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Cyril Figgis

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About Cyril Figgis

  • Birthday 11/15/1990
  • Location Charlotte, NC, USA

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  1. I asked the artist to use Nikki as a base for the left, yeah. But that's just on a physical level--her character isn't really like Nikki's at all.
  2. Not sure if you're looking for stories with original characters, but I've had an ongoing story for the past few years all about female wrestlers gaining weight.
  3. Hey, party people. I wasn't sure if I should post this in each of my current on-goings or not, but since I've got so many projects open right now, I figure the best place would be on its own so it doesn't get lost in the shuffle. You may have noticed that my posting here has slipped as of late. Part of that comes from my own having issues with willpower and working on my projects, but another part of it is that I am focusing more on my DeviantART page. It's where I get the most activity: likes, comments, and views, and it's where I also engage the most. I'm grateful for all the attention I've gotten over the years here, but as interest has waxed and waned, I've decided to focus exclusively on DA. I don't know how many people will read this or care to follow me, but I do hope you'll check out my other page. I've got content there that hasn't dropped here, and I'm working on a couple things that you're not going to want to miss. I'll still be browsing on here and chatting to anyone available, but if you're looking for more material, you'll need to head on over to https://www.deviantart.com/thecyrilfiggis I hope to see you there!
  4. THE TUBBY THIEF AND THE GUARD (2/3) While Tiphany had hoped to get some sleuthing done after breakfast, she could barely breathe after her massive feast, let alone skulk around Mossholme. All she could do was lean back on her bench and rub slow, gentle circles into her stomach to ease some of the pressure as if she was a mother to be. She had no idea how the other women at the table could stand to keep eating, especially since they got started sooner than she did, but she was in no position to care. “Why, Winnie, you’re positively green in the gills,” Dienna remarked after finishing a spoonful of grits. “Been a while since you’ve eaten that well, eh?” Tiphany stifled a belch before answering, “Indeed—that was unlike any meal I’ve ever had. What sort of cooks does Jathut have back there to make such masterpieces?” One of the other women replied, “Honestly, I don’t think he’s gotten anyone new since the last time Montey and I visited. Perhaps they’ve just taken some lessons since then? It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other, honestly, just so long as I can have my five square meals per day.” Any other time, Tiphany might have lashed out at the flippant remark, but she was too bloated to care. Instead, she bowed her head and softly told the group, “Well, ladies, I hope I shall see you at the next course; I think I need to get a bit of air and some elixir before then.” “Take care, Winnie! We’ll be saving a space for you,” Dienna replied as her new friend awkwardly sidled off the bench and waddled out of the dining hall. For someone who was so used to being light on her feet, Tiphany was in absolute misery as she plodded along with all the grace of a prized pig. Sweat beaded across her brow and her curly locks clung to the back of her neck as she made her way down the halls in search of somewhere private. She had to reconvene and reevaluate her plan, lest she get sucked into the strange whirlwind that lingered in this place. While she had no doubt that the pampered elite were perfectly happy to stuff their faces, she thought that she was better than that, yet she had somehow eaten more in one sitting than she had at her last three family meals combined. “Peculiar,” Tiphany muttered to herself as she leaned against a wall. “Most peculiar.” “How’s that, mizz?” asked a thick, familiar voice from behind. Tiphany tiredly glanced over her shoulder and spotted Gordie standing just around the corner, poking his head out like a child spying on someone. She sighed, “It’s nothing, Gordie. I was just thinking that I could use a little air.” The hilleck beamed at the comment and replied, “Sure’n I know the bestest place for air in this whole fort. Follow ol’ Gordie, mizz, and ye’ll be righter than rain.” He then turned and marched down the hall, blissfully ignorant of how full his charge was and how slow this made her. Perhaps he could have bounded along the length of the fort before realizing that Tiphany was long gone, but he fortunately looked over his shoulder and saw the diminutive woman lagging behind. With a sheepish grin on his face, he returned to her side and knelt down to tell her, “Sorry, mizz…are ye feeling unner the wevver?” “A little,” Tiphany huffed in reply. “Perhaps you could just tell me where this spot is, Gordie? I’d hate to take you from your patrol, after all.” “Hrm…’fraid I hain’t much good wif direc’ins,” Gordie apologized, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. “But never ye fear, mizz! There’s more’n one way to skinner bear, as me marm says. Pardon me reach ‘ere.” Before Tiphany could ask what the guard had in mind, she found herself scooped up by a hand the size of a shovel blade and hoisted into the air. A mousey squeak made its way past her lips as she realized that Gordie had picked her up and now carried her like she was a bride—though, given the size difference between them, it was more accurately like a babe. Either way, she turned a hot red and slapped him on the shoulder, doing little to help with her infantile appearance. “Gordie! Gordie, put me down this instant,” Tiphany demanded. “Sure I could, but this works fer us’s both,” Gordie replied with a dopey grin on his face. “Ye needn’t worry ‘bout keeping up wif me, n’ I needn’t worry ‘bout gettin’ ye lost!” Much as the little thief wanted to argue, it was a logical answer; she could barely walk at the moment, and she did not want to run the risk of running into a less friendly guard. Tiphany begrudgingly accepted the ride, though she crossed her arms and pursed her lips like a child in the midst of a tantrum. “Fine—but let’s not make a habit out of this,” she grumbled. A little time outdoors in the garden did help her mood and bloated stomach, and it also gave Tiphany another clue as to what was going on. The garden, grass, and trees inside the fort were faring well enough, though there were no fruit-baring trees, berry bushes, or vegetables to be found. This helped confirm the cause of this abundance, but she still needed to find what exactly Jathut was using. That meant avoiding Dienna and her friends and focusing solely on the task at hand; the last thing she needed was to slip into another gluttonous fog as she had that morning… *** “This is very bad,” Tiphany muttered before hiccupping, which led to a groan as her packed stomach threatened to pop with the slightest move. ‘The best-laid schemes of halflings and flies often go awry,’ as her grandfather used to say, and never was a proverb so true. As much as Tiphany had tried to stick to her plan, she found Mossholme to be much more difficult to prowl than she imagined. Whenever she attempted to sneak around the fort, she found it to be more carefully guarded than she imagined, and she was forced to make her way back to the guests or her hiding spot in the cellar. She might have attempted more subterfuge in the dead of night, but her belly was too packed at the end of the day to do anything but sleep. This led into the biggest hurdle she faced in her job—the abundance of food. There was something to eat around every corner: from the tables stocked with bowls of sweets and chips to the snacks for any occasion to the massive feasts that seemed to go on forever. The entire fort was rich with aroma, and despite her best efforts to restrain herself, Tiphany found her resolve crumbling time and again. Dienna Berliene did not help, as the woman seemed determined to track her down and force her company on the beleaguered thief—and since she had that absurd game going on with her friends, that meant Tiphany would eat far more than she ever would otherwise. She would have snapped at the older woman by now were it not for the need to keep up appearances and that she was too bloated to think by the end of each meal. Filling one’s stomach to maximum capacity on a regular basis would make anyone gain weight, and Tiphany was no exception despite her impressive metabolism. Like all the women in her family, she carried her weight in her lower body, especially in the hips and rear. She developed a firm waddle even when she was not full, and her hips swung out in such an alien fashion that she had to adjust how she walked. All her handmade outfits needed to be readjusted to accommodate, as the balloons she was packing in her rump made them look scandalous otherwise. These plump features—along with thick thighs that ground like teeth whenever she moved—only made her sleuthing that much harder. Growing into a plush pear was bad enough, but the pounds did not stop below the belt. Tiphany found that her belly developed a permanent bloat—a bubble of fat that refused to shrink no matter how much sucking in she did. The trim on her arms was coated in a pinchable layer of pudge that hid any trace of muscle (not that she had much to begin with), and her breasts went from almost nonexistent to soft handfuls that filled her palms. She never thought that she would gain weight, and the added stress of packing it on so quickly only made her more anxious. “Honestly, Gordie, I’m turning into a right piglet,” the thief complained to her favorite guard as he carried her once more to the garden. While she was initially reluctant to be hauled around, Tiphany had to admit that it beat wearing herself out. Gordie gave a throaty chuckle in return and replied, “Hoots, marm, but ye’re no pigelit. Why, them piggies we raised back ‘ome would put ye to right shame.” That was small consolation for Tiphany, who felt like a lump of dough squeezed into a cocktail dress but could do nothing about it in her current condition. She put her head against Gordie’s shoulder and heavily sighed, “Can’t believe I’ve gotten this fat in…what’s it been, three months? Four?” “Ah, no, marm,” the guard answered as he ran the numbers in his head. “I reckon ye’ve only been here about four days, aye.” “…shit.” *** It was a truly impressive feast that spread across the table: a nye of golden-brown pheasants resting atop pillowy mounds of mashed rutabaga, thick stalks of broccoli smothered in a blanket of melted cheese, and hearty beef stew served in soda bread bowls; roast trout stuffed to bursting with buttery lobster, sweet potatoes coated in cinnamon and sea salt, and twelve-layer trifles filled with more sugar than a candy shop. The gathered crowd eyeballed the food like starving dogs, while the help licked their chops in anticipation of the binge that was set to begin, but for Tiphany Fledermaus, it was almost enough to make her stomach turn. “Come on then, Winnie! Show that poncy peacock what you can do,” Dienna cheered as she rubbed her ‘friend’s’ shoulders for support. Tiphany had no idea how she had been talked into this, but she found herself seated across from a dandy from the north in an eating contest. Even though she had failed completely in keeping her appetite in check, she told herself that she would never get wrapped up in one of these silly games the nobles put on. She refused to celebrate and make merry while countless people starved out in the fields, but her decision changed when she found out that Baron Jathut would be offering a prize. The sluggish baron presided over the contest in a throne far too small for his corpulent frame, slabs of slimy blubber overlapping the arms and the legs creaking with the slightest shift. He clapped his hands and announced to the audience, “Friends, it has been brought to my attention that I have been remiss in my duties as a host. My advisors say, ‘Baron, your guests are grateful for sanctuary and food, but they fear you are distant. You greet them as they arrive and at mealtimes, but that does not make you a host—it makes you a head servant.’ “Well, let it not be said that I don’t listen to suggestions. Starting today, I will be opening my doors to whoever wins my daily eating contests! If you manage to outeat your opponent, you are cordially invited to my chamber to dine and spend the evening with me. After all, what better company than with the man who has weathered this horrible famine?” Jathut boasted, his grand gut quivering like pudding as he laughed. Tiphany despised the idea, but she also knew that her pathetic attempts at investigating thus far had come up with nothing. If she was ever going to get to the bottom of this mystery, she needed to take a chance and risk further damage to her waistline. Thus, she tied a napkin around her neck, picked up her fork and knife, and edged forward as she waited for the command. The dandy across from her did the same, his tongue darting across his lips in anticipation. Jathut began the contest by lazily waving his arm and announcing, “Now, let the games begin!” Just like that, Tiphany and her opponent tore into the massive feast as the crowd roared with cheers and jeers. As much as Tiphany wanted to hate the food she wolfed down, the bouncy belly on her waist was proof that she enjoyed everything the baron offered. She attacked her meal with skill, quickly slicing apart a trout and spearing several bits of food on her fork before taking a massive bite that filled her cheeks to capacity. A low moan rumbled up from her throat as she gobbled up the fish and lobster, and her eyelids fluttered despite herself. Across from her, the dandy was making far more of a mess than her, keeping in line with how much these elitist swine threw out their etiquette once they were alone. He was unremarkably handsome—attractive when isolated, but easily lost in a crowd—but his finer features were blanketed in a layer of soft adipose that grew thicker by the day. His garments were stretched tight around a pillowy chest, plush stomach, and wobbly hips, though with how much sauce splattered along the threads, he did not seem to care for looks. Like so many others at Mossholme, he only cared about satisfying his own carnal desires, regardless of the effect it would have on him or the world at large. There was something there for Tiphany to be furious about, but she did not focus on the plump princeling on the other end of the table. She ate voraciously but methodically: she dissected a pheasant with all the skill of a butcher, scooped up spare cheese from the broccoli with stew-soaked bread, and made a mash out of her sweet potatoes to make them go down even easier. While the dandy ate like a savage, quaffing his stew like a flagon of ale, the thief worked like a surgeon and whittled her way through the feast with aplomb. When she first sat down at the table, the only thing that kept Tiphany going was the chance to get to Jathut, but she lost her focus somewhere around her third trout; she would have forgotten where she was, save for the din of the crowd. Pleasant little coos and purrs passed her lips as she ate, her thoughts drifting back to her family and the many hearty meals she missed out on. How could she have ever passed up delicacies like this? Everything was better with butter, salt, and sugar, especially in such large amounts! She could eat like this forever and a day, if it were not for her mission…what was it again? Something to do with a salmon? “Don’t slow down now, Winnie! Dolphen’s catching up to you,” Dienna warned Tiphany from her seat on the sidelines. “Whu-huh?” the thief mumbled before shaking her head and clearing her mind with a gulp of wine. Sure enough, her rival’s feasting was catching up to her despite her head start, which propelled Tiphany to dive back in and refocus her attention. This proved easier said than done, as her belly was packed so full that she looked like she had swallowed a cannonball whole, leaving her unable to reach her plate without considerable effort. Thankfully, her fans were quick to lend a hand as Dienna took a bowl of trifle and placed it on Tiphany’s bloated gut. She winked and teased, “If you can’t reach the table, just use what you’ve got!” Tiphany forced down a belch and dug into the trifle, scooping up thick spoonfuls of custard, cookie, and fruit and shoveling them in her mouth as quick as she could. It had taken much of the feast, but she threw her table manners to the wind as well and happily glutted herself with reckless abandon, regardless of any mess she made. Taking this as a sign that the contest was entering its final phase, the audience bellowed and cheered on the two munching maniacs. It was a neck and neck race to the finish, with the food diminishing bit by bit as the two contestants ate like starving dogs. The audience was all too eager to join in the debauchery and assist their entertainment, first by passing plates to them and then cramming the meals down their gullets when both Tiphany and the dandy grew too tired to lift their arms. Tiphany felt a tingle of humiliation in the back of her mind, but she was too ** on wine and food to care what was happening—she just wanted to keep eating. Eventually, the food stopped coming and the thief felt her arm tugged into the air. Her lips smacked out of pure reflex, eating through a meal that was not coming, and only when she realized she was not eating did she stir. Tiphany blinked as if waking from a dream and rolled her eyes down to see a mess of plates and bowls—or she would have, were her vision not blocked by a massive stomach. Even pregnant heifers could not compare to her swollen belly: so packed with morsels that it was a veritable larder; so full of wine that she resembled a cask. It would have been a truly horrific sight, were it not for the pleasant haze that filled her head and left her smiling dopily. “What a fantastic showing! The lady eats like my old ma-ma,” Jathut guffawed before clapping his hands. “Guards, will you kindly take Madam Bockland to the baths to rest?” Before any of the able-bodied guards could take the task, Gordie stepped forward and waved his hand in the air. “I’ll do it for ye, baron-sir—wif one ‘and, no less!” Same as he had done since she arrived, Gordie scooped Tiphany up in one of his shovel hands and cradled her with ease, though he was even gentler this time around. Tiphany was dimly aware of the revelry around her and the praise the nobles threw at her, but she was too tired to do anything but daintily wave. Even though she had eaten enough for a family reunion, the bloated thief still found her thoughts drifting to her next meal—wherever and whenever that might be…
  5. Thank you! There's going to be a few twists and turns here--as usual with one of my stories--so stay tuned!
  6. Glad you liked it! I don't often write scenes like this, but they're really a lot of fun.
  7. CHAPTER 90 “Mickey, I’m home!” Ray called out as he walked into his and Mickey’s apartment with an armful of groceries—an armful that grew larger with each successive trip. “Bienvenido,” Mickey replied from the bedroom. Ever since she crested the 400-pound range, her voice had grown thicker and duskier thanks to the thick necklace of flab accumulating around her neck—just one of the many lovely surprises Ray discovered as his princesa plumped up. “Did they have those black and white cookies?” Ray answered with a chuckle, “There weren’t any on the floor, but when I told the manager that I had a very hungry and greedy piglet at home, she managed to get me one last box from the back.” “Te callas, sabelotodo,” Mickey retorted with a laugh of her own. “Why don’t you bring those cookies back here and I can show you just how much I appreciate you.” The promise of what awaited him sent shivers down Ray’s spine and encouraged him to put the cold groceries away as quickly as possible. While their relationship had never been lacking in sex, being a far better way to deal with the stress of the wrestling business than others, their bedroom time had grown dramatically ever since Mickey started to put on weight. It seemed that Mickey had a new, fun idea every few days, which had led to them exploring almost every square inch of their apartment while exploring each other. They had tried countless positions, dozens of roleplay concepts, and filled Mickey’s ever-growing belly with a metric ton of food, and they were not slowing down any time soon. If anyone had asked a younger Ray Valdez if he could ever see himself with a woman over 200 pounds, let alone 400, he would have laughed in their face. Time and maturity had opened his mind to experiences he would have never dreamt of in the past, but he was still surprised sometimes with how taken he was with how big Mickey had become. While he had become appreciative of bigger women, sharing in his girlfriend’s compliments on the gains of others, none of them held a candle to his princess. There was just something else about Mickey that made drove him wild in ways that no one thin or fat was capable of doing. That was why he had that ring waiting for just the right occasion. Ray had been holding onto the engagement ring for the last couple months, waiting for ‘the right moment’ that his managerial brain always told him was coming without giving ideas for when. First was Christmas, but that was too busy with family visits; then New Year’s, but the two of them were too ** by the end of the night to do anything but cuddle on the couch. It could not be any ordinary day of the year, no, because someone as amazing as Mickey deserved something special, and that was why Ray had settled on Valentine's Day. But that was still a couple weeks out, and he had a lover that needed pleasing right away. Once everything was put in its place, Ray collected the cookies and a gallon jug of whole milk before making his way back to the bedroom. His mind drifted to the things Mickey had in mind and the things she was able to do with that blubbery body of hers, and he only got more excited with each footstep. The very lovely answer was waiting for him on the bed, where Mickey lay lounging in schoolteacher attire that was achingly tight on her. The white blouse would have been like a blanket on the average woman, but it was stretched to max capacity and creaked with every slight movement. Her black skirt fared little better, and Ray was certain that he heard a thread pop when she rolled over to greet him. She had somehow managed to squeeze her rotund legs into stockings, but they were already giving up the ghost and breaking under the stress of her blubbery body. A pair of fake glasses adorned her face, though her chubby cheeks made them sit awkwardly, and her hair was tied up into a professional bun—the only thing that looked professional about the whole attire. “Oh, Mr. Coleman, I didn’t hear you come in,” Mickey teased, her lips pouting but her eyes flickering with excitement. She plucked a chocolate from a box and popped it in her mouth as she continued, “I just needed to take some time to myself. You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Ray knew exactly how this game was played, as Mickey had a sizeable cast of characters she cycled through in their games. Currently, she was playing the role of Ms. Buttershaw, a high school teacher that was oblivious to her weight gain and lived in perpetual denial. Ms. Buttershaw was one of Mickey’s favorite characters, making frequent appearances in the bedroom while remaining clueless about her weight even as she grew to gargantuan sizes. She was also one of Ray’s favorites because Mickey seemed even lustier when she donned those plastic glasses, which made him all the more eager to play along. “Oh, I won’t tell a soul, Ms. Buttershaw,” Ray hummed as he approached the bed. “By the way, I just picked up some cookies and milk at the store. Would you like some?” Mickey glanced over at the cookies and licked her lips, only to ultimately shake her head. “I shouldn’t: I’ve been doing so well on my diet; I can’t afford to backslide now.” Ray made a point of ogling his girlfriend’s curves as he retorted, “You’re on a diet? Could have