The sound of one of her Mom’s sports cars tearing up the gravel driveway, parking with a sideways skid, elicited a groan from Ms Tara Tate. Until that moment, Tara had been occupying more than the whole length of a couch with a view over the north-west garden of stately Tate Mansion. The rangy nineteen-year old had kicked off her semi-molten pair of pink running shoes, to “recuperate for a few minutes” after eight brutal laps to Coastal City and back which her Mom had insisted upon that morning as part of Tara’s “basic speedster training.” Alas, that had been much more than an hour earlier, and Tara Tate had lost interest in the time after discovering a group of her dinosaur soft toys under the coffee table. Tara had been in the middle of a conversation with her fluffy green stegosaurus and a pterodactyl, when she was tragically interrupted by the crash of the back door, and her Mom’s voice.
“Tara, Honey! I have an errand for you!”
Tara groaned, and tried, too late, to retract her feet from beyond the end of the couch, in the hope her hard-assed Mom might find someone else to do chores.
“Tara, have you been on the couch all morning?”
“I’m really tired, Mom!” Tara protested, levering herself up on the principle it was now too late to hide.
But all Tara’s exhaustion was forgotten in one cold gasp… When she saw the slutty crop top and hot pants ensemble with which her Mom had just entered the mansion.
“Oh God! Mom! Please tell me you didn’t wear that outside? Or, at least, not in front of anyone I know or will ever meet?” Tara implored.
Rachel Tate returned a defiant gaze.
“Tara! Don’t be petty. This outfit is absolutely fine – I have my abs back for the first time in twenty years, so a crop top is a great look... and I’m barely showing a hint of cleavage!”
Tara swallowed. True, her Mom was a hottie. And also with permanently pageant-perfect looks since borrowing some of Tara’s speedster powers. (Tara had not had the courage to ask how come her Mom’s subtle makeup never showed evidence of perspiration, nor splattered bugs from hypersonic speed, but she definitely meant to find out some day.) On the other hand…
“But Mom! It’s not fair. I already never get any cute boys looking at me when I’m standing next to Dahlia! I don’t think I can handle it if they’re drooling over you too!” Tara shrank back onto the couch.
Rachel sighed, and strode over to remove a bent strand of her daughter’s glossy black hair.
“Tara, Honey. First of all, Dahlia Drake is an overfed back-country farm girl. You know she’s a Zaftonite with amazing superpowers… But as far as any eligible bachelor is concerned, Dahlia Drake is a plus-size Instagram model with a borderline weight problem who is also almost certainly a very expensive date to feed at a decent restaurant.”
“Maybe so…” Tara cheered up a little bit.
“Second. You, Tara Honey, have inherited almost all the physical perfection that won me Miss Universe – twice! That includes---”
“--- Yeah, Mom, we all know the story. It includes the year you won Miss Universe after all the Miss America contenders were lured to a party by a super-villainess who hypnotised them into getting much too fat to compete in pageants… And, desperate not to embarrass America, the organisers asked you to stand in at 48 hours notice, as you were our last champion so they could technically put you on the list, even though it was just two weeks after your second pregnancy and you were like thirty.”
“Twenty-eight!” Rachel corrected.
“Oh, was it 28, Mom? I must have forgotten.”
“Well don’t. Anyway, my point is it’s beyond time we included advanced cosmetics and seduction in your training… You, frankly, have a lot to learn!”
Tara sighed. This was going to be the “You should take up modelling” argument all over again.
“Can’t we just do running and Frisbee, Mom? Speedster Frisbee is awesome! And you never played Frisbee with me before, Mom, but I really like that now I’m a speedster we get to bond over it for the first time ever…” Tara used her most manipulative, affectionate-daughter voice. “… So I think we should just do that some more!”
Rachel sighed.
“Don’t be silly, Tara. Not only is seduction an essential weapon that you have overlooked. It also has… side-benefits.” Rachel smirked, anticipating her daughter’s cry of distress. “It’s how I snagged a hot husband who still fucks me like a blow up doll five times a night, for example!”
Tara’s eyes bulged.
“EWWWW! MOM! We’ve talked about Too Much Information before! That is very much it!”
“It is most certainly not, Tara!” Rachel corrected coolly. “You do want to lean how to snag a hot boyfriend, don’t you?”
Tara gulped. It was true she did...
“Good! Though, with your father’s horny genes I’m surprised you haven’t been sneaking cute quarterbacks into the mansion for years.”
Tara subsided further into the couch, and tried to pretend the idea didn’t interest her.
“Don’t worry, Honey. You’re in safe hands. We’ll soon teach you how to… Slake your appetite for cute boys!”
Tara sank behind a cushion.
