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Just some content I was sharing from my Tumblr blog 🙊 Photo cred 📸 my Feeder ❤

Epic Transformation

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Took a good selfie for you guys to enjoy!!

I've moved over from Tumblr! My Feeder talked me into trying this site out as it's more of a community and I'm very excited to share my gaining here[emoji178]

Jus found these.. sharing is caring 😽

I already have loads of cellulite and I love it! I think it’s so sexy

I actually knew nothing about any of it until May last year. My now fiance felt brave enough to tell me 3 months into our relationship that he was a Feeder and has been obsessed from a young age. I was taken aback at first but he anxiously showed me his Tumblr and I just kind of scrolled through and ended up making my own blog right there. He's pretty great, and I love snacking. I used to be very athletic and run myself ragged trying stay In shape and now I'm never been happier.

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Pretty sure her belly gets bigger by the day. Not sure those workouts are working Ariel

A nice one from her story earlier.

On tonight's "le meilleur patissier" show

I’ve just uploaded a clip, talking about gaining and my body, if you wanna check it out!

🍱🥟🍜🍲🥠🥤🥢🥡 guess whate I ate my belly is so full

You know, I guess it's too much to assume that the people who post here actually like women.

Speaking of Nia, hopefully these haven't been posted before.

Is cycling good for losing belly fat? Not only does it get your heart rate up, but it burns a significant number of calories. ... An hour of vigorous cycling can burn between 590 and 930 calories. The high calorie burn will help you start burning off fat stores all over your body, including your belly fat, provided you are eating sensibly. Yeeaaaaa, so heeeeey, bout those last 5 words.... nawwwwt gonna happen bruh hahahah I already ate double the calories burned since I got home heeheeeeee

Blue

and finally, now!! I absolutely love my stretch marks, and I can't wait for more!! I love my thighs (which are bigger than my waist used to be!!) and I love the way my stomach rolls. The softness of my body, and the way I jiggle...I adore everything about it and I can't wait to be bigger!! Hope you enjoy this as much as me!! Lily xxxx