fooled me, considering you’re wrist-deep in that box of chocolates.” “I know…I’m so bad,” Mickey whined even as she popped a peanut butter cup in her mouth. “But Susan got me this as a gift for covering her class last week, and I couldn’t just say no! It’s rude to turn down a gift; it’s not my fault that people give me so many.” “You could also spread them out and not wolf them down as soon as you get them. But that’s just it—you can’t help yourself,” Ray teased as he poked the thick slab of blubber that rolled over her waistband. “You see food and you just have to eat it. Do you know what I call that, Ms. Buttershaw? A piggy. A big, fat, porky piggy.” Even though Mickey knew exactly what she was doing, she still blushed and pretended to be the sweet and naïve teacher. She scowled—which was far less threatening thanks to her chubby cheeks—and told Ray, “Mr. Coleman, I am not a piggy! I’ll have you know that I do have self-control; I’m not just some mindless eating machine.” Ray continued to trace along his lover’s side, sinking her finger into her flabby middle and giving it a wobble. “We both know that’s a lie. If you really could stop eating, you would have done so long before you turned into a four hundred-pound porker that can barely waddle down the hall without getting winded. If you were serious about losing weight, you wouldn’t have waited until you were wearing clothes with four Xs on the tag.” “Mmm,” Mickey purred, her eyes closed and her toes curling as her boyfriend toyed her with her abundant body. She knew that Ray was good with his hands, but she had no idea he was this good. “Well, you’re still wrong about me, sir. I can stop whenever I want, and I can lose weight.” “We’ll see about that,” Ray teased as he cracked open the box of cookies and gallon of milk. Glancing over at the mountain of woman that was sprawled out on their bed, Ray found it hard to believe it had been less than a year since this whole experiment began—when Mickey was just barely able to finish a steak dinner on her own. He knew that she had dreamt about this for years, but he had no idea the lengths she would go to get the body she desired. Her stomach had stretched to inhuman proportions, aided in no small measure by the constant food challenges she put on herself; they still talked about the night she finished a wedding cake by herself. Mickey Ramone was many things—loud, proud, and determined—but Ray would never have guessed what a glutton she truly was. And now, he was doing his part to lead her even further down that path as he held a cookie in front of her. His voice was a low growl when he explained, “I’m going to feed you every last cookie in this box and this entire gallon of milk; if you want me to stop, all you have to do is say the word.” “Oh no, I couldn’t,” Mickey purred, licking her lips and wiggling her overfed hips on the bed. “That’s a lot of milk, and there are so many cookies there.” “There really are,” Ray replied as he slid the first cookie into Mickey’s mouth and watched with barely contained glee as her chins rippled slightly with each bite. “There’s over a thousand calories in this box. Do you really need those?” Mickey shook her head but still opened her mouth for more. After the second cookie, she whimpered, “What am I doing, Mr. Coleman? What are you doing? You’re going to make me the fattest woman in this whole city!” “You were already on your way there, Ms. Buttershaw,” Ray answered in a soft grunt. “You can make excuse after excuse and deny it all you want, but we both know that the one who started you on this road was yourself. But you don’t want to stop, do you?” “I have to,” Mickey replied after her third cookie. “Please, Mr. Coleman, you have to help me! I’ll get too fat to fit through the classroom door. Too fat to squeeze into my car. Too fat to even leave the house! Please, please don’t make me eat any more.” Ray shook his head and ran his hand over her belly, sinking his finger into the gaps between buttons. “I’m not making you do anything, Ms. Buttershaw: if you really want to stop gaining weight, all you need to do is stop eating.” There was no helping the glimmer of excitement in Mickey’s face at those words, but she quickly dipped back into her role as she scarfed down cookie after cookie. She pleaded, “Please, you have to stop feeding me! I can barely fit in the biggest clothes I could find; soon, I won’t have anything to wear! I’ll just be this naked blob of a woman!” “Unable to hide your greed and pretend you’re anything but an out of control fatso,” Ray taunted his lover while she ate everything he put in front of her. “You’d spend your whole day doing nothing but eat and grow, your only purpose to serve as a monument to hedonism and a lesson about being such a greedy hog.” Mickey stifled a guttural moan and licked the crumbs from her lips, pausing only to whisper, “Querido, pasa la leche, por favor.” Ray quickly obliged and tipped the gallon jug to Mickey’s mouth, allowing her to guzzle the whole milk like a frat boy at a keg. As gluttonous as she was, Mickey still retained some modicum of decorum whenever she stuffed her face; even when eating ribs or chicken wings, she always took time to wash her hands and face as soon as she was through. The moments when she did allow herself to stay messy were reserved for when she wanted Ray to clean her by licking the sauce from her fingers, but she much preferred taking a shower with him instead. “You’re a real cow, Ms. Buttershaw,” Ray teased as he continued to pour milk down his lover’s gullet. “I had you pegged the moment I saw you go back for thirds at your first potluck. You were still pretty thin then, but there were little hints of growth if someone looked hard enough. Your shirt was just a smidge tighter in the middle, your pants a little snugger, and the button on your slacks was stretching ever so slightly. Most people would have stopped there, but not you…no, you decided to keep going and going, even though you knew the damage you were doing to your waistline. “Soon, you were snacking in between classes, eating larger lunches than anyone in the staff room, and filling your car with wrappers from the drive-thru. You developed a little swagger when you walked down the hall, but not because you were suddenly confident; no, it was because you were so bloated that you were starting to waddle. Even when you tore your pants and had to borrow a jacket from the lost and found, you still didn’t slow down, did you? “You might have ignored it, but anyone with eyes could tell you were turning into a human blimp, Ms. Buttershaw. You were getting winded just walking with your class or using the staircases, and you were even eating during classes. You couldn’t walk between desks or stand on your feet for long, so you just started lecturing from your chair. Your clothes were big enough to fit two students comfortably, but they were still tight as can be on your flabby body. You were fast becoming the biggest butterball anyone at this school had ever seen, and you did it without a second’s doubt.” As Mickey drained the gallon jug, Ray ran his free hand up and down her body, gently squeezing at her fattest parts. While anyone would think La Princesa Violenta was just a weak marshmallow at a glance, she was far thicker and firmer than she looked. Her time spent away from the ring had been spent eating and working out in near-equal parts, cultivating a hard body underneath a fine layer of pudgy padding. Take away all that blubber and one would find hard muscle that could bench the moon, give or take a few pounds. But that was not their game, and Ray knew that Mickey loved having attention heaped on her plush, lavish curves. “My god, woman, there isn’t anyone here that recognizes you,” Ray scoffed playfully. “Your face alone is round as a meatball; it’s a wonder you can still wear those glasses with cheeks that fat. These arms of yours are even bigger around than your waist when you started, you know. And these breasts…it’s like you crammed two beachballs down your shirt every day. They’d probably sag to the floor if they weren’t sitting on a gut the size of a beanbag chair. Your hips are so wide that you’ve got to enter your classroom sideways, and it won’t be long before we have to squeeze you through double doors. Your legs are so big around that just one thigh would probably fill your chair to capacity, but none of this bothers you, does it?” Mickey purred around the last of the milk as Ray concluded by patting her stomach. “You keep talking about how you need to lose weight—how ‘this time for sure’ is when you start dieting—but I think we all know the truth, don’t we? The truth is that you want to be a pig, Ms. Buttershaw, and you’re just putting on an act to hide that. Well, I think it’s time you stopped pretending and started living the hog life, porky, because you’ll never be thin again.” As soon as she swallowed the last few drops, Mickey swatted the empty jug from Ray’s hands and pulled him in for a fierce kiss. The sudden motion and the belly full of milk and cookies caused two buttons on her blouse to pop, which only excited the massive woman further. Ray returned the favor by running his fingers through his lover’s hair and snapping the waistband on the skirt, allowing a thick glob of flab to escape. “Oh god, Ray, you’re too good at that,” Mickey murmured when she finally pulled away. “You really know how to make a fat girl feel special.” “Only because you’re already pretty damn special, Mickey,” Ray hummed as he pinched her love handle between his knuckles. “But if you think that’s all I’ve got, then you ain’t seen nothing yet.” Ray gave his lover a gentle push onto her back before climbing onto the bed and straddling her legs—or rather her leg, since doing both would require someone much more flexible. Once he had his spot, he leaned down and planted kisses on Mickey’s bare flesh while helping her clothes to their demise, tugging at the outfit until it gave. The more pudge that spilled out, the more there was to love, and Ray gave little kisses and nibbles to every new inch that appeared through the tattered clothes. All the while, Mickey writhed about on the sheets and stifled a groan with a mouthful of cookies. In between his tender kisses, Ray murmured, “Mi amante grande y hermosa, eres tan maravillosamente gorda. Tus pechos son como montañas, tus caderas son tan anchas como el mar, y tu vientre es tan grande y espléndido como el sol.” Between Ray’s deft hands and Mickey’s wiggling, the voluptuous woman was soon stripped to nothing but lingerie and felt like she was ready to explode. Mickey reached up and cupped a hand on one of Ray’s cheeks, softly stroking his beard as she whispered, “I love you so much, Raymundo.” “And I love you, Mickey,” Ray replied as he held her hand. “You’re my whole world.” His thoughts turned to the nightstand on his side of the bed, where the ring was hidden at the very back. He had been putting off the big question for so long, waiting for a moment that he was not sure he recognized, and he wondered if this was it. All he had to do was reach over and open the drawer…but those thoughts were dashed when there came a knock on the door. “Mierda,” Mickey cursed under her breath. She looked up into her lover’s eyes and asked, “Could you get that? I ordered a new DVD set and it’s supposed to be coming in today.” “Gladly, but remind me to order a Do Not Disturb sign later,” Ray chuckled, equally put out but hoping they could pick things back up as soon as he was finished. After adjusting his clothes to make sure he still looked decent, Ray walked to the apartment door, answering another knock with a gruff reply. “I’m coming! Just a second!” If he had only known what was waiting on the other side of that door, he might have paused a little longer, but he was stunned to find Sadie Storme waiting on the other side. The diva had a wild look in her eyes—the same look she had whenever she was scheming something—and she gave a curt wave before asking, “Hey, Ray…can Mickey come out to play?”
  8. Thanks, man! Natasha is fast becoming one of my favorite characters to write, and it's going to be a blast to see how things progress with her and Rose.
