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Batman76

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  1. Hope I didn't disappoint. Should have a new section up Monday though
  2. Batman76

    Ashley James

    Fucking perfectly thick
  3. I'll have a chapter on cass getting buff to keep you confused next month.
  4. The set up here, seriously that tease from her sister.
  5. OOps for harley's sake... Pt 4: Working up an appetite “Ugh, why do I have to be the one who exercises?” Harley whined as she shimmed some spandex up her thick, sturdy thighs, “I”m on a fat girl cruise, why the hell am I working out?” The three Suicide Squad members had worked out the plan during dinner, a late night snack and then a heavy breakfast. Well, Harley and Katana had worked on the plan while a grossly over stuffed Killer Frost laid back and moaned at the state of her massively stuffed gut. Okay, to be actually true, Katana had done all of the work while Harley had continuously stuffed herself, the strong abdominal muscles under her belly flab giving her a ridiculous stomach capacity. “Hell yes I do, these b**s are back up to the 500 crunches a day I did in college. I imagine anyway, there’s still some fat under there...and some bloat,” Harley chuckled patting her porcelain pale and spherical gut, “just gotta get the damn panties up first…” Katana’s plan was relatively simple. Lady Shiva might be a martial artist freak able to dodge gunfire but she was just human, so her body required a lot of physical maintenance. Meaning she’d be one of the few people in the ship’s gym, probably after breakfast when Shiva’s feedee Queen Bee was sleeping off her latest 10K calories. Harley had argued against having to be the one in the gym, but she’d been argued down. Shiva would recognize Katana, having fought with and against her enough, and no one would believe a butter blob like Killer Frost would ever set foot in a gym. Meaning Harley was going to have to face that worst of fates: exercising. “Of course, I knew all of that ya dumb narrator….who’s a magnificent specimen of a man,” Harley coughed, remembering how her altered metabolism and heavy tatas depended on the narrator’s good will, “why don’t you talk about how damn hot my thick ass looks in this skimpy work out gear?” The SS Cheese Cake had a gym on board to meet some archaic federal guidelines, but it and its gift shop were essentially abandoned. Harley had nabbed some dusty spandex in the biggest size offered from before Ivy’s pandemic when a girl like her was counted as dangerously overweight and not among the fittest women in the states. The tight pink sports bra and black spandex short shorts were meant for a just thick woman of about a size 14 and while Harley had dropped well over a hundred pounds via narrative fiat, she was still far too thick for them. “Yeah that’s it, talk about how fucking thick I am…,” Harley grinned. Quinn’s thighs were at the mid point between the knee over hanging tree trunks they’d been and the svelte, perfectly toned quads they might be. Her muscle was covered up by a thick layer of fat still and her inner thighs touched half way to the knee, but their thickness clearly had some power. Lower down her cankles were in retreat, calves and ankles starting to separate once again. Higher up and the panties were still having plenty of trouble with Harley’s hips and ass. A natural pear, Harley’s butt had been a sagging flap of cellulite at her very biggest. But now that she’d slimmed down and toned up, the clown’s buns were two firm, juicy, bouncy hemispheres hanging out of her shorts. She gave her self a slap and a squeeze, pleased by the firm bounciness that was only lightly dusted with cellulite. Between the big round buns and the girthy, still matronly hips the spandex was stretched near transparent, the backside turned into a thong and the front half hidden under Harley’s belly, while the side straps dug deep into her love handles. “Nothing wrong with a big ass, although I’ll miss getting stuck in chairs. That was kinda hot,” the slimming villainess grinned. Harley’s gut was still pretty soft and currently distended from an immense and probably unwise breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, gravy and biscuits with enough creamy coffee to make the ADD woman’s belly slosh. She looked a little pregnant with all the softness stretched taut. “Ha, not me. I’m gonna convince Pam’s fat gut to have a kid though. She’ll look cute all preggo and leaking, you perv---perfect narrator,” Harley saved, tugging at her chest to make sure the fabulous F cups didn’t shrink. Taut and turgid titty torpedoes stretched the sports bra well past its capacity. The once flat Harley was as busty as busty got, bearing Power Girl level cleavage and looking more like Power Girl than the actual Karen Starr. “Hey, most of that is your fault, its your story! I mean, I did kinda help with convincing her into bdsm knowing her tough attitude just hid emotional fragility and a need to be dominated but I mean its totally not something I feel bad about,” Harley lied, guilt welling in her chest. Ignoring the feeling, the over curvy clown waddle/sashayed into the dusty gym, searching for the equipment that had been recently used. She found a treadmill that was dust free and hopped on the eliptical in front of it, trusting to her increased fitness to deal with unfamiliar exercise. Despite that, it was the first strenuous activity Harley had done in two years and she soon felt sick, waddling along at barely 2 miles an hour as the quart of whipped cream she’d had at breakfast threatened to come up, as well as hearing the clap. *Clap-Clap-Clap-Clap-Clap” filled the gym, the sounds of Harley’s thighs and buns jostling against each other as she puttered along. “Okay, my butt isn’t that fat…, is it?” Harley gulped, feeling a bit turned on by the embarrassment. Behind her, the press ganged villainess heard a door open and quieted herself, trying to look sane and anonymous as she began heavily sweating. The mirrored wall gave Harley a good look at her portly, somewhat strong fit frame jiggling and wobbling, as well as the lithe bombshell who’d just entered the room. Shiva was about as old as a villainess got without super powers or cashing out like Catwoman did, easily in her mid forties. But the absolutely gorgeous stunner could have passed for a college athlete, the toned and agile physique showed off by her skin tight spandex without a hint of age or extra fat on her. Her abs were firm enough and her thighs jacked enough that Harley felt an involuntary fear in her chest, one that was tinted by horny when the busty assassin raised her firm arms to tie her hair behind her head. Quinn wasn’t certain if those tits were real but holy shit did she want to find out. She hadn’t been into skinny girls for a while but damn did Shiva make thin look good. “Funny how she’s still thin, guess this chapter is gonna be all about her downfall,” Harley wondered mentally, trying not to fall off the elliptical, “which is funny as she’s got “final boss” energy all over her...unless...oh boy…I mean, wait a minute the narrator gave me this sexy fitness and let me lose weight, its not like I’d just...start gaining again…after spending this whole chapter flaunting how skinny I was getting...oh fuck.” Quinn’s unsteady sanity gave her an excellent grasp of narrative drift. She was inside a weight gain story and had just spent quite a while flaunting her weight loss. Therefore, in accordance with ancient fat fiction laws, a karmic come uppance was in order. “Oh come on, I’m his fave. I’ve got more chapters than anyone else,” Harley sweated, “maybe he’ll be nice…” “I must say,” a cold, cultured voice from behind her purred, “Its so odd to see someone else working out here, this is a ship for decadence and yet here you are trying to erase all your enjoyment…” Quinn glanced behind her, seeing Shiva smiling and feeling like a gazelle with a broken leg and lions all around. The assassin was on the treadmill’s maximum speed and incline, sprinting easily and not even breathing hard. “Oh uh just trying to um, control my gain ya know. Wanna get some muscle under the blubber, so I don’t wind up immobile by 35!” the hip heavy Harley tried to explain. “Oh what a shame, you see, looking at you I can see how you just loathe exercise. The tilt of the shoulder, the narrowing of the hip,” the assassin observed, “just moving brings back childhood memories of forced practices when all you wanted to do was eat ice cream and play video games.” “How the fuck did you- I mean, yeah I always hated exercising but you know gotta stay thin...until like a year or so again when I just started gaining,” Harley gasped, terrified of being psychoanalyzed, “Just uh, like everyone else...but you…” “Yes, how odd but how do you feel about gaining weight? You seem like you want to just give into the decadence, to gorge and gorge and grow,” Shiva went on as she passed the two mile mark, “you desire a life of laziness and weakness despite what society tells you about wanting strength…” “I *puff* er, okay I’m...getting a little wet from all of this, but really I just want to be a skinny mini again,” Harley gulped, panties starting to sop as her inner desires were so accurately described, “but you know, hard to stop eating…” “Yes, you clearly have no control over yourself. And you like it that way, because you feel…,” the fit assassin observed, reading Harely’s emotions like a book, “like you deserve to be fat.” “I don’t, well maybe I do but like...just cause I eat a bunch and kinda ain’t got a clean slate doesn’t mean I don’t, erm,” Harley swallowed, realizing what was about to happen. “You want to be fat and deserve to be fat, say it,” Shiva ordered. “I...oh that fucking narrator abusing his own story rules,” Harley huffed and swallowed, “I want to be fat and deserve to be fat…” As she said the words, Harley somehow felt the metabolism she’d been gifted with...slow down. “Of course you do,” Shiva grinned, easily hopping over the treadmill and Harley’s head to perch on the blonde’s elpitical, “which is why you are going to cease exercising immediately. Sit and watch me.” Gulping, Harley obeyed, waddling off the elliptical and planting her wide buns onto a chair. She watched Shiva finish her six mile run and start on weights. Every perfect muscle in the assassin’s lithe body flexing and showing as she dead lifted nearly a quarter ton. The exercise dragged on, Shiva squatting and lunging with heavy barbells on her shoulder. Harley felt confused by it...until she started feeling hungry. By now it had been more than half an hour since she’d eaten, the longest time she’d gone without eating awake in months. “There’s my first workout done for today,” Shiva smiled, a light sheen of sweat covering her body, “now follow me piglet, we’re going to bring out the real you…” “Oh, oh joy,” Harley gulped dragged onwards and stomach rumbling, “who could have foreseen this?”
