leaves. “Friends, please, this is no time for bickering. I promised I would take care of Opal, and I aim to do just that. Does anyone have any ideas on what we can do for her?” The assorted Cryptures bandied about a variety of options, from giving their Trainer a lava bath to a new set of batteries, but what they failed to understand was that Opal was human; what made them happy would be ineffective at best and deadly at worst for her. They pressed on into the night, debating whether or not taking a trip into space would cure her depression, but it was Chocolat the Pathisserie that gave a definitive answer. “Friendsss, friendsss, we are overlooking something—proper food! Opal has made us goodies time and again; why not try our hands at it? Let us make her some of the pastries, breads, and curries that she has cooked for us,” the culinary-minded serpent suggested. “Let our avian friends travel to collect berries, apricots, and other ingredients, and those that can help in the kitchen will prepare the food. Are we not delighted when we get to share in her cooking? Seems only fair to me that we return the favor with food of our own!” “Here, here,” Sappy agreed, along with the other Cryptures. “Then we shall divvy the work tonight so we can begin first thing in the morning. Now, who can draw a map in the dirt…” *** Opal had no idea what her companions were up to the following morning, as several of her winged Cryptures flew off in all directions while others went off into the fields outside town that led to the nearby Tyr Town, but she was not concerned. Her friends needed to stretch their legs while she could not, and she knew that they would be back by sundown. What really made her curious was when Chocolat guided a team of Cryptures around the kitchen like some kind of head chef. Though they had helped with the cooking before, that was when they had human hands around; this would be the first time they cooked on their own. That part made the champion nervous, but she was surprised to see the various monsters working in unison, even imitating things she had done while cooking in the field. Breakfast was an Olkasian delicacy: custard bread smothered in honey and berries, with a tall glass of Bessle milk and pommle juice. Opal was stunned beyond words when the dish was presented to her by a very proud Judoe, and it somehow tasted even better than it looked. A hum of bliss escaped her throat when she took her first bite, and that delight stayed with her until she was licking her plate clean of honey. It was the best breakfast she had ever eaten, and she had been invited to stay at the royal family’s mansion! “My compliments to the chefs,” the wheelchair-bound girl told the Cryptures in the kitchen, who all let out a cacophonous cheer. “Dare I ask what’s for lunch?” Lunch was slightly less elaborate, with a crispy po’boy topped with spicy slaw, but it was no less delicious than breakfast; Opal wolfed down two such sandwiches and a bag of chips while watching TV with some of her friends. The real spectacle was dinner, as Chocolat led the cooking team in making a huge ** of bacon curry over a bed of rice. As the aroma filled the entire house, Opal found herself almost drooling in anticipation of the feast, and she could not wait to tuck in when she was served a bowl. Sure enough, that first spoonful sent her taste buds to the moon, and she was looking down at an empty dish before she knew it. Seconds was followed by thirds, and though the champion achingly full by the end of the night, she could not pass up on upside-down cake and ice cream. When Opal finally wheeled off to bed, the Cryptures gathered to celebrate their success, as their Trainer was the happiest they had seen her in days. Now that they knew what they had to do, they began planning bigger, more elaborate meals so Opal would get even happier quicker. As they spent the night crafting menus that would put professional restaurants to shame, the Cryptures failed to consider one very important factor in cooking. Crypture would was technically safe for humans to consume, but it tended to be high in calories given the average Crypture’s habits, meaning that the chair-ridden Opal was scarfing down thousands of calories with nowhere to spend them… *** “Maybe letting the Cryptures cook every meal isn’t a good idea,” Opal remarked two weeks after the little monsters took charge of the household. “I knew that food was a little rich, but I didn’t think it would be this rich! And why, in all that is holy, were Pathisseries made to be such good chefs? You’d think something with no arms would be terrible at it, but nope!” In just fourteen days, the Champion of Arcana had gotten soft—noticeably, pinchably soft. Her shirts were tighter than she preferred in just about every place imaginable, from where the sleeves squeezed her puffy arms to where the letters on the front stretched out around her chest. Most embarrassing was how tight it clung to her new belly—a tubby, pliable mass of goo that made her look full any time of day. At least she did not have to worry about pants quite as much, given how she had to work around her cast, but it also meant that she could see how thick her thighs were getting. It was possible that she would need to go up another size in her wheelchair before her leg was fully healed, and that thought scared her more than facing down the elites in Equipe Nexus. “All right, here’s what you’re going to do,” Opal told herself in the mirror. “You’re going to thank them for everything they’ve done, give them all big hugs, and then tell them that they need to start making simpler, healthier foods. If you don’t, you’re going to wind up as big as a Belephant!” Of course, that resolve only lasted until she wheeled out to the kitchen and was greeted with a stack of chocolate chunk pancakes with a heavy crown of whipped cream. Opal wanted to refuse the decadent treat—she truly did—but how could she say no when her friends had put in so much effort? It would be a shame to put such good food to waste, so it might as well go to waist for one more day, and then she could start her diet without any qualms. But if ever there was a surefire way of never losing weight, it was telling oneself that they would start their diet the next day; each new day becomes a ‘next day’, and soon enough, the ‘next day’ never really comes. Such was the case for Opal, who kept putting off telling her Crypture companions to cook lighter, healthier meals in lieu of the rich, savory, and sweet meals they offered her at each meal. She never had a problem being stern with them in the past, cutting out any mischievous and rude behavior with a simple glare and wag of the finger, but when it came to cooking, she could not muster up the courage. Her waistline was in danger of fading forever, but she was willing to put off the diet for just a little longer if it meant keeping her friends happy. Her monsters were not the only friends she had though, and it was not long before Topaz and Jasper returned from their travels—Topaz to the Guardian Academy, Jasper to the nation of Tonka. The two planned a surprise visit for their friend and rival, respectively, but they were the ones getting surprised when they stopped by Opal’s house. Jasper was the first to find the current Champion as she ate a picnic lunch in her backyard, and he had to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing properly. It had only been a month since he was there last—had she really changed so much? Opal, the same girl who had beaten him in countless physical tests in the past, was thick as the berry pudding she shoveled in her mouth. The powerful legs that had outraced him on foot and bike were now so thick that they would have touched all the way to the knee had her cast not been in the way. Her stomach had bloated into a mound of blubber that rested gently on her lap, taking up so much space that only the smaller Cryptures could fit atop. And though he tried not to focus on it, Jasper could not help being drawn to the ample bosom that filled out her blouse, stretching it so much that the top button remained undone. It was hard to imagine that she was the same gangly tomboy that used to explore the woods with him, considering the womanly curves she had grown. “My goodness, it’s like a restaurant kitchen in there,” Topaz remarked as she stumbled out of the house, chased by a grumpy Chimchee with a wooden spoon. “You would think they were cooking for a Ranger Squadron, not one girl and—oh, hey, Opal!” The chubby champion almost jumped out of her seat at her friend’s greeting, and when she turned her chair around, her face was red as a moatto berry. She fumbled with her blouse in an attempt to cover more of her belly, mumbling, “Oh, hey! Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company and I…oh, geez.” “Hey, no worries! We figured it had been too long since we all hung out, so we might as well check in and see how our #1 gal is doing,” Topaz explained with a cheeky grin on her face. “And I gotta say, super jealous! We get to walk around with our Cryptures all day at the academy, but we don’t get to eat pudding; all we get is berry sauce, and that’s not half as good.” Opal’s blush only intensified when she realized she was caught eating dessert, and she quickly handed her bowl off to one of her companions. Though she tried to hide how mortified she was to be caught with her tummy flopped onto her lap and pudding in hand, she was as easy to read as an open book with massive font. After composing herself as best she could, she asked, “S-So, where do we even start? Topaz, tell me more about the academy!” Always eager to talk about herself, Topaz launched into a long, rambling description of her days in the academy, which Jasper barely listened to—and not just because he had heard it all on the way into town. Growing up with Opal, he had always seen her as one of the boys, and that barely changed as they grew older and matured, but he was seeing her in a whole new light now. The girl that sat beside him was so plump and full that she looked like a pillow, and he wondered just how soft that stomach of hers was. And those thighs…they looked like logs of cheesecake, and the impish boy in him combined with the smitten man to try and pinch them to see how they would feel. Jasper stopped, however, when he felt something very hot breathing on his neck, and he turned around to see a very cross Sappy standing behind him. He had no idea if Pegasages could glare, but he was fairly certain that the winged stallion was trying to murder him with thoughts alone. Swallowing a lump of fear, Jasper asked, “H-Hey, Sappy! Have you gotten bigger since I last saw you? Because you’re looking a lot bigger and stronger than last time.” The faithful companion merely snorted before plodding away to join some of the other Cryptures, though his eyes never left Jasper. Topaz, sensing the tension, asked, “Boy, what did you do to get Sappy so pissed at you?” “Oh, he’s probably still grumpy about nearly losing on the way to the Battle Sages,” Opal suggested, oblivious to Jasper’s stares and the depth of animosity Sappy held for the other boy. “Why don’t you two let your Cryptures out so they can all catch up while we have lunch?” “Great idea! I think I saw Chocolat putting together a croque monsieur, and now I’m starving,” Topaz remarked as she removed her talismans and allowed her Cryptures to join the party. Jasper did the same, and before they knew it, the yard was full of chirping, chattering, and laughter—just like old times. Neither said it, but Topaz and Jasper were both delighted to see Opal back to her normal self, extra pounds be damned; she could always lose the weight, especially once she was able to get up and about. The trio sat around and shared stories of their travels until the sun set and the Pyreflies came out to play, which meant it was time to call it a night. Opal saw her guests off with a big grin on her face—the biggest she had since the accident—and then nuzzled against Sappy’s snout. “This has been the best day ever,” she hummed. “Like no day ever was…” venusderuebens, lyle81992 and scl04 2 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 11, 2021 Author Share Posted December 11, 2021 DAY 9: THE ADIPOMEGA CHALLENGE “Waddup, waddup! It’s your girl, Neonina! If you’re new, great to have you; if you’re one of my subs, welcome back!” Nina ‘Neonina’ McDermott was fairly successful as a streamer, boasting 10k subscribers on Glitch, a cool 7 million subs on ViewMe, and a sweet sponsorship with V-Blast Energy Drinks. What made her streams such a delight for people were the challenges she would give herself, such as playing blindfolded or upside-down. As new and exciting technology became available, her challenges grew bigger and more exciting for her viewers—after all, who would not want to see someone try and beat Ashen Heart in zero gravity? It all led up to the current stream, which was part of a charity event that several of her fellow streamers were a part of. “So, for those of you who aren’t in the know, I’m going to be doing a 100% completion run on Kanga Boom: Rebounce,” Neonina explained, holding up the game’s case for her viewers. “This game is already harder than holy hell, but they went and made it even harder by tightening the margin of error to nothing. Now, I recently did a playthrough of the original game to give myself some practice for this, and that was pretty tough, but I’m going to give myself a little incentive to git gud. Behold!” The gamer girl held up a pink thermos and sloshed around the contents inside as she elaborated, “What we’ve got here is a funny little chemical called ‘adipomega’. I saw a couple of my friends play around with this before, like BBSunday, and it basically acts like an instant weight gain shake. One shot’s worth is about one pound, which means that if I chugged this entire thermos here, I’d gain something like twenty-five pounds. That’s a lot, even for a thick bitch like me.” While certainly not the biggest streamer, both in weight and sub count, Neonina had definitely grown over the last few years as a hobby became a career. She had a pudgy face with natural dimples and a blossoming double chin that she gave up trying to hide some time ago. Her geeky shirts were stretched tight around an increasingly hefty bosom that bounced like basketballs whenever she got excited. Thankfully, her stomach was spared from most of her gain, though she still sported an obvious paunch that no amount of sucking in could hide. Her booty, on the other hand, was not spared, and had ballooned to the point that she needed a new chair with expandable armrests. “Now, my total death count when playing the original Kanga Boom was 370—no, 376—so my goal is to try and do better than that. Part of that’s so I don’t look like an absolute scrub, but mostly because I don’t want to weigh 600 pounds when this is over,” Neonina joked as she flashed a nervous grin at the camera. As the game loaded up, she took a sip from an energy drink and glanced over at the chat that scrolled down her screen. One of the comments made her snort and she replied, “Moxley77, there’s no chance in hell I’m making ‘take a shot’ a price point. I know you little poggers too well for that; you’d make me the size of a hippo in minutes with that shit.” Kanga Boom as a series was more known to the general public for its cocky advertising, where the main character, Boom, would trash-talk other video game mascots. It was a solid campaign when the games were big in the late 90s and belonged to the original developers, but after the initial few games, the quality dropped considerably. By the mid-00s, the games were largely an afterthought, with Boom making appearances in other, bigger titles while his own series suffered under an identity crisis. Fans rejoiced when his first three games were remade with gorgeous graphics and stellar music, but much consternation was made about the difficulty; people decried the remakes for being notably harder than the original, with several factors being bandied around. None of that especially mattered to Neonina, whose sole focus was on completing the game as close to the same size as when she started, changed controls or not. Her mom was already giving her enough guff for turning into a fat nerd that played video games all day; the last thing she needed was any more weight. Unfortunately, she was given an ill omen when the random character animations at the start of the game opened with Boom falling from