  9. ((Sorry for the delay on this one, folks--the old brain was really struggling for a bit there. But I'm back and better than ever, so I hope you enjoy this new installment!)) PART 2 Rose should have bolted the moment she heard Natasha drop that bomb—that she was a new member of her school’s basketball team without so much as asking—and she would have been forgiven for doing so. She was so stunned at the prospect that she simply froze in place though, her brain struggling to process what had happened to her. What was expected to be a simple meeting of some new people had turned into one of the most unexpected twists in her life, and she had no idea what to make of it. Thankfully, the other members of the team proved to be less duplicitous and offered Rose the chance to hang out for a practice to see what she thought. That was far easier on the bewildered blonde, and she agreed to stay that morning to see just what practice was like for a collegiate athlete. After all, it was her second day at Ridgewell University and classes did not start for another week; outside of getting to know her roommate a little more, she did not have anything on her schedule. The easiest part of the practice came when the girls worked on their footwork, which Rose excelled at just as Natasha had expected. The rest proved to be a challenge for the former dancer, whose understanding of basketball stopped at recognizing what a basketball was. Fortunately, the team was quick to give her pointers and show her how to perform a variety of shots, with Natasha displaying an aptitude for trick shots in particular. Rose was still a rookie by the end of the practice, but she found her curiosity piqued by the new sport and especially by her new friends. Thus, her college basketball career began. Ridgewell, being such a small school, did not compete on the same level as other universities, but they still played against some talented teams during the season. Rose was primarily relegated to the bench for the first season, switching out only when a teammate was injured or was penalized, and this suited her just fine. The Ridgewell Pumas were a lovely bunch and more than encouraging, but she knew that she was leagues away from them in experience. No, she was content to sit back and learn; it certainly beat stressing herself whenever the possibility of playing came up. Rose had no idea how she managed to get so lucky with making friends so soon into her college life, but she was not about to jinx it with second-guessing. No one could truly replace her pals back home, but the girls on the team all made her feel welcome and helped to ease the homesickness that plagued the blonde for the first couple months. While none of the players were as wild as Nicole’s rugby team, each had their own charm, be it Audrey and her fondness for gardening or Ricki and her vast knowledge of comics books. And then, there was Natasha. Rose was grateful for the misfit introducing her to the basketball team, but she had no idea what to make of her as the days went by. Natasha was everything Rose was not—loud, brash, and more than a little forward—but unlike Nicole, there was something she could not put her finger on. It might have been cliché and a little judgmental, but Natasha gave off an air of danger whenever she was around; she constantly had her eyes on Rose, and the toothy grins she flashed were almost like a hungry cat eyeballing a canary. And yet, she never made a move towards the blonde outside of the occasional bump of the hip, which only served to confuse Rose even more. Maybe one day, Rose would understand Natasha, though that day seemed far off. At least her roommate was easier to understand, even if by a slim margin. Fumiko was not the chattiest girl in the world, often absorbed in her own world with her eyes glued to her phone or computer, but she was easy to get along with. The key was knowing when to try making chit-chat, as Fumiko tended to be much snippier when she was engrossed in a project; in the rare moments when she was free, she was polite and courteous if not the most enthusiastic. It took some getting used to for Rose, who often relied on the reactions of others to see how she was doing, but her stoic roommate was always quick to assure her that everything was fine. “You don’t need to try to impress me, Rose,” Fumiko told her one night as Rose faltered through an anecdote about her days in Australia. The two sat at a table outside the Student Union Building, which doubled as a food court for those craving something branded. “I assure you that you’re quite impressive on your own.” Rose blushed at the remark and twiddled her fingers with her gaze fixed on her lap. “That’s nice of you, but I’m really not—” Her typical reply was interrupted when Fumiko interjected, “You’re even impressive at self-deprecation. If there is anything I’ve learned since we started to live together, it’s that you are very quick to speak critically about yourself. Why is that?” “I…I don’t really mean to,” Rose answered, trying not to fidget as her roommate stared intently at her. “It’s just a force of habit; my brain just defaults to the worst.” “Yes, I’m aware,” Fumiko replied matter-of-factly, her standard mode of operation. “The brain is a peculiar thing: I know that I can be very blunt and formal; I have to force myself to not do that, which is brainpower that can go to far more productive places. But I do know that such psychoanalytical discussions are not considered ‘table talk’, so let us talk about something far more pleasant.” She speared a piece of lettuce and tomato from her salad and pointed it at Rose as she said, “Let me talk about why you should not think so poorly of yourself, for there are several desirable traits that your brain tends to overlook.” “Th-That’s really not necessary,” Rose mumbled through a mouthful of chicken sandwich. If there was one thing that the anxious blonde dreaded more than an insult, it was a compliment simply because she had no idea how to take it. “Your remarks say otherwise,” Fumiko rebutted while chipping away at her salad. “You’re very considerate and patient with me, you’re always punctual to class and practice, and you’ve got very charming handwriting—the way you dot your I’s with little diamonds is particularly adorable.” Rose grew increasingly pink in embarrassment and shrank into her seat, still nibbling at her lunch as she curled into herself. It was impossible to put into words just why she felt so awkward with compliments, but her lips echoed how conflicted her mind was as they shifted between a smile and a pout with each word. She had trouble accepting praise from her friends back home; hearing niceties from a girl she had only known for a month or two left her cheeks blazing in blush. Despite the meek protestations and bashful shivering of her roommate, Fumiko continued, “I know that I’ve been complimentary of your wardrobe but I cannot stress enough that your fashion sense is very cute. You have a very nostalgic style, and I think that you wear it perfectly—especially that poodle skirt of yours. This is to say nothing of how they complement your figure, because they pair perfectly with everything about you. I could…” The clinical girl paused and studied Rose for the first time since their conversation started. It took a few seconds for it to register, but Fumiko finally said, “I apologize, Rose…in my eagerness to remind you of your positives, I fear I made you uncomfortable. Is it really so embarrassing to hear someone say something nice about you?” “Like you said, the brain is a peculiar thing,” Rose replied softly. She glanced over from her meal and told Fumiko, “I think it’s just too much for my mind to take sometimes, like an animal that’s lived in the dark all its life; when you bring it into the sun, it can’t handle all that light.” Fumiko pursed her lips and furrowed her brow—the same look she always got whenever mulling over a problem—before nodding. “I see. That is unfortunate, but it does give me some excellent insight into how you work, Rose Pillar. May I hold your hand?” At that point, Rose was not sure she could have blushed any harder if she tried, but she went along with the request all the same. Fumiko’s hands were tiny compared to hers, but they held tight as the petite girl declared, “I am committing myself to helping you walk in the light, Rose, whether it takes a month or our entire time at this school.” Rose found herself at a loss for words again, unable to respond one way or the other to the bold statement. All she could do was meekly nod her head and squeak, “Okay.” That seemed to be sufficient for Fumiko, who let go of Rose’s hand and sat back down in her seat to pick at her lunch as if the last few minutes had not happened. Though her mind was popping like corn, Rose followed suit and returned to her lunch, albeit at a much faster pace than her roommate. In fact, she did not even realize she had finished until she heard Fumiko ask, “Would you like me to get you anything else, Rose? You seemed rather hungry today.” Rose glanced down in front of her and realized that her chicken sandwich and veggie fries were all gone—there were only the tiniest of crumbs remaining. Despite eating a perfectly normal lunch, she did feel a little more peckish than usual; whether that was her heart playing tricks on her or something else, she could not say. “M-Maybe just a smoothie for the road,” the blonde requested quietly, not wanting to seem greedy but still wanting something to settle her brain. “I need to get to class soon.” “Then I will get the option that should provide the most energy,” Fumiko replied before getting up and quickly shuffling away from the table, leaving Rose to digest her meal in peace and try to stave off an oncoming case of hiccups. Maybe Fumiko was not as easy to understand as she first thought…and perhaps it would be better for her to avoid these sorts of conversations over food. *** “Here’s to another great game, Pumas,” announced Leslie, the captain of the basketball team. This was followed by a round of cheers from her fellow players, including Rose—though she made hers softer than the others. Though they came from a smaller school and were far better behaved than other teams—especially the Cape Fear Bruins, as Rose had found out on Nicole’s Instafeed—the girls at Ridgewell still knew how to get down when the mood struck them. They had just won a game against another regional school and were celebrating with a party that was pumping so hard, Rose could barely hear herself think. It was far from her usual scene but she did not want to disappoint the team by not showing up, even though when she did arrive, she stood in the corner for a good hour. Eventually, she made her way upstairs, where there was a little more peace to be had in the coat room—or there would have been, if not for someone else already occupying the room. “Funny running into you here, pretty bird,” Natasha hummed while sipping from a cup of liquor so strong, Rose could smell it from the doorway. “Need to hide in your nest for a bit?” Rose nodded silently and remained frozen in the doorway, mumbling, “I can find another room; I don’t want to disturb you.” Natasha blew a raspberry and waved the blonde over. “Nah, you’re good company, Rosie. Come on over here and enjoy the view with me; I promise I don’t bite hard.” The joke—and hopefully it was a joke—brought a small smile to Rose’s lips and she tiptoed over to where Natasha had parked herself atop the pile of coats that covered the bed. She sat down on what little mattress was still free, not wanting to get even a hair on someone else’s coat, and glanced over to her green-haired ‘friend’. The quotation marks were necessary, as there were some days where Rose honestly had no idea what to make of the loose cannon. Sometimes, things were perfectly normal and even pleasant; other times, Natasha eyeballed her like a cat to a canary. Those moments gave Rose goosebumps and sent her heart pounding, even though her teammate never did anything unwarranted. So what was it about Natasha Patterson that made her feel like this? “You need a drink?” asked Natasha as she waved her cup at Rose. She received a quick shake of the head and crinkle of the nose in reply, which made her chuckle. “Suit yourself—more for me. Hey, you want to see something cool? Lay down.” Rose cocked an eyebrow at the suggestion, hesitant as she was in everything, but acquiesced when Natasha scooted over to give her room. As she slowly lay down, she realized that there was a skylight in the bedroom, allowing a perfect view of the stars and a particularly bright moon; it was like the glow in the dark stars she had in her room as a kid, only ten times better. Natasha rocked her head to the side and caught the smile growing on Rose’s lips. “Cool, right? I love to come up here whenever we’re at Leslie’s place, just so I can stare at the stars or the clouds through that window. You should join me sometime, pretty bird.” There it was again: that coy suggestion and nickname, which Natasha used more than Rose’s actual name. The blonde had wondered about that since the day they first met, and she could no longer let it sit. She rolled her head over and asked, “Why do you call me that?” The instant the words left her mouth, Rose quickly sat up and put her hands in her lap as she added, “I mean, it’s not a problem or anything! It’s just that you’re the only one who calls me that and I don’t think I’m really like a bird and…” Her nervous rambling was interrupted by a deep laugh from Natasha, who almost spilled her drink on the coats. The guffawing girl composed herself just enough to answer, “That! That right there. You’re exactly like a bird, Rosie.” Natasha downed the last of her drink and threw the cup across the room, missing the trash can by a country mile in the process. She rolled onto her side, propped her head on her elbow, and explained, “That’s the first thing I thought when I saw you dancing in the woods. Here’s this tall, beautiful creature moving gracefully and quietly and all that shit, and I’m thinking that you’re just about the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. And then, I walk over and open my big mouth, and you damn near jumped ten feet in the air.” She punctuated her point by walking her fingers step by step to Rose and tickling her wrist. “I thought you were like a crane in a costume—beautiful to look at but ready to fly off at the drop of a hat—and damned if you haven’t proven me right every day since then.” Despite her usual reticence around Natasha, Rose blushed and let the girl continue to tickle at her wrist before asking, “I’m not that bad, am I?” “You’re pretty skittish, Rosie,” Natasha cooed, her eyelids drooping as she sidled closer to Rose. “You’re like a skitty kitty, but nah…you’re the prettiest birdy I ever seen.” Rose felt like a steamed vegetable as she struggled to process everything going on—and she was not even the one that had been drinking. She was sorely tempted to disappear, be it under the pile of coats or back down into the party, but something else held her back. Curiosity joined the tumult of feelings in her chest, and she asked definitively, “Natasha, do you like me, or are you just teasing me because you know it’ll get a reaction?” “Both,” the drunken girl answered without a second of hesitation. She brushed her fingers along Rose’s hand, gently stroking the knuckles as she clarified, “You know me, Rosie, and you know that I love to get a rise out of people, but I wasn’t lying when I said you were beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl as cute as you, and the way you move sometimes makes me want to scream because I don’t know what else to do. I like teasing you because you’re so damn adorable when you blush and get all fidgety, and I just want to do so, so many things that’ll make you blush like you’ve never blushed before. Does that answer your question?” It certainly did, but Rose had no idea how to respond. With cheeks beet red, she silently got up from the bed and shuffled out the door in search of something to munch on and clear her mind.
