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CyrilFiggus

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  1. CyrilFiggus

    Deja Fat

    Oof...this poor, poor woman. Fingers crossed that she manages to silence this voice by the third part--as delightful as it is to imagine her so big and fat, my heart is breaking for this nervous wreck.
  2. CyrilFiggus

    Deja Fat

    Very neat set-up, and the imagery of being immensely obese one instant and thin the next is very striking. I could easily see this being a real film in Ms. Knightley's repertoire.
  3. CyrilFiggus

    Epic

    A wonderful compromise! I can't wait for the day that these two ride back to take the throne after months of being fattened by each other.
  4. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    Hey everyone, I hate to say this, but there won't be an update this week. Things have been a little rough the last few days, and writing hasn't been easy. I am hoping things will change by next week, but I won't say for sure.
  5. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    ((Okay, so...this is a little late. I meant to have this up on Tuesday, but personal stuff came up and things have been more than a little hectic. They're calming down now, so I finally have this ready to post. I will try to have a new chapter up on Monday, but I can't make any promises. I hope you understand, and as always, enjoy!)) Dreams have a funny way of making us see things; no matter how bizarre a situation, we often assume that everything is perfectly normal. Such was the case for Katherine Donna, who found herself dreaming of being a toy in a toy shop—specifically, a doll waiting to be stuffed with filling. She looked just like she always did except her hair was now yellow yarn and her hands were like mittens, but she paid this no mind. To her, this was how things ought to be; she was a doll waiting to be purchased and filled with fluff. Finally, her day came. Katherine watched as eager kids ran around the store grabbing this toy and that, always passing her by for dolls of her sister—if her mouth could move, she would have pouted. Just when she was about to give up all hope of leaving the toy shop, she saw a giant of a woman pick her off the shelf and look her over. “You’ll be perfect,” Maxine chuckled as she held the limp doll like a precious keepsake. “Let’s go get you stuffed, pretty thing.” Katty wished she could jump for joy. She had been picked, and the woman buying her seemed so nice; what more could a toy ask for? The glee continued unabated as she was brought up to the counter, where the nice woman handed her gently to a clerk. Hopefully the clerk would make her nice and fluffy for her new owner—she wanted to be the best doll for Maxine. The girl behind the counter took Katty, poked a little hole in her mouth, and stuck the nozzle inside. When the machine rumbled with life and the cotton started flowing, the doll felt like humming with delight; she would never have guessed that the filling would taste like cotton candy! She greedily guzzled down the fluff as fast as the machine could pump it out, which was why she plumped up as fast as she did. Her limp body filled quickly, bringing her to normal proportions for a doll, but her greediness made her bigger than she could have anticipated. A good majority of fluff went to her stomach first, which filled up until it was a dome the size of a softball, at which point the cotton went to other areas. Her tubular arms and legs billowed outwards, expanding wider and wider until they looked like fat cones that were nearly impossible to move around. Then came her backside, which blew up like two bubbles crammed together before finally getting so full that they melded with her pillowy thighs. Up above her stomach, she blushed as her breasts filled with cotton so fast that they skipped right past globular and simply became a part of her stomach. The final touch was her back rounding out with the rest of her, giving her entire torso a spherical shape. “How’s that look, ma’am?” asked the clerk as she turned off the machine, much to Katty’s chagrin. There was still so much filling inside the device—it was a crime to leave it be. Thankfully, Maxine looked down at her and smiled while she answered, “Let’s make her as big as she can get; I want to see if she’ll make a good pillow.” Katherine squealed with glee as the pump turned on once more and filled every last crevice in her body. Her head rounded out with the rest of her, to the point that it looked like an overstuffed beanbag. Despite the occasional creak from her stitches, her spherical form grew bigger and bigger, even going so far as to consume her arms and legs in her fluffy body. It was only when she reached the size and shape of a basketball that she was removed from the pump. “Perfect,” Maxine hummed with delight, and Katty could not have agreed more… *** Natalie Donna rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. In contrast to her sister’s bizarre dream, the strawberry blonde’s was mundane—she was back in Ms. Diaz’s classroom, waiting for the bell to ring. She always hated homeroom: it felt like a glorified detention or study hall, she had no phone to play with, and no one had the guts to approach her. After all, she was THE Natalie Donna, queen bee, fashionista, and trendsetter; she was leagues apart from the rest of her classmates. The only thing that brought them together was the tacky uniform they all had to wear, though Natty wore hers rather differently. Her skirt fell high up on her thighs and her topmost buttons were undone, which showed off a good deal of her gorgeous body. As Natalie watched the clock with frustration, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to meet the girl behind her. The student, whose name escaped her, held up a pack of Pop-Tarts and asked, “Want some? We’ve still got tons of time before lunch.” The twin’s stomach answered for her, growling in response. Begrudgingly, Natalie took the breakfast treats and munched on them disinterestedly. She would normally never eat garbage like this, but she was hungrier than she thought; in fact, she had never been hungrier. Her stomach was getting noisier and noisier, which attracted more attention and more snacks. “Want my pizza? I’ve got some candy! You want my cookies? I might still have some donuts.” Each and every one of her classmates was bringing her food, and despite Natalie stuffing her face as fast as she could, her desk was soon covered in junk food. She whimpered softly as she tried to tell people to stop; even if she could talk around all the food, her stomach would not let her quit. It was like it was through being denied and wanted to eat everything the blonde normally scorned, and so it growled like a ravenous beast. The results of all this eating soon made themselves apparent on the Donna twin; the more she ate, the faster the pounds poured on. Her thighs, thick with muscle from varsity volleyball, lost all definition and bloated into pillars of lard that oozed out over her tiny chair. Likewise, her bulbous backside forced her skirt higher and higher until everyone behind her could make out her lacy panties. A quick glanced downward showed Natalie that even if she wanted to button her shirt to the collar, it would be impossible; her tits had fattened up to the size of juicy cantaloupes. Most impressive of all was her belly, a fat blob of dough that wrestled its way out onto her lap until it was split by her desk. “Please, no more!” Natty whined as she waved flabby arms around. “Look at me—I’m too fat to get out of my desk!” A chillingly familiar voice retorted, “Well, that’s what you get for being such a greedy hog.” Out of the crowd came Sadie Storme dressed like she had stepped out of a horny teen’s “hot for teacher” fantasy. The blonde pushed fake glasses high up on her nose as she approached Natalie and prodded her gut with a ruler. “My, you are quite the porker, aren’t you? So young and yet such a fat pig already. That’s what you are, Natalie—the class swine.” “I..I am?” the twin meekly asked, an unfamiliar heat washing over her. “That’s right,” Sadie answered. “And what do fat, stupid pigs say when they want more food?” The words escaped Natalie’s lips before she could even think about it. “Oink-oink…” *** While Mickey Ramone dozed in her dining room chair, having demolished the last of her seven-hour feast, she dreamed of the house she wished to own someday. She could see it now: a ranch house out in the countryside with a sprawling front and an even bigger back yard; a spacious basement that could double as an entertainment room; beautiful décor honoring her family’s lengthy wrestling history. Most importantly of all, she could see the dining room that was big enough to house her entire family, right down to the most distant of cousins. It was in that gigantic room that Mickey found herself surrounded by so many familiar faces. Down on the far end of the table was her cousin Maggie, who was greedily ladling butter sauce and gravy all over a mountain of mashed potatoes. Small wonder why; her baby cousin had to be the size of a baby elephant. The nimble wrestler wore a sleeveless sweater that showed off blubbery biceps as big around as a normal woman’s thigh, and the material could not hope to contain her mountainous gut. When she had poured enough sauce over her food to make it swim, Mickey’s porcine cousin snorted hoggishly before tucking