the top and splatting on the ground. “Oh boy…that doesn’t bode well,” she remarked, not knowing how right she was. *** The criticism thrown at the Rebounce Trilogy might have been blown out of proportion, but there was some accuracy to it, which Neonina found out the hard way. Spatial awareness was key, as she needed to be extremely precise with every jump and kick attack lest she fall victim to one of the meandering enemies or open pits. Sadly, spatial awareness was not her forte, and Neonina ended up dying three times on the first level alone—and things did not improve from there. “Jesus Fucking Christ! What, did they put a nitro engine in these stone wheels? How the hell are you supposed to dodge these things?” the frustrated gamer grunted as she did her best to navigate a maze of boulders and stone wheels. She had racked up a considerable amount of deaths by that point, and it was a good thing she decided not to play on classic mode; if she had, she would have had to start at the beginning of the level every time she ran out of lives, and she almost certainly would have thrown her controller out the window. Starting over at checkpoints was a thin silver lining on the cloud that was the Rebounce Trilogy, but she would take whatever she could get, especially since she already had to unbutton her shorts before they popped. The thermos was half-empty already, filling out her stocky frame with twelve frustrating pounds that played dirty and went straight for her stomach. Her slight paunch had grown considerably since the stream began, and she could feel the zipper on her shorts dip lower and lower with her every move. She kicked herself for not wearing sweats, knowing full well that she would be gaining a good amount, but foresight had never been her strong suit. If it was, she might have done more research on adipomega, which was far less effective when watered down. After respawning at her last checkpoint, Neonina glanced over at her chat and grimaced at some of the replies. “Yeah, you guys are right. If it’s this bad right now, I don’t even want to think about how bad Diabolic Dune is going to be. Keep sending me your good vibes, and we’ll get through this…I hope.” *** The idea to use adipomega was a novel one and a fun talking point in the streamer circuit, but it was not solely Neonina’s idea; in fact, she would never have toyed around with it without being talked in by one of her chat mods. That mod, Taburn, was one of her oldest followers, having jumped on her bandwagon before she started picking up steam on her own and sticking by her side even through some of the lowest points of her career. Despite what many of the crasser members of the community said, he was not some mere ‘simp’ for Neonina, but he would have been remiss if he did not say she was not attractive. He loved her rainbow hair, casual taste in clothes, and especially just how much she had grown since becoming a full-time streamer; some of his favorite moments were seeing how familiar clothes became progressively tighter over time. That was why Taburn suggested playing around with adipomega during a stream—to see what his favorite gamer would be like if she went whole hog. It was a perfectly harmless chemical, and one of the biggest perks about it was that the weight gained was also lost quickly; it could take a couple days, depending on how much weight was gained, but it was little more than water weight. With a little encouragement and showing clips of other streamers experimenting with the substance, Neonina was convinced and decided to break it out for her charity stream. It was a thrill to see his idea come to fruition, as the frighteningly high difficulty of the Rebounce Trilogy had Neonina taking shot after shot of her gainer juice. He had to shut down many people who were getting lewd in the chat, but he had to agree with them with just how chubby the gamer was getting. What he would have given to be able to feel all that fluff brush against him, to squeeze those love handles that peeked out from under her shirt and grew more visible with each drink. Her soft cheeks constantly left her looking jolly, even when she glowered at her screen and those same cheeks went red from frustration. She was everything a lover of fat girls could want, and she still had plenty more of the game to go. *** Despite completing the original Kanga Boom not too long ago, the remake proved a great challenge for an increasingly pissed off Neonina. It was as if the developers decided that it would be fun to ratchet up the difficulty for shits and giggles, and plenty of colorful language was thrown around whenever she died on an unfortunately placed enemy or near unavoidable spike pit. Things got so heated that she had to take a breather to compose herself after dying close to fifteen times on an auto-scroller level, lest she throw her controller through her TV again. “Don’t know how I got talked into this bullcrap,” Neonina grumbled after washing out the taste of adipomega with a swig of water. The concoction did not taste bad in of itself, but the bitter taste of constant failure that came with it was rather potent. “I hope that these developers are proud of themselves. I hope that they lead long, successful lives, and they die peacefully with all their loved ones at their side; that way, it’ll be so much better when they meet Satan at the gates of Hell. ‘Oh, you made the Rebounce Trilogy? Shit, man, I love that game, but even I think you belong here!’ Assholes.” Maybe she would not have felt so sour about the experience if she did not have to deal with the repercussions of dying quite so often, but just when she got into the zone, she was reminded of the effects as her body bounced that much more. When she leaned forward in her chair, she was met with resistance from her medicine ball belly; when she threw her arms up in victory, her tits flopped around like water balloons. The arms on her chair were pushed out as far as they could go, and her hips were still squeezed against them enough to pinch. Worst of all was the fact that her fingers were starting to thicken up, which only fueled her drive to complete this as quick as possible before they became to fat to operate the controller properly. “And I know that some of you have been saying I should just go water this down so it’s not as potent, but I’m no quitter—I’m in this for the long haul,” the gamer grunted. Neonina rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath before she continued, “All right, since we’ve got a boss fight coming up, I want to take a minute to thank everyone who’s donated so far for Classrooms on Wheels. I might not be having the best time right now, but with how much we’ve raised so far, I would do it all over again—you guys are the absolute best. Seriously, if you’re willing to stick around and watch my fat, grumpy ass fail at this game, you deserve a gold star.” A stream of supportive comments came in after that, as well as a few donations, but the one that stood out most to her was one from Taburn, which read, ‘Keep going! If you could beat Big Rigs 3, you can beat this!’ Good ol’ Taburn—always there when she needed him. She was grateful for so many of her followers, but especially ones like him that actively engaged and offered tips on helping to make her channels improve. It was hard not to play favorites when it came to her fans, but how could she not show a little appreciation for someone that supported her so much? Not to mention that, on the few occasions they got to see each other face-to-face, he was cute in a ‘Young Nick Offerman’ way. No one else would have been able to convince her to test out this weight gain formula, but if Taburn thought it would draw in viewers, she would give it a try. And sure enough, the spectacle of seeing her constantly gain weight over the course of this playthrough was drawing in a lot of people. Adipomega had been a viral sensation since hitting the market, with people filming themselves getting fat in a variety of situations—pranks, comedy sketches, and general experimentation—but the gaming community had used it for various bets and challenges. BBSunday popped the button on her jeans when she wagered a soda can’s worth of adipomega every time she lost a match in Warlords X, and The Perfectionist was practically round when he failed to complete his personal record on 100% completing Swamp-Mania. No one had taken it with such frequency as Neonina though, and people gawked at the near constant inflation. All the views were good for business, sure, but it was hard not to be a little intimidated when she glanced down and saw a mile of tits blocking her view. Neonina used to consider it a good thing that she was so top-heavy, since it helped distract from some of her other problem areas, but there was a point when tits got too big—and she was fast approaching that point. More than that, the rest of her was so fat that it did not really matter how big her breasts were; when her belly stuck out almost as far as her boobs, she knew she was in trouble. She knew that the weight was not permanent and that it would practically melt off over the next few days, but it still gave her goosebumps when she felt her clothes get a little tighter by the minute. Finally, she picked her controller back up and let out the breath hanging around her lungs. “All right, let’s go. We’re two-thirds of the way there, and I’m pushing four hundred pounds; time for me to put my game face on. Have you got your game faces on too? Then let’s get this done!” *** The road to victory was a long one, fraught with perilous pits, enraging enemies, and horrific hitboxes, but Neonina sat proud atop her creaking throne as Professor Farious’s laboratory exploded around him and Boom rode off into the sunset with his girlfriend. She threw her arms up in the air in celebration as best she could, though with how heavy her arms had become, it was like lifting weights. That, and the act caused her shirt to ride up and expose her pale belly for the audience, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. Instead of doing her usual victory dances, she slumped down in her chair as the sheer weight of her body caught up with her. Her chat was lit up with praise and support, but the stream was far from her mind as she lay a hand on her mountainous belly and gave it a squeeze. Victory was achieved, but at what cost? She did not have a scale around, but she had to be at least double her starting weight by that point, and she felt it. Taburn had recommended she wear clothes with plenty of stretch to them, something she was very grateful for as she grew bigger than she ever thought possible; there were too many clothes she liked in her closet, and she was not about to burst them on camera. After catching her breath, Neonina sluggishly pulled herself back up in the chair and told the chat, “Again, I just want to thank everyone who checked out the stream today. I might have turned into a whale, but at least we managed to raise a shit-ton of money for a good cause, so I can’t complain too much. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to turn in and hope that I’m smaller in the morning. Peace out, and remember to keep on gaming.” With that, the stream ended and the ginormous gamer girl was left alone with her thoughts and the cartoon melodies of the Kanga Boom credits. She used every muscle in her body to push herself out of her chair and plod to the mirror in her bedroom, doing her best to ignore just how much she shook with every aching step. A ‘yo mama’ joke crossed her mind when she reached the mirror and, as much as she moved around for a better angle, her reflection was too wide for the mirror to contain. It was a good thing this was impermanent, because her mother would probably have a heart attack if she showed up to Thanksgiving this size. There was so much of her that she had no idea where to even begin exploring, as several inches of flab invited her to poke, prod, and pinch to gauge how thick she had become. This was different from the time she wore a fat suit and tried to get the high score on DDR; it was bulky and cumbersome, but still felt detached from her. Now, there was no zipper to undo this or plastic to peel away—this was all her, and she had to wait for time to do its thing. “This is going to be a fun couple days,” Neonina sighed as she continued her exploration, hefting her belly off her thighs and trying to stuff it into her sweats with no success. “Let this be a wake-up call, girl: you’ve got to start doing more fitness games before you get this big for real.” Before she could linger much longer, she was notified by a ping on her computer and saw she had a new message from Taburn. She waddled over as fast as her thunder thighs would carry her and saw the message read, ‘Hey, just wanted to say great job on the stream. I know you weren’t a huge fan of the adipomega, but at least you managed to beat your old record with this game.’ Neonina sat back down in her chair, slow as a turtle to avoid turning into a jiggling mess, and replied, ‘At least the fundraiser was a success. And you know what? It did give me a little motivation, so I can’t complain too much. Just…maybe let’s think of something different for the next big stream.’ ‘No problem. But for what it’s worth, I think you looked pretty good,’ Taburn replied before quickly adding, ‘In the game, I mean! In the game!’ A blush returned to Neonina’s cheeks, and she typed back, ‘Is that why you suggested this? Wanted to see what I’d look like all big and fat? Because if that’s the case…I might be willing to give it another try whenever you want.’ venusderuebens and Batman76 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted December 11, 2021 Share Posted December 11, 2021 damn good chapter. A, love the crash bandicoot reference. B. lovve the streamer idea c. concept of temporary weight shake is awesome! Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 11, 2021 Author Share Posted December 11, 2021 5 minutes ago, Batman76 said: damn good chapter. A, love the crash bandicoot reference. B. lovve the streamer idea c. concept of temporary weight shake is awesome! What more could anyone ask for? Batman76 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest ratetankmark Posted December 11, 2021 Share Posted December 11, 2021 Dude, I fucking love the different writing styles and how different the characters are, I already loved Neonina and the idea of a streamer, the fact that the quality has stayed this high on a daily basis shows how fucking good you are. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 13, 2021 Author Share Posted December 13, 2021 DAY 10: WELCOME TO THE HOA It took a little bit more wrangling than we liked, but Katie and I were finally able to get a house—our first house together as a married couple. The house was right in the suburbs, about a twenty minute drive for either of our jobs, and the community itself was simply gorgeous, with a pool, several ponds and walkways, and a golf course right next door. We were so happy with the find that we did not mind how much time it took, or how the agent constantly ogled me throughout the process. Katie tried to tell me that it was because I was so handsome, but I knew the truth—I was too fat for people not to gawk and stare. I had been putting on weight since the first year of college, when an ACL tear derailed what was shaping up to be a promising soccer career. By the time I was up on crutches, I had already put on about twenty pounds of padding; when I had fully recovered, I walked away with an extra fifty pounds on my body. I wanted to blame the meds they gave me for plumping me up so much that I had tits, but I knew that it was my own greedy and lazy tendencies that had me tipping the scales at 230 come spring. My time off helped me rediscover my love of snacks and foods that I had deprived myself of in the pursuit of athletics, and no one was making me eat all that junk. Well, almost no one. Katie and I had been classmates in high school, but we were in pretty different circles; I had the soccer team and she had the anime club. We reconnected through a mutual friend early in my recuperation, and we discovered we had a lot more in common than we initially thought. From there, she made herself a fixture in my dorm room, first finding ways to invite herself along with others and then just coming whenever she wanted. There were many lazy days of us just watching wrestling matches and cartoons together until sundown, an everchanging