  10. Thanks! I try to pride myself on having entertaining dialogue and interactions, so I'm glad that worked out here.
  11. CHAPTER 89 Theresa had fretted for the last few weeks over how she would be received at the show, fearing that she would be mocked for how fat she had become. The last time anyone had seen her in a ring, she had been dozens of sizes smaller and able to leap from the top rope; now, she would likely cause the ropes to snap if she tried the same stunts. Her depression crept up on her then, threatening to derail all her hard work with stress eating and days spent in bed, but the former wrestler managed to push them back to the shadows of her mind. This was no time for her to wallow in self-pity; she had a show to put on and students to promote. But as she stood under the lights of the tent and surrounded by an almost full house, those worries seemed miles away. The great cloud that had been hovering over her for years was gone, chased away by the spotlight that she had missed so very much. It took her back to her first days in the industry, when she busted her tail in bingo halls and high school gyms just to make a name for herself. It took her back to her days overseas, when she honed her craft wrestling luminaries from every corner of the world. It took her back to the Global Wrestling Federation, where her matches were still talked about and regarded as some of the finest in women’s wrestling. So what if she was a few years older and a lot of pounds heavier? She was Theresa Hartley—Queen Heart—and she was home. “Did you miss me? Because oh, I have missed you all,” Theresa told the crowd to a round of applause. “It’s been a long time since I stepped foot in the squared circle—too long, really. I left so I could start a family and live the normal life my folks always wanted for me, and you know what? The last few years have been some of the happiest of my life, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world…but that love of professional wrestling never died, my friends. Oh, it flickered and dimmed, but it never faded from my heart. “What was it that revived me though? What was it that convinced me it was time to reclaim my throne? Well, a lot can change in almost eight years—especially in the world of wrestling—and I watched as a new crop of talent rose through the ranks and called themselves ‘superstars’. I’ve seen them all: Sadie Storme, Hana Reborn, and Nightshade; Jocelyn Brown, Terri Li, and Bianchi Veleno; so many misfits who think that they know their way around a ring.” The crowd booed and cheered alternatively at the names Theresa dropped, most of whom she did not recognize; she could thank the girls for giving her the most noteworthy names in the business. Even as the crowd continued, Theresa carried on, “I thought I was leaving my queendom in good hands, but I see that it’s gone to the dogs since I’ve been gone. They’ve forgotten what a real superstar is like—what a real superstar is supposed to be—and that made me angrier than I’ve been in a long, long time. “So, I reached out to my mentor—the Immortal Drill Sergeant, Rose Manson—and I told her, ‘Sarge, I can’t stand it anymore: all I see in the ring today are a bunch of punks that aren’t fit to lace the boots of real superstars. I know you’ve got a wrestling school in town and I’m sure you’re teaching them right, but I want to help make them the best wrestlers on the face of the Earth. The Drill Sergeant and the Queen Heart herself—what do you think?’” In the back of her mind, Theresa’s nagging doubts bit at her will, trying to tell her that she had no right to be in the squared circle again. Her overblown tits were going to flop out of her corset, her leggings would pop around her thunder thighs, and the seat would split around her fat ass; even if she did not suffer a wardrobe malfunction, all anyone would focus on would be her double chin. Despite all those pesky thoughts trying to weasel into her mind, the Queen Heart was on a roll and could not stop even if she wanted to—and she definitely did not want to. She had a captivated audience, a hot mic, and a ring all to herself; she was going to enjoy herself come hell or high water. “Well, folks, you’re about to see just what two icons can do when you give them diamonds in the rough. For your entertainment today, we present five matches featuring a dozen women that are bound for glory in the wrestling world. The divas and knockouts today might have forgotten what it takes to be legendary, but these girls are going to show the whole world what it means to be a superstar! And when they’re inducted into halls of fame across the globe, you can tell all your friends that you saw them right here in beautiful Montpelier, Vermont!” Theresa flashed the crowd a beaming grin as the tent filled with applause and cheers. She threw her arms wide open and announced, “Now, without further ado, let’s get the show on the road!” *** As strong as her opening promo had been, it would have meant nothing if the action that followed did not match expectations; Theresa had been in countless shows that started strong and ended with the audience throwing trash in the ring in protest. Thankfully, she did not have to worry about people walking out or demanding a refund, as her students were more than ready to deliver. The show started off hot with Vidya and Conner going at it in a ‘David and Goliath’ match that not only saw Conner throw her smaller opponent through the air like a piece of paper, but also featured Vidya twisting her massive enemy in knots. By the time the referee—one of the girls’ boyfriends—hit the 1-2-3, the crowd was cheering for more. And more they received, as the students gave each match their all for the entertainment of the crowd. Each match had something different to offer, from technical challenges that saw the wrestlers making pretzels out of each other to high-flying maneuvers that saw girls leaping from the top rope like acrobats. They even had a tag match that left the crowd torn between both teams, despite the Nightmare Sisters being textbook heels throughout. There was still the occasional botch, as expected from a group of rookies, but they were quick to roll with the punches and mask them as best they could. What impressed Theresa the most was how the girls moved and worked despite their recent uptick in weight. The wrestling industry was not kind to women in general, and Heaven help any that dared gain so much as five pounds, so to see her students flourish only helped bolster the warm feelings Theresa had been feeling since the start of the night. She knew that she was still twice as big as any of the girls and had a fraction of their athletic ability, but maybe there really was a place for her in the industry after all. Finally, the show came to an end, and the crowd showered the wrestlers with one last standing ovation before making their way back out to the festival. There was some sadness now that the highlight of the last few years was over, but Theresa chased that away with the knowledge that she and the girls had knocked it out of the park. She tried to go in with modest expectations, though her mood swung to wild extremes in the lead-up to the show, but they had blown clear past them. There was only one thing left to do after such a successful show, which was more than welcomed by the weary wrestlers nursing their aching bodies in the trailer. “Dinner’s on me!” Theresa announced to the girls once the tent had been cleared out. “Nothing like a little Chinese food to reward a job well done!” And so it was that the girls found themselves back at Carolyn’s place, munching their way through a party platter of fried, saucy foods as if they had not worked their tails off just an hour prior. Scripted rivalries were forgotten and aches ignored as they celebrated their first showing in the ring, and plates were filled to the brim as the amateur wrestlers nursed their healthy appetites. Just a month prior, the girls might have excused their gluttonous feast as a reward for a job well done or needing to refuel themselves after working so hard, but not a single word was shared on the topic. Eating well for the last few weeks had not only thickened their bodies, but also caused a change in their mentality when it came to food. “Conner, pass the—ulp,” Vidya paused to stifle an undignified belch. “Pass the lo mein.” “Coming with an extra spring roll to boot,” Conner replied as she plopped a crispy roll in the box of lo mein and passed it to her friend. “OMG, you are the best,” Vidya replied as she eagerly filled her plate with noodles. Across the room, Zahara was engaged in the fight of her life as she tried to out-spice Candy Cox of the Nightmare Sisters (who were far less Gothic and menacing away from the ring). They were both eating from the same box of Hunan beef, which was already made extra spicey by the restaurant and only became worse when they added more hot sauce to it. Sweat beaded on both girls’ brows as they ate the fiery dish and their shirts clung to them like white on rice—though the tops were far from loose at the start of the night. “You ready to give up, Z?” asked Candy, even though she eyeballed the ‘forfeit’ glass of milk at her side. “Come on, bae, we both know you’ve got no stomach for spice.” Zahara tugged at collar to relieve some of the heat and help stop her shirt bunching up underneath her bosom before retorting, “You might pull off a sick suplex, Candy, but don’t forget who tapped out tonight; I beat you in the ring and I’ll beat you at this table too.” Both women glowered at each other and shoveled another chunk of beef in their mouth before turning their attention to Candy’s sister, Becky, who was eating a slice of ice cream cake. Their pleading eyes said more than either could manage, and Becky answered, “Mr. Hartley just got back with an ice cream cake; you might be able to snag a couple slices if you hurry.” “Truce,” Candy and Zahara agreed before quaffing their milk and dashing off in search of cake. As the girls feasted to their hearts’ content, their teachers were enjoying a quieter meal in the privacy of Carolyn’s home gym/office. The partnership between the three women had not been an easy one between the clash in mentoring styles and Carolyn being an outsider to the world of wrestling, but one thing they could all agree on was that they had put on a fine show. Of course, like any booking committee, they were not content with the success of a single night; they had to make plans for the future and ensure the continued development of their charges. “I’ll reach out to a few of my contacts in the northeast, see if I can’t get these girls some dates,” Rose said while picking at her dinner. “Christ, you think they put enough broccoli in this?” “What are you, five? Put on your big girl pants and eat them,” Carolyn teased the elderly ring veteran. “I’ve been thinking about some new diet plans for the girls after tonight. We should encourage a high protein diet for some of the heavy hitters—Conner especially—and I’m thinking we go with something a little leaner for the technical ones. I’ll start working on a new plan after I drop the boys off at school, and you just let me know what you think.” “You know what might be fun for the next stage? Promos,” Theresa suggested in between bites of moo goo gai pan. “I know this place that has green screens so people can get edited into their favorite shows and movies. I’ll see if we can’t rent one of the screens or just borrow the space from time to time so the girls can work on their mic skills.” The sentiment might have been lost on Carolyn, but for Theresa and Rose—two women whose lives had revolved around the industry—the impromptu meeting took them both back to their primes. It reminded them of days gone by: when the booking for an entire territory was done from the sanctity of an office no bigger than a broom closet; when you might visits your boss’s house and have a cookout while getting to brass tacks. Theresa felt right at home again, and she did her best not to show such sentiment around her crotchety teacher. Their meeting was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by JJ poking her head in, long hair framing her chubby cheeks. She apologized, “Sorry to, like, interrupt, but could I borrow Mrs. H for a minute? It’ll be super-quick, promise.” “To be continued,” Theresa told her fellow coaches before getting up from her chair and trying to hide just how difficult that still was for her. She waddled over to the door and walked out with JJ, where she found that the lackadaisical girl was joined by Nina Nevinger, who was the happiest Theresa had seen her since the Black Friday brawl. “Well, girls, what can I do for you?” “Well, like, we really, really appreciate how much you’ve taught us, dude—sorry, Mrs. H,” JJ managed to say after stumbling over her words. “Right, Nina?” The punk girl nodded and nibbled at her lip before adding, “Yeah. I know that we were—really, I was—not the best student, so I wanted to thank you for not…not giving up on us. That’s why we want to be the ones to give you this.” Nina passed Theresa an envelope, inside of which was an out of season Mother’s Day card covered in flowers and flowery prose, and inside of which was a gift card for a spa trip. The rotund redhead gasped and put a hand to her lips as tears threatened to trickle from her eyes, but she managed to save face in front of her students. “Like, we got gift cards for Mrs. B and Sarge, but we wanted to be the ones to give you yours,” JJ explained, doing her best to stand straight despite her slacker nature and sizeable chest drawing her forward. “You’ve been so good to us ever since we met you in the gym, even when we would miss class or botch a move or—” JJ did not have a chance to finish, as Theresa pulled both her and Nina in for a bone-crushing hug. The queenly woman chuckled through tears as she told her students, “Goddammit…and here I was, trying not to be a complete wreck. You two really know how to push my buttons, you know that?” “You only tell us that every day,” Nina replied with a cheeky grin, though she was also choked up. “We’ve got to keep things interesting for you, y’know? If you didn’t have a couple fuck-ups making things difficult, how much fun would that really be?” Theresa snorted, “You two might be a pair of knuckleheads sometimes and damned if I haven’t had to chew you out, but it’s because of you two that I came out of retirement and I can never thank you enough for that.” After a moment, Theresa let go of Nina and JJ, and the three looked over each other as though they had been working together for three years and not a few months. They had all come a long way since they met at the gym, between Nina and JJ’s in-ring ability and Theresa’s willpower, but there was something far more obvious that could be gleaned with just a glance. Theresa was still exceedingly heavy, but she had managed to lose an enormous amount of weight since September; the same could not be said for her charges, who were far softer than they had ever been before. If one looked at Nina’s face alone, they would never have been able to tell she was closing in on 180 pounds. She still had fairly sharp cheeks, her arms still had a hint of tone, and her breasts were not much bigger than they were back in September; all in all, she still looked the same from the chest up. That all changed as the eyes made their way to her belly, which was big enough to earn the name as the plush mass oozed over her waistband like a dollop of cream; compared to her hips though, her stomach seemed petite. Her mother’s genes carried on in her, giving her a wide pair of hips that wobbled with a mind of their own and thighs that touched almost to the knee. At least she could take pride in her bouncing booty, even though it was dotted with enough cellulite to resemble cottage cheese. Unlike her punk friend, JJ carried her new weight in her upper body, starting with a face that sported a burgeoning double chin and chipmunk cheeks. She only grew softer from there as her shoulders grew more padded by the week and her arms became squishy enough to hide her muscles. Her crowning achievement was her immodest breasts, which jutted out proudly from her chest like two stars floating in the sky. Beneath her bountiful bosom was a round gut that looked permanently bloated, as if she had just swallowed a watermelon whole. Though she carried most of her weight above the belt, she was no slouch in the lower body, as her legs sported a nice pair of saddlebags and cankles to complete the look. “Guess we might have gone a little overboard with ‘bulking’,” Nina chuckled nervously, admitting for the first time ever that she had put on weight. “We can work on losing it now that the show’s over; no one’s going to want to pay to see a couple pigs in the ring, right?” Theresa immediately clapped her hand on Nina’s shoulder and squeezed gently as she told both girls, “You don’t have to change anything you don’t want to, ladies. If you want to lose weight, I’ll be right there with you; if you want to stay the same weight, we’ll work out a new diet plan. But I don’t know…you two carry it pretty nicely.” “Dude, stop,” JJ murmured as she bowed her head and played with her sleeve. “Swear on my life,” Theresa said before giving JJ a wink. “After all, you’re not the only one that likes marshmallows, kid. We don’t have to talk about that tonight though; go enjoy yourselves, and we’ll be down in just a bit.” Nina and JJ gave Theresa one last smile and hug before departing, with the former asking if the latter felt like splitting the last of the kung pao chicken. The redhead remained at the top of the steps and shook her head with a smile, wondering what she had done to get so lucky with this class. Words could not express how proud she was of each, and she could not wait to see how far they would go…
  12. Thanks for giving it a read! I know some of the stories I post aren't for everybody, but I'm glad you enjoyed it all the same.