One-Hundred-and-Ten Percent by brucejedi Chapter 1 – November “If she had a little self-control, then maybe she wouldn’t be so fat!” Ashley exclaimed. Then she brought her hand to her mouth, having spoken that last word louder than intended. She glanced around nervously as her friends giggled. One had to mind one’s manners in this day and age. Across the room, Ms. Perkadillo raised her bushy eyebrows. Ashley gulped. “Shoot, I’m late for class,” she told her friends. “Gotta run!” Her heart was still pounding as she leaned against the door of the girls’ locker room. <I hope to god that old fart didn’t hear that!> she muttered to herself. P.E. helped to calm her nerves. Naturally slim and toned, Ashley wasn’t half-bad an athlete. A little taller and she might have tried out for track and field. A little more coordinated and she might have made the tennis team. A little ditsier and she might have been a cheerleader. But as it was, she was content using her tight body for what it did so naturally: attracting boys. As she changed into her gym clothes, a familiar sight unfolded: washboard stomach, firm bottom—not an ounce of extraneous fat to be found. With the varsity athletes excused from P.E., Ashley was usually the first or second girl picked for teams. Today was no exception, although she suspected that Brian, the team captain, had ulterior motives. As the game of Capture the Flag got underway, Ashley forgot all about Ms. Perkadillo. The young redhead fulfilled the role she’d been given to a T: distract the flag guard while Brian and Charley went for the flag itself. The tight shorts she wore made her job all too easy. Freddy, the flag guard, had his eyes glued to her butt as he chased her around the field, while Ashley’s light step kept her just out of reach. The fun was interrupted when Jessica Parrington plodded onto the field, thighs jiggling fiercely. “Don’t you have gym second period?” asked Ashley. She knew this from the stories that Carrie and Noelle would tell during lunch, the ones starring Jessica squeezing into her shorts or blowing it for the entire team. Their stories provided quite the lunchtime entertainment. “Yeah I do,” said Jessica, “but They want me to take it in the afternoon now too.” “Oh,” said Ashley. Jessica was placed on Ashley and Brian’s team, much to their dismay. Ashley watched as Jessica tried in vain to tag out the opposing players making moves on the flag. She remembered her comment from this morning. Maybe it had been a little mean. For a moment, Ashley tried to imagine playing sports with all that extra weight wobbling around. It must be like boobs times a hundred. Shuddering, she purged the thought from her brain. * * * Showered and back in her school clothes, Ashley strolled to seventh period, still high on endorphins. Not to mention, Jimmy Lang was in her math class. She pulled out her compact to check her makeup. “Ashley Hart!” The redhead spun around to come face to face with none other than Ms. Perkadillo, white hair flapping in the breeze. “Follow me, please.” Ashley’s heart leapt into her throat. <Could Perkadillo still hear well enough to… Oh god, what would happen if They found out what she had said earlier?> They, of course, being the Fascist Party of Arcane Magic. Ashley soon found herself in the place that strikes terror in the heart of every young woman at Roosevelt High: face to face with Principal Saruman. “I’ve been expecting you,” said the principal. Ashley just stood there trembling. The principal’s office was large and cold. “Tell me, what did you say before seventh period about Jessica Parrington?” “N-nothing, we were only kidding around.” “Vain-us, spark-lus, scald-us!” shouted Saruman. Suddenly Ashley felt a burning around her neck and fingers. The jewelry she was wearing had turned scalding hot. She winced. “Okay, okay. I—ow—I said Jess is fat—ouch.” Saruman waved his hand and the pain ceased. Ashley inspected her ring finger. The skin was red but not damaged. “So Perkadillo isn’t totally deaf after all,” chuckled the principal. He eyed the Wheel that lay perched above the trophy case. It resembled the ones used in Las Vegas for roulette, but lacking the numbers around the circumference. “Do you know what this is?” he asked. “Oh course,” Ashley whispered. “It is the Wheel of Misfortune, like the larger one at the courthouse, but tailored for a younger clientele.” “It’s a torture device!” Ashley shrieked, finding her courage for an instant. Saruman smiled. “That it is, I suppose. Or an arbiter of justice, from Our point of view. The New Moral Code is the bedrock of our society. It must be upheld…despite the cost.” At this last line, a pang of regret entered Saruman’s eyes. “Ashley Hart, I hereby charge you with Conduct Unbecoming of a Lady! You are to serve your sentence immediately. Face the Wheel, please.” Ashley felt tears in her eyes. Horror stories flooded her mind, of girls not older than herself transformed into middle-aged women, or robbed of their eyesight, or emerging from the Treatment Chamber without the use of their hands. None of her close friends had ever been subjected to it, but more than a handful of students had been. One girl, a sophomore, arrived one morning looking like she hadn’t shaved her legs in weeks. After endless harassment, she brought a razor to school one day, and demonstrated in the girls’ locker room how the hair grew back instantly after being cut, even thicker than before. Another girl had been a gifted ballet dancer, but at one point there was an “incident”—no one ever discovered what it was—and on Monday she arrived at school with breasts and hips the size of Jessica Rabbit’s. She never danced competitively again. Principal Saruman waved his hand, and the Wheel lit up and began to spin. The round surface, blank a moment ago, now spelled out curses in glowing letters. Limp Locks, Cotton Head, Razorproof. Ashley thought of the girl with the hairy legs. She prayed it didn’t stop on Razorproof. The wheel spun faster and faster, and soon the letters grew impossible to read, leaving Ashley to think up curses even more dreadful than those listed. Eventually the wheel began to slow. As the letters came back into focus, Ashley fixated on a curse she hadn’t noticed before: Beanpole Chest. True, there were worse ones on there, but this one struck a nerve with Ashley. She had only recently graduated to a B-cup—a 32B, to be exact. Would what little she had up top be stolen from her forever? She winced as Beanpole Chest inched ever closer to the needle. As fate would have it, that one sailed just past, and the needle landed instead on “One-hundred-and-Ten Percent.” “And so it is,” Principal Saruman declared. “You, Ashley Hart, for breaking our sacred Moral Code, will suffer the infliction of ‘One-hundred-and-Ten Percent.’ ” A glint of sadness returned to the wizard’s face. “And suffer, you will, I’m afraid. For a girl your age, in these times, the curse to befall you will be most trying indeed.” He turned to his aides. “Take her to the Treatment Chamber!” * * * Ashley was led down a secret stairwell to a part of the school that existed only in legend. They passed by a trophy case where the famed “R” was kept. Each year at homecoming, the giant garnet letter was paraded across the football field in an homage to school spirit, and then locked away in this hidden corridor lest a rival school attempt to steal it. The next segment of the hallway was lined with file cabinets containing student records. Finally they reached a door marked “Physical Plant,” a deterrent to what truly lay inside. The room was a cross between a dungeon and a waiting room at a health clinic. Lining one wall were a set of manacles; lining another were dozens of carefully folded brochures. An aide selected one and handed it to Ashley. “You have two options,” he announced. “Wait over here in one of these chairs, or, if you have any intention of trying to escape, the other side of the room may suit you better.” He motioned at the manacles. Too petrified to run, Ashley sat in one of the upholstered chairs and opened the brochure. One aide left through a door on the far side of the room while the other stood next to the exit, arms crossed over his broad chest. “One-hundred-and-Ten Percent: Frequently Asked Questions (Teen Addition). What does this sentence entail? In a few moments, your body weight will be increased by ten percent. Then, for the next six months, your weight will be increased by an additional ten percent each month. Will I get stronger, then, like a boy? No, the extra weight will consist entirely of fat. Where will the weight settle? Genetics will determine it. The weight will settle in the same pattern were you to gain it naturally. For most girls, fat tends to accumulate in the hips, butt, thighs, stomach, and breasts. Can I try to lose the weight? You may. Some subjects choose to begin dieting immediately, as this will minimize the total weight gained (10% of 120 is smaller than 10% of 150). Other subjects wait until after the final treatment to begin dieting, since any weight lost at that point could, with diligence, be kept off for good. Choose the route that’s best for you! What did I do to deserve this? You broke our sacred Moral Code and now have to live with the consequences. An example will be made of you so that others choose the Morally Right Path. This sucks! My life is over. Help is always available in the guidance office. Please call our hotline at 555-TEEN.” Ashley stared at the brochure, re-reading the description of her sentence again and again. <What was ten percent of 114?> This was all so horrifying that her brain refused to cooperate. Razorproof or even Beanpole Chest were beginning to sound like blessings in disguise. Just then, a door opened on the far side of the room and in walked a heavyset woman in her mid-fifties whom Ashley immediately recognized as Ms. Crookershank, the school nurse. “Ashley, follow me, please.” The terrified seventeen-year-old was led down another hallway into a circular room with red panels on the ceiling. A doctor’s chair lay in the center. “Please remove your clothes,” said the nurse, “I’ll keep them for you until after the treatment is over.” Ashley just stood there, a pleading look in her eyes. “I’m sorry, honey. Don’t make this any harder on yourself.” She slowly undressed. Ms. Crookershank looked on jealously as Ashley’s flawless body came into view. Such trim thighs, such sculpted abs. The nurse doubted that she herself was ever in such great shape. Now fully naked, Ashley stood with one arm covering her chest, the other shielding her sex. Her narrow waist provided a striking contrast to her gently curving hips. “Stand here for a moment, please.” The nurse pointed to a metal panel next to the chair. As Ashley placed her feet on the marks, her weight was displayed on a digital screen. Crookershank scowled as she recorded the numbers on a clipboard. She then led Ashley to the dreaded chair. Ashley lay back as her wrists, ankles, and neck were secured. Another strap circled her waist. After pulling it taught, the nurse loosened it a notch. Then she left Ashley alone. As she waited in silence, tears trickled down the young girl’s cheeks. With her arms strapped to the chair, she could no longer cover herself, and she imagined the two male aides gazing down at her through a hidden window. The ankle straps didn’t even let her press her legs together. At last the room sprang to life. The red panels lit up and emitted a low-pitched hum. Ashley felt a tingling in her hips, which soon spread upwards across her stomach, and downwards through her thighs and rear. It wasn’t a nice tingle. It felt kind of gross, actually. The strap around her neck kept her from seeing what was happening, but she could feel it easily enough—her butt pressing more insistently into the fabric of the chair with each passing breath, the strap at her waist pulling tighter and tighter against her skin. The whirring ceased, and Ms. Crookershank returned, carrying her clipboard and Ashley’s clothes. “I need to record your weight again before you get dressed,” said the older woman as she unlocked the restraints. Ashley still lay there, refusing to believe what had just happened. An hour ago she had been out on the soccer field, playing capture the flag, and now… She ventured to touch her stomach, then yanked her hand away in horror. What had they done? She sat up slowly and gazed down at her thighs. They seemed to occupy more space than before. This couldn’t be real. She stood up from the chair and then froze. It felt as though she were carrying a backpack full of books, except there was no weight on her shoulders, only on the soles of her feet. Still trembling, she trudged over to the metal panel. “Feet on the marks, please,” instructed Crookershank. “That a girl.” As Ashley stood there dejectedly, the display lit up again: 125.4. The nurse scribbled something on her clipboard. “Specifications reached,” she mumbled. “Now turn towards me, please.” She prodded Ashley in several spots and added more scribbles to her notes. Giving Ashley’s rear a final pinch, she handed the girl her clothes. “Most of these should still fit,” she said. “I’ll leave you now to get dressed.” Ashley stared back down at her body, running her hands along her softer hips. Her waist still tapered inwards, but her abs were covered by an inch or so of squeezable flesh. She slid her hands around to her once-firm behind. Her fingers sank in effortlessly. The fear that she was still being watched snapped her back to reality—and to the pile of clothes under her arm. The bra fit fine, she discovered, but the panties felt tight. Their lacy band dug into the fat at her waist, causing some to spill over. The shirt fit okay, but the clingy fabric highlighted the slight curve of her lower belly. Worst of all were the jean shorts. The pant-legs formed creases at her thighs, and the zipper would hardly budge. Even sucking in she couldn’t fasten the button. Just then the nurse returned. Ashley stood there helplessly as the nurse gazed down at her tummy and hips bulging out of the too tight shorts. “You’re excused from eighth period,” said Crookershank, handing Ashley a doctor’s note. “And here’s a letter for your parents.” Giving up on the shorts, Ashley pulled her shirt down so that it covered the unzipped portion. The aides escorted her back through the secret passageway, up the stairs, and into the main hall. No students were there, as eighth period was still in session. Ashley gathered her things from her locker and headed home. As she walked, she tried to ignore the subtle differences—the constriction around her thighs, the added pressure on her feet. * * * “You did what?!!” Ashley’s mom exclaimed after reading the note. “Oh, gee, thanks. Way to show sympathy for your daughter!” Mrs. Hart scanned Ashley’s body. “Did they…start it already?” “No, mom, I always walk around in shorts that won’t button, don’t you remember?” Mrs. Hart brought a hand to her bosom. “Oh honey!” Ashley trudged off to her room and slammed the door. For the next hour, the distressed girl tried on every pair of pants in her closet. With each one it was the same: too tight in the upper thigh and impossible to zip. Why did women’s fashion have to be so unforgiving? She finally found a skirt she could button, but her hips still poked out over the waistband. Fuck, it was only 11 pounds. Did it have to be this obvious? * * * The next day at school, Ashley could swear everyone was staring at her. A hoodie she wore with the skirt provided some camouflage, but it would be obvious to anyone who looked closely that it fit her differently than before. As she sat through first period, she could feel the skirt biting at her waist. At least it was long enough to cover her thighs. She dreaded gym class most of all. As the girls were changing, she tried to hide in the far row of lockers, but her friend Carrie followed her over there to see what was up. Ashley tried pretending she had to pee, but Carrie was still fiddling with her hair when she returned. <Why did this girl always take so long to get ready?> Fresh out of ideas, Ashley started undressing. She pulled her sweatshirt down as far as it would go and then slithered out of the skirt. Carrie’s eyes meandered in Ashley’s direction and noticed that her butt seemed to strain against her underwear. Ashley pulled on her gym shorts and glanced nervously at Carrie before unzipping the hoodie. Now intrigued, Carrie waited until Ashley turned away before stealing another glance. She watched as Ashley lifted her t-shirt up over her head. Her hips flared out insistently from the small of her back. Had they always done that? She studied the situation as Ashley changed into her sports bra. Without warning Ashley spun back around to grab her tank top. Carrie averted her gaze. <Was she just staring at me?> wondered Ashley. Carrie stole one more peek as Ashley slid on her shirt. Her tummy! It was pooching out over her shorts. Ashley had always been so slim. What happened? “Ready?” asked Ashley. “Uh huh,” said Carrie. Now clued into it, the extra weight was obvious even under clothes. Instead of draping loosely, Ashley’s tank top clung to the padding around her middle. “Come on, let’s go,” said Ashley. Carrie tagged along behind to get another view of her butt. It was definitely bigger, she was sure of it. Wow, her thighs looked different too. Not toned at all, especially near the top where they disappeared under her shorts. It was softball today. <Great> thought Ashley, <just what I need.> She hid in the outfield for most of the game, but eventually it was her turn to bat. “I don’t feel well,” she complained. “Get your ass out to the plate,” Ms. Mudville commanded. Ashley missed the first pitch on purpose. She glanced nervously at her teammates. Carrie was whispering something to Lisa. “Stop swinging like a girl!” Mudville shouted. <Fuck her> thought Ashley, and she swung the bat hard and fast at the next pitch. The ball sailed into center field. Oh no, now everyone would be watching her! As she took off towards first base, she could feel the flesh on her bottom quiver with each stride. She prayed it didn’t look as bad as it felt. As she rounded the base, another realization hit: she was slower. “Go for third, Ashley!” yelled Noelle. Now determined to prove nothing had changed, she leaned forward and put her heart and soul into it…but every ounce of those eleven pounds conspired to hold her back. She was breathing hard as she rounded second. Her legs burned. The ball landed in Emily-the-third-basemen’s glove just as Ashley realized she was never going to make it. She didn’t even bother sliding. Emily gently tagged her out. “Sorry Ashley,” said Noelle. “I thought you had it.” * * * It soon became common knowledge at Roosevelt High that Ashley Hart had put on weight. As most of it had settled in the region around her hips, the added pounds could best be seen in the tight shorts and skirts that had once so flattered her physique. What her friends didn’t realize was that Ashley could no longer fit into the clothes she used to wear and had secretly added a week’s worth of size sixes to her wardrobe—in styles and colors that matched her old items to give the impression that nothing had changed. To Ashley it seemed almost as if the plan were working, as none of the girls had said anything to her face. She pondered what to do. After several days of denial, she started watching what she ate. But never having reason to diet before, counting calories was unfamiliar. Her vague plans to “eat healthier” or “stay away from sweets” amounted to almost nothing in the end. How many chicken nuggets was too many? How much whipped cream was she allowed on a bowl of ice cream? And during the course of a busy day, she would often forget she was dieting to begin with. It should have come as no surprise, then, that after ten days she hadn’t managed to lose even a single pound. Glancing glumly down at the scale, Ashley made up her mind to diet for real. She checked a book out of the library and stretched a tape measure around her hips to chart her progress. She even started jogging after school. And sure enough, after three weeks of dedication her youthful metabolism had melted off five whole pounds. Her new clothes felt a little looser, and a few of her old ones were beginning to fit again. Most were still too uncomfortable to wear, or still looked bad, or both, but at least it was a start. Chapter 2 – December Exactly one month after the fateful incident, Ashley was sitting in Chemistry when she heard a knock at the door. “Ms. Hart? Please follow me.” “Where are we going?” she asked as Asst. Principal Snape escorted her down the hallway. When they neared the secret staircase, her heart froze. “No! Please, I’ll do anything!” She considered making a run for it, but a single glance at Snape’s menacing eyes convinced her otherwise. Soon she stood in the Treatment Chamber next to Ms. Crookershank, sullenly removing her clothes. “It’s not fair!” Ashley sobbed. “I don’t want to hear another word,” said the nurse, as she recorded Ashley’s pre-treatment weight. “Hmm, lost a few pounds, I see.” Moments later Ashley lay back in the chair, trembling. It was even worse this time around, knowing what was about to happen. As soon as the red lights switched on, the tingling began in earnest in her hips, soon enveloping her butt before radiating down her legs. Her legs tingled fiercely this time, and she could even feel it in her calves. With each passing moment, her upper thighs inched closer and closer together until she felt them touch. The tingling began to dull, and for an instant she thought it was over, but instead it glided back upwards, pausing at her belly before darting through her breasts and upper arms. In the final moments, it slithered around her neck and settled gently in her cheeks. “Alright sweetie, back on the scale,” Ms. Crookershank ordered as she reentered the room. Ashley felt sick. Even just lying there, she could tell that her body had again succumbed to the curse. The sensations grew more vivid as she sat up, her tummy folding against itself, her breasts tugging at her chest, her squishier bottom cushioning her weight as she sank into the chair. As she moved uncertainly towards the scale, her thighs brushed together. <Please let me wake up now> she prayed. “132,” the nurse said. Did she have to announce it like that? Ashley fingered the soft flesh that now occupied her hips. The shorts she had worn today were one of the size fours that were just starting to fit. Ha, like they ever would now. Thankfully, she had planned to stay over at Carrie’s tonight and had packed a change of clothes. But even the size-six jeans in her backpack felt uncomfortably tight. And they could no longer quite contain her hips, which were escaping out the top. “Stop dawdling and move along, dear,” said Crookershank. “Lots more curses to get through today. You think you’re the only one?” * * * “Hmmm,” said the saleslady as she wrapped a tape measure around Ashley’s curves. “What?” asked Ashley impatiently. “Well you’re a size eight in the hips. But in the waist, you’re closer to a six. I’m gonna suggest—” “A size eight?” her eyes widened. “Mmm hmm, thirty-nine inches around. That’s definitely an eight.” Ashley traced her hand along the diagonal crease formed by her underwear in the back. “Yeah, that’s the problem right there. You said the jeans—the sixes you tried on—were too tight in the thighs, too?” “Yeah,” Ashley mumbled. The tape measure was now carefully wrapped around the fullest part of each leg. “Pushing an eight there, as well. But kind of in-between, really.” “Well I’m planning on losing weight, so I don’t wanna buy something that’ll end up being too loose later on.” The saleslady rocked her head back and forth, considering the options. “Well, I suppose you could find a few items in a six that might fit.” “Yeah, that would be great. I mean, I’ve never worn an eight.” “Maybe something with some give to it, like our stretchy jeans. Or some of our pleated skirts.” “Okay.” “Oh, but stay away from low-rise.” The saleslady cupped the padding on Ashley’s hips. “You want something that’ll cover this up and not leave it hanging out for everyone to see.” This saleslady had to be the most annoying person ever. “What else…?” she rambled on. “Avoid things that say ‘figure flaunting’ or ‘enhance your curves.’ In your case you’re looking to play down or camouflage your—” “Got it,” said Ashley. Was this woman going to shut up soon? “Oh, I almost forgot!” said the saleslady excitedly. Ashley stared at her in silence. “Can I interest you in a swimsuit?” “It’s December,” said Ashley. “Yes, well it’s a new Government initiative. Buy a bikini for Christmas so you have that extra incentive to make sure it still fits in the spring!” “I have a bikini, thanks,” said Ashley. The thought of her cute red bathing suit was more than she could bear. It fit her great eighteen pounds ago. Imagining what it would look like on her now made her sick to her stomach. * * * At home, Ashley set the shopping bags down on her bed and checked her phone. There were three texts from Carrie: 4:02: “Hey babe u still coming?” 5:43: “Dunno where you disappeared 2. Going for pizza w Noelle” 6:52: “Call me! –c” Ashley texted her back: “Sorry feeling sick. See u Mon?” That would give her three days to devise an explanation. Or maybe she could still try to hide it. She glanced down at the flesh that kept escaping from her jeans no matter how many times she yanked them up. And to think that yesterday this pair felt rather loose—fuck, she couldn’t hide this. She adjusted her bra, which had been bugging her all afternoon. Then she peered down her shirt. Cleavage was spilling out of the cups, quivering gently as she breathed. Bras were expensive, though. Why get refitted when she was just going to lose the weight anyway? She laid her new clothes out on the bed: one pair of jeans, size eight—a temporary emergency measure; one pair of workout shorts, also size eight, and another in a six; two tank tops in a size medium (because the smalls tended to ride up); three pairs of tights; and a five-pack of cotton panties, also size medium. She averted her eyes from the mirror as she undressed. No sense in getting herself all worked up again when it would all be different in a couple weeks. Four or five pounds and the eights would no longer be necessary. Another few on top of that and size-small underwear would be comfy again. For now, though, she tore open the pack of mediums and dangled a lavender pair in front of her. They looked cute with their scalloped waistband, but they were visibly larger than her old ones. She slid them on. So much more comfortable… Ashley frowned. Her round bottom fully filled them, without an inch of fabric to spare. Her sports bra was even tighter than her regular one, but her chest felt nice and secure in it. Pink tights, the size-eight shorts, and one of the new tank tops completed the ensemble. She peaked in the mirror. It was a cute outfit…for someone slimmer. But to Ashley her heavy thighs looked anything but cute. And her stomach pressed against her shirt, stretching the fabric down there almost as tightly as at the bust. A tear formed. She blinked as another ran down her cheek, but she wiped it away and resolved to run for five miles today instead of four. That reminded her. She pulled from the bag her final purchase of the day: a pocket calendar. “Starting new diet,” she wrote in the box for Friday. “132 pounds.” * * * Bzzzzz. Ashley’s hip was vibrating. <Shit, who is it?> she panted between strides. Bzzzzz. It was Carrie. She brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?” “How you feeling, hon?” Crap. She was supposed to be sick. “Uh, good.” <pant> “Getting some fresh air.” “You go home early? You weren’t in history.” “Yeah.” Ashley cringed. The quivering of her rear was more pronounced than before. The tights helped only so much. “…Jamie and Noelle.” “Sorry, what?” “Ashley are you paying attention?” “Uh huh.” Fuck, it was hard to breath in this sports bra. “…At Freddy’s house. Can you believe it?” Ashley touched her inner thigh. It was hot and sticky where her tights had been rubbing together. “Ashley?” “Oh my god” <pant, pant> “that’s nuts.” “I know, isn’t it? You should have seen…” How far had she gone? Her legs were starting to ache. “…in Tabitha’s chicken coup. It was hilarious.” Ashley looked up at the street sign. Only two miles? It felt like four. “…are you even listening to me? Oww!” Just then, Ashley collided with someone and landed flat on her butt. She looked over to see Carrie sprawled next to her on the sidewalk. Fuck, she should have known. Carried always called while walking her Chihuahua. “Ashley! Wait, you were jogging? I thought you were…whoa.” Ashley’s thighs usually didn’t look like that. In fact, in gym earlier that day, her friend was looking downright slim. “Stop staring at me.” “I wasn’t.” “You’ve been staring at me for the past month.” The Chihuahua licked Ashley’s arm. “Eww, quit it!” she squealed. “Ashley, what’s going on?” Ashley stared at her friend and blinked. Then she burst out crying. Carrie sat down next to her and stroked the dog. “I saw you today,” she whispered. “So did Noelle. We were coming back from the ladies’ room. You were with Snape.” Ashley’s flushed face turned even redder. There was only one thing more humiliating than gaining all this weight, and that was gaining it because she’d been cursed. The Moral Code was considered sacred. All through elementary school they rehearsed it: “My body is a temple: Keep it pristine, keep it pure. Hide not one’s beauty, but flaunt it not. Cast not a jealous gaze, nor a spiteful one, For You, oh Righteous One Are the judge of sin, not I.” That was the one for the girls, anyway. The boys would recite something different, but Ashley never learned what it was. Being young and female wasn’t easy in this day and age. You had to hold others accountable, always watching what they said or did. But you were never supposed to point out their flaws. It was a delicate balance between vigilance and humility. It usually amounted to a lot of whispering behind people’s backs. “Heather let Brandon feel her up!” “No way, she did?” “Shhh, not so loud.” Or, “Katie grabbed two desserts today.” “Her butt’s getting big.” “That’s mean! Don’t say that about her.” And on it went. But as much as the Code was detested, overall it was adhered to. How could you denounce something you spent so much effort trying to follow? “Carrie,” Ashley burst out, “it’s horrible! They heard me say Jessica was fat…so now They’re making me fat.” Carrie’s eyes widened. “A little bit more each month.” “Ooh,” said Carrie. “You don’t hate me now, do you?” “I can’t believe you broke the Code!” “I’m not proud of it.” Carrie squeezed Ashley hand, then turned and hurried away. The Chihuahua lingered for a moment to lick the cursed girl’s shoe. * * * Two weeks passed. Ashley’s bras were starting to feel a bit looser and she could swear her hips were slimmer if you looked at them from the right angle. She had worked off three pounds. Not as much as she was hoping, but a start at least. She was running three times a week for three miles, a far cry from the five she had intended, but that third mile was getting easier and tomorrow she might try for a fourth. Her tummy growled. The diet she was on was brutal. She grabbed a chicken salad sandwich from the buffet line. <What I am thinking? I can’t eat that.> She put it back and scanned the salads for one without any dressing on it. “…her thighs…Did you see…” Ashley froze, trying to make out the voices through the roar of the school cafeteria. “…think she was cursed…” “No way!” “…like my cousin’s friend…a-hundred-and-ten…think it ended up being fifty pounds.” The voice sounded like Noelle’s. “Eww.” “…her thighs are like, eww.” Ashley touched her legs through her jeans. She was back to wearing a six almost comfortably again, but she doubted the other girls noticed. All they saw was a bottom-heavy redhead who couldn’t keep her mouth shut—a girl who was getting what she deserved. She sat down next to Carrie and picked at her salad. She had lost all desire to eat it. As Carrie drawled on about her latest crush, Ashley overheard another conversation, this one among a group of boys. “Hot or not: Ashley Hart.” “Nottt.” “I don’t know, dude. I kind of like her with the larger ass.” “You serious, dude?” Ashley listened intently. “Yeah ’cause she’s still slim up top and then you look down and her butt is like, ‘Damnnn, girl!’” “Yeah I can see what you’re sayin’.” “Bigger boobs, too.” “Really?” “You can tell when she wears a tight shirt. Not a huge change, but it’s there.” “So you into her or something?” “Nah, just sayin’.” “She looked better before,” came a third voice. “I like my ladies tight.” She couldn’t make out the next comment, but the group burst out laughing. “So what do you think I should do, Ashley?” Carrie asked. “About what?” “About Peter.” Who was Peter again? “I think you should date him,” said Ashley. Could it really be true? Did some boys actually find her new curves attractive? It didn’t seem possible. The boy had to be loopy, or perverted, or something. Chapter 3 – January Ashley peered down at the scale. It wavered between 125 and 126, finally settling on the higher of the two. She climbed off and back on again. “126 lbs.” stared back at her yet again. She gazed at her weight loss diary and then back at the scale. In three days, she would be escorted back to the Treatment Chamber. Her plan was to be under 120 by then, back to where she’d been before last month’s visit. If she could just hold to that routine, then she would at least be breaking even. And then after the sixth months were up, she would work off the final few pounds and be back to normal. That was her plan anyway. But here she was, the month nearly over, four weeks of salads and sit-ups, and she still had over five pounds to go. In fact, she weighed the same now as when she emerged from the Chamber the very first time. Back then, the added pounds had felt awkward and unfamiliar. Now they seemed almost normal. Size-six jeans fit as naturally as fours had before. That was the danger: getting too comfortable with this. Her plan was to fit into size fours before the month was over. She must stick to the plan. The only option now was to push her diet into high gear. So she starved herself the rest of the week and went running every day after school. Yet still the stupid size fours wouldn’t button. “Please, Ms. Crookershank,” Ashley pleaded, as she stood naked on the Treatment Chamber scale. “Please just one more week? I’m not finished with my diet yet.” “124 pounds,” the old lady croaked in her crackly voice. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe next month you can lose a little more, eh?” “Please,” she sniffled, “don’t put me in that thing again, please!” The constraints were fastened around her ankles. “Please, Ms. Crookershank.” Her stomach grumbled from lack of food. The room lit up with the familiar red glow. Ashley clenched her eyes tight as the tingling erupted in her butt and thighs. “Please!” she whimpered. Her breasts quivered as they absorbed some of the weight. Her faced twitched as her cheeks softened. By the time the humming ceased, her tummy pressed firmly against the strap of the chair, but still felt empty on the inside. Ashley staggered to her feet. The familiar flare of her hips had returned, plus a little extra. She could feel the added heft of her breasts. “136.4,” Crookershank announced. * * * Ashley stumbled home, almost ready to faint. She had eaten three grapes for breakfast and nothing else the rest of the day. Yet her jeans still dug mercilessly into her stomach. She collapsed onto the couch, frantically unbuttoning her pants and gliding the zipper down until her tummy finally stopped spilling over. Next came the bra. Red lines could be seen where the underwire had been digging in. There she lay for the next twenty minutes, almost too dizzy to move. “I need to go running,” she murmured. “Haven’t exercised all day…” But the lack of food was making her nauseous. She stumbled to the sink, hoping to quell the sensation with a glass of water. The trick had worked several times in the past. As she entered the kitchen, though, her nose zeroed in on the fresh batch of muffins cooling on the counter. Shaking the thought from her head, she retrieved a glass from the cupboard. And then she glanced again at the muffins. Her mouth was watering. With a will of its own, her hand snatched one from the tin. Her lips opened automatically and her teeth sank into the warm dough. She devoured the muffin, but still her aching stomach craved more. A second and a third slithered down her throat. Finally satiated, Ashley stumbled upstairs, one hand curled around her unzipped jeans to prevent them from sliding down. She crashed onto her bed. As the nourishment from the muffins worked its way through her system, the dizziness abated. Then her eyes opened wide. <How many calories was that?!> She shut her eyes again and forced herself to sleep. Ashley awoke the next morning with crumbs still lining the corners of her mouth. Disgusted with herself, she threw her workout clothes onto the bed, the size-eight set she had worn at the beginning of last month. Over the last week or so, it had grown too loose to wear, but now it fit her snuggly. And her sports bra wasn’t just snug; it squeezed the air out of her lungs. It wasn’t the bra, though, that forced her to cancel her run. She simply didn’t have any energy. Last night’s muffins were the only real food she had ingested in over three days. The dizziness returned the moment she took off down the street. After half a block, her legs were shaking as she panted for breath. She trudged back home defeated. A delicious scent greeted her at the front door. Bacon, eggs, and more of those muffins. She could make out each dish distinctly, without even entering the kitchen. “Ashley!” her mother called. “You’ve been starving yourself all week. Have some breakfast!” Her tummy could not refuse. And so it went. Her diet on hold, Ashley’s strength slowly returned, and she even managed to jog a short mile after breakfast on Sunday. For the first time in weeks, she ate three full meals a day. Her spirits were up. If she resumed her diet on Monday, there would still be plenty of time to work off this month’s curse and at least break even before the Piper came again. The next morning she opened her weight loss diary and stepped onto the scale. “138…139…138.” <Wait, what? That can’t be right. 124 plus 10% is… Where’d those extra two pounds from?> Sure, she had cheated on her diet, but it wasn’t as if she’d been pigging out or anything. She hadn’t even taken a single dessert all weekend. At school, Ashley stormed into Crookershank’s office. “The machines malfunctioned!” she insisted. “They added two extra pounds. That’s not fair.” “Hmmm, I wrote down 136.4 on Friday,” said the nurse. “Maybe your scale is off?” “I think yours is off!” screamed Ashley. Then her voice faded to a whisper. “Look at this…” She gripped the flesh lining her waist. “It has to be more than 12.4 pounds.” “Hmmm, please remove your clothes and step on the scale, Ms. Hart. And I can assure you, I just had this one calibrated this morning.” Ashley slithered out of her jeans, revealing legs encased in soft padding from hip to ankle. The scale read 138.6. “See?” she exclaimed. “What did I tell you?” Ms. Crookershank consulted her notes. “My readings are accurate,” she stated. “It appears you’ve gained 2.2 pounds on your own.” “That’s fucking impossible!” Ashley stormed out of the office. But of course it made sense. The last couple of pounds had been shed last week in such a flurry of starvation that as soon as she started eating again, her body hurriedly reabsorbed them. Now it was fourteen pounds she would have to lose this month just to break even. * * * Ashley ate alone that day in the cafeteria, too embarrassed to face her friends. The bland salad on her plate stood in pale contrast to the home-cooked meals of last weekend. Maybe someday she could eat like that again…someday after losing all this weight. In gym class she hid in the stalls. The thought of squeezing into her sports bra again made her cringe—and she needed one now more than ever. It also wasn’t clear if her gym outfit would even still fit. The shorts in her locker were a full size smaller than the jeans she was wearing—her loan pair of size eights, the only ones that buttoned. So she kept to the shadows for the rest of school and then hopped on the city bus. “Hit a growth spurt?” asked the annoying saleslady at the mall, the same woman as last time. “Yeah you could say that,” Ashley mumbled as she stood there in just her bra. “Well I’m jealous. I’ve been a B-cup for like, ever.” How this lady managed to spot Ashley the moment she entered the store was beyond her. “Can we make this quick? I’m late for my gym appointment.” “Well I’m going to have to measure you. It’s required, as I’m sure you know.” Ashley knew. It was another of the Moral Code’s new requirements. Apparently someone in the Central Office didn’t want women walking around wearing the wrong bra size. It was a good thing they hadn’t spotted Ashley. Hers cut into her sides, and the cups contained only half of each breast, forcing the rest out over the top. “That looks pretty uncomfortable,” said the saleslady. Ashley murmured a curse word under her breadth and undid the clasp, revealing her breasts in all their glory. Objectively speaking, they were about average for her frame, but to Ashley they felt enormous, especially on display for a stranger. She winced as a tape measure was wrapped across her nipples. “34C,” the saleslady announced with bravado. So she had gone up a size in both the band and the cups. Growing up she always wished for bigger boobs, but now she wasn’t so sure. They jiggled more, they attracted too much attention, and going braless was a lot harder to pull off. When she tried it at home, her little brother kept staring. So she purchased three of them in a 34C. The saleslady flagged her on the way out. “Can I interest you in a bikini?” * * * Ashley had always had really nice legs—well, as nice as they could be at 5’3”. Once upon a time, the natural curve of her hips gave them a feminine shape without much feminine padding. Her sleek thighs had attracted more than their fair share of glances. Now her legs were becoming her biggest problem area. If she were taller, it might create at least the illusion of tone, but as it was, the best she could do was hide her squishy thighs under a flowy skirt. You couldn’t wear one every day, though. She was learning there were many ways to hide a softer waistline, but thighs like these? Women’s cut jeans only advertised them to all the world. It also made exercising feel different than it used to. It was hard to describe—she tired more quickly for one, but her softer legs also felt less nimble. She would will them to move in a certain way, but they refused. Her thighs brushed together, her wider hips swayed, and her bottom quivered whenever she tried to run. All this made trips to the gym less appealing. She felt she’d made real progress by the end of last month, and now to have to set the treadmill back to an easier level was disheartening. Dieting was also getting old fast. Halfway through the month, she was back down to a B-cup but still needed a 34-inch band, which frustrated her to no end. Even worse, the pounds seemed to stick to her hips, preventing size sixes from fitting. One evening she got so discouraged that she marched downstairs and announced that she would in fact be having pie for dessert like the rest of her family. It was not the last time she cheated on her diet. For all these reasons, the weight was slower to come off this time around, and as the end of the month loomed closer, she began to dread her next appointment. “How’s the diet going?” asked Noelle. “It’s going fine, I guess.” “Keep it up, Ashley, you’ll get there,” said Carrie. “I mean, you’re looking so much thinner already,” she lied. “You mean in the boobs?” Ashley managed half a smile. “That’s always the first place to lose it,” said Noelle. “I know,” Carrie added, “why can’t it come off the hips first?” <Hah!> Carrie was super slim, and Ashley doubted she’d ever had to diet in her life. She shifted on the bench, trying to keep her own rounded hips from gracing the girls next to her. Sitting was the worst. Everything spread out everywhere. Later that day she faced her bedroom mirror in her best-fitting pair of jeans and a stretchy top. Her mind drifted back to what that boy had said. She was a bit lighter then but only by a few pounds. Were there really people who found her new curves attractive? She studied her reflection. Her hourglass shape was mostly intact, and the top did a nice job highlighting the slender area beneath her bust. Her arms were exposed, softer than before but not all that different, really. She just wished the same were true of her legs. All those hours on the Thighmaster to so little effect. Did that boy really find them sexy? She examined her silhouette. She hated the way her jeans pooched out to meet her tummy. Her once sculpted abs were completely hidden now, buried beneath this slight paunch that was harder to see from the front but from this angle distended out nearly as far as her chest. <I’m sorry> she murmured, <but this is not attractive.