  6. Well, its actually a short chapter... Quinn had gotten into pretty good and entirely unearned shape these past couple months. She thanked God for that, because she’d have probably had a coronary on the spot if she’d still been truly obese. The short sighted clown tumbled out of the dining room in a cold sweat at the brush with death. “Jeeze louise, I fight loonies dressed as Bats and my ex, the genocidal clown. Fight freak assassin broads are not in my paygrade!” Harley hyper ventilated, “And how the hell is she so skinny? I’m thinner than 70% of the Northern Hemisphere and she’s gotta lot of nerve calling me fat!” Harley grabbed a tray of cupcakes from a passing waiter, shoveling them into her mouth in a show of unneeded stress eating. The Master Assassin Lady Shiva rarely came to Gotham but all save the truly nuts knew to stay away when she did, the lady could read intentions too fast and dodge bullets too easy. Harley ran some options in her head on how to deal with the hyper fit martial artist, each of them coming up short. “Artillery? No, not on the same boat as me,” Harley muttered through her third cupcake, “Same with *munch* explosives. Poison? Not reliable enough. Calling in a favor with a first rate meta human? Well, let’s see, I know Red who’d need a forklift to get here and Power Girl, who hates me now because I manipulated her into an emotional breakdown and she’ll need five years of therapy before she can even use her powers again and by that time she’ll be a middle aged milf in a wheel chair and Waller will have blown my head off and its not my fault, that scary bitch wasn’t supposed to be here and its not like the two fatties on my team are any...wait I gotta team!” Shoving the last five cupcakes into her bulging cheeks, Harley waddled off at speed. She’d swallowed most of the confectionary mass by the time she got to the table, thighs making smacking noises as she hurried through the over stuffed cruise goers. Almost all of these women were stuffed to the gills, collapsed back in their chairs and heavily sweating as their engorged stomachs gurgled and groaned. This included Katanna and Frost, who’s hefty bodies had already burst their clothes and pushed the out of shape anti-heroines towards a nap. “Girls, big problem!” Harley gasped, swallowing the last of the cupcakes and grinning as a waiter dropped off more, “Queen Bee has some major body issues that culminate in an absurd lipophobia, meaning she rejected even my svelte self!” A seam gave way on Quinn’s thick thigh as her stomach kept bloating, letting pale fat squish its way free. “Ugghhhh, you’re not exactly *urp* lean Quinn,” Frost groaned, her sweat frozen on her skin and her light blue face looking a tad green as she struggled to digest twelve thousand calories, “you probably *hic* gained twelve pounds from today.” “Oh excuse me, X-Large Frosty with a side of fries,” Harley said, crossing her plump arms over her torpedo shaped breasts, “for being a bit curvy. Why don’t you go impress her with your fifty inch waist line and chaffed thighs?” The significantly stronger Katana was a bit better, but only just. She leaned forwards to grab a roll that was mostly butter and a small pop sounded, a pair of lacy panties going under the pressure of her swollen gut. One hand munching and gut pressed to the table, the Japanese woman reached out her free hand to poke Harley’s rather meaty backside. “Harley, you’re fat, accept it. I did. Now, how do we continue the mission?” the sumo sized samurai mused. “Give me three months and I’ll be back to a size four,” Harley muttered, knowing that due to her deal with the narrator this feast would leave her thinner than she’d started, “but Waller told us to seduce her and if we’re competing against Shiva, we’re screwed!” Harley took a glance across the room where the lithe assassin was already feeding the rotund Queen. Shiva’s lean, muscular build was perfectly shown by a beautiful, figure hugging red dress that made her seem a different species compared to the sweating, groaning tubbos filling the room. The assassin was slowly feeding the gigantic Queen Bee, her nimble hands oh so slowly dipping onion rings and mozzarella sticks into tangy sauces and oh so slowly feeding them one at a time into the Queen’s mouth. Instead of the uncontrolled cavalcade of the rest of the room, Bee was only eating a hundred calories per minute and looking ready to come from it. Shiva was whispering low, subtle insults to the Queen’s ruined figure while her free hand massaged her stomach under the table, making Bee’s piggish eyes roll back into her head and her whole acre of tan lard wobble. “She can’t be *urp* that tough,” Frost grunted, “I can kill her, I’m fat but I still have my *urp* powers.” To demonstrate, the meta human put her hand on an emptied martini glass. Instantly it frosted...and then filled with a hot fudge sundae, complete with whip cream, sprinkles and cherry. Harley seized it before anyone else could and started chowing down. “Yeah and I still got my psych degree. Let me guess, you’ve got major mental hang ups over getting fat so you subconsciously altered your powers into only being able to create baked goods?” Harley hiccuped over the pop of another seam, “Forget fighting, for you that ran out of style along with running and societal standards of modesty. We gotta *urp* use our, ugh heads...ugh, I’ve got an ice cream headache!” Sitting down to guzzle a freshly deposited cappuccino, Harley considered her options...which mostly meant drinking more fattening coffee and cream. “Combat is likely ineffective and our mission has changed,” the wandering Katana said with a slight hiccup, “Frost and I will take over getting to Queen Bee. Harley, your job is to seduce Shiva.” Harley was just starting up on a large platter of brie melted over bread. The tubby blonde ex-psych looked up and swallowed from this latest part of her feast. “Me? How am I gonna convince her to fatten up?” Harley said through a full mouth, “I usually work with people who already have eating disorders!” Katana sighed, shaking her rounded face, “You won’t be feeding her, she’ll be feeding you.”