selection of snacks between us. It was no surprise to anyone when we finally started going out; most people were just surprised we did not think of ourselves as a couple already. My injury kept me from ever playing soccer again, but after such a lengthy recovery period, I found that I hardly missed all the stress and rigorous training. I still went to the gym, but really only to keep up the physical therapy on my leg; I was never going to get back to the physical peak I had at the start of the year, and I was fine with that. Thankfully, I did not have to worry about Katie being turned off by my out of shape dad bod, because she was ogling me like a twelve-year-old boy gawks at the models in Sports Illustrated. Our first night together saw her planting kisses all over my body, but especially around my potbelly, which cleared away any lingering doubt in my mind. The next few years blew by: we graduated from our respective schools, got married, and got an apartment together, but we worked to afford a place where we could start a real family. I might not have been an athlete anymore, but I still had a competitive edge that helped me rise through the ranks of a car dealership; Katie kept pace by getting a job at an anime distribution company. Those were busy but happy times, and we enjoyed every chance we got to be with each other, especially because of the changes we were both going through. Katie never really lost her baby fat, but she was never the double-wide geek many people pictured when they thought ‘anime club’. Desk work and plenty of order-in food only added to that soft frame of hers, and before either of us knew it, she had a little belly of her own that was so perfectly round that our friends asked if she was already knocked up; the fact that her breasts decided to finally come in did not help matters, but neither of us complained that there was more of her to hold. She was bemused with having to upgrade her pants and skirts so often, so I made sure to remind her of just how much I enjoyed her bubble butt—especially since it was only fair I returned the favor. While I had resolved myself to a heavier lifestyle, I should have set a bit of a goal weight; if I ever crossed that, I had gotten too fat and needed to hit the gym again. But because I decided it was a problem Future Me could deal with, my weight kept climbing higher and higher while remaining in the background of my mind. I was close to 300 pounds when I graduated, and constantly grabbing lunch and dinner out at work had me pushing 350 by the time we finally got the house, but by that point, I was pretty much a fat guy in body and heart—there was no going back for me. Even as I upgraded to plus sizes stores for clothes, I stayed on the fat track, aided by my general apathy and a very attentive Katie. I had known for some time that Katie liked her men big, and considering how she only grew friskier the bigger I got, I doubt she had a limit when it came to size. Just a flash of my stomach, either rolling out from under a shirt or peeking through the gaps in my buttons, was enough to get her engine going; my favorite way to get her into the bedroom was asking her if she thought I looked too big in a certain pair of clothes. She went absolutely wild too, riding me like I was a mechanical bull and doing things with her tongue that I cannot reprint. Suffice to say: when someone loves how fat you have gotten that much, it makes it very hard to lose weight. Anyway, that was the road that led us up to Aspenwall, but our life took a whole new turn when we moved into that community. It did not take long for the first neighbors to show up on move-in day, as an older couple came up to greet us while the movers unloaded the truck. The Simmons, Leonard and Martha, were in their late 40s but were already empty nesters, as their three kids were either in college or already graduated; their oldest was not much younger than us. But I doubt that would interest you very much, so I’ll just get to the good part—Leonard was quite scrawny, while Martha was easily three times his size. “Will we see you out on the green sometime, Cody?” Leonard asked. “The country club gives us a discount, so a bunch of us try to get out on Saturday mornings to hit a few balls.” I chuckled sheepishly and answered, “I used to go out to the driving range when I was younger, but it’s been a while. Guess I’ll need to start brushing up!” Martha, meanwhile, was sharing in some lemon cake and sweet ta with Katie on our new porch. Even with Katie’s recent gains, she did not hold a candle to Martha, who was so big that her chin rippled just from talking. This made it even funnier when she talked, because she had a high-pitched, squeaky voice—almost like she was a balloon filled with helium. “So, what do you think? Lenny’s a hell of a cook, but when it comes to desserts, I’m the star of the show,” Martha tittered. “It’s really good, but I’m not a huge sweets gal,” Katie replied before glancing my direction. “Cody, on the other hand, has a mouth full of sweet tooths, so I don’t think this’ll last too long.” “Well, you just holler if you ever want another! I’ve got plenty of recipes that I think you folks will just love,” Martha answered before shoveling another forkful of cake in her mouth. I blushed at the mention of my name and my taste in desserts, but how could I deny it when I was not much smaller than Martha? My belly wobbled like a big glob of chocolate pudding, my pants strained around hefty cinnamon buns, and my legs were thick as jelly rolls; I was completely unrecognizable from my days on the field. Still, I was a little bashful about Katie bringing it up anywhere outside the bedroom, even if she always meant it in good fun and repaid me for it when we were home. These were our new neighbors, after all; they did not need to know what a porker I was straight away. We ended up talking far longer than we imagined, but we eventually had to call it quits so we could focus on the move. Before they left, Leonard asked, “Oh, by the way—you folks know that we have an HOA, right?” “Yeah, our agent told us all about it,” I answered. “One of the reasons we chose Aspenwall.” “Well, what she didn’t know is that we’ve got another HOA in the community. Not a sub-association or anything like that, but a bit of a club that some of us put together a while back. You ought to come check it out: the monthly meeting is actually next week, and we think you’ll fit right in,” the skinny man explained. “It’s mostly just a social group—a chance to chat, listen to music, and get ourselves good and **.” Katie smirked and replied, “Sounds like the perfect way to introduce ourselves. We’ll be there!” After we said our goodbyes, Katie and I finished where the movers left off, opening boxes and finding places for things where we could until the sun went down. By that point, we were so exhausted that we all but collapsed onto the couch and lay against each other. Handling such a move would have been taxing on me even when I was at my peak weight; now that I was almost twice my playing weight, even my little finger hurt. Thankfully, my blushing bride had the perfect answer for the end of such a long, tiring day. “We’ve got a 24-pack of beer in the fridge,” Katie huffed as she lay on one of my beefy arms. “Let’s order some pizza, drink some beer, and see if we can finish it all between us.” God, I love that woman. We got two extra large pepperonis, and though Katie gave her best, I managed to wolf down an entire pizza on my own; she can still drink me under the table though, and she was working on her tenth while I was on my fifth. The drunker we got, the less our bodies ached, and the less our bodies ached, the hornier we felt. Katie started it off by sliding onto my lap—or what was left of it with my belly in the way—and ground against one of my mattress thighs. I returned the favor by clapping my hand on her chubby backside and giving it a good squeeze, just how she likes it. “That was an awful lot of work for my big man today,” Katie purred as she ran a finger along my thick double chin. “When did walking up and down stairs get so hard for you? I remember you could outrun just about everyone in gym.” “I think it might just be my wife,” I grunted while I kneaded her