into her meal. Further away was Shinobu, whose tough girl image was forever ruined thanks to all the fat swaddling her body. Her dark hair framed a face that had grown so round that it was impossible to not look jolly, and her many chins rippled as she guzzled down her dinner. While she was not as sloppy as Maggie, the Osakan still had the occasional spill, as evidenced by her decorated blouse. Thankfully, nothing landed on her lovely skirt, but that was only because her watermelon-sized breasts took up so much real estate. They rested atop a globular belly that was almost hidden by the massive milk bags, and the tubby tummy rested atop thighs that were bigger around than most women’s hips. Her growth was capped off by a rump that was so fluffy that it acted as its own generous cushion. Across from the former brawler was KC, who was doing a very poor job of hiding her gluttony. A promising wrestling career had given way to a bakery she owned with her cousin, and the effects of being surrounded by goodies all day were showing. While the ebony empress still had a slim face and a plump upper body, the rest of her physique had exploded with flab. Her stomach drooped down into a cascade of blubber that slapped against her thighs when she walked and oozed out almost to her knees when she sat. Below the belt, her hips and backside had grown so wide that she needed two chairs to support all her girth, though at the rate she was eating, it would not be long before she needed a third. Mickey smirked haughtily when she glanced into the corner of the room and saw Sadie Storme seated with all the children. The blonde had a constant scowl on her lips but could do nothing as the wild urchins pelted her with food until she looked like a walking Pollock. She scowled at the hefty host before shoveling a forkful of turkey in her mouth, just in time for a wad of green bean casserole to smack her in the face. All of her guests were fat in some way, but the fattest of all was the lady of the house. At Mickey’s side was her loving, attentive Ray, who fed her by hand now that the champion had gotten too fat to lift her arms on her own. La Princesa Violenta had grown so wide that not even three chairs could contain her bulk; her backside rested atop a sofa for four, and even that was shrinking fast. Fittingly, her breasts, now balloons of fat, were as big as couch cushions; if she sat just right, she could use them as trays. Most impressive of all was the mountain of pudge that she called a belly, which had grown so big that she was leg’s-length away from the table. Mickey had set out to become the biggest wrestler the world had ever seen, and in her dreams, she had reached it by a good thousand pounds. *** Several states away, as Sadie drifted to sleep after leaving her latest conquest a quivering mess, she dreamed of the building she wished to own someday. Not a house—she already had a mansion that she never actually set foot in before. What she dreamt of was a facility where she could keep as many fat fuckers as possible; a place that would allow her to turn even the thinnest woman into an immobile blob that could do nothing but eat. A stable out in the countryside, far enough from civilization that no one would come looking for her porky prisoners. Just thinking about it sent shivers down her sinister spine, and she had not even envisioned her chubby captives. In her dream, the blonde bully saw herself dressed like Daisy Duke: denim cut-offs that stopped just shy of her pert ass, designer cowboy boots, and a flannel shirt tied off to expose her plump breasts. The only thing off was her stomach, which seemed softer than normal; It was a rhetorical question: no matter how much her porkers ate, they were always hungry; the stimulants she mixed into their feed helped with that. The psychotic heel sauntered down the hall, making note of how her livestock were growing—she had so many prize cows, pigs, and turkeys assembled in the hall. The cows were the women who carried most of their weight in breasts as big as a pregnant woman’s belly; Sadie enjoyed draining their milk and mixing it into shakes for the other captives. The pigs were those whose bellies grew the most and weighed more than anyone else in the stable. Last were the turkeys, whose lower bodies had grown to such extremes that they could overflow a queen-sized bed just by sitting down. The value of each fatty grew as she went down the stable, pen by pen. First came the conquests she had plucked up from dating apps—tubs of lard that Sadie lured in by promising to fulfill their deepest fantasies, the caveat being that they could never get away after that. Then came her portly peers in the wrestling industry: those she had desired, those that angered her, and those who would never be missed. Last was her prize possession, a fat ass so enormous that she took up four stalls. In her tour, Sadie stopped by KC Skye’s pen and grinned triumphantly at her defeated foe. Ever since the incident in Philly, the aerialist had taken up residence in the stable and plumped up to such a degree that she needed a new pen. KC had been fitted with a brown bikini, a feathery tail inked on the small of her back, and a fake beak over her nose to complete the demeaning look. She had been defiant when she first entered the stable, but after being fattened so much that she needed help to get up, the wrestler had accepted her flabby fate. The same went for her former tag partners: Maxine and the Donna Twins were done up like perfect pigs, complete with pink lingerie, a curly tail tattooed above their rotund rumps, floppy ear headbands, and hooks that pulled their noses into snouts. The trio oinked happily when they saw their mistress walk past, and Sadie rewarded their eagerness by filling their troughs with cake and pudding. She would have stayed longer to remind them of what useless sows they were, but she had bigger burgers to grill. At the end of the stable was her prize heifer: Mickey Ramone. The former punk had been fattened so much that she was as tall as Sadie even when sitting. All the drugged food had dumbed her rival down to the point that the Violent Princess was even dumber than a cow; at least a cow got angry when pushed around. A horned headband topped her globular head, cow print had been tattooed all over her now pale body, and a vibrating tail wedged in her backside. Sadie licked her lips at the sight of her rival dumbly mooing for her next meal—the only thing Mickey could think about, thanks to her. *** Theresa Hartley, the former Queen of Hearts in the GWF, was seated in a movie theater all to herself. It was a good thing she had a private screening; she needed all the space she could get. The busty redhead took up two seats on her own quite handily, and her bulbous backside was slowly creeping into a third seat. She had indulged in decadence since leaving the world of wrestling, but it only seemed to pick up after her cruise with Mickey and Ray. At the rate she was going, she was liable to be 400 pounds by the spring, though not necessarily out of an active desire to gain; if anything, it was because she could not stop herself. Even in her dreams, the former wrestler was stuffing her face, so prevalent was food on her mind. To her right was a cup of soda the size of a toddler and a straw that stretched over to her so that lazy queen did not have to turn her head. To her left was an equally large bucket of candy that never seemed to dwindle no matter how much Theresa scarfed down. Lastly, she had a barrel full of popcorn in front of her, the contents of which were so drenched in butter that the redhead’s hand was slick with oil with every greedy mouthful. For some women, this would have been a personal fantasy, but for the Queen of Hearts, it was as mundane as watching grass grow. When she first started putting on weight, it had been fun to let loose after so many years of diet and restraint, plus the encouragement of her husband. After having her darling Owen, the new mother tried to curb her appetite, but she always found ways to put off dieting and exercise until snacking and gluttony became a part of her life. It got to the point that when she first told her son stories about her wrestling days, he did not believe her; he could not imagine a time his mother had ever been anything but fat. That should have been a wake-up call, but the damage had been done—Theresa could not stop growing even if she tried. Hence, she sat in a theater by her lonesome like Howard Hughes, regaled with films of her glory days on the wrestling circuit. The rotund redhead watched with dull eyes as the woman she used to be flipped around the ring like a gymnast and went toe-to-toe with some of the best competitors in the business. It was strange: her last match was seven years ago, yet the wrestler on screen looked so alien to her; there was no part of her that Theresa recognized. All those title bouts and five-star matches might as well have been a lifetime ago. The Queen of Hearts needed only glance down a hair to see a glimpse of her enormity. It had been years since she had seen her stomach, let alone her feet—her enormous breasts took up so much of her vision. They had gotten so large that her arms could not even rest at her side properly, opting instead to stick out at a slight angle. Theresa’s breasts were not the only thing fat about her, as the gut resting on her lap could attest, and the creaking of her jeans reminded her of her tremendous thunder thighs. There was not a single part of her that was thin, not even her face; a second chin had sprouted in the last year or so. As she mechanically gulped down her soda and crammed candy in her craw, Theresa watched the most recent addition to her dream film reel—meeting two of her biggest fans last month. She had mulled over their suggestion of returning in a managerial role time and again, but dread held her back no matter what. Too much time had passed since she had been in the company; if she could not recognize the woman in the film, how could anyone else? It felt like she was trapped for the rest of her days, doomed to this malaise of constantly eating and outgrowing her glory days. A part of her wondered if she could ever return, but that part was always silenced with food and buried in a fat roll. Why bother at this point? Why fight the flab? This was who she was—a has-been.