> In the back, her jeans traced the round arc of her butt—too round, in her opinion. Curious, she stripped down to her underwear and peered at the mirror over her shoulder. Her ass surged out from the small of her back, escaping out of her underwear and forming a deep crease where it met her thighs. The skin down there was no longer silky smooth. Slight ripples had formed, and she could make out the beginnings of stretch marks. The whole area just looked so embarrassingly plump, even after a month of dieting. And to think, that boy said her ass was sexy. He must have been kidding. Chapter 4 – February When doomsday arrived, Ashley hid in the closet. Maybe if they couldn’t find her, they would forget all about it, and she would have more time to make up for January. It was a wasted month. She remembered walking out of the Treatment Chamber at the beginning of December, weighing 132 pounds. Now here she was two months later, the day the Piper would come knocking, weighing not a pound under that. She was a full month behind. She wished she could do January over again, not gain back that weight at the beginning, not give up so easily when she felt out of breath. If she hid here in the closet, maybe she could steal back a chance to try again. For a while, her plan seemed to be working. She had turned off her phone so no one could track her location. She had no idea how long it had been, but the hunger building up meant that lunch must have come and gone. “I saw her run this way,” came Snape’s voice from down the hall. Ashley held her breath to keep her tummy from rumbling. “What do we have in here?” he snickered as bright light blinded Ashley’s eyes. “Poor thing’s scared to death,” said an aide. “Serves her right,” said the other. “Ashley, my dear,” said Snape. “What are you afraid of?” “Of ripping a seam?” joked an aide. “Or a bra strap?” joked the other. “Now, now, let’s not get personal,” said Snape. “Plus we all know that’s not where the pounds tend to stick.” “Yeah, her biggest problem is behind her.” “Or under her as the case may be.” “Or crammed into her jeans.” “Or into her panties.” “Let go of me!” Ashley shrieked. “I’m not going in that torture device again!” “Oh yes you will,” said Snape. They carried her kicking and screaming down the hall. “No!” she shouted as they restrained her while Ms. Crookershank removed Ashley’s shirt. The ominous dome of the Treatment Chamber rose above them. “Looking good, Ms. Hart,” said an aide while the nurse unzipped her jeans. “Those thighs look…delicious.” “Stop looking at—get away from me!” Ashley shouted. “Leave her underwear on,” said Snape. “We don’t want to get in trouble for harassment.” Ashley started to breathe a sigh of relief. “You better remove the bra, though, just in case.” “In case the titty fairy arrives,” added an aide. “Nooo!” Ashley screamed. “Let me go!” They left her thrashing in vain against her bonds, her bare breasts jiggling as she twisted left and right. And then the tingling hit. “Nooo!” she screamed. This time it didn’t start in just one spot, but erupted everywhere at once, in her fingers and finely painted toes, in her upper arms and legs, in her belly, breasts, and hips, and in the round globes of her ass. “Nooo,” she sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. “Please, make it stop.” But the tingling lingered on and on. At last the door opened and Crookershank returned, flanked by the aides. “Whoa,” said an aide. “Those thighs,” said the other. “Poor girl,” said the first. “Looks like the titty fairy came and then some.” “Shut up, man, she’s been through enough.” Ashley sat up with Ms. Crookershank’s help. She gawked at her breasts, which rested on her belly, which rested in her lap. Below that, her ass spread out against the fabric of the chair, merging with her generous hips. “I’m fat,” whispered Ashley. * * * “You’re not fat,” Carrie insisted. Yes she was. She was pouring out of her Levis—the size eights she’d worn for most of January when nothing smaller would fit, the ones that finally felt loose by the end of the month. “I am, Carrie. Did you know I’m gonna have to buy underwear in a size large?” Her current ones had wedged themselves up between her butt cheeks. Ashley squirmed in her seat, hoping to dislodge them. “I used to wear a small. I’m fat, Carrie. I might as well get used to the idea.” “Look what we got you!” Noelle cut in. She handed Ashley a pink envelope. “For Our Determined Friend,” it read. Inside was a sweet card and a three-month gym membership. During phys. ed. that day, Ashley hid once again on the toilet. Her gym shorts had no chance of fitting, and she wondered if she could even make it once around the track without collapsing. Just climbing the hallway staircase left her winded. She rested her elbows on her soft thighs and buried her face in her hands. As she leaned forward, her stomach formed into rolls. She sat there listening to the high-pitched locker-room chatter. “…looked painted on…” “…her muffin top?” “That’s mean.” “…needs a new bra. Did you see in the back?” “…thunder thighs. Has she no self-respect? Work it off, girl! Spare the rest of us having to look…” That last voice was Carrie’s. Ashley was sure of it. But it didn’t matter. They could tease her, lie to her, humiliate her. She would be impenetrable. She would show them all. She would be the most Determined girl that Roosevelt High had ever laid eyes on. She would lose every last pound. She would run laps around them. She would win beauty contests. She would be the envy of the girls’ locker room, the wet dream of every boy in the school. She locked away her rage deep inside. She would show them all. * * * The first step in her plan involved a trip to the mall. “See, I told you we’d find a pair of mediums that would work! They feel okay?” The spandex gripped her thighs like a pair of boa constrictors. “Yeah they feel great,” said Ashley. “I know…a little tight, huh? But that can be a good thing—help control the jiggle, if y’know what I mean.” The rage bubbled up for an instant, but Ashley forced it down. “So we can check off workout clothes. What else did you need? Bras we have already, panties we have—oh, a dress—” “—for church.” Mom was making her get it. “Right, a dress for church. I know just the thing!” You had to admire this saleslady’s enthusiasm, even if she was obnoxious. Ashley stepped into the dress and fumbled with the zipper. “Need help?” the saleslady called over the door. “I got this!” Ashley snapped as she yanked again at the zipper. The fitting room door swung open. “Here, let me help. Suck in your belly for a moment…” The zipper finally cleared the top of her underwear. Above that, it went up smoothly. “Okay, you can breathe again. What do you think?” The dress showcased her larger breasts without being indecent. From the mid-waist up, it actually looked kind of good. But it was so tight through the hips that Ashley wondered if she might split a seem. She took a deep breath (as deep as the dress allowed) and quelled her rage once again. “Do you have it in a different size?” she asked. “Hmm, try this one…” “It’s not right, either!” Ashley called from the fitting room after trying it on. “See how it gapes up here?” “Hmm, yeah, that’s what I was afraid of… Looks like you’re a size larger on the bottom than you are up top.” But she’d always been a perfect hourglass. “You could buy it in this size and let us tailor it for you. That way we could ensure a proper fit.” But everything had always fit right off the rack… The rage built up again. “Well what size is it?” she blurted out. The saleslady double-checked the tag. “A large, but these tend to run—” Nooo, not another item in a large! The panties were bad enough. The saleslady seemed to read her mind. “You know, the other one looked great in the bust. Are you planning on losing any weight? If you slimmed down even a little, I think the medium would be a good bet.” (Depending on where she lost it from…) “Ok, the medium then.” She didn’t need much convincing. They walked over to the register, and Ashley pulled out her credit card. The saleslady eyed her intently. “Can I—” “—I don’t need a bikini.” Pause. “I know. I was just wondering, are those your only pair of jeans?” The look in Ashley’s eyes told the story. “Maybe we can find another style that flatters your figure in a different way. You’re a…size eight, right?” The saleslady was being nicer this time, and Ashley didn’t know why. New jeans were on her list, but she’d been avoiding them this whole time. Jeans shined a spotlight on the areas she wanted more than anything to hide. But everyone wore them. How could you not? “Here are some that might work,” said the saleslady. “These two are in a boot cut, which should help to even out your hips, and these two—” “—Thanks,” Ashley interrupted. She thumbed through the pile. It was a nice selection. One had a rip along the thigh and another had pink flowers on the pocket. At the bottom of the stack sat one whose tag was a different color than the rest. “Oh yeah,” said the saleslady. “ I know you said size eight, but I brought that last one…just in case.” Just in case. Maybe this girl had been buttering her up just to humiliate her in the end. That’s what her friends did at school. That’s what— . She would show them all. Ashley tried on several pairs with determination. But if she were hoping the new eights would be any looser than her current ones, she’d been fooling herself. She hopped up and down, trying to get this latest pair past her thighs. <Fuuuck!> she whispered. She sucked in her belly and fumbled with the snap. The pair at the bottom stared up at her innocently, the ones with cute stitching along the seams. The dreaded size tens. She finally got the current pair to snap. See? They fit. Hah! She sucked in and spun in the mirror. The creases in the rear weren’t too obvious, she tried to convince herself. She eyed the size tens once again. A part of her yearned to try them on, to feel the comfort of a proper fit. <Fat girls like you wear double-digit sizes—just get used to it> said a voice in her head. She shoved the thought from her brain. She would lose so much weight that size fours would glide up effortlessly. She hung the tens defiantly back on the rack and bought two pairs of the torturous eights: the ones with the rip and the ones with the pink flowers. * * * In the next step of her plan, Ashley ran. And ran and ran. The spandex helped control the jiggle, to an extent. Her new sports bra helped too, a marvel of engineering with reinforced cups and sturdy straps, the recommended style for her new cup size, a 34D. She felt ridiculous putting it on, struggling to keep her breasts centered in the cups while doing up the four hooks in the back, and then having to reach in and adjust each breast again to get halfway comfortable. She still bounced in it when she ran, but it did help. Her program was excruciating—five miles, every day except Sunday. It took her well over an hour to complete it. At first she would intersperse short periods of jogging with long walking breaks to catch her breath. But the breaks grew less and less frequent, and soon each run consisted of one long, steady plod, sweat dripping from her cheeks, her soft legs aching by the end. Ashley was on a mission. Her shock at just how out-of-shape she was hardly fazed her. The jeers and hollow compliments passed right through her. Her eyes fixated on the horizon, on her goal of losing each and every one of these latest thirteen pounds before the month’s end. She cut out every extra calorie, every confectionary comfort beyond what was needed to sustain her grueling regimen. She would show them. She would show them all. Chapter 5 – March Ashley stood shivering in Principal Saruman’s office, wearing the dress she had bought for church. It fit well for the first time. “Yes, Ms. Hart?” Saruman’s voice boomed. She took a deep breath, rehearsing her plan in her mind. “I regret what I said to Jessica last fall. I was wrong to assume that I had a perfect figure and she didn’t.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Everyone has stuff they’re working on, and the only one to judge, is God.” “Indeed, Ms. Hart. Is that what you came here to say to me?” “Yeah.” She took another deep breath. “That, and…Mr. Saruman I’ve been working extremely hard at getting my figure back, despite what that—hideous machine—is doing. I mean I go jogging every day, and I’ve lost nine pounds so far this month.” “Nine pounds, mmm-hmm.” “So I wanted to meet with you because, well I just wanted to ask…Principal I need more time before the next treatment. I wanted to ask if we can delay it, so I can lose more weight before then. It would still be seven total installments, but just this one time could we wait until next month?” Her heart thundered in her chest as she waited for his answer. “Delay it, hmm? And how much do you weigh now?” The question took her aback, but she maintained her composure. “Uh, 135.” “I see. Spin around, please.” Why was he asking this? She turned slowly, praying that the dress didn’t make her butt look too big. “That dress fits you well. What size is it?” “A medium, sir.” “It must be nice, fitting into something you couldn’t wear just four weeks ago,” he said. Ashley pondered what to say. The dress had always “fit,” so to speak. Shortly after she bought it, her mother made her wear it out. She protested, citing how bad it looked, begging to let her stay home—and wear it later after losing some weight. But she lost the argument, and she remembered sitting angrily on the church pew as her stomach cut cruelly into the fabric. It fit much better now, thank goodness. “What was that, Ms. Hart? Speak up.” “Actually, sir, this dress did fit at the beginning of the month, but it was really tight.” “But you could zip it.” “Yes, with difficulty, but—” “You could zip it, right?” “Yes sir.” “So in other words, you haven’t gone down even a single clothing size in a month of dieting.” His comment struck a nerve. Her size-eight jeans now fit comfortably, but sixes were still a hopeless case. Every few days she would try on the same pair, and peer down dejectedly at the flaps that refused to meet. About a week ago, she managed to button them for the first time, but so much flesh escaped over the waistband that she couldn’t imagine actually wearing them. She searched for some excuse, but there was none. She simply hadn’t lost enough to fit into anything smaller than an eight. “But—but I can wear size-medium underwear now instead of a large,” she blurted out. This was not going as planned. Did she really just volunteer her panty size? “What about your bra?” She eyed the door, wishing she had never come. “Um, it’s a 34, a 34C.” “And according to Crookershank’s notes, the same size you’ve been since January.” “That’s not true! After the last treatment I wore a D-cup for—” “Silence, young lady. You’ve requested more time, so we need to determine how you would make use of it. Your diet has proven ineffective. Let’s talk about fitness.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk. “It says here you’re in the bottom third of your class, in terms of speed, agility, and endurance.” “But I’ve been jogging five miles a—” “To what end? To tell you the truth, I’m not surprised by what this report says—not with those soft arms and fat thighs that the dress is doing nothing to hide.” Ashley struggled to find words. “I’m not convinced that postponing the treatment would make any difference. According to Ms. Crookershank, you’ve been dieting for months and you’re still, what, twenty pounds heavier than when you started? That dress may fit better than it did, but your butt looks—enormous in it. Sorry, Mr. Hart, but you’re wasting my time.” He rang a bell and the two aides arrived. Before she could process what just happened, they dragged her down the secret staircase to the Treatment Chamber. The rage she had suppressed all month burst forth within her. <It’s not fair!> her mind screamed. The guards led her to the chair. “You know the drill,” said the taller one. “Take off your clothes and strap yourself in. We’ll be waiting outside.” They left her standing beside the cursed scale, which was sure to read 135, just as it did this morning, and the morning before that. Maybe the principal was right. Maybe this was the lightest she would ever be. She shut her eyes. No, she would toil on. This next month she would show them— But tomorrow, she would be starting again from square one—in fact, worse than square one. For a solid month she’d put herself through hell, never complaining, never wavering for an instant, and in a few minutes she would weigh nearly five pounds more than when she started. A solid month of diligence and still she fell further behind. The rage surged through her veins. And then she saw an opening: a slit of sunlight through the door left ajar. She bolted. Away from that horrid scale, from the torturous chair, from all the leers and taunts, away from all of this. She would run away and never return. She made it as far as the secret staircase before the aids caught her. At 135, speed was not her forte. They dragged her back to the chamber and pushed her to the floor. “Don’t try that again,” said the shorter one as they turned towards the door. Ashley sprung up after them, still set on running. She reached for the doorknob, but the aides easily overpowered her. She might have once been quick, but she had never been very strong, and these were bodybuilding security guards. They left her clawing at the door, which this time they were careful to lock. “Ashley,” boomed a voice over a loudspeaker, “remove your clothes and strap yourself to the chair.” “No!” she screamed. “You can’t make me! I will not go in that thing again!” “Ashley, remove your dress, or you will regret it.” “No! I will not!” She continued to fiddle with the doorknob. And then the red panels flashed on to emit their low-pitched hum, and a fierce tingle erupted in Ashley’s hips and rear. She fell to her knees. “Nooo!” she cried. The tingle spread to her belly and breasts, and she collapsed to the floor. She made one last attempt to push herself up, but the tingle snaked through her arms, and she could only writhe on the floor as her body succumbed to the curse. Soon her dress began to cut into her waist, like when she first tried it on a month ago. Her bra straps gripped her like a vice. It was bad enough going through this strapped immobile to a chair. Experiencing it in motion was pure hell. As she thrashed her legs in protest, she could feel them growing thicker and softer, reabsorbing every pound they’d lost and then some. And then her pretty dress split down the seam, exposing her rounded hip. She watched in horror as the flesh there quivered and inflated before her eyes. * * * Ashley awoke in Ms. Crookershank’s office. She remembered her dress ripping but not much after that. She must have passed out. “I came right away when I heard what happened! Ashley are you alright?” The voice belonged to her duplicitous friend. “Carrie, how sweet of you.” “I don’t know if you’ve seen yet, but it’s really not that bad.” Ashley lifted her neck, trying to see past her bulging breasts. “I hope you’re not mad, but I undid your bra while you were sleeping. It looked super tight.” “Thanks, hon.” “I found this one in your gym locker. Maybe it’ll fit better?” She held up one of the D-cups from last month’s shopping trip. “Also, I bet my mom can sew your dress back together. She’s great with a needle. She could even take it out a little in the waist if you want.” “Wow, Carrie, you’re so thoughtful!” “I try.” “It’s so great to have an honest, kind, loyal friend like you,” Ashley said with syrup in her voice. “Um, thanks…I guess I’ll let you recover some more, then. Hope you feel better, Ashley!” Carrie squeezed her hand and scurried out of the office. “What an obnoxious prick,” said Ms. Crookershank. * * * The next day, Ashley struggled into her workout clothes. They were so tight. They were tight when she bought them last month, but not like this. Or maybe it was just her imagination, after their fitting so well so recently. She was back in the stupid D-cup sports bra with the super-wide straps, back in the size-L panties that had sat unworn in her dresser for weeks. Her run brought everything cruelly into focus. All her training had evaporated overnight, and she was the same out-of-shape, overweight girl she’d been a month ago—except now with extra padding on her hips and brand new stretch marks on her ass. She slowed to a walk after less than a mile. Had jogging been this hard after last month’s procedure? Or did it just seem worse now after her recent string of personal bests—54 minutes, 53 minutes, 51 minutes. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Judging by today, it would be weeks before she could match those times. After a depressing shower, she pulled her favorite size-eight jeans out of the dresser. She and this this pair had been through a lot together. She bought them back in December, to give her legs room to breathe when she didn’t feel like squeezing into a six. She only had to wear them a few times that month, but in January they became her go-to pair. It was always a relief to slide them on after fighting with a skirt that wouldn’t zip. In February they were her nemesis, a prime motivation to lose enough weight that her hips and tummy would stop spilling out. They fit comfortably again by the end of that month—just two days ago, in fact. And now, just like her sports attire, they were tighter than they had ever been. She could barely even button them. Maybe she grabbed a size six by mistake? No, it was the eights. She checked the tag twice after sliding them off in defeat. There was still time before dinner to drop the dress off at the tailor’s. Her mom had gone ballistic when saw the damage. “That dress cost a hundred dollars!” she shouted. “You think money grows on trees?” “But I didn’t mean to rip it, mom!” No one seemed to understand what she was going through…except maybe that lady at the mall. She’d been so helpful last time in finding clothes that minimized Ashley’s flaws. Maybe she would offer to fix the dress for free? That would avoid letting Carrie’s mom do it. Carry could go drown in a lake. Ashley showed the saleslady the dress, blushing. “Do you want me to let it out a couple inches when we sew it?” the lady offered. “I think you better,” whispered Ashley. On the way out she scanned through the aisles, wondering what styles she could still pull off. And then she saw them, hanging on the rack exactly where she left them: the size-ten jeans with the cute details at the seams. No. She refused. She would lose the weight and fit back comfortably into a size eight. Again. She sighed. The pair she had on cut deep into her belly with each breath. She thought of yesterday’s run, and how much energy it had taken just to go a mile without stopping. How many more runs like that would it take before her jeans finally buttoned properly? She looked longingly at the tens. It would only be temporary. She could leave the tags on and return them next week after losing a few pounds. As she lifted them off the rack, a second pair caught her eye: boot cut in a dark blue, size 10-S. If she were returning them anyway, why not buy enough to get through the week? “Sure you don’t want a third?” asked the saleslady at the counter. “It’s buy two, get one half-off.” It was an offer Ashley could not refuse. When she tried the new jeans on again that evening and felt how comfortably they hugged her curves, she knew in the back of her mind that for the time being, her favorite pair of eights were being retired. As she folded them neatly away, they waived a sad farewell. * * * A week passed by. Some days the scale read 148, other days 149. She winced each time the higher number appeared. It was so close to the dreaded 1-5-0, but she simply couldn’t bear to stuff herself into that sports bra one more time, to stretch those spandex over her squishy bottom, only to feel it shake with every footfall, as her thighs rubbed together and her lungs burned. First she had skipped last Wednesday, then Friday, then Saturday. And when she set out again on Monday and found herself even shorter of breath after the three-day absence, she didn’t even bother to finish the circuit. She had walked for most of it anyway—why bother? So the sports bra lay in her drawer, gathering dust, and she bought more regular ones in a 34D so she could do the laundry less often. Her diet was also going nowhere. After her depressing attempts at exercise, she decided to see if eating an actual meal beforehand helped. It did, sort of. But as the workout sessions trailed off, the meals remained. Each day she made up a new excuse. A big test tomorrow. A rough day today. Or her favorite one—that maybe her body would realize it was thirty-five pounds heavier than it should be and lose the weight on its own. But of course that never happened, and gliding her soft legs into the size-ten jeans gradually became second nature. Her only solace was the conversation she overheard in the hallway one morning. “Think she’s still hot?” “She still has red hair and a pretty face.” Ashley smiled. She’d always had lovely hair. “What about her body, dude?” Pause. “No comment,” said a third voice. “There’s your answer.” “Her ass has gotten huge. You like that shit?” Pause. “I think it’s hot how her legs and…yeah her butt, are where most of the weight goes. She’s getting curvier and can’t do anything about it. I do find that sexy.” Really? Ashley tried to see who said it, but the hallway was too crowded. The voice sounded different from the one in the lunchroom, though. Were there actually more than one person at her school who found her pear-shaped body attractive? “Ashley!” called her mother. “Stop daydreaming and get ready for church!” Ashley let out a deep sigh. She tossed her jeans and sweatshirt onto the bed and paused in front of the mirror. Last month she never looked there. She wanted to focus on the end goal, not the current reality. Now, that goal was slipping further away with each passing day. She stared at the chubby girl in the mirror, wondering what that boy at school could possibly see in her. Couldn’t he see the deep crease formed by her bra band? The layer of fat that covered everything now, from her wrists, to her collar bone, to her softer chin? If he touched her, and his fingers sank into her spongy waist, would he find that sexy too? When he felt how easily the flesh on her bottom yielded to his caress? She pulled the altered dress off its hanger, still wrapped in plastic from the tailor’s. It zipped up without any trouble. But when she looked in the mirror she frowned. Back when she wished her boobs would grow more, she imagined how sexy a pair of Ds would be. Now that she had them, she wasn’t too impressed. They were heavy and annoying but didn’t look all that special in the context of her padded tummy and flaring hips. It was nice that the dress no longer pinched in those places, but the looser fabric seemed to give her new curves permission to fill the extra space. She thought of what that boy had said. Out-of-control curves didn’t seem very attractive to her. “Ashley!” “Coming mom!” She slipped on a pair of heels that she hoped would add some tone to her legs where the dress left them exposed. It hung down to the knee, thank goodness, for the region above that was utterly hopeless. Chapter 6 – April A sick feeling formed in the pit of Ashley’s stomach as she approached the Treatment Chamber. All the excuses and rationalizations that made so much sense at the time now made none at all. <It doesn’t matter—I’m already a size ten. How much worse could it get?> she had reasoned. <In just a few more days I’ll start my diet.> But she never did. <All the effort will just be wiped away anyway, so why bother?