ass like pizza dough. “She keeps talking about how much she loves fat guys, and she’s always fixing me huge portions at dinner. If I don’t stop, I might just get as fat as our neighbor.” That really lit a fire in her, and she threw herself on top of my stomach so she could lock lips with me. Our tongues danced on top of each other for a moment before she pulled away and gasped, “I’m going to feed you the rest of that pizza, and then I’m going to fuck you so hard that we get our first noise complaint. How does that sound?” “I think that sounds like the best damn idea in the world,” I growled after downing my sixth beer. “Let’s tear this place down.” *** By the time this mystery HOA meeting rolled in, we had gotten most boxes unpacked and arranged the furniture just how we liked. It really did feel like our home: the only thing missing was the pitter-patter of little feet, and if our first night in the house was any indication, it would not be long before that changed. We met a few other neighbors in the community and got the lay of the land, even stopping by the country club to get an official membership. Everyone was nice as could be, and if the last week was any barometer, we were going to have a great time at this meeting. “Cody, Martha! Great to see you,” Leonard greeted us as we walked into his house. “Come on in and make yourselves at home—oh, just put your shoes off right by the door if you don’t mind.” “Love the house,” I remarked after kicking off my sandals. “You two were one of the first couples in the neighborhood, right?” “That’s right, that’s right,” the scrawny man chuckled. “Got in when it was just a small development, and now it’s turned into one of the hottest communities in town. Can’t beat that! Everyone’s in the living room, so just go on ahead and I’ll get you some drinks.” We made our way back to the living room and found Martha with four other couples who were wildly different save for one thing—one of them was wildly obese. There were Charlie and Malee Saetang, who owned a small chain of buffets in the area; Joyce and Patrick Kilmartin, who taught economics and operated a gym, respectively; Ryan and Jackson Boyd, who were both writers; and Eva and Reggie Wright, who were a dance instructor and stay-at-home dad, respectively. We went around the room and exchanged greetings with the others, and even though no one had said it yet, we had some small notion as to what the group was about. “Well, thank y’all for coming out tonight, and a big welcome to the Dawsons,” Martha said once we were settled in. “I’m sure you’ve put it together by now, taking one look at the room and all, so I’ll go ahead and tell you—welcome to the Aspenwall Hog Owners Association!” The others raised their drinks in a cheer, but Katie and I were utterly dumbfounded. We liked to play our games and even make the occasional remark in public, but for there to be an entire group of people celebrating their spouse’s weight gain? It was like we had stepped into the Twilight Zone, but there was no sign of Rod Sterling or Jordan Peele to be had. “We could tell from the minute we saw you that you would be right at home here,” the blonde matriarch explained from her seat by the fireplace. “We started this little club because we all shared something in common—we love seeing our better halves put on weight. Ever since our first little get-together, we’ve held monthly meetings to talk about how big everyone’s been getting and swap tips on how to gain weight, stay healthy while putting on the pounds, or fattening recipes.” “And at the end of the year, we have a bit of a blow-out party,” the bovine-sized Malee added. “Eating contests between us porkers, and a contest to see who’s gained the most over the course of the year—and I’m walking away with that blue ribbon this year, Jackson.” “Hon, you’ve got a lot to do before you catch up to me,” the bottom-heavy writer chuckled before taking a sip of sangria. “But really, I think you’re going to love it here. We all tend to hide our interests from the world, and it feels good to be able to let them loose, you know?” It was such a bizarre situation that I was floored at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how right they were. Even going back to my days on the soccer team, I had to make up the things that turned me on or what I did with my girlfriends, because how could I tell people that I liked my girls with love handles thick enough to hold? And as I got bigger, it became even harder to admit that all the teasing about my weight turned me on like crazy. Katie surely felt the same way, even if she felt a little more comfortable letting some comments slip in public, so this might have been a better fit for us than I thought. “Sounds like it’s right up our alley,” Katie said to the group, which I quickly agreed to with a nod. “Fantastic! Then why don’t we get some snacks, and we’ll ease Cody and Katie into this by talking about how we got here,” Martha suggested to a chorus of agreement. *** The meeting turned out to be pretty fun and very informative, especially for people who had never been into this sort of scene before. Everyone had their own stories for how they got fat: Martha was a former actress that needed to put on weight for a role; Malee worked the food review in a student paper and fell in love with her future husband’s cooking; Joyce got unexpectedly heavy during her first pregnancy; Jackson put on weight to get into the head of a character he was writing; and Reggie was fattened by a jealous lover, because sometimes life is stranger than fiction. It helped me feel less out of place to know that I was not the only person to have an origin story for their gain, and I know Katie enjoyed having people who understood her attraction. We all parted ways, with me agreeing to meet Leonard on the greens in the morning and Katie getting recipes from Martha and the Saetangs. It was such a pleasant night out that we took the long way home, walking past one of the ponds and watching the fountain spray into the air. The two of us parked ourselves on a bench to watch the show—me taking up most of the bench, Katie curled up on my lap, just like we had been doing for years. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of the fountain and the occasional car until Katie spoke up and said, “We really got lucky, didn’t we? Beautiful house, beautiful neighborhood, and just a wonderful group of neighbors who really get us.” “Couldn’t ask for more,” I replied as I watched a heron roost in the reeds across the pond. “Plus, it feels good to not be the biggest guy in the room anymore.” Katie gave a small laugh at that before asking, “Does it really bother you? I know that it’s been a long time since you started to grow, but we’ve never really talked about if you really wanted to. I mean…you know you don’t have to change a thing for me, right?” I answered by pulling her so close that she could rest her head on my sizeable chest. “Little lady, I wouldn’t change a thing about what we have now. Yeah, I’m a lot bigger than I ever thought I’d be, and yeah, I do get a little embarrassed from time to time, but I’ve never been all that bothered by it. I didn’t really care when I first started gaining weight, but after a couple years with you, I came around to liking it—not nearly as much as you, but still. I’m happy where I am, but I’d also like to see how much farther I can go. Does that answer your question?” “Definitely,” Katie hummed as she nuzzled against me. “Definitely…” Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted December 15, 2021 Author Share Posted December 15, 2021 ((Characters belong to the ever-entertaining Mollycoddles!)) DAY 11: A DIFFERENT ALICE Lilith Grobauch winced as she heard the familiar sound of her daughter stomping down the hall. For a cheerleader, Alice was very heavy-footed—emphasis on the ‘heavy’, as the blonde stormed into the kitchen and threw the refrigerator open in search of food. Her mother tried to put on a pleasant face as she asked, “Did you sleep well, honey?” “Could’ve been better,” Alice grunted while rummaging through the fridge like a hog in search of truffles. “Mom, what happened to those extra pizza slices? I was going to have them for lunch!” “Oh, I…I must have thrown them out when