  6. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    ((As we approach 100 pages, I thought I might try something different. Today and tomorrow, we're going to take a look at what our lovely, lardy ladies dream at night. Each one is just a snippet, but if there are any that pique your interest, I might expand on them in the future. Enjoy, and be here tomorrow for the next installment!)) Dreams are funny things: despite so often being a mish-mash of elements in our life, they reveal so much about us, like our fears, our hopes, and secrets we dare not share. Everyone has dreams and nightmares, but what do our superstars dream of? Let us take a look… *** Sharon Goode was not sure how it happened, but she found herself in a medieval castle and dressed in a straight, simple dress with a wrap around her crimson locks. She was hustling around a kitchen while gathering this plate and that from an array of chefs and placing them on a cart, along with a flagon of ale. Once the three shelves of the cart were covered, the redhead carefully wheeled her way out to the throne room, where a booming voice echoed through the cavernous hall. “It’s about time! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?” the furious Queen Margarita (or Maggie for those lucky few she deemed worthy) bellowed at her handmaiden. If Sharon did not know better, she would have never guessed that Maggie used to be one of the most toned and gifted athletes. After marrying a powerful prince and gaining the crown, Her Majesty took to the life of luxury like a duck to water and allowing her powerful body to fill with pampered, slothful fat. A fine face had grown round and doughy, rings of fat encircled her neck, and firm arms were now blanketed in flab; modest breasts plumped up to the size of healthy pumpkins, thighs that could crush melons now engulfed her poor knees in pale pudge, and her royal backside was so colossal that it took extra hands to help squeeze her in and out of the throne. Most impressive was her enormous gut, which swelled out almost to her knees when it was empty and actually reached past on the rare occasion the monarch was full. Maggie always loved her beer, and being queen meant she had access to some of the richest ales in all the world, which in turn meant she would drink to her heart’s content. All the rich drink and food had led to her gaining a belly that looked like a boulder when undressed and a balloon when wrapped in one of her many ill-fitting dresses. Not that she or the king seemed to mind—many was the night where Sharon could hear their lovemaking throughout the halls. “Honestly, Sharon, you must tell the chefs to work faster,” the queen grunted as she tore into a leg of mutton drenched in gravy. “I was this close to starving!” “It shall be done, Your Majesty,” the redhead politely replied, averting her gaze lest she linger on Maggie’s bountiful bosom, which threatened to spill out of her neckline. Sharon walked up beside the throne and tipped the flagon of ale to the monarch’s plump lips. “Is there anything else I should tell them?” When the flagon was pulled away, Maggie let out a belch that made her entire body tremble like a thick pudding. She reached a gloved hand out and pat would she could of her gut; it was getting so hard to reach it these days, caked in fat as she was. The monarch stifled a belch before answering, “Yes—tell the head chef that I have heard tale of a way to make a cake out of ice cream, and that I should like to try one for my half-birthday on the morrow.” “As you wish, Your Grace,” Sharon complied. As she made a mental note to speak with the overworked chef, she also thought to call a craftsman. The throne was creaking something fierce these days, and it was only a matter of time before Maggie’s royal behind caused it to crumple… *** The GWF Women’s Champion, Shinobu, opened a door that led from a memorably awful motel in Nevada to her high school in Osaka. It was exactly as she remembered it when she was a student: tidy halls with aged walls, a perpetual takoyaki smell that wafted through the building, and the grandfather clock that sat outside the front office and never told the correct time. The plump wrestler took a deep breath and released it in a contented sigh. It was good to be back, even if she had no idea why she was at her alma mater. “Come on, Shin-chan, it’s time for the sports festival!” Mitsuki, one of her friends, called out as Shinobu rounded a corner. “Coming!” the young woman exclaimed as she jogged out to the field behind the school. Strangely, the act of running took a lot more out of her than she thought, and her gym uniform felt tighter than normal. When she paused to adjust her shorts, Shinobu realized the reason why everything was so tight—she was almost three times as fat as when she was younger. The portly woman glanced down and saw how her t-shirt clung to her like a second skin, and how it failed to contain a thick roll of belly jelly. Her navy shorts were consumed by her thunder thighs and backside that they looked like bloomers instead, and not very school-appropriate ones at that. Seeing her pale flab on display made the wrestler blush a fine pink, but it was too late to change or look for replacements—her class was counting on her for the games. When the Osakan finally waddled out to the field, she needed to catch her breath before she joined her classmates. Ayano, one of her old friends, gave her a Pocari Sweat and a fresh towel, which Shinobu gratefully accepted. Her belly quivered as she guzzled the drink down, and she absentmindedly swiped a fat-swathed arm over her forehead to wipe away the beads of sweat forming. Osaka was humid most days of the year, but she did not recall it being this bad in October; then again, she had not weighed almost three hundred pounds while she lived there. In spite of her weight, Shinobu still participated in a few events, albeit in a very different role than she remembered. When the girls of her class came together to make a human pyramid in the kumitaiso event, she was one of the anchors that helped prop up all the other pixie-sized students. She was able to put her enormous backside to good use when it came to balloon popping as well, though she had a slight advantage with how her hips crowded the bench. Her favorite of all events was the bread-catch, when she had to jump up and grab a loaf of sweet bread off a rope without her hands. It was her favorite not so much for the strain on her lardy legs, but for the melon bread that she got to enjoy. Throughout the event, her classmates kept her well-fed, either from snacks or extra from their bento boxes. While so many others were running around the field in relay races, tug-of-wars, and other events, Shinobu sat on the sidelines like a fat lump of mochi. She stuffed her chubby cheeks all day long, and when it came time for the closing ceremonies, her shirt had risen even higher on her bloated, sunburned belly. Her class had won amongst all other second-years, due in no small part to the gelatinous girl’s efforts in the few events she competed in. When all was said and done, Mitsuki asked, “Shin-chan, Ayano and I are getting burgers after this. Want to come along?” Despite eating all day long, the wrestler licked her lips and answered eagerly, “You bet!” *** KC Skye was having the same nightmare that plagued her since the night she shattered her leg and went on medical leave. She saw herself as a beautiful, ebony harpy with glorious wings and the lean, formidable body of an expert hunter. Every few nights, the former aerialist envisioned herself flying through the air faster and higher than all the other creatures of the sky, and every few nights, her flight was grounded by a terrible accident. While the prey she hunted always changed, the result was still the same—she would misjudge her dive and crash into the earth, crumpling one of her beautiful wings like a piece of paper. Her loving cousin, Agatha, was a matronly bird and took helped take her back to her roost in the hills, and that was where KC was forced to stay. The harpy hated having to rely on someone even if she was so heavily injured, and she would try to fly time and time again, only to wind up hurting herself a little more every time. When her cousin caught wind of this, the older woman decided on a desperate measure that would also aid in recovery—keep her patient so full of food that there was no way she could jump, much less try to fly. As word got around about the former hunter’s injury, plenty of creatures came around to check