  7. Holy shit but the straining buttons.
  8. Legit thought it was one of your morphs at first, the little weight she's gained looks great.
  9. Ha, thank you! Dreams of this have been bouncing around my head, this and other characters too. Perhaps several...and someone far more dangerous than Harley... Oh yeah, in a perfect world whre they weren't criminals ivy and harley would still be fat. And Katanna is criminally underused, especially in the movie. anyway part 2: Pt 2: Heavy Seas The quasi reformed supervillainess was caught in a dilemma. On the one hand, Harley was worried. Her poor, delicate flower Ivy was trapped all alone in a penthouse apartment without a phone or internet to call for help. Granted, Harley had intentionally disconnected them so Ivy couldn’t order more food in an attempt to get the jolly green shortstack at least semi mobile again but given her spherical state, Ivy was in no condition to help herself. Nor was there any chance that without Quinn’s motivations Ivy would even attempt any form of exercise and without Harley and her machete keeping the house plants at bay, Ivy was going to be subconsciously force feeding herself with her junk food growing vines. There was a real danger there’d be so much green blubber inside the pent house Harley wouldn’t be able to push the door open and she despaired of ever doing cute couple things again like short walks on the beach or getting stuck in a restaurant booth. But on the other hand, she was going on an all expenses paid cruise full of fat girls! Harley had always known she’d liked girls with a bit of bounce to their ounce since she was pretty young. If she’d stayed purely on that track it would have served her better than any heteronormative choice she’d made. And such a choice would have been much easier if the dating market was like the line of passengers waiting to board the SS Cheesecake. “Holy Smackaronies, talk about a pod of whales!” Quinn exclaimed as the government black SUV pulled the two supervillainesses and anti-heroine handler to the line, “A veritable bloat of hippos, a sounder of swine, a drove of heifers and a bamboo of pandas! To wit, a big group of fat girls!” Ivy’s virus had ripped through Gotham’s high society first, turning elegantly lean and cooly fit socialites with enough money to afford the best personal trainers and dieticians into gluttonous butter balls. Portion control was out the window and exercise abhorred as the new plague turned every man chubby chaser and every woman into a determined feedee. Through her contacts, Harley’s blue eyes glimpsed a cavalcade of East Coast upper society who’s who’s carrying far too much fat. There the ginger Gotham Gazette reporter Vicky Vale, her voluptuous bod having grown more voluminous by the day since the fashion show. She was dressed in a pink skirt suit big enough to camp in and ready to bust off of her frame. The suit jacke would never button over her bulky torso again, while hefty arms threatened to pop its seams. Bowling ball boobs and a beach ball gut stretched every button on her button up shirt to the breaking point, while wide hips and yoga ball buns hung out of a mini skirt held together with multiple rubber bands and paper clips. Behind her was the socialite Kate Kane, another tall and ivory skinned ginger. The ex-special forces soldier had recently retired from the vigilante life as Batwoman when her gut kept popping utility belts. Without any activity since then, the once formidable woman’s gain had rapidly accelerated, a high sugar and carb diet loading pound after pound to her body to replace vanishing muscle. She was wearing a sports bra to support a nice pair of D cups and nothing else bar a pair of fashionable spandex shorts. They showed off her flattened, saggy butt’s cellulite folds and her soft thigh’s plump contours but all eyes would be on her double folded apron belly hanging down over her thighs. Accompanying Kane was her pair of on again off again girlfriends Renee Montoya and Maggie Sawyer. Both police officer Lesbians had had complimentary gains, Montoya’s latina genes ensuring a heavy pair shape with plenty of cellulite hanging from her pair of daisy dukes, while the blonde sawyer’s three chins were complimenting her pendulous breasts threatening to pop her crop top with any breath. Next in line was the metropolis based fashion icon Lana Lang, three porters helping her out of a limo. Once her lean curves had dazzled multiple covers but after retiring to manage her own clothing brand, Lana’s corn fed Kansas genes had begun to pad her out, making her avoid bikinis for more size hiding ensembles. She’d abandoned hiding for blatantly flaunting, her quarter ton curves less moving from the limo than flowing out. At first Harley thought the fashion mogul was bare but instead she was in dental floss bikini, cups barely enough to cover the tea saucer nipples of her water melon boobs and panties lost in her collection of drooping love handles, knee covering gut and back fat canyons. Once out of the limo it’s shocks sprang back up, while the mobility scooter Lane was sat upon groaned beneath her, barely puttering along. Vale was clearly the fattest woman in sight, not that any was less than obese, and currently attempting to gorge herself immobile for her swimsuit issue return, goal nearly in sight as a 32 oz shake was placed in her sausage fingers, Vicky using her mammoth cleavage as a cup holder. “Ugh, makes me feel thin,” Frost muttered from next to Harley, the rotund cryomancer trying to get her seat belt undone. As a woman with powers, Frost was one of the few who was programmed to dislike their gain by Ivy’s plague. Not that the once lithe woman could do anything about her gain, despite grumbling about her hefty gut and boobs the whole ride over she’d demolished a Big Belly Burger special order that left her icy pale gut hanging over her unbuttoned skirt. “I know, like, I’m glad I can go up the stairs without blacking out again but dear God we’re gonna be on that boat with all that blubber! Thank God Ivy wanted an open relationship!” the artificially slimmed and quite fit Harley squealed, overly stuffed tits wobbling in excitement while her somewhat fitting shorts pinched comfortably. “Keep your eyes on the prize,” Katana growled from the front seat, the once nimble swords woman taking a long slurp of her near empty 48 oz soda and burping, making a seam pop on her skin tight cut offs, “we find Queen Bee, seduce her, inject her and leave before we get into the size range of her powers.” “So what, all in like two days for you two?” Harley giggled. “I’m not that fat, and I’m trying to lose weight,” Frost glowered, rolling out of the car with a grunt after getting her seat belt freed from her boobs, “and you’re looking a little chunky yourself clown.” “Weight is just a number,” Katana agreed, rolling herself from the seat. The wandering Ronin was still immensely strong, weight lifting having built serious muscle power under her blubber. But Harley could also tell by her breathing she got in no cardio anymore and would be quite slow in a fight. And when her fitness regimen inevitably slacked off, the “strong” in her strong fat build would quickly go. “Yeah, one rising up for every body,” Harley giggled, hoping she’d be there to see Katana realize her strength was gone, “oh what a beautiful world!” Thanks to ridiculous narrator intervention Quinn was positively slender, a curvy 240lbs well balanced between a firm donk and huge boobs. Her gymnasts muscles had been miraculously restored under the curves, giving her a surprising strength, flexibility and endurance unmatched by most of the other women on the continent. The three relatively thin Squad mates drew plenty of glares, especially the ‘lean’ Quinn. Obesity was in and none of the panting heifers in line for the decadent cruise wanted a reminder of the change from skinny, even if Harley was obese. Getting in line for the cruise ship proved a long wait, made tolerable by waiters rapidly serving the bloated guests frequent drinks. Harley’s eyes practically lit up when she tasted the booze and weight gain powder in the heavenly chocolate, sucking it up with glee. By the end of the line and three of the booze heavy shakes, the curvy blonde was feeling more than a little tipsy and more than a little bloated, having lost the button of her pants along with her sobriety. She pretty dimly sat through the orientation in the palatial main dining room, safety briefings barely heard over heavy eating. Quin tasted the miracle food from Starrware as she stuffed some wafers down her mouth and although she knew it was dangerous to eat her own product, kept guzzling knowing she was filling her own product. Her belly was bloated out to her boobs again between the food and booze, jean shorts held up purely by friction. Harley had been blessed with weight gain immunity but the pleasant agony of being ready to pop was damned nice, she still had a desire to be the skinny girl in a room of fatties but eating like a lardass sure was nice! Half **, Quinn cast her eyes around the room. Next to her, Katana and Frost were eating like pigs. The cryomancer had burst her bra, hefty tits nearly hanging from her shirt, while the swords woman had long vertical rips running her leggings. Given that this was Anonymous food they’d soon be over 300lbs. Looking for her target, Harley glanced over the great and gluttonous of the east coast. Lana Lang’s scooter had crapped out before she’d gotten to her table, leaving waiters to hand feed the immense ginger. Kathy Kane and her girlfriends were busy feeding each other, stuffed and bloated bellies starting to get in the way of the femme fatales who were breathing heavily. Vicky Vale had burst all the buttons of her clothes, only her bra holding on. “Come on, looking for a fatgirl in a fat girl stack,” Quinn hiccuped. She glanced at a table where an immense redhead and a hip heavy blonde were sat. The redhead was wearing glasses and sat in a wheel chair that her hips were almost out growing. She had on unbuttoned slacks and an outgrown sweater that gave her a smart professor vibe, while the blonde next to her was wearing an elegant black dress. The blonde was an extreme pear, buns resting on two different chairs and seemed a bit sheepish about being so fat a blush going down her three chins. Harley marked her as a meta and wasn’t surprised when the Captain announced her as Dinah Lance, headliner for the Black Canaries and the on ship entertainment. She stood up with a grunt and raised a flabby arm to wave, clearly embarrassed her skin tight dress chose that moment for the zipper to rip. “Huh, bet she aint’ *belch* hitting the high notes with jowls like that,” Harley mused, filling up on some more empty calorie cookies. Behind the Black Canary were another pair of well