  13. ((I hope that everyone's still in the mood for fantasy, because I'm returning to this little world of mine and adding a new chapter to it! This one's going to be different, with not only a new cast but also a primarily BBW gain. I hope you'll follow along for the ride!)) THE TUBBY THIEF AND THE GUARD (1/3) It was a truly impressive feast that spread across the table: a nye of golden-brown pheasants resting atop pillowy mounds of mashed rutabaga, thick stalks of broccoli smothered in a blanket of melted cheese, and hearty beef stew served in soda bread bowls; roast trout stuffed to bursting with buttery lobster, sweet potatoes coated in cinnamon and sea salt, and twelve-layer trifles filled with more sugar than a candy shop. The gathered crowd eyeballed the food like starving dogs, while the help licked their chops in anticipation of the binge that was set to begin, but for Tiphany Fledermaus, it was almost enough to make her stomach turn. She had heard rumors about the decadence in Mossholme, but they paled in comparison to the truth about the seedy fortress. When famine and blight had broken out in Marshland, the lords and ladies abandoned their dying lands and people for the open arms and booming larders of the local baron, Jathut. West Tantris might have been in the throes of starvation and illness, but anyone with a title to their name was welcome to Mossholme; if you were a farmer without a farm, then Providence help you, because Baron Jathut would not. How was it that this one fort was able to thrive while the land decayed around it? That was the million-doubloon question, and Tiphany set out to answer it. As an ordained thief of St. Duncan’s Academy, she had a duty to uncover the truth and take whatever was granting Mossholme this boon so that it might help the afflicted. There were plenty of theories as to what was granting such a bounty, from an overworked agrimancer to food-giving portal, but no one had been able to find the source…yet. It was child’s play for the magna cum laude student to sneak into Mossholme by clinging to the underside of a carriage as it rode through the fort gates. Once night came, she snuck around the grounds and inspected the weathered structure for any weaknesses that she might use to slip in. There was little in the way of access, save for a cellar window that was just big enough for a child—or a halfling, which worked in Tiphany’s favor. Quick and quiet as a mouse, she slipped through the portal and slunk around the cellar until she found stairs leading to the surface. While she had been fortunate thus far, any good thief will say that the easiest part of a job is getting into a place; the hard part is not getting caught or trapped once inside. Tiphany was eager to help, but without knowing what was creating this bounty for the inhabitants, she would need to find a way to blend in. Masquerading as a servant was out of the question, since the staff were far more likely to keep track of who’s who than the guests. It would be easier to hide herself as one of the bourgeois visitors, though it was still hardly foolproof, since she hardly looked like a resident of the upper crust. Unlike many halflings, who were stout and doughy, Tiphany was spritely and petite, almost to the point that one might mistake her for being ill. She had a homely face with a flat nose, beady eyes, and a brow that was a bit wider than she preferred, but at least she could hide the latter with her curly brown bangs. When she smiled, it was with a crooked mouth that looked more like a sneer than a grin, and learning the ropes of combat had left her with a couple missing teeth that were replaced with pearl insets. Her favorite features were her elfin ears, which she decorated with a number of earrings and jewels—the one bit of glamor she allowed herself. The rest of her outfit was very basic and plain—just the way she preferred it. Tiphany wore a simple white shirt underneath an olive vest, brown riding pants that flared out at the hip, and her feet were mostly covered by a pair of spatterdashes, though her toes and soles were left bare. Her petite form lacked the voluptuous curves that most halfling maidens carried: what should have been a full bosom, plump belly, and childbearing hips were a flat chest, lean stomach, and narrow hips that gave her a boyish appearance. Was she given guff by her family for not sticking to the seven meals a day diet? Absolutely, but none of them could do what she did; in fact, how many of halflings could say that they had studied under some of the finest thieves in the world? Through stealth and skill, she slunk through the halls of Mossholme, keeping to the shadows and nooks while searching for the items she needed. These were found in the guest chambers, where the many nobles that Jathut entertained rested their heads after a long day of revelry. It would be highly unlikely for her to find clothes that fit her just right, and even more suspicious if she pilfered a single wardrobe. Thus, Tiphany plucked a dress here, a shawl there, and by the end of her hunt, she had a little bit of everything from every armoire in the fort. She returned to the cellar and spent the entire night stitching together outfits from the various pieces she pilfered. It was no easy task, as it was not enough for the dress to look professionally made; it had to resemble the elegant garbs that only the finest tailors crafted. Thankfully, Tiphany’s mother was a seamstress herself, and combining that knowledge with further education at St. Duncan’s made her one of the greatest designers the world would never know. By the end of the night, she had assembled a wardrobe fit for a princess, and she could finally begin the fun part of the job—studying the fort for its secrets. When morning rolled around, Tiphany strutted out of the cellar in her best impression of a noble while trying to keep her disdain for the bourgeoisie from showing. She had not made it far before she heard a deep voice call out to her, “Lost, marm?” Standing further down the hall was a guard, who was easily the tallest man that she had ever seen, having to actually stoop to avoid bumping the ceiling. He had a head full of shaggy hair that all but hid the top half of his face, but Tiphany could still make out enough to tell that he was young. Though he tried to wear a regiment uniform, it was clearly too small for him and made him look like a father trying on his son’s clothing. Likewise, an otherwise average spear looked like a toy in his hand, all of which served to make him one of the least imposing guards the young thief had ever seen. “Oh, I’m afraid so,” Tiphany answered, putting on a ditzy giggle and twirling a lock of hair. “This place is just far too big! How’s a girl supposed to get around without a map?” The big lad chuckled and replied, “Sure tis a right puzzling place. Most folks is at brekkist now—will ye be joining, marm?” “That would be wonderful; I am frightfully peckish,” said the thief. “Would you do me the honor of escorting me? I want to make everyone jealous by showing up with the handsomest soldier in the fort leading me down the hall.” She might have been laying it on a bit thick, but Tiphany’s charms worked, as the guard blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh gosh, yer the only one to call me ansome since me mum! Ye just stick by Gordie, and I’ll see ye whever you want.” Tiphany followed quickly behind Gordie, who moved slowly but took long strides thanks to his lanky legs. They chatted on the way to the dining hall, with Tiphany learning plenty about the fort and her rustic companion while sharing plenty of lies in turn. Gordie was a hilleck—half-giant mountain folk—who had come down from his woods to make money for his family in this time of need. He was not the only one, as most of the fort’s new guards were locals trying to make a living while the famine raged on outside. Of course, that was not what the galoot wanted to do with his life (that would be “acting onna stage”), but he had to take care of his own somehow. “An’ that’s why me kin-folk stay clear o’ mines,” Gordie said, putting a cap on a rambling story. “Right, here we are! Lookin’ like we’s just a mite late, but there’s still aplenty to go ‘round.” That was an understatement, as there was more food available in that room than Tiphany had ever seen before—even more than her family’s spread at Gratia Day. There was a cauldron full of prawns and grits bubbling away over a fire, thick ribbons of bacon sticky with glaze, and cornbread soaked in butter; fruits coated in honey and chocolate, potatoes swimming in cheese, and eggs as fluffy as clouds. If they served anything close to this at the academy, the petite thief might have attended more breakfasts, but the bounteous spread was ruined by the people consuming it. Tiphany had always been of the opinion that the only thing separating the nobility from common folk was their lack of want, and this was proven true by the spectacle before her. The threat of starvation had thrown etiquette out the window, and most of these dukes and duchesses ate with all the grace of a barbarian. The floors and tables were riddled with crumbs and scraps, regal garments were stained with sauce and grease, and the repugnant sounds of sloppy chewing and slurping filled the air. Worst of all was how so many plump bellies and thick rumps filled out their owner’s clothes to the point of bursting, which made Tiphany sick when she thought of how many people in the region were tightening their belts to fight their hunger. “Thank you kindly, Gordie,” she told her guide. “I hope to see you again during my stay.” “Oh, I hopes so, Mizz Flitter...Flutter…marm,” Gordie replied, blushing red as a rose when he fumbled over Tiphany’s last name. The thief giggled and gave the guard a pat on the knee before sashaying into the dining hall proper. This seemed as good an opportunity to find out what was going on in the fort, as the source of this abundance had to be close by. It was tempting to get a plate of food, especially since she had lived off jerky and hardtack for the last few days, but Tiphany kept her head down and focused on her search. The sooner she found whatever she was looking for, the sooner she could leave this den of hedonism behind and get a good drink. Unfortunately, despite casting her keen eye across the room, there was not a trace of magic to be found in the entire room; it was as if the food truly was all-natural, despite how impossible that seemed. Tiphany