on her well-being: Amandevi the two-headed ogre; Shinobu the Harionago; Mickey the moon rabbit, among so many others. Each one brought gifts of food which KC reluctantly ate, not wanting to seem rude in refusal and finding that her appetite grew by the day. All these gifts and Agatha’s care had made the once high-flying harpy swell to an immense size, one she never thought possible. Her bosom had plumped up to the size of ripe melons and her stomach was so immense that so many asked if she was heavy with eggs. The worst were her powerful thighs, which were now so big around that some compared them to tree trunks. “Look at the mighty hunter now,” gloated Sadie the satyr, KC’s most hated rival and the one she was sure had caused her accident. The goat-woman clomped over to the hefty harpy and slapped her lush legs, which caused a ripple to emanate throughout her entire body. “You look less like a bird of prey and more like a turkey fit for a feast.” “Piss off,” the ebony aerialist growled as she ate up a roasted trout. “It’s your fault I’m like this.” Sadie guffawed with laughter before reaching in and grabbing a handful of KC’s belly. “Maybe I caused your accident, maybe I didn’t, but I’m not the one who made you stuff your face until you were too fat to move. And to think, I once thought of you as a threat—now, you’re about as threatening as a glob of jelly.” That was it; KC could only take so much of this humiliation. She stripped the fish clean and tossed the bones aside while she fixed a glare on Sadie. With Herculean effort, the harpy pushed on the rocks on either side of her in an effort to stand up again. Every one of her atrophied muscles screamed with effort as she defied gravity and rose to her trembling, clawed feet. The dark woman gasped for breath while she gave Sadie a glare that could melt ice, and that was when she saw the sycophant satyr do something she had never seen before—she ran in fear. “Oh no you don’t,” the harpy growled as she lunged at her antagonist. Despite her best efforts, Sadie could not get away fast enough; a combination of her shock and KC’s rage was her downfall. The satyr was squashed under several hundred pounds of ebony flab, and no matter how much she thrashed, her corpulent captor only smirked in victory like a happy hippo. *** It started off like a nightmare Maxine Kuhn had experienced many times in the past: she stood at the top of the entrance ramp at a GWF show in an arena that seemed endless, and she was clad in little more than a bikini. On top of that, the heavyweight was much fatter than she was in her waking hours, easily twice her size and resting at an uncomfortable five hundred pounds. Her tits were as big as her head and overflowing her top like water over a damn, and her arms were as thick as the average woman’s thigh. A titanic tummy eclipsed any view of her bottoms and oozed out over her mattress thighs like a sack of pudding. If her gut had not covered them, her backside would have done the job; two beanbag-sized cheeks gobbled up the black bottoms with ease. The only thing out of the norm was that Maxine did not feel fazed by her immense girth or the jeers it elicited from the audience; rather than shrink into herself, the heavyweight stood tall with her head high. She had to, because waiting in the ring for her was the person she hated more than herself—Sadie Storme. The blonde bitch looked as cocky as ever while she rested on the ring ropes, so sure that she could win the match. “Well? We’re waiting!” she called out to Maxine. The blubbery bruiser scowled and put a hand to her chest to grab a fistful of flab. With a terrific yank, she pulled her hand away and brought with it her rotund body. Her flabby form came off like tearaway clothing and revealed a toned, firm body underneath—the same body she used to have before Sadie got her hands on her. Maxine was still thick and curvy, but gone was the mountain of excess fat that had come to define her career for the last two years. Shed of all that weight, the bruiser careened down the ramp like a rocket was strapped to her back, and she leaped into the ring as though a trampoline was waiting for her. Maxine stuck a superhero landing that made the whole arena shake, which made the enigmatic audience go quiet for a moment before immediately erupting in applause. Sadie, on the other hand, was quaking in her boots and seemed much more like a small child than the heartless monster that ruined her life. If it were anyone else, the brawler might have felt some pity, but not now and not for her. With inhuman speed, the reborn wrestler blasted her ex-girlfriend into the ropes, and when Sadie bounced off, Maxine gave a sharp kick to the blonde’s chin. Her former partner crumpled like a house of cards, but the brunette bruiser was not done with her yet. She lifted the dazed wrestler up and wrapped her in the fat suit that had wrecked her life; just like that, the roles were reversed. A smoky referee hoisted Maxine’s hand and gave her the title belt before vanishing into the ether, and the crowd belted Sadie with boos and barbs about her weight. “Payback, bitch,” Maxine jeered as her ex struggled to her feet, cloaked in fat as she was. As the brawler left the ring, she was approached by two familiar faces who looked much different than she remembered. Natalie and Katherine Donna ran up and wrapped the brunette in a sandwiching hug, which the giantess was more than happy to return. When they let go, Maxine was able to get a good look at them, or more specifically, how much they had grown—both Donnas looked like they had put on a good hundred or so pounds. Natty was the more voluptuous of the twins, with all her curves in her hips and bust, while Katty carried all her weight in her belly and backside. Smirking proudly, Maxine squeezed both their bubbly backsides and asked, “Who wants to go celebrate back in my room with a fast food feast—my treat?” *** “And as you can see, our ratings are rising and expected to continue for the foreseeable future!” Amanda Ericson basked in the claps that came from the GWF board of directors, and could not resist holding her arms out and head high. Years of being in the business had led to her taking the proverbial throne, and what had once been a ‘career’ modeling merch in the early days now saw her at the top of the mountain. Sure, being the boss’s daughter had a little to do with it, but it was all thanks to her cutthroat tactics and determination. No other woman in the business could compare—not even that Carter chick down south. As the claps subsided, one of the board members remarked, “Amanda, you have a little something on your blouse.” The Little Rich Girl glanced down at her top and saw wet stains around her breasts that looked a lot like…no, that could not be it. There was no way she was lactating again; she already had the triplets and lost all the milk weight. She tried to cover up the stains by adjusting her jacket, but her bust seemed much larger than before—in fact, it looked to be swelling before her very eyes. Amanda could only watch in mute horror as the top-most button popped off while her udders plumped and swelled their way to immensity. “When are you due?” asked another member, who sounded younger than a few minutes prior. “I’m not pregnant!” the billionaire squealed in frustration. “My mistake—you just looked like you were carrying triplets!” A whimper escaped Amanda’s lips as her hands reached down to her stomach in time for it to explode in size. What started as firm abs were quickly replaced with a glob of flab that grew into a mound of dough big enough to droop over her skirt and down to her thighs. The Little Rich Girl swung her arms around as she struggled to keep her balance, but she soon recovered when her ass caught up with the rest of her. Her bouncy booty that won her husband’s heart inflated like a balloon until it stuck out enough to be used like a table. Naturally, her designer business clothes could not contain her blubber, and they exploded off her into ribbons of cloth. “Look at that! She looks like the fat lady at a circus,” exclaimed a very high-pitched young woman as she pointed at the confused Amanda. Amanda fidgeted around as she struggled to cover her most private areas. She meekly retorted, “It…it’s not nice to point.” “She’s all naked!” a board member childishly giggled. Before Amanda could reply, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder and was met by the loving gaze of her Levi. He growled playfully, “Brought you some clothes for you, big mama—hope these fit that sexy bod of yours. And kids, be nice to your mother.” In a flash, the massive mother found herself dressed again, but not in Gucci—she looked more like she had stepped out of a K-Mart. Tacky t-shirt that left the lower portion of her belly exposed and stretched the writing up top to obscurity and sweatpants that clung to her flabby thighs like leggings. As she adjusted to the constrictive, plain clothes, Amanda felt a sinking pit in her stomach. She had become what she feared most—she looked like an overfed, out of shape soccer mom.
  7. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    Thank you! I should have a nice, big update come Monday.
  8. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    Glad you liked it! Not sure if I'll actually show her struggles with the cake, but rest assured--this won't be the last time she pushes herself to the absolute limits.
  9. CyrilFiggus