dressed fatties. A dark skinned brunette in purple flaunting a trifold belly in a crop top and mini skirt, the fat a cocoa water fall to her dimpled knees. Harley recognized her as Helena Bertinelli by her relatively unchanged face, meaning that she was the ab showing vigilante known as the Huntress. Next to her was a hyper curvaceous blonde wearing an elegant, 40’s style ball gown. She was only heavily thick, barely even obese, a 230lb hour glass with epic boobs and a drumset ass. Harley recognized her by the hair as the time displaced Lady Blackhawk, who’s 40’s metabolism was slowing her gain down to nearly realistic levels. “Crap, all the birds of prey are here. Don’t want capes getting involved, even if they are all obese,” Harley hiccuped, eyes still scanning, “but if they’re here then Queen B must be...fucking huge.” There were a lot of fat women in the room and Harley had thought that the quarter ton Lana Lang was the biggest by a hundred pounds. Apparently the blonde clown hadn’t been looking hard enough, as an absolutely massive woman was entering into the room. She was wearing an inconspicuous pair of skin tight sweat pants and a XXXL t-shirt that didn’t hit her belly button, showing plenty of cinnamon skin. Harley had gotten pretty good at weight guessing and pegged the buttery brunette at midway through the 700s, an absolute water balloon about twice the size of any of the Birds of Prey. Somehow she was walking, a ludicrous violation of physics as the jiggling beauty huffed and wheezed to her seat: a customized couch. A monsoon of sweat was pouring off the mind controlling mid eastern monarch, turning her grey clothing black. There was no shape to her, Bee having swollen hundreds of pounds past the already obese picture Waller had shown her. Proud, austere features had given way to a face so fat she had no neck, a lumpy, wobbling slab of chin fat big as one of Harley’s plump boobs. Near vestigial arms as thick as the 250lb Harley’s stuffed waist were elevated to a near t-pose by the press of their bingo wings and boobs big as a linebacker. Although Bee wasn’t wearing any of her royal regalia, Quinn recognized a high tech weapon’s bracelet mostly buried by wrist fat near Bee’s swollen hand. The Queen’s gut was a hanging slab that was inches from hitting the floor, covering up cankles swollen and sore from hauling her vast girth around. Two svelte Body guards in suits flanked her, the monarch of Bialyia so fucking fat it took Quinn a minute to realize they were 300lb blobs of fat and muscle. “Target is in my sites, girls,” Quinn smiled to her allies, “this mission is gonna be easy as robbing a bank in daytime….girls?” Both Frost and Katanna had lost themselves in the throws of gluttony. The long rips in Katana’s leggings had gone all the way to her waist band, letting her multi rolled belly surge out as she stuffed her self with handfuls of pop corn shrimp. Next to her Killer Frost was shot gunning sundaes, bloating belly slowly tilting her chair back as she broke her hour old promise to lose weight. “Okay, both of ya are lost in a fatty feast. I get it, I’ve been there,” Harley sighed, rolling to her feet and tugging at her shorts to get them out of her ass, “I’ll do the seducing myself!” The half ** Harley waddled off, ensuring she looked her best. A tug at her bra to make sure her increasingly zeppelin like boobs were on display, a pull down of her shorts to show the pink thong digging into her porcelain skin and putting a bit more of a seductive sway into her waddle. Her thick, curvy frame with its hint of underlying strength was to die for, granted she liked near immobile short stack gingers more but Harley was certain as she sashayed up to Queen Bee’s table she’d get an invite to her room. Ivy’s virus had rippled around the world and turned everyone into a fat lover and given the high levels of bisexuality in super villains, she was certain that she was irresistible. “Hi gorgeous, you look like you could use some company. Maybe a feeder to let you relax at the table,” Harley cooed at the vast monarch, bending down to show her cleavage. Bee’s piggish eyes glimpsed up from her meal and she snorted, “Too chubby. Leave.” Harley could only blink. She was the thinnest woman in the room by fifty pounds, a hundred pounds smaller than average and this nutter thought she was chubby? What the fuck? “Uh, you sure you don’t like curvy girls? Ones with thick muscle under their flab?” Harley asked, “great big hooters?” The spherical Queen snorted, “No. Your gluttony is disgusting. And I have a feeder on standby. You are in her way.” “Exactly, now please move or I’ll move you myself,” a firm voice said behind Harley’s back, someone daring to put a hand on Harley’s shoulder. Harley turned, seeing a tall and actually slender asian woman. She was well muscled and athletic, without a trace of spare fat save for generous breasts. She could have been thirty or fifty, face smooth and hair dark but when Quinn saw her eyes she realized how fucked she was. “Hey, hands off of the...oh...fuck me,” Harley said, voice going pathetically small, “I’ll just be uh, Shiving...uh...ladying err...going now!” “Oh, I think you will,” the world’s greatest assassin smiled, “after all, I’ve got an appointment.”
  10. This is your finest work so far. The ass cheeks being wide as her elbows is chefs kiss But is it a punishment or a reward?
  11. Oh yeah I'm having some ideas percolating... Chapter 37: Chapter 37: Every Mission is a Suicide Mission Soft warm sleep was interrupted by a the blaring shriek of an alarm clock. “Ugh, why is 6:00 am so early,” Harleen groaned, fumbling with the alarm clock in the early morning darkness. “Because you have to take the ferry to Arkham, Harl,” her wife muttered beside her, “Ugh, I don’t have to be in until 9, you can get started on breakfast without me.” Harleen yawned again, rolling out of bed with a groan of joints. Toes and ankles popped with relief, but her left knee didn’t stop twinging. The psychiatrist leaned into it a bit, feeling her stomach rolls fold over each other but not getting a satisfying pop. Sighing that this was going to be another bad knee day, the blonde waddled around the bed, pulling her underwear out from between her hefty cheeks. “You won’t be able to sleep in when that baby comes, Pammy,” Harly yawned, waddling past Pamela’s side of the bed and bending to kiss the soft bulge showing through the sheets. “Yes and you’re not letting me store up any now. We won’t be staying up until midnight having sex either,” her wife yawned, new third chin folding under her jaw, “now let me sleep in while you get ready.” Harley chuckled and padded as quietly around the bedroom as she could. Which wasn’t that quiet, the old brownstone’s floor board’s creaked heavily under her 280lb bulk, and to avoid waking her wife the blonde pulled on a snug bed robe and waddled down stairs. The stairs were an adventure themselves, they were fairly narrow and Harley was extremely wide with her left knee always paining her. “Come on, I was on a wheaties box and I can’t go down the stairs?” the obese ex-athlete muttered as she got to the bottom with a sigh. But of course, many years separated the morbidly obese pear from the rail thin, ultra muscled gymnast she’d been. Teen years full of athletic excellence had made Harley one of the fittest women in the world by the time she hit 18, skill earning two golds and a silver in ‘08 while her say it like it is attitude, tight butt and perfect legs had earned her America’s love and lust. But a knee injury training later had turned Quinzel into a regular person with an olympian’s appetite and access to several lifetime supplies of sponsored junk food. Between when she’d entered college and when she’d gotten her psych doctorate seven years later she’d put on over a hundred pounds, burying that fit athlete under layers of lazy blubber. “But you know what, I’m happy for her sleeping in,” the chief psychiatrist at the world renowned Arkham Asylum yawned as she got into the kitchen, the room between door frame and her hips scant indeed, “Pam’s gonna win the nobel for her work with bio fuels, we’re gonna have a baby and she is looking so cute chunky!” Harley had been obese when the two had met on a niche dating service for bi-PhDs, an odd match for Pamela Isley who’d had a model’s curves on her dainty 5’1 frame. Of course, Pam also had a bit of a fat fetish that saw Harley’s already heavy set 250lb bulk rise up to an obscene 375 by the time they got pregnant. Harley’s knee had hurt pretty bad, enough she’d seriously looked into a walker and to make her need insulin. But Isley hadn’t stayed slim for long. Living in the fat trap of Harley’s life had given the already busty redhead Power Girl levels of cleavage and a bit of a gut by the time she was shoe horned into her wedding dress. Despite always talking about going on a diet, Pamela had only gotten heavier since, a short stacked, thick thighed and heavy bellied 200 by the time they decided to get knocked up. As Harley was much too fat and diabetic to easily carry to term, Pam had undergone IV and as a result Harley was now the skinny one in the relationship. “I bet I can get her heavier than me by the time she pops,” Harley grinned, putting a stick of butter into a frying pan for the eggs, getting the soy bacon sizzling, the four bagels fried and the coffee added to the cream, “meanwhile I gotta drop a few pounds…” Keeping Pamela obese took a fair amount of time and effort, meaning that for the first time in yearshe hefty blonde was down below 300lbs again. It took twelve trips from kitchen to dining room to fill the wood table with her wife’s vegetarian but very high fat breakfast when she heard heavy foot steps above and the shower start. Frowning, and cramming a fist full of bacon into her mouth, the ex-gymnast waddled back to the foot of the stairs. “Pammy, I got breakfast for ya. If you eat it cold you won’t get as thick!” Harley called. “Harl, ohhhh, Harl come quick. The pregnancy, I’m so fucking horny….,” the botanist moaned from the shower, “I need you bad….” Harley gulped. Their sex life was only getting better thanks to how horny the hormones made her huge boobed wife, but the stairs were a hell of a thing. “Come on ya pussy,” the psych told herself, “you’re not so much of a bitch you’re gonna let stairs separate you from the sexiest ginger snatch in three states?” Cursing her thirties and being a very heavy set woman despite her loss, Harley hauled herself up the stairs. She knew it was pretty pathetic she was so fat and in another way knew that her quiet life of married, obese bliss in suburbia was far too bougie as it was. But it was sweet and she loved it, even if she supposed some cardio might be called for, besides what else would she have done, become a super villain like the