was ready to pack it in and venture back out into the fort, only to be held back when a bejeweled hand patted her shoulder. She traced the hand up a soft arm to a padded shoulder to a round, womanly face that was caked in makeup ostensibly to hide its wearers years (though it only served to make her look older in Tiphany’s eyes). The matronly woman exclaimed, “Why, if it isn’t Madame Bockland! What’s it been—seven, eight years? Whatever it’s been, it’s been far too long.” “I’m terribly sorry, but I think you have me mistaken for someone else,” Tiphany apologized hastily. “Enjoy the rest of your meal!” Her words went unheard, and the painted woman dragged Tiphany towards her table with a surprising amount of strength. “Oh, Winnifer, you think I’d ever forget a face as lovely as yours? I’ve had a little summer wine so far, but I’m not that **! Come, come, join me for a spell, won’t you?” It did not matter what Tiphany said—she was going to the table whether she wanted to or not. Though it put a pause on her scouting, the thief went along with the woman rather than put up a fight, as that would attract even more undesirable attention. She found herself seated at a table alongside other women of a similar age and look to her new “friend”, and Tiphany found their perfume almost negated the pleasant aromas of the food. “Oh, Dienna, who is your friend?” asked one of the women in between bites of sausage. “Ladies, this here is Winnifer Bockland of Palmerstone,” Dienna explained incorrectly. “We met when my husband and I visited her lands some years back—a little after the Dark Flood, I believe—and she has one of the best gardens in the north.” Tiphany bit her lip and dug through her encyclopedic mind for any tips on this woman she supposedly was. If memory served, Palmerstone was a rather poor castle with nothing but weeds surrounding it and the Bocklands were a lonely couple who lost their children one after the other. It was a sad case of mistaken identity, but perhaps she could have some fun on Madame Bockland’s behalf. “Unfortunately, the garden isn’t what it used to be,” Tiphany fibbed as she willed tears to her eyes. “And ever since we lost Bryant in the Duneland Battles last summer, Palmerstone has felt far too cold and empty. I told Nichulas that I needed some time to myself, and so I came to Mossholme looking to get some peace of mind—and maybe a good meal, which is hard to find these days.” Dienna let out a sob and pulled her new friend to her bosom in a bear hug. “Oh, you poor, poor dear! I heard rumors that things were poorly in your realm, but I had no idea they were so bad. Well, don’t you worry: the Young at Heart Brigade will help you chase those woes away. Eveline, be a dear and grab that server!” A buxom blonde across the table tapped the arm of a serving boy and asked, “Pardon me, laddie, but could you bring a platter for our new friend?” “Right away, ma’am,” the young man replied before glancing over at Tiphany, who was at a loss as to what to order. After glancing around the table at what her acquaintances were having, the thief asked, “Could you bring a plate of bacon, eggs, and cornbread and a cup of cider?” “Right away, ma’am,” the server answered as though that was all he could say. “Excellent choice, Winnifer,” Dienna told Tiphany. “The food is always delicious here, but the bacon is especially delectable today.” That was as good a segue as any for the tiny thief. She asked, “You don’t say? When we heard that Baron Jathut was so prosperous while all this blight was going ‘round, Nichulas and I had no idea what to make of it. I just got in last night myself, so I’m still learning my way around the place, but has he said anything about how he became so fortunate?” Dienna glanced among her friends, who all shrugged and shook their heads. “Can’t rightly say, my dear; Jathut has been generous in all but that. Perhaps you can ask him when he arrives to break fast? He’s usually here around this time.” It was what Tiphany expected, but it was still a disappointment. She would have given anything to leave Mossholme as soon as possible, especially to avoid having any meeting with the master of the house. Unfortunately, she would have to bide her time before getting any answers, but at least the food would be good in the meantime. While waiting for the server to return with her breakfast, Tiphany made small talk with the ladies at her table, if for no other reason than to add to her wells of knowledge. Their conversation was interrupted by the metal ping of a button striking the wall, followed by a deep guffaw. “Told you them trousers wouldn’t hold much longer, Asher,” a potbellied man laughed at his companion, a redheaded man with a rather feminine bosom. “That’ll be fifty gold pieces, thank you!” As Asher fished out the gold from his coin purse, Tiphany nudged Dienna and asked, “What in the king’s name are they doing?” “Oh, it’s just a game they like to play,” Dienna explained after swallowing a mouthful of biscuit. “You’ll find that there’s a lot of that here: seeing who can eat or drink the most, who can eat the fastest without using their hands, or, like the gentlemen over there, seeing how long a piece of clothing will last. In fact, the girls and I have a wager going on as we try to see who can gain the least weight while we stay here. I’m in second right now, but I think I might just take first if Milandra keeps putting away bacon like she had been all morning!” While the women tittered amongst themselves, Tiphany balled her hands into fists and squeezed until her nails dug into her palms. She figured that the selfish prats that holed up here were up to no good, but hearing that they used this bounty to play games and make bets made her blood boil. This sparked a change of plans for her: when she found the source of the magic here, she would not simply stop at stealing it away; she would bring down the wrath of the gods on them. “Would you care to join in our wager, Winnifer?” asked Dienna, who noticed that her new friend had been rather quiet for the last few minutes. “That’s not fair! She hasn’t even had a bite of the food here,” Eveline whined through a mouthful of biscuit. Tiphany wished she could kick herself for what she said next, but she replied, “Oh, don’t you worry, darling: us halflings soak up weight like a sponge does water; I daresay I’ll be waddling by the end of breakfast! By all means, count me in!” “Splendid! Simply splendid,” Dienna clapped, sending her soft frame jiggling. “Oh, and here comes our boy with your food.” Tiphany gave the server a courteous smile as he set the plate and cup in front of her, though her eyes almost bulged out of the socket when she saw just how much food was on there. Even three people would have had trouble with the spread, but for a light eater like her, it seemed nigh impossible. If she truly could not finish everything, she could always foist the rest onto one of the doughy dingbats she sat beside; despite their game, they did not seem to care how much they ate. Perhaps she ought to play their game after all, seeing as she would be a surefire winner. As the thief nibbled at her eggs, a clamor rose through the hall and she glanced over her shoulder to find the source, only to gag when she realized it was the baron himself. Jathut was a slugite, one of the slowest and most unpleasant of insectians, and he was unsightly even by their standards. His skin was slimy and pale, making him look like a glob of phlegm with limbs, and his body was the flabbiest of anyone in the hall. He wore a tunic that looked almost painted on and left nothing to imagination as thick rolls jiggled like jelly with every bobbling step he took, and the kilt he wore around his lower body highlighted the lower half of his bulbous belly. “How now? Is everyone having a good time?” Jathut belched, his voice thick with mucus. When he was answered with cheers, he grinned with yellowed teeth and exclaimed, “Marvelous! Eat plenty, my friends, for you never need worry about hunger in my halls! Let the world outside fall to ruin; Mossholme will stand triumphant above all!” Tiphany’s cheeks turned red with anger at his uncaring words, and it took every ounce of will to not stab him as he slithered by. At least she was not alone in her disdain, as Dienna leaned over and whispered to her, “Honestly, I don’t much care for the man; I had to wash my hands about ten times over after he kissed them in greeting.” That remark helped ease some of Tiphany’s frustration, though she still glowered at Jathut as he took his seat at the head of the room. She likely would have glared at him the entire time were it not for the server returning to the table and asking, “Beg pardon, miss, but will you be wanting any more?” The thief was about to reply that she was still working on her mountain of food, only to find that her plate was empty of even the smallest crumbs. Her eyes went wide once more, which elicited a giggle from the ladies, and she put a hand to her stomach to find there was a little bulge to it. Had she really eaten so much without realizing it? Was this one of the side effects of the enchanted food here? And more than anything, why did she still feel hungry? “Perhaps just a little more,” Tiphany answered meekly. “Would you be so kind as to bring some of the grits and biscuits?” “That’s the spirit, Winnie,” Dienna gleefully exclaimed. “Looks like it was a good idea to bring you into our game after all!” Tiphany gave a small smile but cringed underneath her façade. How could she have let herself get so caught up in eating that she lost all track of time? This did not bode well for her stay in the fort, especially since she had no clue as to where this food came from. She tried to think of plans as the next part of her meal arrived, but she still ate up everything faster than she thought possible. This was followed by another plate, and another, and another until she finally could take no more and leaned back in her seat. “No…no more,” she huffed, her hands tenderly rubbing a belly the size of a pumpkin. What had she gotten herself into? Dienna smiled sweetly and placed a hand on Tiphany’s stomach as she hummed, “Looks like someone’s in trouble! Better be careful, my dear, or else we’ll be rolling you home!”
  14. Much appreciated, mate! I wanted Rose to feel different from other protagonists of mine and really play off the anxiety angle, so I'm glad to see I succeeded on that front. And I think you'll be delighted to see how it pans out!