> How could she have been so stupid? The realization had finally hit that another treatment would push her over 160 lbs. She had no idea what dress size that amounted to. She didn’t even want to know. She rushed to diet in the final week, and ran every afternoon. By the third day it wasn’t even that painful. Why had she waited so long? She weighed herself obsessively each morning—149, 149, 148, 148—and then today, 147.5 on the official scale. As the cursed machinery sprang to life, the queasiness in her stomach intensified. In the past, she had felt confusion at this moment. Or self-resentment. Or rage. Now, all she felt was dread. She squeezed her eyes shut as her hips and belly began to tingle and churn. A gasp escaped her lips as spikes of heat shot down her arms and legs all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. If past experience was any measure, it was time for the torture to end, but it lingered on, snaking through her body, settling in her cheeks, in her soft breasts and cushy bottom. At last the humming ceased, and the sensations dulled and finally faded away, all except for the sick feeling in her stomach. She lay there perfectly still, afraid to open her eyes, afraid to move. “Ashley, onto the scale…” said Ms. Crookershank. “Onto the scale, Ashley… Ashley…” Breathe, in and out. If she found a way to lie here forever, she would never need to know how her body looked or felt. Breathe, in and out, in and— Two strong sets of hands lifted her by the shoulders. She felt her chest wobble, felt flesh slide against flesh, but she drowned out the sensations. Breathe. “Place her feet there,” Crookershank instructed. A gruff voice called out, “We’re going to let go. You better stand up on your own.” The hands released, and the full weight of Ashley’s body pressed down against the soles of her feet. She shuddered at the difference… Breathe. “162.3 pounds,” the nurse announced. Ashley’s stomach did another somersault. <Don’t panic> she told herself, <you knew it would be that much.> Breathe. Breathe. * * * Breathe, breathe. “Ashley, come down for dinner!” “I’m not coming, mom! Eat without me!” Ashley had locked herself in her room all afternoon and lay with her face under a pillow. Her back was sore from lying still for so long, but each time she shifted positions, her new reality would present itself—pillowy thighs pressing together, a hand brushing against softness where it wasn’t supposed to be. Why hadn’t she dieted sooner last month? She could have lost six or seven pounds—five at the very least. If she were five pounds lighter, maybe her butt wouldn’t sink so far into the mattress. “Ashley, you’ve been in there all afternoon! What in the world is wrong?!” What was wrong? She had stretchmarks on her hips, that’s what. She hadn’t looked yet, but she could feel them with her fingers—tiny indentations in the soft skin. “Ashley!” Her mother banged on the door. “You want to know what’s wrong?” Ashley screamed. “Fine, I’ll show you!” She stomped across the room, ignoring the ripples of motion this caused. “See?” She swung open the door. “I had another appointment today. This is what they did to me!” Tears streamed down her rounded cheeks. “Look at your fat daughter.” “Oh, honey, don’t say that, you’re not—” “—Mom, I looked it up. I’m officially overweight, by over twenty pounds.” “Honey—” “Actually, I discovered today that I was overweight for all of last month, too, but I didn’t do anything about it. So now with another ten percent on top of that, I’m a whole lot more overweight.” “You could start back with the jogging again. That seemed to be doing some good…” Ashley’s voice dropped to a whisper. “So everyone can watch my chest bounce around? Or stare at my fat butt? Do you have any idea what that’s like?” Her mom was slim, like Ashley had been. “You could start back on your diet—” Ashley slammed the door. The next morning she sat at the breakfast table, trying not to eat too much cereal. It was hard after skipping dinner. “Are you going to school, Ashley? You’re not even dressed.” “Mom, I can’t get dressed because I don’t own any clothes that fit.” Her mother sighed. “Here’s my credit card. You can skip school today and go to the mall.” Ashley just glared at her, but Mom shot back a stone-cold look that meant, ‘Do as I say or I’m throwing you out of the house.’ So Ashley squeezed into her stretchiest pair of sweats and her loosest top, and marched off. “Welcome back!” exclaimed the saleslady, an eager smile on her face. Ashley looked her in the eye. “I don’t get it. Don’t you even wonder why I gain all this weight?” The woman shrugged. “Not my job to wonder. It’s to sell you clothes.” Then her voice grew softer. “I know, sweetie. It’s not your fault. You diet and you exercise, and still your weight creeps higher and higher.” That sounded about right. “You slip up, eat a few desserts, and the next thing you know, you’re up another dress size. I’ve heard it before. Sweetie, you gotta stop beating yourself up over it. Sometimes these things are beyond anyone’s control.” Was that what it was like—for regular fat people? She thought of Jessica Parrington. Did she feel like Ashley did, her weight spiraling upwards no matter how many hours she logged at the gym? No, Ashley thought, Jessica probably hadn’t been to one in weeks. She probably can’t even stick to a diet. Just like Ashley. * * * The next day, the despondent redhead stood at her locker gathering her books. She was running late after trying on three different outfits that morning. The first two made her tummy look too obvious. They seemed better at the store, but maybe only because the others she had tried looked even worse. The bell rang. Crap! Mr. Tweetleberg gave a detention if you showed up more than one minute late. Ashley sprinted to class. Her chest shook in protest, even in the sturdy new bra she wore. It embarrassed her and even hurt a little. Once, could slip on a tank top with minimal built-in support, and that would be enough. Then she thought of yesterday… “You may wear these home,” Mr. Crookershank had said, handing Ashley a roomy pair of shorts and a stretchy t-shirt. “This time I don’t think anything you had on before is going to work.” Ashley slipped into the top, but it offered no support at all. She shot the woman a pleading glance. These days she hated going without a bra—she just felt so all-over-the-place. “Sorry, we don’t give out undergarments,” Crookershank explained. “District policy.” So Ashley walked home with her arms clutching her chest the entire way. She had discovered the next morning that the nurse was right: her D-cup bras fit horribly. On the way out the door, she wrapped a scarf around her neck to camouflage things as best she could. “So you want me to find you a bra you can wear home, or what?” asked the lady at the mall. Ashley adjusted the scarf. “It’s that obvious…that I’m not wearing one?” “Kind of, yeah.” Ashley soon learned she had gone up another cup size. She feared as much. Her only solace was that her band size remained the same. The 34 was snug but not uncomfortable. The saleslady said it had to be snug to give enough support. Then why did she still bounce so much when she tried to run? Answer that one… Ashley made it to class in the nick of time. She sat in the middle row as Mr. Tweetleberg droned on about checks and balances. There was a test on Friday but Ashley couldn’t concentrate. She kept catching glances in her direction. She was sure they staring at her tummy—how it bulged out over her brand new jeans, forming two distinct rolls. Her t-shirt stretched across them, hiding nothing. She tried sucking in, but the rolls remained, plain as day. An old grandfather clock sat against the far wall. She focused on its tick to calm her nerves… “I know what you’re thinking,” the saleslady had said. “That the jeans I’m holding look huge.” They did. “But clothes that fit always look better, regardless of the number on the tag. Take a look at the jeans I’m wearing. Can you guess what size they are?” Probably a ten, thought Ashley. The woman’s legs were nothing to write home about. They looked like hers had looked in March. “What do you think, a six? An eight?” “An eight,” Ashley guessed, being polite. “They’re actually a ten. Can you believe it? It’s all about the fit, and the cut. So here’s what I want you to do. Try these on without looking at the tag, and then tell me what you think, okay?” Ashley slid into the jeans, hopping up and down to get them past her hips. She snapped them, and felt her stomach press against the fabric as she breathed. “What do you think, are they too loose? I don’t think so. They look pretty good actually—they give your butt a nice lift.” Ashley turned in the mirror. Weren’t dark colors supposed to make things look smaller? “Try sitting,” the saleslady instructed. “That’s always a good test.” Ashley tried it, and watched the rolls form… The clock struck nine. Still half an hour to go before the bell. Ha! Jimmy Lang had looked. Right at her belly, or maybe at her thighs. She raised them off the chair, balancing on tiptoe. They looked a bit smaller when they weren’t squished against the seat. This lecture was killing her. Why did they teach the same thing every year? When would they get to the good stuff, like the riots and the scandals and the smoky affairs with student interns? She listened to the ticking of the clock… At the store, Ashley brushed her fingers along the folds in her stomach, frowning. “You must have gained pretty quickly if you’ve never noticed that before.” “Maybe I should stick to elastic,” said Ashley. The saleslady laughed. “I was actually closer to your weight at one point. What are you, like 150, 155?” “Something like that.” “I remember I used to hate going to restaurants in jeans, ’cause you have to sit for so long. I always wanted to unzip right there under the table. That’s how Ashley felt at that very moment. “You sure they’re not too small?” “Stand up again. No, I wouldn’t say so. Things are going to fit a bit differently now…with the bigger belly and all. It’s something we can talk about more when we move on to tops—which styles work, what to avoid—” The woman drawled on, but Ashley tuned her out, consumed by how her stomach looked in the jeans. Her body had always preferred to store fat elsewhere, but this last fifteen pounds had pushed things past their limit. Her thighs and rear made every effort to absorb as much as they possibly could, but the remainder had landed, depressingly, on her belly. Mirrors lined the dressing room walls, and Ashley saw her altered proportions reflected from every angle… Two girls behind her giggled. Ashley spun around to see who. “Ashley!” Mr. Tweetleberg shouted. “Are you paying attention?” “Yes sir, sorry.” She hadn’t seen. If it was Carrie, she would wring her neck. The clock ticked on… “Now I want you to try these,” said the saleslady as she held up another pair of jeans. “These are tighter,” Ashley observed after fastening the button. “Hmm, yeah this is what I was afraid of. They’re not too bad, but I don’t like how they dig in here.” She touched Ashley’s rounded hips. “And these creases in the back—I think this pair is just a little too small in the butt.” Ashley agreed. “Okay, ready to know what size they are?” She cringed. “Not really.” “These are a twelve, and the first pair was a fourteen. I know it sounds big, but—” Her heart sank. It was even worse than she thought… The bell finally rang. As Ashley rose from the chair, the rolls disappeared, but her stomach still sloped out diagonally in front of her. The size fourteens she wore offered plenty of fabric to accommodate that. In fact, her belly pushed her jeans out slightly further than her chest—than her DD-sized chest. It was humiliating. How could she have let this happen? Why did she eat so many calories? Why didn’t she do more sit-ups? Why did she let herself gain so much weight? * * * “I know what you’re thinking, Ashley,” said her new personal trainer. “That you’re out of shape. That you haven’t exercised in months!” Well, actually, in February— “It’s gonna be tough, I’m not gonna lie. You’re gonna complain! You’re gonna sweat! You’re gonna feel out of breath…” Okay, she did know that feeling. “But you gotta persevere! No pain, no gain! Ashley, I want you to put in 110%.” The irony went right over his head. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll try.” She placed her feet on the treadmill. The trainer blew the whistle and off she went. “That’s good, that’s good! Try not to swing your hips so much.” She could feel them swaying, but trying to prevent it made her stride feel even more awkward. “Ok, never mind, never mind! Just run naturally. Alright, I’m gonna increase the speed!” Barely five minutes had passed, and already she felt short of breath. Everything jiggled—her thighs, her upper arms, and worst of all, the fat on her belly. As the trainer stood behind her, Ashley was sure he was staring at her ass. She could feel the motion back there too and could only imagine how it must look. The speed continued to increase, and she started to fall behind. With every footfall, the straps of her sports bra yanked against her shoulders as her chest moved in a figure-eight. “Steady breathing, steady breathing!” the trainer instructed. “I’m gonna push the speed up one more notch…” “No!” Ashley shrieked. But it was too late. One thigh collided with the other, and she tumbled to the floor. The machine came wheezing to a stop as the safety mechanism engaged. “Are you alright?” the trainer asked. “Okay, let’s move on to sit-ups!” So Ashley lay on the mat, her shoulder throbbing where it hit the handrail. “I want to see fifty. Ready, go!” Ashley leaned forward, pushing with all her might. “One,” <pant> “two,” <pant, pant> “three…” It was an exercise in torture. She watched her stomach form back into rolls, and then spill over her shorts as her elbows met her knees. She could feel the trainer’s eyes on her too—that young, handsome man who once-upon-a-time would have asked for her number. “Twenty-two,” <pant, pant, pant> “twenty-threeee—” she fell back against the mat. “Twenty-threeeeee—” She collapsed again. “Ten more, Ashley. You can do it!” She couldn’t. She brought her hands to her stomach, trying to massage the cramping muscles through the layers of flab. Her breath came in short bursts. Her head spun. The room blurred and faded to black. * * * “Stand on the scale please, Ashley.” 162.1 lbs., it read. “At your weight and fitness level, I’m going to recommend a lighter workout routine.” “But doctor, don’t you see? These workouts are how I’m gonna lose the weight.” “No, Ashley. If you pass out again like you did today, you could get hurt. Long and steady wins the race.” But she had to lose fifteen pounds before May. “Okay,” she proposed, “then I’ll scale back the exercise and scale up the diet.” “I don’t recommend that either. You do need to lose some weight, but too much, too fast is not healthy. One to two pounds a week would be a good goal for you. And if some weeks you lose less than that, that’s okay too. Over the next three to five months, see if you can get down to 140 and hold steady at that weight.” 140? In three to five months? Sorry, no. The doctor read the look on her face. “Societal pressure to be thin is very strong, I’m well aware of that. But some girls put on weight more easily than others. Not everyone can be a size four.” Ashley touched her pudgy belly. “You’re telling me this is healthy?” “You could stand to lose a few inches around the waist, there’s no question. Just don’t expect to wake up next week with washboard abs. Or next month. Or maybe ever. And that’s okay.” No it wasn’t. She absolutely would be a size four again. She would look down and see nothing but smooth, flat skin from her bust to her hips. “I’ve written up a new diet and fitness schedule that my secretary will fax over to your trainer. That’s my final word, Ashley.” He ignored the pleading look in her eyes. * * * Two weeks passed. The stares and whispers at school grew less and less frequent and finally disappeared. At first Ashley felt relieved, but she soon began to miss all the attention. She would see a cute boy in the hall and put an extra swing in her step to catch his eye, and he would walk right past as if she weren't even there. When she used to enter class, heads would turn. Now she mostly just got hellos from her friends. Was this how all overweight girls were treated? She felt invisible. One can only imagine Ashley’s surprise, then, when she found the note in her locker. She read it twice: “You probably don’t remember who I am, but I’ve had a crush on you since January. I think you’re super pretty. Would you like to go to the movies this Friday? Your secret admirer, George. p.s. I’m in your third period study hall. I’m not some creepy stalker.” At first Ashley thought it must be a joke, but the next day a shy boy approached her at lunch. “Hi, I’m George.” “Hi George,” said Ashley. He was a bit white in the face, but otherwise very attractive. “I wrote the note,” he said. “I figured.” “So what do you say?” “Wait a second, aren’t you the one from Noelle’s party last summer? We had a heated conversation about Justin Bieber, but I think both of us were drunk.” “Yeah that was me.” “Well why didn’t you ask me out then?” She smiled. “I gave off every sign, but you seemed oblivious.” “Uh, yeah. I think I was dating someone at the time.” She could tell that was a lie, but she didn’t push it. She wished he had asked her out then instead of now. What did he see in her anyway? Was he one of those odd admirers of her curves? “So what’s your answer?” he asked. “Alright, I’ll go with you, but I have to be home by midnight.” “Cool, see you then.” “See you then.” And just like that, Ashley had a date. * * * “Twenty-three,” <pant> “twenty-four,” <pant, pant> “twenty-five.” She lay back on the mat to catch her breath. “I did it!” “Nice goin’, Ashley, nice goin’! I think we’ll wrap it up there.” “You don’t think another ten minutes on the Stairmaster?” “Definitely not! Ashley, you look exhausted.” She felt exhausted, too. But she wanted so badly to slim down before Friday, even just a little. She had only managed to lose two pounds so far and was still wearing mostly fourteens. “I would push you more,” said the trainer, “but, doctor’s orders.” Ashley sighed. When he said that, there was no convincing him. Even worse, she had begun to realize the doctor was right. She thought his program would be super easy, but it wasn’t. In fact, some of the items were still beyond her. Twenty pushups? Ha! Try twelve. She was still coming to grips with the extra pounds she carried, how they taxed her endurance, made pushups so much harder. She felt it at other times too. Stairs seemed steeper now, and everyone seemed to walk everywhere so quickly without waiting for her to catch up. At school she would come up with excuses to get out of gym. She would forge a doctor’s note or pretend she was on her period. She hated exercising in front of her classmates. She was slower than almost all of them, and thought she looked fat in her gym clothes. So these sessions with the trainer were her only exercise. She wished she could push harder, burn a few more calories, build more tone in her legs, but as she collapsed on the mat at the end of each workout, she secretly thanked the doctor for being realistic about what she could handle. When Friday arrived, Ashley spent hours getting ready. Normally she would be dressed in under ten minutes, especially for a first date with a guy she hardly knew, but today was different. It was her first official date in months, and she wanted it to be perfect. She wore her nicest new top and a skirt that showed off her hips (Noelle’s suggestion). She painted her nails and did and redid her eye makeup. Then she assessed the result. Ashley stared at her reflection. This was the best she could do? The makeup did so little to conceal the roundness of her face, and the skirt left too much thigh exposed. Her top was empire cut, designed to highlight her slimmer upper torso, but it also seemed to showcase the curve of her belly. She checked the clock—it was too late to cancel on him. So she tried letting her hair down. That was a little better—the red brought out the blue in her eyes. Then she tried adjusting her bra and undoing the top button on her shirt. Maybe her cleavage would distract him from the flaws below. She grabbed her purse and headed out the door. “Ashley!” her mom called after. “Button up! I will not have my daughter walking around like a tramp!” But Ashley was already long gone. * * * “I had an awesome time tonight,” said George, as they sat in his car after the movie. He had acted the gentlemen all evening, holding doors for her and smiling at just the right moments. “I had fun too,” said Ashley—in fact, the most fun she’d had in months. Several times she got so lost in his eyes that she forgot all about how she looked. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. Then he undid the second button on her shirt. Her bra came into view, a black lace demi. He traced his hand along the creamy flesh that sat above it. For the first time ever, Ashley appreciated her new cup size. George grew more adventurous. His left hand curved around her hip and past the hem of her skirt. She felt his fingers on her naked thigh, felt her nipple harden as he teased it through her bra. Her pulse quickened. She touched his broad shoulder and squeezed his rock-hard bicep. In turn he squeezed her squishy thigh. Then he inched higher, pulling her skirt up to her panty line. He squeezed again, at the spot where her thigh was the fattest. He clutched her by the waist and lifted her onto his lap—or tried to anyway. She watched his strong arms strain as his fingers sank deep into her sides. She helped by pushing with her feet, and landed heavily in his lap with her skirt bunched up around her waist. She felt her ass squish against his firm thighs. Her hips were so much wider than his that several inches of flesh hung off his lap on either side. He cupped one of the soft globes of her butt, and she cringed. Since her last treatment, she had looked back there only once, and when she saw what a fat mess her ass had become, she was scared to look again. But the image stuck in her mind, how the cellulite began about halfway down, growing more pronounced until it reached its worst point right where his hand now lay. She felt him squeeze and kneed the dimpled flesh. And suddenly she grew hyper aware of everything, how her double chin formed when she opened her mouth to kiss him, how her plump upper arm pressed against the side of her bra, how her ass must feel in his hand. He had finished unbuttoning her shirt, and her stomach sat exposed, with its thick rolls that escaped out over her skirt. He continued to kneed her ass. Her fat, squishy ass. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. And then louder, “I’m sorry, this is making me self-conscious.” His hand stopped moving and came to rest on her thigh. “About what?” “About those!” She pointed to where his hand lay. “And this!” She gripped the rolls at her waist, thick enough to fill her entire hand. “How can you find this attractive?” “But your thighs are sexy,” said George. “So lush and squeezable.” “They’re not supposed to be squeezable! I don’t want lush thighs. I want thin, toned.” He placed his hand on her stomach next to hers “Your tummy is sexy too. It’s so cute how it spills into your lap.” “No it’s not! It’s gross!” Her voice grew quieter again. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. It just makes me feel fat and unattractive.” * * * Ashley had never noticed George in school before, but now she spotted him everywhere: in the cafeteria, at the drinking fountain, in 3rd period study hall. And each time, she either hid or fled. He had done nothing wrong. When she asked to be taken home, he complied with grace and chivalry. But whenever she saw him, she could think only of his hands on her cushy thighs and bottom, his eyes staring at her tummy rolls. How could he find any of that sexy? Her weight stood at 159—or 158 first thing in the morning on a good day. She had finally cleared the 160-pound hurdle, but it had taken nearly the entire month. She had stuck to her diet, too, for the most part: low carbs with lots of fruits and vegetables. The weight just took its sweet time disappearing, especially from the hips on down. She was still ten pounds from where she hoped to be, with less than a week remaining. Ashley blamed it on too little exercise. Desperate, she took to jogging again. <Let them stare> she muttered. But after barely half a mile the Feeling returned: the burning in her legs and the desperate sense that no matter how hard she breathed she still couldn’t get enough air. She tried to ignore it. <Plow on> she told herself. But her legs felt like jiggly leaden weights she could barely lift off the ground. She walked for a minute to catch her breath. Then she took off again but the Feeling soon returned. Once more she rested, then ran again and rested. And by then her poor legs had had it. At home she collapsed on the couch, a towel beneath her to catch the dripping sweat. Her phone said she’d been out less than 25 minutes. A hand found its way to her belly. It felt a bit smaller now but still had the consistency of Jell-O, even after all those sit-ups. The four pounds she’d managed to lose were such a tiny drop in the bucket. Her leggings were a size 12 and still cut deep into her hips. And next week the Piper would come to collect his final payment. She could barely remember what she was even being punished for. For her vanity? For her snide remarks about other girls? Or for letting her weight spiral out of control? For cheating on her diet, for watching TV when she could have been exercising? For failing to complete even the doctor’s minimal fitness program? It all seemed to blur together in her mind. In a few days she would be pouring out of all her clothes again, and she hardly even blamed the curse. It felt to Ashley like she had gained all this weight on her own. Chapter 7 – May Ashley shuttered with embarrassment as Mr. Crookershank took her pre-treatment weight and measurements. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” said the nurse. “You lost over thirty pounds in six months. Most women would be overjoyed.” “I didn’t lose nearly enough,” Ashley muttered. “I dieted, I slaved away at the gym…but it was never enough…” her voice trailed off. The nurse stared at her kindly, waiting for her to go on. “Strap me in,” said Ashley, “I know I deserve it.” Crookershank raised an eyebrow. “I was supposed to lose fifteen pounds this month and I only lost five.” The nurse touched Ashley’s softened shoulder. “Alright honey, lie down and try to relax as best you can. They say it gets more intense each time.” The humming began and Ashley tingled from head to toe. She didn’t fight it. This time she let it come with calm resignation. Images began to flash through her brain. First she was out on the field playing capture the flag, in short shorts and a pink sports bra, her firm ass on display, her body feeling light as a feather. Then she stood in the fitting room, fighting with the zipper on her jeans. “This is what I feared,” said the saleslady. “With those hips, a size six is a stretch for you.” In the next scene her gym outfit hugged her thighs and heaving chest. Sweat dripped from her face as she ran as if through quicksand. She blinked again and felt George’s hands on her squishy ass. “I’ve gained some weight since last summer,” said Ashley. “I guess you probably noticed.” She could hear the chamber humming as the flesh back there tingled and expanded between his fingers. She blinked again. “Just five more! You got this, Ashley!” She made it halfway through one more sit-up and fell back against the matt, panting for breath. She pressed her hand into her stomach, searching for the firm muscles that once were visible to the world, but all she could find was layer upon layer of flab. The tingling finally ceased. Ms. Crookershank removed the constraints, but Ashley did not sit up. She just lay there, taking it all in. “How do you feel, Ashley?” asked the nurse. She breathed in deeply as the images faded from her mind. She felt fat, there was no other way to describe it. “Do you need to rest for a bit?” “I think I can manage,” said Ashley. She learned forward but the pressure of the fat bunching up around her waist sent her sprawling back against the chair. She tried again, and with the nurse’s help, she managed to sit up, her trunk-like legs dangling off the edge. Her breasts sagged heavily against her stomach, straining her back a little. She peered down. What remained of her waistline surged outward in all directions, yet her hips still managed to thrust out even further to either side. “Can you stand up on your own? Here, let me help.” A firm tug brought Ashley to her feet. Her chest and stomach jostled as her toes hit the floor. A few heavy, hesitating steps brought her face-to-face with the digital reading. “173 on the nose,” Mr. Crookershank announced. “Sixty pounds almost…” Ashley whispered. “That’s correct, sweetheart. I have you starting at 114. You might feel tired during physical activity as your body adjusts to the weight. As you might remember from the brochure, none of those 59 pounds is muscle. I want you to take it easy the next few days. Try not to overexert yourself—I’ll write you a note to get out of gym. But you should try light exercise as soon as you feel up to it. You need to lose some weight. At 5’3”, you’re officially obese.” She held out some loose-fitting clothes to wear. “Thank you, Ms. Crookershank,” said Ashley, fighting back tears. She could feel the pull of her stomach with every breath, and it made her wonder what even light exercise would feel like now. Her hand crept underneath it, as if to relieve some of the weight. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” said the nurse with genuine sympathy. A few minutes later, a red-faced Ashley climbed the final steps into the main hallway, wiping tiny beads of sweat from her forehead. She plodded over to the drinking fountain, but the school bell rang just as her eager lips met water. Streams of students began pouring into the hallway. “Ohhh no,” Ashley whispered. She tried to make a break for it, but the pain from her sloshing breasts convinced her otherwise. So she clutched her chest and half-trotted, half-waddled towards the exit. Then she froze. In front of her stood a wide-eyed Carrie, hand at her mouth. “Omygosh, Ashley!” “Leave me alone,” she panted. Carrie stared on at Ashley’s receding figure, her ass shaking violently under the skimpy shorts as she sauntered towards the door. At home Ashley collapsed on the couch, tired even from the short trip home. She clutched her belly like a pregnant woman. She felt so fat, felt every one of her 173 pounds, felt them in the soles of her feet that ached from the walk, in her wide butt that sank deep into the cushions, and in her back, sore from the weight of her breasts. She was only ten percent heavier than yesterday, but it felt like way more, like she had crossed a line from overweight to unequivocally fat—obese, as the nurse had put it. That was exactly how she felt as she leaned back against the cushions, cradling her belly in her arms. * * * After a long while, Ashley peeled herself off the couch and trudged upstairs. She peered into her bedroom closet and sighed. Dresses and tops in various sizes stared back. The smalls hung at the far left, unworn for months. Then came the mediums and finally the larges purchased in April when nothing else fit. She saw the dress that was altered to accommodate her expanding curves—twenty-five pounds ago. No amount of tailoring could make it fit now. Turning to her dresser, she pulled out her roomiest pair of jeans and slid them up her legs. Every inch was a struggle. They buttoned only because the fat at her waist was so pliable. She hid the spillover under a sweatshirt and headed off to the mall. “See? This is the problem,” Ashely explained. She bit her lip and then folded her t-shirt up around her chest, exposing her bulging hips and belly. “Oh no!” said the saleslady “I was actually down about five pounds, but then…” Ashley fought for words. “Then you gained it back and then some? It happens, sweetheart. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” “I think I’m gonna have to go up a size, as much as I hate to admit it.” “I’m sorry,” said the saleslady. “Those are a fourteen, right?” “Uh huh. Well, like you said, I’d rather wear pants that fit. Can you show me what you have?” “I’m sorry,” she said again, “it’s just that—well we don’t carry anything larger.” “You don’t? Why not?” “It’s just not the market we cater to. Kind of silly if you ask me, but whatever.” Yeah whatever, thought Ashley. “I can call my friend who works at Curves,” the saleslady offered. “That’s the plus-size place just down the way.” “So I’m plus-sized now?” asked Ashley dejectedly. “Well, technically yes.” “But why can’t…heavier girls shop at the same stores as everyone else?” “I know, like I said, it’s weird.” Weird? More like ‘fucked up’, thought Ashley. She looked around at the cute outfits on display that she could no longer wear. “It’s a stupid policy!” she cursed, and stomped out of the store. “I’m really sorry…” the saleslady called after in her cute, annoying voice. At home Ashley slammed the door to her bedroom. She hadn’t gone to Curves; it was too embarrassing. She would squeeze into the fourteens until she lost enough weight for them to fit properly. There was even still time for the gym before dinner. Her workout clothes would be dicey, but they were made of stretchy fabric and could probably still be worn. She started to open the dresser drawer…but the curve of her stomach caught her eye—her protruding, plus-sized stomach. She thought of how her legs ached—tasked with supporting her plus-sized hips and rear—and how her back felt sore again from the weight of her plus-sized chest. Exercise could wait. She leafed through a magazine while sipping a diet soda. Eventually she glanced back at her phone. It was too late now—the gym would close in half an hour. She would have to go tomorrow. * * * At school the next day, Ashley buried her face in her books. People kept looking at her and whispering, and she halfway wished they would resume treating her like she didn’t exist. During P.E. she gave Ms. Mudville the nurse’s note and watched from the bleachers as her classmates ran laps around the field. It was nice to get off her feet. Three different teachers today had asked them to move their desks into a different shape, and she found it annoying to have to keep standing up. Plus her math class was on the opposite side of school from English. She cursed the bozo administer who planned that one. She leaned back and rested her head on her soft forearms, enjoying the cool spring air. After school she plopped down on the couch. Her back ached and her knees too for some reason. Her bra was killing her so she unhooked it. That felt so much better. She would head to the gym just as soon as she caught her breath from the walk home… “Ashley!” yelled her mom. “Time for dinner!” The cycle repeated. As she moved from class to class, Ashley would devise a grandiose plan for losing all the weight. She would imagine herself light and toned, sprinting around the track just behind the boys. Then she would trudge home and hold up her gym outfit in one hand while the other rested on her gut, and a sort of fear would grip her. She had avoided exercise in the past, annoyed at how much harder it felt compared to the month before, or at how her next treatment would negate all her effort anyway. This was different. The treatments were over, but this last one left her feeling so fat that the mere thought of exercise frightened her. So too did the prospect of dieting from now until who knows when. She’d been down that road before and couldn’t quite bring herself to start again. She tried to watch what she ate, but food was an easy source of comfort when the stress piled up. How could her body crave more calories, she wondered, when it had so many stored away? The scale told the same sad news every morning. She had imagined that with the curse finished, the pounds might float away on their own, but as she lay with her feet up on the couch, snacking on diet pretzels, they stuck to her like glue. She didn’t even need the scale to tell her. Her jeans felt as tight as ever, and her thighs still touched all the way to the knee. When a week had passed, she locked her bedroom door and stood at the mirror with her chest thumping in nervous anticipation. She couldn’t put it off any longer—she had to know. She shut her eyes tight before removing her clothes, then opened them bit by bit until her naked form came into view. It wasn’t all bad news. Her face had a cherubic cuteness to it, and her ribcage still tapered inwards around her voluminous breasts. Below that, her torso snaked out to meet her luscious thighs. Her upper body had acquired some padding but had not kept pace, leaving her shoulders much narrower than her hips. In this sense her figure was still very curvy and feminine. But Ashley didn’t see curves. She saw a fat girl staring back. She held a chubby hand in front of her face, with its chubby fingers that her rings no longer fit. She watched the crease form when she tilted back her wrist, watched her portly upper arm jiggle with every movement. She clutched her fattened breasts and released, distressed with the amount they drooped. Then she turned and observed how much rounder her belly looked, even compared to last month—how it domed way out past her bust and sagged under its own weight. So this was how she looked now. This was her, Ashley Hart, eighteen years old, 173 lbs. What happened now was all in her hands—and that’s what scared her the most. Her hand curved back under her stomach. She wondered how sit-ups would feel now with all the extra padding there. She thought of getting back on the treadmill, and of how tired her legs felt just from walking home from school. She lifted one…so heavy—her thighs were enormous, probably the fattest thing on her body. Then she peered over her shoulder and shuddered. All right, so they were the second fattest thing. In the past, these sessions in front of the mirror sparked motivation. This time it made her want to hide under the covers. Her fingers massaged her belly, lifting it upwards and feeling it sag back down. How could she possibly lose all this weight? She was terrified even to try. * * * A couple days later, Ashley gave in and returned to the mall. She would soon have to cycle back through the same ill-fitting outfits she had just worn, and it offended her sense of style. A very round and energetic saleslady greeted her as she entered. “Welcomes to Curves, where fit is everything!” Ashley glanced around at the plump mannequins. She could hardly believe she was here. “Ah, first time? First we should take your measurements, not everyone’s favorite part but very important.” In the fitting room Ashley stripped down to her underwear, blushing as the woman looked her up and down. “You have very nice curves,” she said. “All right, 40 in the bust…35 in the waist…and 45 in the hips. Like I said, nice curves.” “Thank you,” said Ashley. Fantastic. Compared to a dress fitting last summer, she had gained six inches around her chest and eight around her waist and hips. No wonder she felt so fat. “I’m going to pick out a few items for you. Would you like to sit down for a moment? Can I get you anything to drink?” The dressing area was roomy and luxurious, with velvet cushioned armchairs and matching ottomans. Ashley sank into one of the chairs. It felt exquisite, especially after walking all the way from the parking lot. She put her feet up and sipped a cup of lemonade. The saleslady returned all too soon. “You look comfortable! Listen, I’m gonna say it bluntly: Your bra doesn’t fit. Can I interest you in a new one? “Okay…” “Excellent! Then let me tell you about this bra. The underwire is cushioned, so it won’t poke into your skin. It has three rows of eyelets and a two-inch band for extra support. And the straps are padded to feel more comfy against into your shoulders. This is a full coverage bra. Your breasts will not spill out of it if you bend over. The foam cups are double-lined for uplift and stability without making you appear any larger than you already are.” The saleslady helped Ashley do it up in the back. “How does it feel?” she asked after adjusting the straps. Ashley bounced on her heels. For the first time in days, the weight of her chest felt adequately contained. “Wow,” she admitted, “it fits like a dream!” The saleslady smiled. “Do you have any sports bras in this line? It’s so hard to find one that actually works.” “Sports bras? We don’t carry them. Most of our clientele isn’t into sports.” “Oh,” said Ashley. “At your size, I assumed that everyday comfort and support would be your top priorities.” Ashley stared in the mirror. Too bad the bra didn’t look as nice as it felt. There was a bow in the center and a hint of lace at the sides, but the wide straps thwarted any attempt at cuteness—as did the flesh that puffed out around them. “Um, what is my size?” she asked. “You’re a 36-double-D.” The saleslady explained that cup size is relative, so if you go up in the band like Ashley had, the size of the cups increases even if the letter stays the same. Ashley liked this system. From their heft and sway she knew that her breasts had absorbed a chunk of the weight, but at least she didn’t have to buy some huge-sounding size like ‘E-cup’. In her opinion, they needed a similar system for panties, because learning she needed an XXL was just depressing. “How much is the bra?” she asked. “This style is on sale for $68.” Ugh. Her mom was going to kill her. They were about to leave the intimates section when the saleslady burst out, “Oh, I almost forgot! We have a sale on swimsuits.” Ashley winced. “I don’t need a bikini, thanks.” “Who said anything about a bikini? We don’t even sell them. But we have some beautiful one-pieces.” “Oh…I've never worn a one-piece.” “Really? Wow, you must have been a whole lot thinner at one point.” Ashley said nothing. “Sorry, that just slipped out. Listen, most of our swimsuits have what they call ‘tummy control’. I like to think of it as a bra for your belly. Not that you need it all that badly—a lot of our larger clientele have some serious hang going on. Your belly doesn’t hang, but it’s definitely there—otherwise you wouldn’t be here, right? Tummy control helps smooth everything out. Sometimes it even makes you look a little slimmer, but don’t expect miracles. A lot of our underwear has it, and so do our jeans. Women seem to like it.” “Um, okay, we can try the uh, tummy control thing,” said Ashley, “but I’m good on bathing suits.” They walked together through the store. It was really a nice selection. The saleslady knew exactly which styles would work for Ashley’s body type. Nothing she tried on could truly hide the pounds, but they still looked way better than what she’d been wearing. The lady showed her how a high belt or horizontal stripe drew the eye to her curvy bust and hips and away from her bulging stomach. A light-colored top could make her butt appear a little less huge, and the right skirt and heels could make her legs seem longer and slightly slimmer. In between fittings, Ashley got to sit with her feet up in that lovely chair. “I saw you rubbing your back earlier,” said the saleslady as she rang up Ashley’s purchases. “Yeah it’s a little sore. Maybe the new bras will help.” “They should. How about your feet? You seemed to enjoy our luxury ottoman.” “A little sore there too, I guess.” More than a little. She wished she could have parked closer. The saleslady handed Ashley a card. “My sister works there. It’s called Luscious Massage. A lot of our clients swear by it.” “Ok, thanks,” said Ashley, not sure quite what to think. Was she really getting enough exercise to deserve a massage? “I say, pamper yourself every once in a while. It’s what we’re all about here at Curves.” Ashley smiled politely. Then she read the sales tab and cringed. Her mom was truly going to kill her. * * * At home Ashley modeled her new clothes—the control-top panties, the jeans in a size sixteen, the tops with loose fabric at the waist. Everything fit so well, like it was perfectly fine to weigh this much. She paused. No, she wouldn’t let herself fall into this trap. She would drag herself back to the gym even if it killed her. So Ashley struggled into last month’s workout clothes and stepped nervously onto the treadmill. She had chosen a time when the trainer wouldn’t be there—she was too embarrassed to try this in front of him. She switched on the machine and started jogging. Her mind replayed the last six months: how those first eleven pounds felt as she ran around the bases, how each month something new jiggled—first her butt, then her thighs, then her upper arms, and finally her belly—how her recorded times grew worse and worse as her waistline expanded. It was like playing an infomercial in reverse. It all led up to this final scene. Ashley soon discovered that these last several pounds had erased whatever remained of her former athleticism. She cursed the online reviewers who claimed her sports bra offered decent support. Liars. But the motion elsewhere disturbed her more. Her stomach sloshed like a bowl full of Jell-O, and the weight of her swaying rear caused her hips to sashay. It was like boobs times a hundred. She plodded on for about five minutes before her lungs began to complain. Maybe another piece of equipment would be easier. She tried the Stairmaster, the elliptical, and some other unnamed contraption, but the result was no different. Then she lay on the mat and struggled through eight sit-ups before collapsing. It was almost worse than she feared. Cursing, she peeled out of her skin-tight clothes and let the hot water sooth her aching muscles. She hated showers. Applying the soap put her in intimate contact with every crease and bulge. Ashley felt tired and sore the next day—perhaps a sign she had burned a few calories? But the thought of struggling through another workout sickened her. It took all her willpower to drag herself back twice more that week. She kept waiting for it to get easier, but it never did. Each time she would lie on the mat, her hands clutching her soft belly, still unable to complete that tenth sit-up. She would stand in the shower, water cascading off the layers of fat that jiggled everywhere when she tried to run, feeling just as exhausted as the time before. On Saturday the scale for the first time read 172 lbs. <Woohoo> she thought sarcastically, <only 58 more to go!