poor saps she treated? “Whew, oh boy, puff, I guess...oh god...gasp,” Harley wheezed, squeezing herself into the bathroom, hands on her knees, “I think, ugh, my doc might not have been joking when he said I need to drop blood pressure.” “Ohhh, ohhhhhhhhh, ohhhhhhhhhhh fuck fuck fuck,” her wife moaned from the big walk in shower. Given their sex drives and ever increasing size, the shower was a necessity. Harley could see the outline of her drop dead gorgeous spouse: shadowy boobs the size of melons that had started leaking milk a few weeks ago, a gut so padded and heavy with fat it didn’t really show yet and such ripe, fertile hips. Sucking in air, Dr. Harleen Quinzel threw open the door expecting hot water and a warm, soft wife… And instead was hit in the face with a bucket of cold water, waking up on a hard chair. “ *PHEW* what the fuck?” Harley Quinn gasped as she started awake. By reflex, Harley’s hardened gymnast muscles tried to haul her up. But she was bound to a hard metal chair, the zip ties cutting into the still thick layer of fat over her strong physique. So the still business suit wearing super villain fell flat on her back. “Okay, I love the kinky stuff but if I’m not given a sexy ginger dryad with tits the size of water melons and a gut big enough to use as a coach inside of five minutes I am going to kick a lot of people’s asses!” Quinn snarled in her thick gotham accent, blinking at the bright fluorescent lights. “That’s going to be difficult with your head blown off, Dr. Quinzel,” a harsh, familiar voice told her, “Katanna get her up.” “Oh shit, oh fuck, No Waller! No, fuck no I’ve been good! I did my time and wiped my slate clean!” the strong fat clown moaned, trying to roll away and doing nothing but making her narrative engorged tits pop blouse buttons,”I ain’t gonna be on no suicide squad again! Look at me, I’m a fat lazy office worker, I ain’t got no super villain skills to use no more!” A woman with a soft sneer on her rounded face blocked the light. Harley blinked a minute, recognizing the anti-heroine Katanna more by her soul slaying sword than her once athletic physique. As Harley had expected, the Japanese swordswoman had clearly been indulging like the rest of the female population, her fit, muscular 140lb body at least doubling in size. The black body suit she wore was stretched over hips bigger than the pear shaped Harley’s and a gut that folded into dozens of rolls. “Quiet, you knew you’d screw up your parole again,” Katanna grunted as her belly pressed into her thighs. But despite her rounded face, the swordswoman lifted the 250lb Harley up like she was a kitten. Those massive legs might have cankles and her triceps had bingo wings but the obese Katanna clearly hadn’t dropped her strength training. “Deal with your guilt later, for now listen,” the swordswoman said, tugging at her swords belt to get it sat properly among her fat rolls. The obese Katana stepped away, letting Harley see the rest of the room. To her left was a icily pale woman with short, platinum blonde hair, unlike Harley not chained to her chair. Like just about every woman Harley had seen in the last year she was fat: face round as a ball, the fat of her underarms hanging like limp flags, boobs bigger than her head and gut filling her lap. She was wearing black leggings stretched transparent, and a black T-shirt with a white snow flake, her gut pressing it up into more of a bra than shirt. “Frosty!” the damp Harley smiled her own plight forgotten as her ADHD bounded off , “Looking like you’re doing well! Did ya figure out how to make ice cream with them ice powers yet?” The quasi reformed cryo killer named, coincidentally, Caitlyn Snow and known as Killer Frost glared at Quinn, snorting out a long stream of frosty breath, “Quinn, do you have to be so predictable as to bring up weight the first time we meet? I retired from villain and put on some pounds, it happens and isn’t worth bringing up. This isn’t some sort of fetish porno.” “Ahhh, but...did you figure out how to make ice cream?” Harley asked, smiling hugely. “...Yes, yes I did,” Frost sighed, crossing her arms and looking away. “Oh wow! No wonder you’re looking so cuddly, say if we don’t die I got a job offer for a gal like you!” Harley grinned, as another bucket of water was thrown over her head, “Hey what the fuck!” “Quinn, you might have put on a hundred pounds but you never change do you?” CIA chief of META operations Amanda Waller sighed, “You had to leave Gotham for NY and break parole, didn’t you? Well its good you did, your crimes give your country cause to use you.” “Yeah well I...uh…,” Harley squinted at the bizarre sight before her, “Waller, how come you’re more like...a post now?” Quinn had unfortunately known the ruthless head of the suicide squad for years. Waller was pragmatic, tough, willing to kill but not to waste...and also one of the fattest women Harley knew. In a world of rail thin, ultra fit and usually under 40 super heroines and villains, Waller had unashamedly been a grossly overweight woman in middle age, a professional not a vigilante. “Gastric bypass and crossfit Quinn, you should try it,” Waller told her with a glare. The “Wall” had truly collapsed in on itself. Harley had lost hundreds of pounds thanks to a deal with the narrator but now that she looked at a slender woman like Amanda, well, she felt actually fat again! The CIA chief looked years younger, wearing a stylish skirt suit that showed off her muscular legs and tight waist. Harley would have said that the black woman looked like a model if she hadn’t personally infected the modeling world with a weight gain plague months earlier. “But while related we need to get the briefing done,” Waller coughed, turning on a projector that showed huge amounts of graphs, “as you can easily tell, the world is getting rapidly fatter. Only women are being infected and its having disastrous effects: 75% of women are now obese regardless of age group, cholesterol meds are outselling birth control pills, mobility scooters are selling higher than cars and the number of active female super heroes has fallen by 80%, with many losing their powers. Its clearly unnatural and we believe we’ve found the culprit…” Harley gulped, cringing in her seat. She’d always feared that Pam’s plans would wind up with her in jail again, but as success had followed success the possible consequences had only gotten higher. They’d turned Power Girl obese and black mailed her to take over her company to fatten up other people and unleashed a weight gain plague! She’d be in jail forever and angry villainesses were gonna beat her fat butt to a pulp! And she wasn’t gonna get to fuck Pam! Surely this was why the suddenly svelte Waller had arrested her! “The Oil Rich Middle Eastern Nation of Bialia,” Waller explained, “and its ruthless, anti-American leader Queen Bee.” “Wait, hold on...err...uhhh of course!” Harley coughed, thanking whatever narrator or God controlled her fate that she hadn’t been blamed, “but how did you know?” “Well apart from her current weight gain, one preceding the current epidemic?” Waller asked. Waller hit another button, showing a slender and elegant brunette woman in a chic dress on one side and then a lightly brown balloon in a still chic but now tent-sized dress on the other. The old Queen Bee had been regal and elegant, the new one was wider than she was tall with so many chins she didn’t have a neck and arms as thick as Harley’s current waist. Harley was a fan of big boobies but this woman made Power Girl look like the head of the itty bitty titty committee and the clown meant the fat and pregnancy swollen melons of the current Pg, not the mere Gs of the old toned one. Queen Bee’s tatas were past the size of any produce, a cleavage canyon that could be used to bathe in. “Can you drown in titty sweat?” Harley drooled, jaw hanging open, “cause now I want to go out like that.” “Queen Bee’s a powerful telepath, she can mind control anything with a Y chromosome within five hundred miles of her and keep them that way for weeks. Its how she took power and why she was never over thrown despite her large oil res-I mean her backing several super villain organizations,” Waller coughed, “Queen Bee’s weight gain is fueling her powers, not only can she control all men within a thousand mile radius now but she can now control women who weigh over 300lbs. Which given the rapidly increasing size of the female population means almost all women, including ones that still have super powers.” “Oh shit,” Killer Frost muttered, hefting her rotund gut, “I’m going to be in that category soon…” “This threat is dangerous enough I’d normally call in the League, but now I don’t dare to send in even the few active female heroes they have. Someone like Wonder Woman would be immediately under her control and more dangerous than the nuclear weapons that Bialia almost certainly also has,” Waller insisted, “which is where you three come in…” “Are we going to parachute into Bialia and storm her palace?” Quinn asked, eyes shining. “No Harley, of course not. Queen Bee’s army would shoot you if you even managed it. Katana can’t run faster than five miles an hour, Dr. Snow’s cholesterol is off the charts and given how high your blood sugar is I’m surprised you aren’t a hundred and fifty pounds fatter,” Waller said, throwing up more charts of the three agents' terrible physical condition, “Lucky for us, Bee is going incognito for her own vacation…” Another button, this time bringing up a massive ship. “The SS Cheese-Cake, the world’s most decadent, overfed cruise designed for “real women”. Its the heart of a new project by Wayne Enterprizes CEO for female projects, Selina Kyle,” Waller said, showing a picture of the chunky Milf to be, “and its our only chance to…” “Are you gonna have Katanna cut her head off?” Harley asked. “...No,” Waller sighed. “Oh, you’re gonna have Frosty turn her into a the world’s biggest snow cone!” Quinn pressed. “My powers don’t do that,” Killer Frost sighed. “So you’re gonna have me smash her with a hammer?” Harley grinned. “No, you’re going to seduce her and inject her with a drug that’ll take away her power to control women,” Waller sighed, “despite my reputation, I’m not a monster.” “Or the narrator’s getting…,” harley began, before quickly glancing at her drastically slimmed down thighs and enhanced bust since making a deal with the narrator, “increasingly smart and handsome!” There was a loud pop as Quinn’s handfilling E cups turned into ludicrously pert F cup torpedoes and shredded her bra. The other women in the room didn’t notice anything changing. “Ha, sucker,” Quinn giggled at her even larger breasts, “with good tastes!” “Katanna, make sure you remind her there’s a bomb in her head,” Waller sighed, “why couldn’t we just recruit Navy Seals for this I don’t know.”