I was doing some cleaning,” Lilith meekly fibbed. The truth was that Alice had eaten them the night before after coming home late from practice, but she knew better than to test her daughter’s denial. That would only lead to a shouting match that would end with Alice storming out the door and Lilith drowning her sorrows in mojitos and bacon. “Geez, Mom, you could’ve at least asked first,” Alice snorted as she shut the fridge door and glowered at her mother. “I’m going to need some money for lunch—twenty dollars ought to do it. I’ll grab it on the way out, okay?” Lilith wanted to put her foot down, but it was too little, too late at this point. She sighed and turned back to the stove, where she was heating a bowl of oatmeal for her breakfast—with extra cinnamon butter for flavor. “All right, dear—you can pay me back whenever you’re able.” “Sure, Mom,” Alice nonchalantly agreed, both knowing full well that the blonde would never give back a single dime. She turned to leave the kitchen and finish getting ready for the day, pausing only to take a jab at Lilith and say, “By the way, you might want to skip on the pizza next time we order in—that robe doesn’t fit you at all.” It was as blunt as a sledgehammer, but the exhausted matriarch knew that her daughter was right. Lilith’s weight had been climbing for the last few years as she added food to her list of stress relievers, such that she was wearing extra large blouses and slacks to work. She once had a sharp, modelesque figure that fit her well-to-do lifestyle, but as Alice got older and took command of the house, that figure grew as soft and weak as her willpower. Cottage cheese thighs filled her stockings to bursting, a flabby rump stretched her pencil skirts to the brim, and defined cheekbones were buried under pinchable cheeks, but the crowning point of her gain was a belly that hung slovenly from her waist and split into two thick rolls that quivered when she took the slightest step. Lilith knew her weight was out of control when people started comparing her to the fattest realtor in town—Stacy Cooke—but there were too many other things to worry about in her life. The biggest, literally and figuratively, was her daughter, who had grown from a shy little moppet into a bratty hellion that had plenty of weight to throw around. Her friends tried to tell her for years that she spoiled Alice too much, but Lilith did not listen to them; she had been a firm believer in leading with the carrot over the rod. But years of giving into her daughter’s every whim had turned Alice into a demanding tyrant and Lilith into her pitiful servant, and the weary mother saw no end to that. “See you, Mom! Remember what I said about that robe now,” Alice called out as she waddled out the door, which only drove Lilith to break out the Iberico bacon. One day, she would find the courage to stand up to her daughter, but today was not that day… *** Of course, Lilith was not the only one to blame for her daughter’s snotty attitude and wide girth, and one of them happened to be driving her to school. Tyler was the epitome of the handsome, brooding loner, usually driving to school on a motorcycle or a muscle car straight out of the 70s and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He was not all looks though, as he was known to fly off the handle at a moment’s notice if anyone provoked him—even if it was purely perceived on his end. Most tended to stay away from him out of fear, but Alice had been with him long enough to know there was more to him than a smoldering stare and a ten-inch cock. “How’s my princess doing today?” Tyler asked as he reached across and grabbed a handful of her blubbery belly. “You’ve been eating well, I see.” Alice purred like a happy cat as her boyfriend worked his fingers across her gut, “Oh, you know damn well how much I’ve been eating, or have you forgotten how I ate an entire cod plank platter on my own yesterday?” “I know—I just like to hear it,” Tyler retorted with a sly smirk. He pulled up her shirt to reveal the hint of marker still scrawled across her gut—350 LBS. “You’re turning into a real pig on me, you know that? What would you say if I told you it was time to start losing some weight?” “You love my fat ass too much for that,” the cheerleader quipped back. Her eyelids fluttered as her boyfriend dipped his finger into her cavernous belly button and jostled her stomach around, jiggling it from side to side like a water balloon. Their little escapades behind the bleachers had taught Alice pleasures that she never knew existed, like how someone toying with her belly button almost made her cream herself. “Besides, who else is going to give you a good tit-fuck around here?” “Could always get one from your friend, Laurie,” Tyler teased. “Girl’s about fifty pounds lighter than you, but she’s got tits for days.” Alice pouted at that and crossed her chubby arms under her own, not insubstantial chest at the comparison to her busty ‘friend’. She was so used to being the biggest girl around that she took a good deal of pride in topping everyone in all three sizes; there was no one in school that could match her, much less surpass her. Laurie Belmontes was the closest when it came to bust size, following after Alice with a chest that any porn star would be jealous of while doing her best to hide it. Guys might have been more interested in her, were it not for the fact that her fat tits also came with a good-sized gut—and that she was already spoken for. “She might have big boobs, but the girl’s got no experience; if you whipped your dick out, she’d probably just faint from the shock,” Alice snickered. “Besides, Frank’s built like a truck; I don’t think you’d be able to take him if you tried to make a move on his girl.” Tyler took a long drag on his cigarette before replying, “Frank ain’t got shit on me: he might be ROTC, but he’s got tits just as big as his cow girlfriend; all I’d need is a cheeseburger to distract him before I whup his ass.” “I’d love to see that,” Alice retorted with a devious grin. “Think we’ve got time to swing by Burger Shack? I’m jonesing for a bacon sandwich right now.” “We’ve got all the time in the world, babe,” Tyler hummed as he rocketed down the street. *** When Alice Grobauch moved through the halls of Los Hermanos High, people parted around her like the Red Sea—or, more accurately, like a battleship plowing through the ocean. She had never been slender or petite, but she had at least been athletically thick once upon a time and turned heads with her bombshell figure. Nowadays, she turned heads because how could anyone not look at the human wrecking ball? Adding in the fact that she carried herself with all the haughtiness of a queen, and Alice seemed like a force of nature as she marched towards her first target of the day. “Oh, Chris…how is my favorite study partner doing?” the blonde butterball cooed as she cornered her chemistry partner while he was rooting through his locker. Chris turned a fine pink when he turned and got a glimpse of Alice’s ample cleavage, purposefully boosted in order to attract the horndog’s attention. Everyone knew that the gangly geek had the hots for the captain of the cheer squad, but unlike most, his attraction to her only increased as she plumped up. He should have known better than to be her partner in any class, since his brains and her laziness were never going to mesh well, but like so many teenage boys, he thought with his lower head first. Thus, Alice had wrapped one of the smartest boys in school around her sausage fingers and played him like a fiddle whenever she wanted something. “H-Hey, Alice,” Chris stammered, wrenching his obvious gaze from her breasts to her round face. “How were the chocolates I got you?” “They were deliciously sweet—just like you,” Alice hummed, a phony smile spread across her lips. “What did you think of the assignment last night? Total snooze-fest, if you ask me.” “Oh, I didn’t think it was too hard at all. Maybe we could look over the homework at lunch?” Chris suggested with all the eagerness of a puppy. It was honestly so sweet how hard he tried, and Alice almost felt bad for stringing him along—almost. “Gosh, Chris, I’d love to, but I need my lunch time to plan out our routine for the big game on Friday,” the