> But the next pound would have to wait. When she rose from her bed that morning, everything hurt: her legs, her arms, even her breasts. She remembered the card in her wallet—and finally felt she deserved a little pampering. * * * “You must be Ashley!” beamed the receptionist at Luscious Massage. “I’ll tell the masseuse you’re here. Cute outfit, by the way. Where did you get it?” “Curves,” answered Ashley, blushing a bit. “Of course. I love that store!” A few minutes later, Ashley lay back on the massage table in just her underwear. “What feels sore, sweetheart?” asked the masseuse in a soothing voice. “I don’t know, everything,” said Ashley. “Have you been working out?” “Yeah. A lot this past week.” “That can be rough. Do your feet hurt afterward?” “Yes,” said Ashley. “What about your back?” “Yes.” “And your legs?” she patted a squishy thigh. “Uh huh.” Ashley nodded. “Poor thing. Let’s get you feeling good as new, shall we?” “If I could feel well enough to work out again tomorrow, that would be great.” “Of course…” said the masseuse with an odd expression on her face. “For you I’m going to recommend the deluxe package. It’s normally kind of expensive, but for first time customers we offer it for only $99. It includes a foot massage and a few other surprises.” “Oh, that sounds great,” said Ashley. Her mom’s credit card would come in handy again. “Could you flip over for me please?” Ashley complied, feeling her breasts and belly smush against the table. “We’ll start at the bottom and work our way up.” Ashley felt cool hands on her calves, working the sore muscles. Soon the hands moved higher, pressing deep into the flesh at the back of her thighs. “You must be jogging a lot—your legs feel very tight,” said the masseuse as she kneaded the toneless flesh. Ashley then felt hands press against her butt. She didn’t know quite how to feel about that—it was embarrassing how deep the lady had to push to reach the muscles buried beneath all the blubber. “Feeling any better yet, honey?” “Mmm hmm,” said Ashley dreamily. After a time, the massage moved up to her back, neck, and shoulders. “Sweetheart, you’ve got a fabulous rack, but it’s not doing your back any favors.” She had a point. The new bras helped only so much. “Alright, flip over.” It took Ashley a couple tries, given how relaxed she felt. The masseuse then set to work on the girl’s tender feet, pausing to coddle each toe. The relief was instantaneous. This past couple weeks Ashley had grown so accustomed to the soreness there that she hardly noticed it anymore. Now she realized what she’d been missing. “You have very pretty feet,” said the masseuse. “You shouldn’t be so hard on them.” As the massage moved to the front of her thighs, Ashley tried to see what the woman was doing that felt so amazing, but she moved with such speed and precision that all Ashley saw was jiggling flesh. “Legs feel any better now, sweetie? Okay, let me know if the next part tickles.” The masseuse pressed her hands into the fat on Ashley’s belly. She cringed at first, but it felt so soothing after all those attempted sit-ups that she forgot her shame. “You carry some tension here,” the masseuse observed. Suddenly Ashley felt what the lady was referring to: a subtle tightening of her abdominals, an unconscious reaction perhaps to the added heft of her belly. Now aware of it, she relaxed the muscles and felt another layer of stress disappear. The tummy massage was followed by a lovely segment focused on her hands on up to her lush upper arms. “Are you sore here, too?” The woman touched Ashley’s chest with the back of her hand. “Um, yeah,” whispered Ashley. Her eyes closed as the lady gently kneaded her breasts, alleviating the tension from those bouncy sessions on the treadmill. The final element involved her soft chin and rounded cheeks, so wonderful, so soothing… “Ashley? Ashley?” She blinked her eyes open and yawned. “I must have fallen asleep.” “It happens. Do you need any help getting up?” “I’m okay.” She tried but fell back against the table. Her body felt like jelly. “On the count of three, okay?” The lady lifted her up by the shoulders. As Ashley’s feet hit the floor, a flood of sensations overwhelmed her. Her breasts and belly sagged downwards, tugging as heavily as ever. “Ow,” she whispered as the full weight of her body bore down on her soles. She took a few wobbly steps, clutching the woman for support. Everything seemed to jiggle even more than usual—whether because her muscles were so relaxed or she was just hyper aware right now, she wasn’t sure. “Need to sit down for a bit? Sometimes it can take a few minutes to readjust.” Ashley nodded eagerly. It took all her concentration to keep her knees from buckling. The masseuse helped her young client into a loose-fitting robe. “Let me show you our lounge,” she said with a smile. Ashley found that she could hardly walk without aid. When they arrived, she sunk into the first chair she saw, and her muscles converted back to jelly. “Can I get you some lemonade?” asked the masseuse. Ashley gazed around the room. The velvet chairs were the same as the ones at Curves. The décor was so similar, in fact, that both establishments could have been owned by the same company. Several overweight women sat with their feet up watching television or reading magazines. Ashley seemed to fit right in. She tilted back her head and closed her eyes, trying to remember a time when sitting felt so good. * * * The aftereffects of the massage lingered that whole day—and the next. Ashley lay sprawled on the living room couch, relieved that her feet and back felt pain-free for the first time in days—so long as she never stood up. When the alarm rang Monday morning, she hit the snooze and buried her head under the pillow. “Ashley!” yelled her Mom. Eventually she dragged herself out of bed, her feet complaining as she padded barefoot to the bathroom. She crossed her arms under her breasts. They felt so heavy, like they had all weekend. She sighed as she fastened one of the new bras from Curves, grateful for the well-engineered support. She slipped on a t-shirt but frowned when she saw her reflection. Her belly looked extra round this morning. She consciously sucked it in. That helped a bit, but it was tiring to maintain. So she swapped out her underwear for a pair with more substantial tummy control. She checked the mirror again and smiled. What a wonderful invention! Now she could relax as the panties did all the work. “Can we drive this morning?” she asked her mom. “It’s cold out.” “Ashley, it’s the middle of May! I think you should walk to school.” Her legs protested the entire way, and it only got worse as the day wore on. By the time she returned home, she had to lift each one deliberately off the ground. Ashley kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the couch. Her muscles relaxed, and she felt the final remnants of the massage. She knew she should head back to the gym—or at least do something other than lie here—but she wanted to revel in this sensation one last time before it faded for good. She unhooked her bra. She could do it up again when she needed to move. For now, she would lean back and appreciate how her bottom provided such a soft cushion to sit on. * * * The next morning Ashley stepped on the scale for the first time in days. 173, it read. <What?> She stepped on again. 173. She had gained a pound back already? She tried to remember what she ate last week: nothing overly fattening. She supposed all this lazing around was doing her waistline no favors. She trudged into the gym that day with her head hung low. Three weeks had passed since her final treatment, and still she weighed the same. She gazed in the mirror at the gym outfit she had purchased online. It fit a lot better than her old one, but the spandex traced the contours of her bloated hips with glaring precision. The items from Curves hid some of the pounds; these hid nothing. Working out felt as awful as before the massage—worse even. The next day she couldn’t bear to go back. She finally dragged herself there twice in a row but woke up the next morning in pain. When she felt no better on Sunday, she snuck into her mom’s purse and stole the family credit card. Then she drove off to the massage parlor. “Back again!” said the receptionist. “How are you feeling?” “Terrible,” said Ashley. “Everything is sore all over again.” “Oh no! So would you like the same package as last time?” “I don’t know if I can afford it…” “Oh, don’t worry about that! We’re always looking to help our clients out. If you come twice in one month, we take 25% off.” Minutes later, Ashley lay back against the padded table, all her cares wiped away as firm hands kneaded her squishy thighs. <I could get used to this> she thought. Chapter 8 – June Ms. Crookershank recorded Ashley’s blood pressure. “Are you getting any exercise?” she asked. “Some,” Ashley lied. “Your vital signs are still in the unhealthy range, and you haven’t lost any weight at all. I’m starting to get concerned.” Ashley shrugged. “This is the last health waiver I’m signing. On Monday you’re back in P.E.” Ashley had feared this was coming and had already formulated several brand new excuses—but Crookershank beat her to it. “I don’t care if it’s your period or your aunt died or you sprained both ankles. You’re going to gym class. How can one girl have so many sick relatives, anyway? You think we’re stupid, Ms. Hart?” “No, ma’am.” Then the nurse smiled, showing her crooked teeth. “I like your outfit, by the way. It really flatters your figure.” “Um, thanks,” said Ashley. By now she had mastered the intricacies of plus-size fashion. The control-top jeans she wore smoothed out the worst of her tummy rolls, while her fitted top draped loosely across her spacious hips. It was comforting to wear clothes like these that accommodated her current proportions. It eased the pressure to slim down. “How about starting with just two or three pounds?” the nurse proposed. “Can you do that, sweetheart?” “Mmm, I’ll try.” But Ashley doubted that she could. As she sat through math class, she tried to count the days since she’d exercised in any way, shape, or form. Her last trip to the gym was two weeks ago last Tuesday—how come none of the math taught in school was actually useful? The desk she sat in felt hard, even against her cushioned behind, nothing like the chairs at Luscious Massage. She was limiting herself to one trip there a week, but it was only Wednesday and already she yearned to go back. It was a bad situation. Her mom would soon see all the charges on her credit card, and Ashley had no excuses cooked up for that one. She had also come to realize that her trips there made exercising harder, not easier. Each massage seemed to erase her body’s attempts to cope with the extra weight. As the masseuse helped her up from the table, it was as though she were emerging from the Treatment Chamber all over again, feeling those 59 pounds for the very first time. “Have you ever had one yourself?” she asked the receptionist one morning. “Oh sure! I get them for free.” “I’m so jealous! Hey…have you ever noticed it’s kind of hard to move afterwards?” “Moving is overrated,” the woman replied. “Isn’t it nicer to sit and relax in our lovely chairs?” Needless to say, Ashley’s visits to the gym dwindled from sporadic, to seldom, to never. At her present weight, exercise hurt—both physically and emotionally. Each attempt only reminded her how heavy and out-of-shape she still felt. How much more of that would she have to endure before she saw any result? She wasn’t dieting either. Before, it was always “Lose x number of pounds by the end of the month.” The goal felt manageable, even if she never managed to reach it. Now it all added up to one daunting, sixty-pound hurdle that loomed taller than her head, with no deadline for when she needed to cross it. Like the lady said, it was easier just to lie with her legs propped up on the couch pillows, grazing on popcorn with the Netflix blaring. “Ashley!” scolded her mom. “Get your lazy butt off the sofa and go do something!” “Do what, mom? I finished my homework at school.” She tossed another kernel into her mouth. “I don’t know, anything. All you do all day is lie around watching TV. How about going for a walk?” Ashley turned up her nose. She hated walking long distances. “Or go jogging. You used to love jogging.” She never loved jogging. “Mom, I already told you. Running hurts my knees.” Her mom threw up her arms and stormed off. Ashley resumed her show. * * * Eventually Ms. Mudville followed through with the nurse’s threat. “Female problems!” Ashley yelled from the locker room stall. “My ass! I want you out on the track. Now!” Under risk of detention, Ashley complied. She managed to jog until she felt out of breath after fifty yards or so. All the other girls were way ahead, some were even done. All except one, that is. Ashley watched the girl’s thighs jiggle fiercely as she plodded along, all too familiar with that feeling. The girl glanced over her shoulder, then slowed to a walk to let Ashley catch up. Jessica Parrington wiped the sweat from her face. “I hate running,” she said. “Yeah it kind of sucks.” “Ashley…” said Jessica slowly, “I’m really sorry.” "Sorry for what? For being the target of my insults?” “I’m sorry for what They did to you. Honey, it’s not your fault.” Ashley sighed. “Well…I’m fat and I can’t lose the weight. Does it even matter how I got this way?” “I guess not. But nobody deserves to be treated like this. Like we’re somehow less than human just because of some number on a clothing tag.” “Have you ever tried? To lose weight I mean.” “More times than I can count. I’ve never been thin, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try to be. I work off five or ten pounds, and then gain it back a couple months later. For me, the weight is so slow to come off, and so fast to glom back on.” Ashley could relate to that. “And tell me please, when would I start looking good, at 130? 120? Even after losing a bunch of weight, I always want to be thinner than I currently am. It never ends.” Ashley looked at Jessica. The girl’s legs were covered in flab, but her waistline was trimmer than Ashley’s. Jessica was taller too, and probably several pounds lighter. Ashley was almost jealous. “I want to weigh 114 again,” she said. “I don’t blame you. You were so pretty, and popular—not that you’re not pretty now, but—” Ashley rolled her eyes. “No, I mean it. You still have beautiful hair, nice curves…and a fabulous rack. I wish I had your chest.” “No you don’t,” said Ashley. “You say running is hard. What are you, like a C-cup? Try running as a double-D and tell me what you think.” Jessica smirked. And for the first time in ages, Ashley smiled too. * * * “Hello—Ashley, I think it is? Welcome back to Curves, where fit is everything!” “Hi,” said Ashley. “So how are the clothes working out?” “Actually I get lots of complements.” “Well I’m not surprised! I’m so glad we found you the sundress you’re wearing. It highlights your natural shape quite beautifully.” “Thank you.” Ashley blushed. “So how can I help you?” “Mmm…I need a bathing suit. Is that sale still on?” “Oh! Yeah, through Friday. What changed your mind, may I ask?” “Pool party,” said Ashley, “this weekend.” “Oh my! We better get right on that!” The woman ran off to grab some options. Ashley sat down and smoothed out her dress. It was nice to wear something that hid her legs. She wondered why she had even agreed to go to this stupid event. Everyone would be there—Noelle, Carrie, even George. Maybe she could hide underwater the whole time—or wrap herself in a towel. “Let me tell you about this one-piece!” beamed the saleslady. “The cups are sized like a bra, so it offers great support—and some nice cleavage. Plus there’s lots of tummy control, ruffles for camouflage, and a full-cut bottom. The style I picked out runs tighter around the ribcage and wider through the hips, so a size sixteen should work perfectly!” Ashley sighed. Then she slithered into the suit. Like everything else at the store, the fit was perfect. When she gazed in the mirror, though, she crinkled up her face. “So I guess this is as good as I’m gonna look in a swimsuit?” “What do you mean? It looks fantastic!” “But my thighs are so—out there.” She turned to the side. “And so is my stomach.” “Sweetheart, this is a plus-size clothing store, not a weight loss clinic.” Ashley blinked. “I'm sorry, that just slipped out. Listen, so you’ve got curves—who doesn’t? Learn to live with them.” Ashley spun in the mirror one more time. Her butt looked even bigger in the swimsuit than it did in jeans. “Do you have any coverups?” she asked. “Of course,” the saleslady replied softly. * * * Ashley walked slowly up to the girls lounging by the pool. “Look at Jessica’s thighs in that bathing suit! They’re so—oh, hi Ashley, I didn’t see you there!” “Carrie, why are you always pointing out everyone’s flaws?” asked Noelle. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.” “What-ev’.” Ashley watched everyone splashing in the pool, too self-conscious to remove the floral wrap that hid her own thighs from view. She glanced at Jessica, whose tummy looked quite a bit smaller in her one-piece than Ashley’s did—and then at George, his rock hard body glistening in the sun. “Aren’t you going in?” asked Noelle, after Carrie had left to join the fun. “You really want to see what I look like in a bathing suit?” “Come with me for a second.” Noelle dragged her friend into the changing room and locked the door. “Do I have a perfect body?” she asked. No, not really. Noelle had a “butt problem,” as some of the girls referred to it, and she was so thin everywhere else that the plumpness down there stood out like a sore thumb. She was flat-chested too. “Closer to perfect than mine is,” said Ashley. “Look at this,” said Noelle, and she removed her bikini top. Ashley blinked. The top must have been heavily padded, for all that lay beneath was soft shriveled skin. “You probably didn’t think boobs this small could droop so much. I’m an A-cup but never leave the house without underwire. And look here.” Noelle pulled down her full-cut bikini bottoms to reveal a bloated butt covered in even more cellulite than Ashley’s was. “It doesn’t matter how long I spend on the Stairmaster. It never firms up and it never gets smaller.” “Why are you showing me this?” “I was cursed, Ashley. It’s called ‘Top-to-Bottom’. Come on, you must have seen my chest before—it never looked like this, did it?” Come to think of it, Noelle had always been quite perky—and a larger cup size than Ashley through ninth grade…before the girl suddenly stopped developing. And then her butt and hips kind of exploded. Puberty hits everyone differently, Ashley had figured. Now it suddenly made sense. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I never knew.” “The procedure left me with these.” Noelle ran her hands along the stretchmarks that laced her hips. “I have those too, you know,” Ashley pointed out. “Listen, I’m not showing you this to get the sympathy vote.” “Then why are you?” “To show you you’re not alone, sweetheart. Everyone’s got something they wish they can go back and change…except there’s nothing I can do about this, short of surgery. Believe me, I’ve tried.” “Okay.” “But don’t you see? Your curse is different. It’s just fat—that you could get rid of if you cared to.” “I do care to…but try strapping sixty pounds to your frame and see how you long you can jog for.” Ashley sat down on the bench. “See? I’m getting tired just thinking about it.” “If I were you, I’d be at the gym every day until I was back to a size four.” “Thanks for sharing your secret with me, Noelle. But you just don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to be this fat.” Ashley handed Noelle her bikini top and headed back towards the pool. Suddenly, she felt a draft on her arms and legs. <Oh no!> She spun around to see her cover-up being carted off by a group of giggling girls, Carrie among them. Ashley gazed down, horrorstruck. The swimsuit boasted decent coverage, but of course it left the full circumference of her thighs exposed—nor could the ruffles hide the bulging contours of her stomach. “Come on in, Ashley!” yelled George. “Water’s great!” <Nooo!> She could not let him see her like this! She turned and ran as tears formed. She could feel every eye on her enormous ass as it swayed back and forth in the suit. With each stride her heaving chest threatened to escape from the low-cut top. Her feet throbbed from running on pebbles. Finally safe in her car, the tears came in earnest, her sobs interspersed with vain attempts to catch her breath. She stared out the window at everyone having so much fun, even cursed Noelle. Then she looked down at her stomach straining against the suit, and at her naked thighs squished together in the car seat that barely contained them. Her friend was right. She could lose this weight. She would end those ridiculous massages that only made her feel fat and lazy. She would return the clothes from Curves that pretended she could still look pretty at a size sixteen. She would finally start her diet. She would finally exercise for real. She would show them. She would show them all. Ashley raised her eyes to see a young girl kicking and screaming in the distance, as two burly guards dragged her away. “Carrie Paige, you are hereby charged with Conduct Unbecoming of a Lady…” Epilogue The pool party ignited a fire in Ashley’s softened belly. She convinced Jessica to join in her mission, and the two became gym buddies. They made a hundred-dollar bet to see who could make it below 130 lbs. the fastest. Ashley planned to use that money to pay off her mother’s credit card. The fact that Jessica began with a slight head start only added more tinders to the fire. As the weeks wore on, though, reality set in. “The first ten pounds are always the hardest,” said Jessica—but in fact, the opposite proved to be true. As Ashley’s weight inched into the mid-160s, exercise did start to feel more comfortable, but it still wasn’t fun. Each day, she would step onto the treadmill, her soft curves crammed into unflattering spandex, and force her heavy limbs into something resembling a rhythm. Afterwards she would stare in the locker room mirror and wonder when she would ever see anything other than a fat girl staring back. Jessica managed to lose fifteen pounds before quitting. “Here’s your hundred bucks, Ashley. I’m pretty happy with how I look right now—thanks for all the support!” Ashley persevered for a few more weeks, but her progress slowed. Her log showed a long string of 157’s, with a few 156s mixed in here and there. She tossed the journal onto her bed with a pout and began rummaging through her closet. From a thick stack of clothes, she unearthed a pair of size-twelve jeans, purchased back in April but hardly worn. She struggled into them, then turned slowly in the mirror. The denim formed creases at her thighs, and cut into her fleshy hips when she twisted to the side. But at least they buttoned. She could finally button a size-twelve pair of jeans. After thirteen weeks of dieting. And she still felt fat in them. Ashley tore them off and stared at her naked reflection. Her stomach looked smaller than it did in June, but her bottom not so much. Her breasts were still so heavy and drooping—in fact they seemed to droop even more now after losing some weight. She still had the soft chin and deep dimples, and the cellulite that crept down the backs of her legs. <It’s hopeless> she muttered. Three months of torturous workouts and she was still over forty pounds from where she wished to be. Forty fucking pounds. As the frustration mounted, she began to skip her visits to the gym. She cheated on her diet. Soon the cheating intensified until she was dieting in name only, and then, not dieting at all. She never made it smaller than a size twelve. At least a twelve was better than a sixteen, she reasoned. But alas, the curse was not through with her yet. Before that fateful day in November, the scale used to read 114 every time. That was her default weight, the magic number it took no effort to maintain. So imagine the shock to realize that now, maintaining even 156 lbs. was beyond her. The climb back up from there was slow but relentless. The size twelves, already tight to begin with, grew more and more so until one morning they refused to zip. Then as the weeks passed, even the roomier fourteens begin to pinch at the waist. Before long she was back up to 169, on the very cusp of plus-size clothing. This time, no machine had injected the extra pounds. She had gained them back all on her own. At first Ashley couldn’t believe it. <They said it would end after six months! They lied to me!> But some poking around on the web yielded a more compelling answer. Study after study showed formerly obese women attempting to hold off the pounds they had shed. Almost none succeeded. The same number of calories that produced no gain in normal adults produced a steady upward climb among the former dieters. If they wished to stay at 120 or even 130 or 140 pounds, they had to consume far fewer calories than someone who had always weighed that amount. The studies concluded that weight gain resets body’s metabolism at a higher default number. That becomes the body’s new normal. So it was with Ashley. Her rapid gain over half a year, coupled with periods of intense dieting, had set her new normal at around 167. Whenever her weight crept up from there—after the holidays, for example, or extended absence from the gym—diet and exercise could shed the added pounds. The dreaded size sixteens were motivation enough. But to stay much lighter than that proved simply impossible. Every now and again, Ashley would come upon a swimsuit ad or an old picture of herself in a cute dress, and resolve once more to lose all the weight. She would work off seven or eight pounds in a couple months’ time. But then the stress of classes would pile up, or her friends would be hitting a fancy restaurant, or she would steal a glance in the mirror and grow discouraged, and she would put her diet on hold and then abandoned it, and her weight would slide back up. After a time, she took relief when the number 165 would light up, signaling that size fourteens would not feel too dreadfully tight. * * * Ashley stared down at the crumpled digits in her hand as she fingered the roll of fat spilling over her jeans. She wondered if it were finally time to return all of George’s phone calls. The End