  12. Why thank you! Those are some of my favorite traits too! I feel you'll like him more at the end... .. A formal engagement to a Prince raised Evelyn’s status immensely, but such a status brought new complications. For one, she was now to live within the women’s quarter of the Royal Palace until the wedding. Although Weit-Gainberg’s religions had little care for virginity, it was accepted that the bride and groom would be separated for months before the ceremony, mostly out of old tradition. If she’d argued about it, the cultist could have probably gotten a quicker wedding but the long lived woman was losing her force of will alongside her wind. Evelyn’s typical food pyramid of sugar, grease, meat, fried dough and ice cream was now hitting her full on, with disastrous effects. The wide hipped cultist was now always tired as her blood glucose tilted out of control and her muscles failed to acclimate to all the fat she was getting, making her sharp mind sluggish. Now she usually breathed through her mouth and often gasped as she developed asthma, while her load bearing ankles swelled whenever she stood up. Despite shoveling in ten thousand calories a day, the bloating beauty had no energy to argue. In the Women’s Quarter she’d have no need to walk more than a hundred yards a day if she didn’t want to, a blessing for the waddling Evelyn. Unfortunately, the decadent food available in the Royal Women’s Quarter made the decadent feasts of the nobility seem like salad bars in comparison. Everywhere Evelyn’s opal eyes glanced there was something frosted or fried, smorgashboards of calorie laden, fat heavy, ultra greasy, hyper sugary food. Nor did her new neighbors help. Queen Saraj the I was in her early fifties, hair kept as red and face almost as youthful by expensive alchemies as when she’d been a fearsome adventurer. But the middle aged monarch was otherwise unrecognizable as the valiant dragon slayer she’d been, a deed now credited to her husband as none could believe this tub of lard had ever conquered anything deadlier than a small staircase. Saraj’ healthy appetite had become a ravenous, unsatisfiable craving for food and the once ultra fit woman was now the laziest in the entire kingdom. Alone among Weit-Gainberg’s noble matrons, she’d never slimmed down enough to re-enter polite society as a curvaceous milf, the two sets of triplets she’d birth all conceived after she’d hit the 300lb mark, a measure now far behind her. Saraj ate from when she awoke at noon to when the King’s duties ended, allowing him to lavish his full attention on her which was often more feeding. And as a prospective mother in law, she demanded Evelyn join her every noontide for a feast big enough to kill a horse! “Eat girl, eat. A little mite as skinny as you looks like you’ll blow away!” Saraj ordered, raising a puffy, smooth hand with a tiny cream puff held between two sausage thick fingers, “a girl as slender as you might snap beneath a son of mine!” The swaying tree trunk of the Queen’s pale, smooth arm trembled under its own weight as she munched, feeding herself harder than killing a dragon had been. Saraj was round as a ball, with no hint of muscle or bone on her waterbed physique. Her eyes were buried in her piggish face, she had more neck fat than most women had breasts and her own bosoms were each the size of a prize winning pumpkin. Those still pert tits rested upon a gut wider than the former barbarian was tall and just as deep, collapsed into rolls deep enough to lose a sword in. Each of her cheeks was bigger than a war horse’s flank, with more cellulite craters than a castle wall after a catapult bombardment. Legs that had carried her to many a battle were now too wide and weak to walk, turned fully vestigial, for even if she could have stood her cankles spilled onto the floor over her feet. That she was alive and by all accounts healthy was testament to how well the King funded the royal alchemists. “Oh, your highness I am far too full,” Evelyn burped from across the table, “and I hate to say this but I fear I will grow plump…” The image the cultist projected was of a girl beginning to at last absorb Weit-Gainberg’s caloric avalanche. A slight touch of cherubic softness on her cheeks, a tiny but proud puff to her small breasts, rounding of her girlish hips into a seductive roundness and a cute little starter belly at the tight waist of her smart yet chaste gown, with her belt out a stretched notch to show she was growing. Evelyn hated even this small display of imperfection, but it was somewhat necessary that her apparent total immunity to weight gain drew a witch hunter’s attention. And she’d gathered that Archibald liked the little bit of weight she’d seemingly put on in the times they’d met since her moving into the palace and the desperate, depressed cultist needed every compliment she could get! “Nonsense! A bride should be bulging and blush on her wedding day! I couldn’t even see my feet!” Saraj belched, beckoning a servant to pour a bottle of wine directly down her mouth, “people will think poorly of my hospitality if you go to the altar with but one chin! Your entire job is to be swollen with child and food girl, to demonstrate the wealth and dignity of the royal house in the portrait of obesity painted on the slender, delicate canvas your own family crafted! It's been months and you’ve barely gained twenty pounds!” Evelyn had been at court the day Saraj had actually been married twenty five years earlier, knowing that the Queen was a muscular goddess with cheese grater abs and thighs that could crush a skull. Saraj wished to avoid her own downfall so thoroughly that she’d essentially erased any knowledge of her own heroism, even poo pooing her own daughter’s taking up the sword. But apart from giving away her history as a vile cultist, Evelyn knew if she opened her mouth, well food would go in and that was the last thing Evelyn needed. The cult priestess’ illusory image was of a slim maid just starting to pad out but the real her was undeniably morbidly obese. Rather than the couple pounds a week it looked like she was picking up, Evelyn was really gorging on several pounds every single day! Her delicate features were obliterated by permanently reddened jowls, the priestess huffing and puffing even when sitting down. So much flab had piled onto her upper arms that the pillow softness had begun hanging over her elbows. Her swan like neck was covered by a multitude of chins, just as her lean collarbone had been buried by a blanket of lard. A lazy, double layered gut filled her lap, angry purple stretch marks across its turgid surface, while increasingly lazy breasts were only just nearing the c cup range. But if her top half was obese, Evelyn’s lower half was laughable. That taught and tiny set of girlish hips Evelyn had used to lure so many adventurers to their doom was now so big, the Cultist had taken to rubbing butter onto her hips to make sure she didn’t get stuck in her own chambers. Their girth was a daily humiliation visible only to the cultist and her cruel goddess, so wide that the brunette hadn’t worn underwear or even clothes since summer had begun, leaving her blobby bulk sweaty and naked. Her tight buns had inflated just as much, swelling with each meal into an ass into heavy hemispheres heavy and lumpy as a grain sack! They smacked and thwacked when she waddled, the sound barely covered by her illusions and were so thick they made her rise half a foot in any chair. Evelyn had learned to give any side table a wide berth, as many a lamp or decoration had been knocked to the floor by her invisible girth. Right now she was sitting on two stools, having abandoned chairs two hundred pounds ago as her backside grew. “Well we’ve *burp* a month left,” Evelyn gasped, so stuffed on royal junk food she could feel control of her illusions slipping, “I’m sure I’ll be pleasantly plump by the wedding…” She belched loudly and for a bare second wasn’t a girl just growing into her curves, but a lard laden leviathan wider than she was tall, stark naked and shiny with sweat. Luckily the Queen and her feeder servants were busy with a wine bottle and a whole chicken, letting Evelyn recast the charm without noticing. “But I really must be going, you know they say that a nap after eating helps the pounds stick,” the nervous cultist fibbed. Rising slowly from her stools with the help of her fat, trembling arms (knees popping as she did) Evelyn slowly waddled to the door. Playing up being painfully full helped explain her slowness, but not how she so carefully had to push herself through the doorway. To the Queen it looked like her slender new daughter in law had merely paused and for some reason grabbed both sides of the door frame to propel herself through! Evelyn thanked Kh’aila she hadn’t gotten