    Epic

    Aw...these two are so cute together. Love the playfulness between the couple, and I'll be curious to see how Mor'wen reacts to this revelation. Knowing how much she enjoys being plump, I have to imagine she'll take to it rather well.
  10. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    thank you
  11. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    Thanks.
  12. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    ((Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages. CyrilFiggus and Curvage.org proudly introduce to you, the number one contender for Best Story in the Worrrrrrrld--SUPERHEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION! And if you're not down with that, we've got two words for you: that's fine. Enjoy!)) The morning after the show, Mickey was sleeping comfortably in bed, the sheets pulled over her bulbous body and up to her chubby chin. Her blissful slumber was broken by Ray gently stroking a finger across her cheek as he whispered, “Levántate y espabila, mi amor.” “Cinco minutos más, por favor,” the wrestler mumbled as she wiggled under the covers. “Come on, Mickey, I’ve got breakfast waiting,” her lover told her with a warm smile on his face. She sleepily scoffed, “That’s a lie; I don’t smell anything cooking in the kitchen.” Ray shook his head and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll tell you about it when you get to the table. Come on, gordita.” “Fine, fine,” Mickey grumbled as she peeled the covers away, revealing her impressively large form underneath. Were it not for the overtaxed bra and panties that contained her bulk, the Violent Princess would have resembled a dollop of caramel sauce on the bed; her flab oozed out to fill up as much space as possible. In these moments of rest, when her body settled and her muscles relaxed, her blubber spread out more, making her look more like pudding than a professional wrestler. Like a lazy, spoiled cat, Mickey stretched her arms out to her loving boyfriend, who took them and worked to roll the sleepy woman around to a sitting position. It was a good thing he was working out so much these days; a weaker man would have trouble handling the punk wrestler, especially if she was acting this way. Ray managed to get her into a sitting position after sliding her plump legs over the side of the bed, which earned a drowsy smile from the Latina. “Carry me, baby,” she cooed as her eyes opened to half-lid. She reached her chubby hands to him, only for the man to squeeze them, pull her in for a kiss, and let them fall to her lap. “You’re a bit too big for the princesa,” Ray chuckled. “Come on—pretend that’s the championship belt sitting at the breakfast table.” Mickey grumbled dirty words under her breath as she rocked herself off the bed and onto her feet. As she cracked the joints in her back, her impressive belly jutted out from her waist like a balloon of pudge, seated beneath two plump melons. Ray licked his lips at the sight of his bountiful girlfriend in all her glory, but before he could put his hands on her waist, la Princesa Violenta raised a finger and smirked. “Sorry, babe, but I have a title belt waiting for me.” The couple made their way out to the kitchen table, which looked so sparse without an army’s worth of food filling it up. As Mickey woke up more, a confused look filled her eyes while she tried to understand what was happening. When she glanced into the kitchen for any sign of the enormous feast she had grown used to, she could see nothing but Ray cooking something at the stove. “Um, Ray-Ray, I don’t mean to pry, but where’s breakfast?” the wrestler asked her lover. The beefy man looked her way and grinned as he answered, “I’m making it right now, Mick. You’re going to love it, I promise.” Satisfied, Mickey leaned back in her chair, relishing in how the wood creaked under her mighty bulk. It was something she was noticing from most of the furniture in their apartment: all the chairs groaned when she sat down, her bed whined in protest, and the couch now had a small crater in it from where she had planted her fat behind. All these were signs that she was turning into a blimp right on schedule, perhaps even faster than intended. Either way, it was so electrifying that it sent shivers down her back. What was less electrifying was what Ray placed in front of her: a plate with a sliced hardboiled egg on toast with an avocado spread, and a bowl of porridge with apples throughout. These were accompanied by milk and orange juice but no gainer shake. Mickey furrowed her brow as she studied her breakfast, and her lips dipped into a scowl when her lover sat across from her with much of the same for his meal. “Babe, what is this?” the punk wrestler asked as she picked at the meager (by her standards, anyway) meal. Ray glanced up from the newspaper and answered, “I made you some avocado toast with an egg on top, plus I spiced the egg with some cayenne powder.” “And this?” Mickey grumbled as she lifted her spoon up and let the porridge plop back down in the bowl. “It’s a new recipe I’ve been meaning to try,” the manager explained with traditional glee. “That’s a grain-less porridge made with coconut milk, cashews, and ground up flaxseed. Then I sliced up some Honeycrisp apples for sweetness and a nice sauce. That’s sure to keep you going all day long.” La Princesa had no doubt to the nutritional value, but compared to her everyday feasts, it seemed so piddling. That was not to say it was disgusting; Ray seemed incapable of making bad food, and this was no exception. It was such a disappointment when she thought about how her breakfast yesterday had been a stack of pancakes and half a quiche. She felt like an orphan who was given one and only one bowl of gruel to start the day. “Ray, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but is that everything?” she finally asked as she tucked into the porridge. As if he had expected that question, the beefy man replied, “That’s everything this morning, mi amor. I’ve got a special something planned for later, so I wanted you to save your appetite.” Mickey pursed her lips, knowing how Ray was with his surprises; he was not going to tell her no matter how many pouty faces she gave him. She would have to be patient and wait until he revealed what the ‘special something’ was, even if that meant starving herself throughout the day. With little other choice, the wrestler focused on her meal, downing it rather easily and much quicker than she had expected. Acting on instinct, she reached out for another plate that was not there and was disappointed to find she was finished already. “If you want anything else, Mick, you can get yourself a snack,” her boyfriend told her as he worked on his breakfast. “Just try not to spoil your appetite.” “A little late for that,” she groused while she patted her belly, which angrily grumbled at her. “I’ll hold back; I used to be disciplined once upon a time, you know.” Ray smirked at that and pointed his spoon at the mound of blubber that was her stomach. “Yes, but that was before you started pouring calories down your throat like water.” The Violent Princess blushed and stuck her tongue out at the man. “Har-har. I’ll last however long I need to, and then we’ll see who’s laughing. So keep your gainer shakes and six-course meals to yourself; I’ll get by just fine.” “If you say so, gordita, if you say so,” the manager chuckled. “Just be ready to eat by 5, okay?” Mickey glanced at the clock and scoffed, “Eight hours? Please, I can make it twice as long without stuffing my face.” *** That boast proved more difficult to uphold than she first thought, as the wrestler was on the verge of caving throughout the entire day. It started when she got back from working out and very nearly tore off the doors from the pantry, but Ray was able to bide her some time by fixing her a good-sized lunch. Mickey had to settle for snacking throughout the day, but even her snacks were much more limited than normal; begrudgingly, she ate in moderation in all facets until the late afternoon. She had never realized how accustomed she had gotten to massive portions of food, even after she dialed it back after the cruise. Whatever the big surprise was, she hoped that it would be worth her stomach grumbling for hours on end. When 5 o’clock rolled around, Mickey was seated at the kitchen table and felt like she could eat an entire horse; given how much Ray had been cooking that day, it seemed to be a very real possibility. The punk was chomping at the bit when her lover