corpulent cheerleader sighed. “I could do lunch if you wouldn’t mind taking a look at some of my other homework from last night? You’re just about the smartest guy in our whole class, and it’d mean the world to me if you would.” While he was desperate for some time with the object of his desires, Chris knew in the back of his mind that this was just an excuse for Alice to foist her work on him. He tried to turn down the offer, only for the blonde to squish her belly up against his side and pin his right arm between her breasts as she whispered, “If you do, I could absolutely make it worth your while.” Just like that, Chris’s lizard brain took over and he nodded like a bobblehead. “S-Sure! What’s a study buddy for, right?” “That’s right,” Alice purred before pulling away from her lanky lackey. “I’ll see you at the picnic tables, cutie. Make sure you bring some brain food!” And just like that, Alice ensured that her homework for the next day or two would be A+ material. Playing Chris was too easy: all she had to do was flash some boob and even a little belly, and he would be putty in her hands. Her grip on people had weakened some as she grew bigger, so she was glad to know that she could still pull strings with the best of them. She might even be able to get some early dinner out of him if she pushed a little harder… *** One would be forgiven for thinking that the world of cheerleading, full of vanity and pride, would have been Hell for a girl like Alice, but her domineering attitude helped her quell any thoughts of mutiny. She was three times her weight when she first joined the squad and could no longer flip and jump with the others, but she made for a hell of a support and kept everyone in line like a drill sergeant. It was that control that got her squad to state-level championships, and she aimed to make nationals this year, come hell or high water. There were just two problems that needed sorting out, and they came waddling to the field well after everyone had already changed. “Thorry we’re late, Alithe,” huffed Laurie Belmontes. Poor girl had gotten her braces tightened again, which meant she would be lisping for the next few days. “Mith Thimpthon kept uth until the bell rang, but we got here ath thoon ath we could.” Jennifer Sarovy wiped the sweat from her brow and readjusted her coke-bottle glasses while she caught her breath. “The woman is a temporal tyrant, and I swear that she purposefully counts down to the last possible millisecond before letting us depart.” Alice might have weighed as much as a young hippo, but at least she had movie star looks to ensure her spot on the cheer squad; the same could not be said for her two chubby gofers. The two were lifelong friends—and for a while, they were the only friends each other had. Most people believed Laurie’s house was cursed due to her hyper-religious mother, and her reputation did not improve when she had to get a mouthful of wire in middle school. Likewise, Jen came from a lower class home that could just barely get by, which meant that she was always wearing clothes that were a year out of date at minimum, but it was her general verbosity and propensity for twenty-dollar words that kept people at arm’s length most of her life. All that would have been bad enough, but both girls were on the heavier side when they started Los Hermanos and had only ballooned as they hung around Alice. The puberty fairy cursed Laurie with a generous bosom, which garnered much undesirable attention, and that plump bosom only grew heavier as she gorged herself on ice cream and sweets. She looked like she was smuggling cantaloupes under her shirts, but that was countered by a generous potbelly that overlapped the waistband of her cheer skirt and flopped out of her top. Her lower body was nowhere near as well-endowed, but she still had to deal with a good bit of thigh chafing whenever she walked. At least she was not as bad off as Jen in that department, as the brainy girl’s family genes bit her hard on the posterior. Jen was modestly plump from the waist up; in fact, if you got a headshot of the girl, you would never know she was nearing 300 pounds. The trouble began around her bready arms and soft chest, then trailed down to a belly that drooped down from her waist like a drop of caramel. Everything exploded in size from the hips down, as she had grown so wide that she had to angle herself whenever she passed through most doors. She had a rump so big that it actually formed a shelf, which some of her classmates enjoyed proving by balancing objects on it without her knowing, and such thick thighs that even waddling had become difficult. In short, these were two very fat nerds, and people often wondered why Alice would bother befriending two girls that she might otherwise mock. Was it because she kept them around to make herself look better? Did they also do her homework for her in exchange for certain benefits, like the smitten Chris? Or did she keep them around out of some kind of pity, deigning to bless them with her presence? The truth was some combination of the three, but as time went by and the girls hung out more often, their lardy leader came to enjoy the presence of her chunky companions—though she would vehemently deny it if anyone ever asked. “About time you two showed up! What, did you stop at the vending machines on the way?” Alice barked at the latecomers. “If we’re going to show up those other bitches at the game this Friday, we need everyone to give it their all and then some. Now, get your fat butts out there and show me some jumping jacks!” Laurie and Jen hated this part of the practice. They enjoyed trying out the various moves that Alice cooked up, even if they could not do most of them considering their girth, but the warm-ups were utter hell for the porkers. Jumping jacks were especially miserable for them, as their overfed curves thrashed about with each pathetic hop; Laurie’s bosom slapped her in the face on occasion while Jen’s booty threatened to escape its confines. Then came running in place, and Alice demanded that the girls get their knees up as high as they could go, which did not come easy for anyone who had more lard than leg. Low-impact exercise, like yoga and stretching, were fine for Laurie and Jen, but those were few and far between in their leader’s routine. And yet, they persevered where others thought they would fall on their fat asses. They owed that much to Alice, who had made their school lives so much better since she took them under her wing. With her fundamentalist mother cracking down on things like make-up and all but the most basic of hygiene products, Laurie was worried she would forever remain an ugly duckling. Thankfully, Alice not only gave her some of her own product to use, she even talked Mrs. Belmontes into lowering her embargo so that her daughter might ‘show the Lord her good side’. And were it not for Alice’s generosity, Jen might have dressed like a Plain Jane for the rest of her student career, but she now owned several designer clothes—even her bimbo baby sister got a few good outfits to her name. That was why they were willing to put up with Alice’s rigorous routine, no matter how much their flabby, untrained bodies ached afterwards. When they were finally given a breather, they gladly waddled over to their duffel bags and gulped down the sports drinks they brought with them. The two nebbish girls were so caught up in their refreshments that they did not notice Alice sneak up behind them—but they certainly woke up when she goosed them. “You’re looking good out there, girls, but there’s one thing wrong—your uniform,” the blonde sneered. “Don’t tell me you need to go up another size again?” “It’th not my fault! Mine mutht have thrunk in the wath,” Laurie fibbed, knowing full well why her jersey could not meet her skirt. “I concur,” Jen replied as she fruitlessly tugged her skirt down over her rump. “It’s simply a mechanical malfunction that’s led to this discommodious dilemma.” Alice slapped her friends’ bulbous backsides and snorted, “Well, get them fixed before the game, okay? I’m the star of the show, after all, and don’t you ever forget it!” scl04 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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