  15. CHAPTER 88 The Ice on Fire Festival in Montpelier used to be a fairly lowkey event: music, games and puppet shows for the kids, and warm refreshments to celebrate winter and community. As time went on, the small affair grew into a carnival of sorts, sporting rides, games, and other forms of entertainment. Yet, of all the changes to the festival, few could have predicted professional wrestling to make its way onto the attractions. But there, on the eastern part of the grounds—conveniently placed right next to a food truck and a popcorn stand—was a wrestling ring inside a large tent. For some, it was a chance to come out of the cold and watch a show; for others, it was a novelty and curiosity. For the girls in Rose Manson’s wrestling school though, it was a chance to show off what they had been working on since they started, whether a couple years prior or just a few months. They had spent the last month and a half training for this day, putting in long hours and late nights at the gym to make sure they were ready to finally make their in-ring debut. However, those hours were not all spent lifting weights, jogging on a treadmill, or practicing their jumps… “Conner, come on, quit hogging the jerky,” Tara Green whined as she tried to swipe a bag of beef jerky from the resident giant, who held it well out of her reach. “Get your own bag then,” Conner Trent huffed before tipping the bag to her lips and dumping the remnants in her mouth. “’Sides, not like you need any more after those fries you had earlier.” The students were assembled in a double-wide trailer converted into a locker room/dressing room as they prepared for the show. Some, like Conner, kept their attire simple and casual, wearing a tank top, cargo pants, and combat boots; others, like Zahara Morgan, were going the distance with face paint and colored contact lenses. It was not the most auspicious setup, but for a group of amateurs on their first show, it would suffice. At the center of the chaos were the girls’ teachers: the head of the school, Rose Manson; her protégé, Theresa Hartley; and the school’s unofficial nutritionist, Carolyn Brown. It was pure chance when Theresa and Carolyn wound up becoming a part of the school, but ever since they attended that first class, they had endeared themselves to the students. Even though Theresa had not been in the ring in almost a decade and had ballooned in weight since then, she still had half a life worth of experience and wisdom to offer. Carolyn, on the other hand, was the bubbly soccer mom that brought snacks and encouragement for everyone, which was most helpful in balancing out Rose’s harsh command. It was not the most harmonious team, but they felt they had done their job well. Of course, they did not feel like that as they bustled around to make sure everyone was ready, which was no small task considering how Theresa was still clocking in over 300 pounds. Her puffy cheeks were almost as rosy as her hair as she moved from student to student to make sure they were ready, either by helping with their attire or going over spots in their match. Carolyn and Rose did much the same, which made them both feel less like coaches and more like pageant moms, but at least they were not as encumbered as the former Queen Heart. “—and then we end with you rolling Conner up in a small package for the win,” Theresa hurriedly explained to Vidya before casting her eyes around the trailer for anyone else that needed help. “Let’s keep it rolling, ladies—we’re just a few minutes away from showtime!” “We’re ready, Mrs. H,” assured Jamie ‘JJ’ Jacobs as she finished slipping on a pair of cowboy boots. “Or, like, I am; Nina still needs a minute!” “And concentration!” hissed the spunky Nina Neverland as she put the finishing touches on her own makeup. Unlike her lackadaisical friend, who was dressed in a very basic set of street clothes, Nina looked like a gothic Tinkerbell, complete with a death’s head moth painted on her face. While she often tried to seem like she was too cool for school, the truth was that she was not going to let anyone else show her up, whether it be in prowess or in looks. Theresa gave the girls a thumbs up before circling back around to check in with some of the other students. She would never admit this to Rose, but there had been plenty of times between the announcement they had a show and the present. All the girls were eager to show off what they had learned, but the body had to keep up with the spirit when it came to wrestling; it was one thing to want to pull off a moonsault and something else entirely to actually do one. And that was where Theresa’s greatest concerns lay—in her student body’s bodies. While Rose was prone to hyperbole and rhetoric, she was not entirely wrong when she said that the girls had put on weight since Theresa and Carolyn started hanging around. Taut stomachs had grown into soft paunches, pert breasts were now swollen and bloated, and tight backsides had plumped into plush, jiggly mounds. There had not been a visible dip in their prowess, but it had become clear that if a change was not made, it would not be long before their fat would become a problem. With a show coming up, they could not hope to lose their weight without starving, so a new routine was designed for them. Theresa and Rose pushed the girls to their limits in the ring, while Carolyn pushed their stomachs to the limit in an effort to bulk them up. It was a risky measure, but desperate times called for it. At first, it seemed like they would be laughed right out of Montpelier, but little by little and day by day, the girls began to improve. Awkward and clumsy moves were hardened into well-timed and expertly performed feats, and their bellies expanded to keep up with their regimented caloric intake. Almost every student was bigger than she had ever been, but they were better athletes than when they started at the school. It almost made their teachers hopeful for the show ahead…almost. A knock on the trailer door almost went unnoticed by the occupants, but Rose was close enough to check who it was. The elderly woman cracked the door open and saw Noah, Theresa’s husband, waiting outside with a clipboard in hand. Just as the trailer was a makeshift locker room, so to were friends and family drafted to assist with setting up the show, from setting up chairs to spreading the word around the festival and counting tickets. It reminded Theresa of how she cut her teeth on the independent circuit back in the day, working for promotions that had all the professionalism of a garage band and who paid their talent in food and beer. Those were the days… “Five minutes to showtime, Rose,” Noah informed the old coach. “We just about ready?” “We’re ready enough,” Rose answered, sparing a glance over her shoulder at the ragtag rasslers running around like chickens with their heads cut off. “This ain’t the Garden, but we’re going to make people feel like it is.” Noah nodded and checked his clipboard for the hundredth time that day. He helped set up so many Cub Scout events and birthday parties over the years, but this took the cake—and if he was feeling the crunch, he could only imagine how Theresa was doing. He asked Rose, “How’s Theresa holding up? Think she’s got a second to talk?” “Coming!” Theresa called out while waddling to the door. “I’m coming!” “There’s your answer,” Rose replied before scooting out of the way and allowing her biggest student to step outside. “Make it quick—we’re almost on.” The Hartleys made quite a pair as they stood out in the snow, with Noah in a standard snowsuit and Theresa in the same outfit she wore for her coronation as ‘Queen Heart’. It was not the exact same gear, as that was tight even before she gained a couple hundred pounds, but it was a custom job from an old friend in the area that was an exact copy. A heart-shaped corset boosted her prodigious chest up and out while also masking her impressive belly, a flowing skirt trailed in the snow behind her while still exposing her thunderously thick legs, and a regal coat helped to keep out some of the January chill. With her hair done up in an elegant beehive and imitation jewelry adoring her figure, Theresa looked like she had not missed a beat in the last several years, minus one glaring exception. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Theresa muttered as she pulled her coat around her to keep out the cold. “Be honest, Noah, I look like a tub of goo in this thing.” Retirement had not been kind to the former women’s champion, as two pregnancies and a never-ending battle with depression had caused her to balloon to an ungodly degree. Theresa constantly found herself looking at old pictures and footage of herself, and she wondered just where the woman in them went. The answer was right in front of her: that taut stomach took on a mind of its own and became a marshmallowy blob; the breasts that she flaunted so proudly had become hefty zeppelins that caused her back more pain than any trip through a table; that ass she shook for the camera was so big that she almost took up the entire loveseat in the family room. Being fat made her depressed, which caused her to eat and gain more weight, which only caused her to get more depressed, and on and on. Then, she was reunited with her old teacher and became a part of Rose’s wrestling school, which helped to spark a fire that had long been buried under a mountain of flab. For the first time in years, Theresa had an actual goal to work towards as she pushed herself to set an example for the students; in turn, they helped her to regain some of that youthful exuberance she had in her prime. The last five months had been nothing short of amazing, pulling Theresa up out of the depths of depression and back into the highlife again. There was a time when she would not have been caught dead in a remake of her iconic gear, but with the support of the students and Carolyn, Theresa found the strength to wear it. Still, there were little doubts that plagued her and tried to whittle away at her newly regained confidence; it took everything she had to not eat her nerves away. That was why she was grateful when Noah kissed her and ran a gloved finger over her plump cheek. “Tess, you’re as beautiful now as the day I married you,” Noah murmured while he pulled her close. “You look amazing no matter what you wear, whether it’s spandex or sweatpants. I can’t say enough just how proud I am of you, and I can’t wait for you to show everyone in that tent that you’ve still got what it takes.” Theresa blushed and fiddled with a stray lock of hair as she gave a nervous giggle in reply. “Well, not when it comes to the actual fighting; don’t be expecting a Sheer Hart Attack at this size. You’re sure it doesn’t look bad? Oh, but where would I find a replacement when we’re right about to go on? God, I can’t go out there with my fat tits wobbling around and my muffin top hanging out and—” Her anxious rambling was cut short as Noah put a finger to her lips and gently shushed her while stroking under her plump chins with the other hand. He gently whispered to her, “They are going to love you: you’re the one monarch people can’t get enough of; they’ve been asking for you to come back for years. You’re the total package, Tessie, and if you can’t do the same moves you did in the past, you can knock them out with just a few words—and that’s something your weight can’t take from you.” The world seemed to freeze around Theresa then, the music and noise from the festival fading into the distance and the snow hanging like ornaments in the air. She glanced over to the tent and caught a glimpse of the wrestling ring that waited inside, and she heard a new sound—a familiarly welcome one. It was the cheer of fans filling arenas and screaming their lungs out when she leaped from the top rope. It was the thump of her body hitting the mat, the announcer’s desk, and the concrete outside the ring. It was her heartbeat racing faster than a drum solo, thundering in her ears as she remembered everything she had left behind and realized just how close it was. “You’re right,” Theresa muttered before turning back to Noah. “I’m not the same athlete I was, but there’s absolutely no one in the world that can match me on the mic and it’s high time I reminded them of that. The people need their queen, right?” “Damn right, they do,” Noah replied with a warm smile. He gave her one last, lingering kiss before parting and telling her, “Knock ‘em dead, Queen Heart.” After giving her husband one last peck on the cheek, Theresa marched back into the trailer and clapped to get everyone’s attention. All the chatter and worked died out in an instant as a dozen heads turned to face the redhead, who stood with more confidence than anyone had ever seen from her; even the rebellious Nina had to admit that Theresa had a commanding aura about her. Her voice was crisp and sharp when she spoke, and no one else but Rose could have commanded the room like her. “All right, ladies, show’s almost on—that means it’s time to make your Wrestle Moms proud. Carolyn and I have only been here for a few months, but each and every one of you has improved in leaps and bounds over that time, especially in these last few weeks. Whatever the crowd is expecting out there, we’re going to go above and beyond by showing them the best damn wrestling they’ve ever seen. If you’re ready to leave everything in that ring tonight, let me hear it!” “Hell yeah!” the girls shouted back. Theresa smirked and crossed her arms under her billowing chest. “Yeah, I think you’re ready. Get out there, give them everything you’ve got, and make them feel like they just got back from the Showdown Supreme. Show them that you’re able to stand with the very best in the business!” The trailer was filled with the sounds of clapping and stomping as the students showered their teacher in applause, and it took everything Theresa had to not shrink into herself in embarrassment. She looked over to Carolyn and Rose to see if they had any words to add, but both women shook their heads, with Rose even giving her a very rare grin. “Looks like you’re back in the game, Hartley,” the veteran told her pupil. “I knew you still had it in you the minute you waddled into my class.” “Sure didn’t seem that way when we showed up,” Carolyn grumbled before perking back up and flashing a thumbs up at her old friend. “Go get ‘em, Mama Bear!” Theresa nodded to her fellow teachers and looked out over the class. “All right, Vidya and Conner, you’re up first; the rest of you get your fat butts in gear and make sure you’re ready.” Both girls were chomping at the bit and practically skipped out ahead of their instructor while the others put on their finishing touches. As Vidya and Conner walked ahead of her, Theresa could not help but notice the changes that both had undergone since she had joined the class. They used to barely say a word to each other, and while many only saw them arguing over this and that, they were missing the playful side of the banter. Vidya has more down to earth and less image-conscious, while Conner was more open with the others in class—something the once stoic girl would never have thought possible. All those changes were shocking enough, but the most impressive of all was in just how much they had filled out, especially since the start of the month. Conner was always thicker than others in the class, being taller and already fairly muscular, but her bulk took on a different meaning as she gained weight. Her chest softened and rounded out into plump handfuls, and she was carrying a good bit of jelly in her caboose, but it was in the stomach where she had gained the most. She had a genuine gut, but rather than a flabby potbelly or a bubbly beer belly, it reminded Theresa of some of the old ‘hosses’ of wrestling—the men who threw devastating haymakers and competed in bloody brawls. It was a look that fit Conner perfectly, and the tape around her hands only added to the look of a seasoned hooligan. Vidya, on the other hand, had been a twig just a few months prior; she looked less like a wrestler and more like a toothpick. Now, she was sashaying to the tent with a hefty pair of breasts that were emphasized by her gold and white top, a soft stomach that had just a slight pooch to it, and hips that bounced from side to side with every step she took. It was a look that fit well with her diva gimmick, and while she might not have been the most accomplished athlete of the class, she made up for it with plenty of character. When they reached the tent, the trio paused outside as Noah stood inside and gave genial announcements to the crowd. Theresa looked her students over one more time and told them, “I won’t keep you two waiting long, but it might be a minute. You going to be all right out here?” “After all that cold weather training Sarge had us do, I’m happy as a polar bear,” Conner chuckled, though her smaller opponent did not share the sentiment. “Do I look like I’m dressed for cold temperatures?” asked Vidya in a nasally whine. “Mrs. H, I know that this if your big comeback and everything, but please keep it brief.” Before she could respond, Theresa was cut off by Noah announcing, “And now, here she is—the Queen Heart herself, Theresa Hartley!” The rotund redhead grinned and patted Vidya on the cheek. “Don’t worry, kid, I won’t pull a Hillbilly Jim on you. Just be patient, be cool, and think warm thoughts.” With that, Theresa waltzed inside the tent and basked in the applause of the crowd. It was nothing like being in the Silverdome or even the Dallas Sportatorium, but for the former wrestler, it felt like she was home again. She gave polite, queenly waves to the audience as she made her way to the ring, her coat billowing behind her, and she made it up the ring steps with ease. After passing her coat to Noah and squeezing through the ropes, she grinned at the crowd and asked, “Did you miss me?”
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