brought out the first course: a steak that was almost as big as the plate itself, seated atop a thick bed of buttery mashed potatoes. Before the manager even had a chance to explain, his girlfriend tore into the steak like a ravenous lion. “I’ve got to say, Mick, I’m impressed,” Ray chuckled as he sat beside his rotund partner. “I was sure you were going to crack at some point, like I’d walk into the living room and find you surrounded by fast food wrappers.” “Told you,” Mickey grumbled through a mouth full of food. “You sure did,” the beefy man replied with a smirk, “but I wonder if you’re ready for tonight. We’ve been keeping your big belly stuffed constantly, and after the cruise, your capacity has skyrocketed. Tonight, I want to test just how much you can truly stuff in that fat gut of yours—that means stuffing you until you can’t hardly think straight, let alone walk.” That sent a shiver down her roll-laden back. La Princesa had glutted herself time and time again since she had started on this jiggly journey, but she had never tried to gorge until she was at her absolute max capacity. She had to hand it to her boy—he had taken to the role of ‘domineering feeder’ like a duck to water. Not wanting to disappoint, as well as being curious about her own limits, Mickey tucked into her meal with a gusto like never before. The evening was going to be the biggest challenge of her career, even more so than flying fifteen through the air and into a flaming table covered in barbed wire and somehow not dying. It was a good thing she had kept herself hungry throughout the day, as the dishes Ray brought out were bigger than any he had ever given her in an eating challenge before. Everything was massive: macaroni and cheese served in a mixing bowl; a patty melt as tall as two copies of War and Peace stacked atop each other; an entire salt-baked chicken. To make matters even crazier, the gigantic proportions kept coming non-stop, hence why the man had been working in the kitchen all day long; he had been preparing this massive smorgasbord for hours and hours, and judging by the sounds she heard, he was still cooking even as she ate. Yet no matter what the chef brought his massive girlfriend, Mickey wolfed it down as though it were a piddling snack. It was a bad idea to one’s food too quickly, as it led to indigestion and other assorted problems, but the super-sized, big, beautiful woman seemed impervious such complications. She scarfed down food like combination of a machine and a competitive eater, only without the unsavory tactics such gluttons employed. It was a good few hours into her feast before the punk wrestler felt the first signs of fatigue. By that point, her stomach all but divided into two separate parts: up top was the dome of her stuffed gut, which steadily inflated like a food balloon throughout the evening; below was a thick swath of blubber that wrapped around her waist like the world’s doughiest belt. Mickey slowed her roll and ate in a more controlled manner, if for no other reason than to ease the wear and tear on her body; she could already tell that her jaw would be hurting in the morning. A couple hours later, long after the sun had gone down, the Violent Princess slowed her pace even further as her stomach filled to capacity. She was hovering around the maximum limit, and when she finally crossed it after eating an entire pizza, the wrestler groaned and rested a hand on her belly. The fat sucker grumbled at her like a grumpy cat; just like a feline, rubbing the engorged mass helped soothe the beast. For the first time in five hours, Mickey Ramone had to catch her breath, which her lover did not miss. “Throwing in the towel already, babe?” he joked, which earned him a slothful swat that was easily dodged. The manager brought a cool towel over and wiped the glutted woman’s brow, eliciting a hum of contentment from her. “Not on your life, Ray,” Mickey purred as she stroked her belly. “I’ve been through Iron Woman contests that were tougher than this. The only way I’m quitting is if I pop, and that ain’t going to happen. Now, bring out the next plate before I have to waddle out and get it myself.” “As you wish,” the beefy man hummed. He gave his lardy lover a kiss on her chubby cheek before departing into the kitchen once more. Despite her best efforts, the punk only managed to last another hour before she slumped down in her chair. She burped and hiccupped intermittently, stomach bouncing painfully with each one, and her cheeks were a rosy tint from her effort. It felt like she had a boulder sitting on her lap, though a bomb was a more appropriate comparison; Mickey felt like she was going to explode any moment. Her arms fell to her sides as if they were full of wet sand, and her jaw hung open as she breathed deeply. Never in her life could she have imagined being this full, yet here she was. “How you holding up, Mickey?” asked Ray as he waltzed into the room and sat beside his fattened lover. “You look like you just went ten rounds against Butterbean.” “You mean I look like Butterbean,” the dogged wrestler retorted with a tired smirk. Her doting lover gently caressed her swollen gut, stroking it with the slightest hint of pressure. The caramel mass was warm to the touch, and though it was hard to tell, he could detect a faint red glow from the dome. Ray leaned in and gave it a kiss, which earned a groan of pain and pleasure from Mickey. “It is my belief, as your trainer and manager, that you are past your limits, young lady,” the beefy man explained softly as he wiped her sweat-riddled brow with a damp cloth. “I am sure that if you ate even a single bite, you would pop. You did well, but we’re going to call it a night; it’s late and I don’t want to clean you off the walls.” “Gilipollas demente,” the wrestler grunted as she lifted a hand up. “Carry me, baby.” “Como desées,” Ray hummed as he took her hand and heaved her out of the chair. The process took longer than expected due to Mickey’s stuffed state; her lover tried to be as gentle as possible. When they finally got her standing, he wrapped one arm around her waist and led her shuffling into the bedroom, though they paused when they passed by the kitchen. “Babe, what’s that?” the bleary-eyed wrestler asked as she pointed to a three-layer cake on the counter. It looked like a grand wedding cake, the kind she had wanted to have ever since she went to her uncle’s wedding as a child. The manager sighed and tried to direct her attention away while he explained, “It was a little something I had prepared for the end of your meal, but I guess we couldn’t get to it this time. We can always save it for another day; I can cut it up and have it frozen.” Mickey felt her stomach churn and she had to cradle her gut with one hand, yet she could not take her eyes off the cake. In spite of everything she had already eaten and all the pain that came with it, she wanted that tower of decadence more than anything else. It was ridiculous that she could even think of eating anything else, but la princesa did not care for her own safety; all that mattered was sating the hunger that was ever growing inside her. “Give me the cake,” she mumbled as she released her hold on Ray’s waist and waddled back towards the table, though he caught her before she could get too far. “Uh-uh,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Not going to happen. You’re so stuffed that your stomach is more like a ticking time bomb than anything else. You seriously think you can eat even a single bite of that, much less the entire thing?” The punk wrestler turned her head and flashed a daredevil grin at the man while she retorted, “You told me you were going to stuff me until I couldn’t think, let alone walk, right? Guess what—I’m still walking, and I think I want me some cake. Now, pretty please, con azúcar encima, get me a fucking plate and fork.” Ray stood flabbergasted at how his girlfriend was still standing after eating for six hours straight, but he knew better than to be surprised anymore. When Mickey set her mind to something, neither Heaven nor Hell was going to stop her; she was going to trudge onward until she reached her goal. It was one of the many reasons he stayed by her—to see this amazing, unstoppable woman conquer the world of wrestling. So, despite his initial misgivings, the beefy manager retrieved a plate and fork and began to serve her slice after slice from the three-layer cake. “Happy Three Hundred, amor,” the man cooed as he fed cheesecake to his eager feedee.
  13. CyrilFiggus