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http://forum.phun.org/index.php?threads/serena-williams-2018-desert-smash-celebrity-tennis-tournament-in-la-quinta-march-5-2018.2318755/

Looking amazing! I am soooo looking forward to the next jeans video

Chapter 7 has been added to the initial post.

thanks very much. Good points/areas that I could have expanded on. This was such a long story that I probably breezed through a few aspects. My first time attempting anything this ambitious. But hopefully there was enough to get minds wandering on their own to fill in those blanks

I promised pics yesterday but I'm still having problems with slowness and uploading. Looks like I'll have to wait until later again. I'm getting impatient. 😬 Want to show you guys how much bigger my belly and thighs are already. I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them how much I ate yesterday! Talk to you later..hopefully!

314 lbs

Good Morning my Curvage Family! I am not feeling better, but I have no more time to deal with this. My next few gain/feedee related videos are explicit. So I apologize and I am editing one for y’all here on the site 👍👍

Hnnng

Every once in a long while, or maybe even a lifetime, mere mortals are privileged enough to feast their eyes on something as lavishly scrumptiously gorgeous as you. You are pretty special Taytay. You're an attractive young girl, who has totally taken control of who she is, although with all the hungry grumbly messages your belly is obviously sending you, maybe it's now part in charge too..... You have a gorgeous face and smile, a smile that we all here are so glad to have been introduced to. Your beautifully feminine body is an exemplary model of what we all aspire to be/ love/ know. You bring such satisfaction and pleasure to all of us and we watch you blossom endlessly into an even more desirable Taytay, as you leave the old you in the rearview mirror. Every calorie you bring to your lips. Every craving your belly sends you. Every food coma you experience. Every little taste here, every second helping there. Every post stuffing nap, every lazy day in front of the TV. Every little rewarding treat you give yourself..... we love every one of them. And you must be so glowingly proud of yourself and your achievements. Because you deserve every new ounce, every new pound of soft, delectably delightful feminine fat that you wake up to each morning. Please Tay, don't go changing. You just look so good. So. Damn. Good. P.S. And I love the new top and pants.

Thank you all for your lovely words!! I'm going to make some clips etc, is there anything in particular people want to see?

Thank you all, I love this encouragement!!

You know I've gotta say this latest set of pictures really show how big you have gotten. You started out skinny, then you started getting a little bit of a belly. Then a little more belly, then a lot more belly. You've always been a belly girl, and that huge beach ball gut is starting to hang a little lower I noticed. Maybe the angles you usually take pictures at, but I never realized that you had this whole other dimension. I mean damn girl you've got hips and love handles for days! I hope you have someone special to share this amazing and continuous transformation with!

you're looking amazing, hope you continue to grow, I'm totally in love with your tattos

Ohhhh....

Yeah this is the Persian Porks up girl. I don't remember these getting posted and she looks a lot bigger than what was posted in that thread. It seems our friend didn't get ratted out as we expected.