stuck, desperately hoping to soon be thin and out of this mad house! The painfully long, hundred foot walk back to her own quarters took longer than she thought, the huffing and gasping Evelyn hearing a snicker behind her as she reached her magically widened doors. “Why if it isn’t our brother’s little fiance, the tiny little slut trying to take him away from us,” one melodious voice asked. “Not so little anymore,” an identical voice laughed, “little bitch is already fattening up. Look at that ass!” The illusion of Evelyn’s butt looked like it had only gained enough weight to press against her skirt, but despite its immense real bulk the whole fatty edifice shook and jiggled at a sharp smack! Gulping, trying not to drool, Evelyn turned towards her two other roommates: Princess Aiya and Princess Ayia. Queen Saraj’ second pregnancy had given birth to two girls and one boy, a most unusual combination. And while Archibald was a tall, strapping and muscular young man, his sisters were something else. “Sisters in law, pardon but I’m so full,” Evelyn said, trying to not drool over herself, “If I eat another bite I will burst!” “That’s your fault for not saving enough room,” Aiya laughed. “Or for not stretching your stomach out,” Ayia agreed. Both twins were strapping six footers, hard six packs gleaming with the sweat of a morning workout under the mountains of their alchemically boosted titties. The identical young women were stunning echoes of their once fit mother and like her had chosen adventure over the decadence of Weit-Ganberg’s noble parties. They spent fall through spring fighting as mercenary heroes against all manner of monsters, returning in the summer to visit and train. Once Evelyn would have seen their sun kissed skin and arrogant attitudes as opportunities to bulk, but months of their attention had rewritten her instincts. Now she felt the puss buried beneath her folded thighs dampen and her mouth drool in anticipation, for although the twins took after their mother physically, they’d inherited their father’s fat fetish. “It is my fault Mistresses,” the food and sex addicted hedonist moaned, “...please punish me for it…” In moments, Evelyn was on her bed, arms chained up above her. She barely had the presence of mind to project an illusion of a dress being ripped off to reveal a slightly plump figure before the sisters were on her. Thankfully both muscular ginger predators were more concerned about further fattening the seemingly slightly padded girl before them instead of how a seemingly large bed space she pushed down. The cultist had force fed enough women and men to know experts and they got the tube in her mouth faster than she could have done herself. Pudding was flowing into her belly before she knew it, with one red head’s lips between her swollen thighs and another working her barely changed tits, the illusion enough to make Evelyn seem hundreds of pounds thinner to the touch. As the fattening sludge filled her and the gingers fucked her, the cultist felt the tiniest hint of real fear. Bad enough to grow fat but to be the submissive? Kh’aila was a cruel goddess and submission didn’t appease her. Evelyn knew she was already in disfavor of the ancient deity, but promised that once this was done she’d never again show submission or dependence… After the wedding next month, she’d be back as good as ever… ….. “I must say, my chubby little turtle dove, that the weight you’ve put on suits you,” Archibald smiled as the carriage rolled onwards. “It makes me feel frumpy and ugly honestly, when I take this dress off you might run,” Evelyn groaned, “and if I don’t, well a button might pop off and blind you.” In a hundred years of fattening, Evelyn knew the stages of how a gain went. First the secret manipulations, hypnosis and discrete appetite stimulant doses. Then the sweet coaxes into bigger portions and deserts while slowing stopping any form of exercise. After that, the conversion to feederism during sex and then, when all resistance had crumbled, when the victim stuffed themselves. Somehow she’d bypassed every step and jumped immediately to the last one. “A brief glimpse of your lovely belly would be worth losing an eye,” Archibald smiled gallantly, looking his bride up and down, ``there are much worse last sights to see!” Evelyn’s illusory image was no longer that of a slender beauty just growing curves. Now the slender, innocent and genuine rural girl she’d pretended to be looked a plumply pampered member of the urban nobility. She had chubby cheeks and a not so little double chin, that swan like neck on the verge of being lost. Her arms were soft and plush, quite invitingly pinchable as her new husband and sister in laws did many times a day. Not much had changed on her chest sadly, but her gut had sprouted into a lazy, fertile looking paunch with much used love handles. Girlish hips were long gone, in their place seductively girthy womanly hips that begged to have an heir pumped into them. Her thighs rubbed and ankles jiggled, while her rounded, plumped behind had no need for a bustle. There’d been many tongues wagged when she’d shown up plump to her wedding two days ago, looking ready to burst her dress. Much of the redness on her face on the long walk up the aisle had been simple exertion, but the rest had been shame and anger over being called fat. Especially as the real Evelyn was so, so much fatter. Eight meals a day and constant snacking in between had blown the ethereally slender cultist up in record time, three or four pounds a day sticking to her. The results had been catastrophic: cheeks and jowls joined together to cover her neck and make her face round as a ball. Rolly polly arms significantly thicker than her old thighs, even beneath the elbow. A double fold belly big enough she could use an old dress as a belt. And most of all, her lower half. Her hips were as wide as she was tall, at the moment pressed snug into the carriage walls. Her ass was so big it barely fit on the velvet seat, pushing Evelyn nearly off of it. Her thighs made multiple rolls, each of them thick as a fat girl’s waist. Cankles swollen from carrying her own weight hung down over her feet, making even waddling difficult. “Had I known that, I’d have not dieted before coming to court,” the quarter ton cultist made herself smile, ignoring the jiggle that went through her frame as the carriage hit a pothole. “Oh no, self control is the most enticing feature. Especially when it’s been shattered,” the Prince smiled, “now, it's time for your snack.” Obediently Evelyn’s mouth popped open, letting him feed her an entire tray of chocolates before rubbing her silk clad gut. The cultist was actually wearing clothes now, a near transparent mumu, an unfortunate necessity. Packing on so much fat as a result of her own actions, acting submissively and not killing those who’d wronged her had cost Evelyn further favor from her dark patron. Kayla's gift of illusion had been partly withdrawn, meaning the cultist could no longer seem to be wearing clothes when she was bare and her cutely tubby illusion was as slim as it could be made. A few more months of this and she’d be powerless forever! “I’m going to get stuck in the carriage door,” Evelyn belched, not bothering trying to hide it, “ugh, I’ve grown so big!” “You’re positively tiny, my plump picadillo. In a few years, after you’ve had six or seven children and can no longer stand, you’d see yourself as positively starved!” Archibald soothed her. Evelyn knew she was probably too hefty to carry a pregnancy, but the carriage rolled to a halt first. She smiled, knowing she was at last about to be delivered! “We’re here!” the cultist grinned, trying to stand and failing, her heaviness and weakness temporarily trapping her. “Seems a bit of a dismal ruin,” her prince admitted, athletic frame stepping easily from the coach and gallantly helping his seemingly just tubby wife out of the carriage, which groaned to be free of her quarter ton bulk. “Well yes, but it's an old family tradition for the two of us to go down,” Evelyn smiled, taking in the ruined, crumbled walls of Knight-Grave cathedral, where her cult awaited them to sacrifice this saccharine fool and return her to loveliness. And frowned, everything was as it should be...but the path down to the basement doors was far steeper and rougher than she remembered. She wondered almost if she should call it off, but convincing Archibald to interrupt their honeymoon to travel to this ruin had been hard nor was it likely she would get another chance. And the cultist hated the cowardice that had grown alongside her obesity. “You may need to help me down a bit,” Evelyn gulped, “I’ve grown a bit out of condition.” “How could I not, my adorable sweetling?” the Prince smiled. The trip down the path was slow and laborious. Evelyn