    The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG)

    ((With one week to go before the Royal Rumble, here's a new chapter of the most over story in the FA territory! Enjoy!)) The instant Sharon slid back in the ring, Las Reinas were at her again, stomping her into the mat again and again. Just as all hope seemed lost, Maggie leaped to the top rope, vaulted onto La Osa’s shoulders, and whipped around to throw the yellow wrestler into La Serpiente. While the luchadoras recovered from the blow, the Latina helped her partner to her feet, where they looked to each other and nodded in understanding. Maggie ducked back under the ropes while Sharon ran over to La Serpiente, who was struggling off the mat with no small amount of difficulty. “Come on, up and at ’em,” the bespectacled woman told her opponent as she grabbed at the masked wrestler’s thick middle. “The boss wants to see you.” As La Serpiente staggered to her feet, Sharon hoisted her up, over her shoulder, and over the top rope. Maggie caught her, only to slam the purple wrestler against the ring apron to the shock and awe of the audience. “That’s how we do it!” the petite wrestler cheered as she hopped back onto the apron. “Somebody throw me a beer!” A can went sailing through the air at her command, which Maggie caught without even looking at it. Mickey’s cousin grinned like the cat that ate the canary and cracked the can open to be showered with a spray of foam. Wiping her face, she put the beer to her lips and chugged until it was empty in seconds flat, at which point she crumpled up the can and tossed it down at La Serpiente. Sharon shook her head at her partner’s display, but before she could say anything about it, she was knocked into the ropes by a steel chair clapping against her back. She glanced over her shoulder and found a vengeful Osa behind her, holding the chair by the legs and ready to swing it again. It was only quick reflexes that saved her from the wrathful woman, but Maggie was caught instead. The showboat went flying off the apron and into the crowd below, which left her partner to fend for herself against a very angry bear. “I’m gonna mess you up, punta!” she howled as she swung the chair about as though it were made of cardboard rather than cold metal. “Nobody hurts my boo like that without getting some! You wanted to poke the bear? You got the bear!” Maddened as she was, Osa landed shot after shot on Sharon, who did everything she could to dodge away from the savage beast. The redhead crumpled to the floor, taking another strike to the back before Maggie dove in to save her. Her partner speared the raging luchadora into the ropes, the chair falling to the wayside. The scantily clad woman helped her friend to her feet before they nodded, raised their fists up, and clinked pretended glasses together. “Closing time!” they cheered as they untangled La Osa from the ropes. Maggie spun the dazed wrestler around in her arms and wrapped the woman’s neck in a hold while Sharon hoisted up her legs and set them on the middle rope. Then, quick as can be, she climbed up the ropes to the top turn buckle beside her partner and her doomed competition. The voluptuous redhead wiggled her bottom and winked to the crowd before leaping with the grace of a bird to deliver a flying elbow drop to La Osa’s back. At the same time, Maggie fell back to the floor in a devastating Elevated DDT, which left the yellow wrestler face down on the mat, her gelatinous belly squishing out from under her. Sharon crawled up and draped herself across her fallen opponent, chest heaving and lips pursed in a sensual smile. The referee was quick to slide over and clap his hand once, twice, three times, and that was it. “Here are your winners: ‘Margarita’ Maggie and Sharon Goode, the Wild Roses!” the announcer declared as the crowd went wild. Ray shot out of his seat right away for a standing ovation, but it took Mickey a moment to rise out of her chair after wolfing down so many snacks. The globular wrestler had to rock herself back and forth to build up momentum enough to swing up to her feet, and she had to catch her breath when she finally made it. That did not stop her from applauding her cousin and Sharon for a remarkable showing, especially with their finisher. “She’s gotten pretty damn good,” her lover remarked as they took their seats again. “It’s in her blood,” the incognito wrestler retorted as she eased her fat ass back down to the chair. “She was never not going to be amazing.” Ray smirked and poked his girlfriend in her belly as he teased, “I wonder if she’ll follow you in your grandfather’s legacy.” Mickey blushed underneath her mask and swatted his hand away. “Fat chance: Lou was my grandfather on my dad’s side; Maggie gets the Torres genes, which mean she will never pack on a single pound. That girl is going to stay a skinny mini for the rest of her life, mark my words.” *** When the show wrapped up and everyone had left, Mickey and Ray met up with Jack, Maggie, and a very different Sharon than the one in the ring. While her cousin was clad in a pair of skintight jeans and a crop top that left much of her middle exposed, La Princesa Violenta found that the bodacious redhead went for a much more conservative outfit. She had traded her ring attire for a pair of real, thick glasses, a skirt that went to her knees and gave the slightest hint of her perfectly round rump, and a blouse that downplayed the swell of her chest. Sharon would not be the first person to look completely different from their in-ring persona, but the stark change from the woman who had flaunted her curves to the crowd was nowhere to be found. “That was awesome, primita!” a now unmasked Mickey squealed with delight when her cousin came out of the changing room. She wrapped her meaty arms around the much thinner woman and squeezed her tight against her blubbery body, which elicited a huff of surprise from Maggie. “Glad you liked it, prima,” the younger wrestler gasped. “Could you let me down, please? You’re kinda crushing my ribs here.” “Sorry, sorry,” the punk apologized, “but I was just so excited to see you in action. You looked great out there! And that finisher—dios mio, I thought you damn near killed that girl!” Maggie gestured over her shoulder and grinned. “You can thank Sharon for that; she’s the mastermind behind this operation.” The redhead blushed and readjusted her glasses as she meekly replied, “Oh, well, I wouldn’t say that. After all, I was just putting out two moves together; you’re the one doing all the hard work, making that amazing DDT and all.” “The DDT is great, but your elbow drop is the one that makes it bad-ass,” the Latina retorted as she wrapped an arm around Sharon’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for her.” Jack chuckled as he approached the tag team with checkbook in hand. “Well, whoever’s responsible for the team, I’d want to shake their hand. You gals put on a hell of a show tonight; shucks, you might have even stolen the whole thing! If y’all can catch lightning in a bottle, I think you’ll have a good career with us daredevils.” Both girls lit up with excitement as they received their pay for the night and embraced in a giddy hug. Mickey looked to her old friend and mouthed a silent, “Thank you.” The retired wrestler gave her a wave off and grinned, saying, “Now, we’ll work out the details tomorrow, but I think that we’re going to do great business together. Y’all have a good night, and Mickey, Ray—don’t be strangers now. We oughta get lunch sometime.” “If we do, it’s on us,” Mickey laughed as she gave the old man a hug. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I can really put it away these days.” “No kidding,” Jack chortled. “I think you accounted for half our concession sales tonight! Next time we’re putting on a show in town, I’ll make sure we have double of everything—just what a growing girl needs.” The old man saw the group out before returning to finish packing up the equipment for the show, at which point Mickey suggested, “Who wants to go out and celebrate?” “Me! Mememe!” Maggie cheered as she waved her hand. “And I’ve got the money to treat you guys tonight.” The idea was promptly shut down by Sharon, ever the more responsible of the tag team, putting her partner’s hand down and shaking her head. It was like this all the time: every time they got paid for a show, Maggie was quick to go out and spend half of it on clubbing, fine clothes, and a spa day; were it not for Sharon keeping an eye on her, the Latina would likely have gone into debt ages ago. As it was, it was all she could do to keep her wild friend from flushing her money down the drain, which made her grateful they were paid separately rather than together. “Your friend might have the right idea, Mags. Besides, you’re our guests; we’re going to treat you while you’re in town,” Mickey explained to her exuberant cousin. “All right, but don’t think I’m going to take it easy just because it’s your money,” the younger wrestler chuckled as she pranced to her rental car. “I happen to be a very expensive date, thank you very much.” The punk wrestler crossed her chubby arms and smirked. “Little girl, I’ve got a GWF salary; I can treat your culo burracho to half the restaurants in town and it wouldn’t make a dent in my wallet.” Ray led the visitors to an all-night diner that also had one of the largest collections of beer in the whole city, which made Maggie’s eyes shimmer with delight. Despite the fact that Sharon and she were the ones busting their behinds that evening, Mickey still ordered the most food between them; given the way the waiters acted around them, they were used to the wrestler’s massive orders. The heavy drinker of the group was quick to sample beer after beer, but it was not until well into her meal that she found her raison d’être. “What’s this one, the Snake Venom?” she asked the waitress as she came to collect yet another empty pint glass. “That one’s straight from Scotland, sugar,” the matronly woman answered. “Real dark and very strong—that sucker is brewed with peat malt, two whiskies, one beer, and one champagne. Best damn dark beer you’ve ever had in your life.” Maggie licked her lips at the prospect and replied, “Sounds like the stuff made for a queen. Let me have a pint of that!” “You sure about that? Because it’s—” the waitress cautioned before being interrupted. “It’s probably expensive, I know, but my cousin is buying,” the lithe woman declared as she winked at Mickey. “Thanks, prima.” La Princesa Violenta rolled her eyes and retorted, “Anything for you, tu puta borracha.” The waitress shrugged her shoulders and went off to pour yet another glass for the victorious wrestler. She had wanted to warn Maggie that Snake Venom had two-thousand calories to its name, and the girl had already polished off six other beers while working on a chicken-fried steak with sweet potato tots. If that skinny thing could put that all away, more power to her, but those washboard abs were on their way out if she kept eating and drinking like this. Sure enough, by the time the girls had finished their meals, Maggie was cradling a healthy food baby in her lap and moaning about how much she had eaten, ignoring how many beers she had throughout the night. Mickey picked up the lone tater tot left behind and popped it in her mouth; she still had plenty of room to spare compared to her cousin. The punk joked, “Only seven beers, primita? You’re losing your touch!” The younger wrestler bellyached, “I’m just too full! I had way too much to eat; I shouldn’t have gotten the steak.” “Among other things,” Sharon mused as she daintily wiped her lips. “Shut up,” Maggie whined childishly as she gave a sluggish swat to her partner’s arm. “Mmph…gotta get back to the hotel. Sleep sounds so good right now.” “Well, I’m still eating here,” Mickey replied as she gestured to her fourth plate of the night. Her belly was so large that it was hard to tell whether she was stuffed or not, but Ray could tell after so many days and nights of feeding his lover to the brink. There was still plenty of room in that cavernous stomach, which likely meant a trip to the convenience store in the near future. The manager patted her on the shoulder and offered, “I’ll drive them back if you want to eat some more, babe. Just don’t work the cooks too hard; we like coming here, remember?” “Hey, I’m putting their kids through college,” Mickey giggled as she put a hand on Ray’s and kissed him. “Gracias, mi amor. Don’t let Maggie stop you for anything; straight back to the motel, understand?” “Loud and clear,” the hefty man retorted while he stood up. As he crossed over to the other side of the table, Sharon rose and lifted her groaning partner out of her seat. Ray was quick to get Maggie’s other side, and together, they made their way out to the car. “Be back soon, Mick!” La Princesa waved the trio off before tucking back into her meal until a thought crossed her mind. She called out, “Hey, Donna? Let me get a Snake Venom too!” *** After they were dropped off and escorted to their room, Maggie and Sharon went about getting ready for sleep; more specifically, Sharon got ready for sleep while her drunken partner passed out on one of the beds. The redhead shook her head and sighed at how irresponsible the Torres girl could be, whether it was drinking the night away or leaving her to do all the work. It was a wonder that they had lasted as long as they had, but that was mostly for how much chemistry they shared in the ring; were it not for that, they would have split up ages ago. When the bespectacled wrestler finished washing her face and brushing her teeth, she walked out of the bathroom to find Maggie already sawing logs. Sharon rolled her eyes and walked over to the slovenly woman to do what she always did for the Latina. First, she undid the girl’s shoes and tossed them aside, and then she moved up to work her under the covers. As she did so, something caught her attention: the bloat of Maggie’s stomach from all the beer and food, so round that it looked like she had swallowed a bowling ball at some point in the evening. “You really did a number tonight,” Sharon mumbled to the dozing dazzler. Hesitantly, she reached out a dainty hand and brushed the caramel belly before yanking away as if Maggie could wake up any moment. When the inebriated wrestler did nothing but continue snoring, Sharon returned to her examinations: she poked, stroked, and even prodded the swollen mass before her partner belched, which made her leap three feet in the air. The redhead froze for a moment or two before she settled back down and resumed her task of getting Maggie under the blankets and sheets. All the while, the Latina kept on sawing logs as if she was a chainsaw. Quick as a flash, Sharon dove into her own bed and shut off the lights so she could be alone with her thoughts. Not once had she ever been so intimate with her partner, but then again, she had never seen Maggie glut herself that much. It made the redhead curious about two things: if this was a one-time thing, and if Maggie was more like her cousin than she chose to admit. If that was the case, then the Latina could expect big things in her future; her cousin had to be close to three hundred pounds, if that. “Fat chance of that,” the redhead murmured before she drifted off to sleep, unaware that Snake Venom was being distributed in bars all throughout New Mexico and that Maggie had developed a taste for that particular poison…
  14. CyrilFiggus

    Epic

    Ah, a day in the life of an evil queen...Regina's plumping up is excellent, and I love the fact that her plan of fattening up her maids has amounted to nothing. I suspect that her gaining won't stop at the ritual point--but then again, that could just be wishful thinking.
  15. CyrilFiggus

    Epic

    That was delightful! I had a feeling Sia would be a pear when you made long skirts a thing for her. She's going to get quite plump over the next few weeks--so much so that those skirts won't fit her at all.
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