was in truly terrible condition and began to pant not long after leaving the carriage. Her blood pressure wasn’t in a good place and the diabolical blessings that had fended off the true consequences of gaining hundreds of pounds in mere months were beginning to fade. A few times the sweating, panting woman had to stop and lean on a tree to catch her breath, a journey that should have been but a few minutes from carriage to the basement steps taking half an hour. “You know, my soft sided love, the minute I saw you I knew I had to have you,” the Prince smiled, opening the door for his wife who lumbered forwards, sweaty sides slipping through the stone just barely. “I *pant* felt the same,” Evelyn gasped, praying for an end to this nightmare of suffering the consequences of her own actions. “I thought, here is a woman who doesn’t play by society’s rules. Who’s got a head on her shoulders and isn’t just a pretty face. Who can offer good advice and in fact lead on her own,” Archibald smiled, leading her into the gloom and taking a torch from the wall. “Appreciated,” the cultist moaned, so distracted by her own misery she just now realized that something was wrong, there shouldn’t have been a torch! “Granted, not perfectly but who could. Still I’m impressed, you had a hundred years of leadership and only a single mistake. There’s few who can boast that, Priestess Blackheart,” Archibald smiled in the torchlight. Cold sweat broke out across the already drenched obese cultist, for once at a loss, “Archie I...what do you mean? I am but twenty years old…” “Come now Evie, we’re people of action, lies do not become us,” the Prince smiled, “well, you were a woman of action. Things have changed I expect, since you put on at least four hundred pounds. So why don’t you stop wasting what little power you have left with that illusion and come on?” Evelyn froze, piggish eyes widening as she realized she’d been made, the shock so great her illusion dropped to reveal her as the heifer she was. The Prince knew who she was, knew what she was! “Take him, now!” she screamed, loud as her overburdened lungs could, “Take the sacrifice for K'aila!” Instead of the war cries of her fitter cult members, there was only cold laughter to greet her ears. Familiar laughter. “Yes, let's take the sacrifice to the goddess, shall we?” Archibald smiled coldly, “after all, it's near the fall equinox isn’t it? Not quite as holy a time as midwinter, but close enough.” He’d not let go of the Priestess’ hand and dragged her down a short hallway to the great stairs of the undercroft, the same staircase that the Knight Sister Sabine had waddled down in mid winter. It was well lit now, torches blazing to show a scene of slaughter. Evelyn had ordered two dozen of her best assassins, blade freaks and sadists to prepare themselves in ambush. All twenty four of them were chopped to pieces, tattooed and pierced bodies splattered over the ground. At the base of the stairs, before the great statue of Khaliya, stood two tall, muscular ginger women in practical metal armor, wiping blood from their swords. “It took you long enough, brother,” Aiya laughed, “did you have to grease that piglet to get her in the door?” “Probably busy fucking her brains out, I know I would be,” Ayia smiled, “after all a sacrifice should go to the goddess still trembling from its last high, shouldn’t it?” “No...no, this can’t be, this can’t…,” Evelyn gasped, trying to back up only for Archibald’s hand to be at her back. “Oh yes, yes it is love. I must admit, I was intrigued by your real identity upon seeing you. I knew you were special but it took some digging to find out your real identity,” the Prince smiled, leading her down the long, shallow stairs, “from old diaries and journals, I learned that every twenty five years or so an Evelyn Blackheart would appear, a delicately slender and oh so vivacious girl that was much different than all the other rich noble women. But of course, she’d inevitably marry someone rich and withdraw to have her children. Only for that noble man to die in some accident and Evelyn vanish for a generation, only to appear again pretending to be her own daughter. A good scheme and most of the city would never have caught on.” The helpless, obscenely huge brunette had no choice but to follow, her gargantuan thighs smacking with each step. She was near hyperventilating from fear as they descended, the great statue of the goddess looming larger with each slow waddle. “And I must say, my overfed little parakeet hooked me. When I first saw you, oh so clever and disdaining, a skinny little thing that ate like a piglet I knew I needed to have you, to turn you dull eyed and obese like the women you thought yourself above,” the Prince went on, dragging his sweating, panting bride, “But when I dug further and realized you were an evil, cold hearted murderess who manipulated and schemed your way down the generations, why...I fell in love. What follower of Khaila could not love the goddess’ chosen?” Evelyn paused on the last step, truly stunned to hear the words. “Why the shock, my obese opal?” the Prince smiled, “You were the perfect predator, a beast made to hunt in our society. How could I not love you with all my soul?” “Then please, let me go, i won’t hurt you or anyone else again!” the terrified cultist begged. “Ah but you’re not the perfect predator anymore, nor the Goddess’ chosen either. To her glory, I domesticated you. Turned you from a proud bird of prey to a waddling hen. Corpulent hips wider than you are tall. That clever face made so dull and round, all your sharp edges gone soft. If I let you go now, you’d collapse waddling up the stairs…,” Archibald grinned, “why Evelyn, you’ve become not but prey. And you know, I love you for that too! You’re so soft, so weak and needy, a living water bed that must be carefully tended. So know you can’t be let go…because you have to kneel.” The two muscular princesses were each at Evelyn’s shoulders as the statue of Kh’aila came to life. Not to make the obese cultist kneel, no her knees gave out as the stone flexed, but to keep her from collapsing as the great, terrible stone face looked down on them. “Great Kh’aila, I have brought to you the sacrifice you requested. The vainest of your followers, laid low!” Archibald yelled, bowing very low, his sisters following. “AH, SO YOU HAVE. A GOOD JOB LITTLE MORTAL, NOT THAT IT WAS TOO HARD. YOU WERE ALWAYS A FAT GIRL ON THE INSIDE, WEREN’T YOU, EVELYN?” the plump statue laughed, putting one nail under Evelyn’s many chins. “Please, please I corrupted the prince, didn’t I? I brought him here, just like you asked!” the terrified Evelyn gasped. “I’M AFRAID NOT, THIS ONE HAS BEEN ONE OF MINE SINCE HE WAS A BOY,” the goddess grinned, “YOU REALLY SHOULD HAVE CHECKED BEFORE CHOOSING MY NEW HIGH PRIEST.” Archibald smiled, “All thanks to you, great goddess, everything in your name.” Kh’aila’s stone hand glowed silver, arcing down to lightly tap the Prince’s brow. He was filled with silver light, Evelyn recognizing the gift of immortality when she saw it. She swallowed and gulped, fearing what was to come. “AND AS FOR YOU, FAILED PRIESTESS, FALLEN PREDATOR,” the massive statue grinned, “THE DEAL WAS MADE THAT YOU WOULD CORRUPT A PRINCE OR HAVE YOUR REAL AGE RESTORED TO YOU, WAS IT NOT?” Evelyn could only nod, chins bobbing. “BUT I AM A MERCIFUL GODDESS. YOU DIDN’T CORRUPT A PRINCE, NO. BUT YOU DID HELP CORRUPT YOURSELF INTO A HELPLESS BLOB OF LIVING BUTTER,” the cruel elder goddess laughed, “AND I CAN THINK OF NO BETTER WAY FOR YOU TO WORSHIP ME THAN BY CONTINUING YOUR DECADENT FEASTING.” The statue’s hand glowed gold and lurched down to gently smack Evelyn’s ass. Magic shot through her jiggling lard, slowly filling her. “THERE THERE, NOW, FROM PERFECT ETERNAL FEEDER TO PERFECT ETERNAL FEEDEE,” the goddess laughed, “YOU’LL SUFFER EVERY WADDLE AND WHEEZE AND GASP, BUT NEVER DIE FROM THEM. YOU’LL ALWAYS BE HUNGRY AND NEVER GET FULL. YOU’LL NEVER LOSE ANOTHER POUND AND ONLY GAIN A FEW HUNDRED MORE. AND BETTER YET, AS LONG AS YOU GORGE AND GLUT AND STUFF...YOU’LL NEVER AGE!” With a cackle the goddess’ presence departed, leaving the four of them alone. The Princesses hoisted their feedee to her swollen feet, not that Evelyn was resisting as the true terror of Kh’aila’s words struck her. She was going to be fat like this...forever. “Well girls, I for one am in religious awe at our goddess’ command,” the Prince smiled,the new high priest approaching his girthy bride, “Now come my lovely, you look like you’re wasting away. And we’ve a honeymoon to enjoy, I do hope you don’t mind my sisters joining us…” Evelyn sighed, "can I pick the menu at least?" There are worse fates after all.
  13. Damn, she looks good with some weight
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