“Okay, Mom. If you absolutely insist.”
“Good!”
With a jingle of metal, Tara yelped as a bunch of car keys landed heavily on her boobs.
“You can start out by running an errand for me! Go drive Minty Sweetwater to the Wellman Clinic – tell them to draw a blood test, and courier it to Knight Labs for a full analysis.”
“In your Ferrari?” Tara sprang off the couch at the prospect, and was half way across the room in one bound, wondering if she could outrun her Mom if she was told to hand back the keys.
“Yes, Tara. Cute boys like Ferraris, so you can get some practice.”
“Yay!” Tara bounced on her feet and punched the air.
“What else did I say, Tara.?”
“Um.” Tara thought. “Something about sweet, minty water. What’s that?”
“Who, Tara. She’s the poledancer, Honey.”
“Oh! That Minty! She’s nice. Is she OK?”
Rachel have Tara a shove towards the door.
“Just drive the Ferrari, Honey, before I change my mind.”
“I’m gone! I’m gone!”
With an excited crackle of pink lightning, and a thud of the garden door, Tara and her half-melted running sneakers vanished.
*
The vroom of a departing Ferrari was Rachel Tate’s cue to draw a massive breath, grip the couch with both hands… And emit a long, loud howl of pain, like an agonised beast! A crackle of red lightning reached desperately outwards from her sweat-slicked torso. Until, with a second breath and another deep groan, Rachel’s face contorted with concentration, and the crimson arc lightning subsided back into her chest.
“Ugh!” Rachel panted. “Not yet! Tara still isn’t trained!”
Borrowing her daughter’s powers had been a neat trick. But holding on to half of Tara’s speed long enough to train her – two weeks and counting – was taxing Rachel’s body and mind to breaking point!
Day 1, Rachel had felt as strong as her super-heroine prime. She’d outfought a villain with near-Zaftonite powers. Day 2, and after eating her own bodyweight in chocolate cake to recover, Rachel felt like she could take a white-room fist fight with Might Woman at her own prime… That was probably the endorphins talking, but she’d felt amazing. And it was at that point Rachel had decided to hold on to half Tara’s speedster powers “Just long enough to train her”… The fact Rachel would, coincidentally, enjoy the body of a nineteen year old superheroine with super strength and infinite speed, and the ability to eat without consequences for the first time in 20 years. Um, Rachel told herself that totally hadn’t influenced her at all!
Day 3, Rachel had the best time ever, teaching Tara speedster Frisby.
Day 4… She’d awoken with an icy, uncontrollable adrenalin rush, and the urge to do nothing but eat and fuck! Speedster cravings! Rachel had forgotten about those! That her husband had survived the day… Was solid proof Hal Tate was a strong man – and one whose wife’s sexual appetite had been permanently set to “trophy wife on honeymoon”… until she’d hit milf status a few years later and her libido had doubled!
By Day 14, Rachel Tate’s willpower was barely enough to control her speedster powers for short training runs. Any other time, they completely refused to work until she’d fed, fucked, taken an ice bath, and attempted extreme meditation!
“Who am I kidding?” Rachel panted. “I have to give Tara her powers back before they kill me… Or my husband!”
The only problem – and the dread that kept Rachel awake at night – was that after a fortnight of enjoying a speedster’s metabolism, she’d turned into an insatiable eating machine!
Rachel zipped to the refrigerator, where she found to her satisfaction that Tara hadn’t bothered to get up from the couch and drink the eight quarts of protein shake, the two gallons of peanut butter and chopped bananas, or the matching bowl of strawberries and cream, which Rachel had instructed her to consume after their morning run.
With a slurp, Rachel downed a couple of the chocolate protein shakes, and dug out a ladle to start on the peanut butter. She barely even tasted it before it was gone. So she slurped another couple quarts of malt chocolate milk, and began on the strawberries.
Gulp!
“Damn!”
Rachel gulped the rest of the chocolate milk, and found a tray of tiramisu (Tara’s favourite snack) and a 2kg bag of frozen fruit. She was helpless to resist.
“Mmmph.”
Alas, poor Rachel Tate feared that, when she eventually returned Tara’s powers, Rachel herself would still be helpless to control herself! Her willpower ravaged and spent, she’d probably gorge until her Miss Universe body was frumpy and fat!
Rachel shuddered… And texted her husband to bring chocolate donuts!
“Ugh! What a way to fall!” Rachel lamented. “Giving in to my husband’s feeder fantasies! Fuck! I’m so ravenous… I’ll probably make Diana Drake look like a paragon of self control. Ugh!”
There had been a day – during the “Fattest Night Crisis” in the 1990’s – when Rachel Tate as Heat Lightning had saved Coastal City from destruction. She’d picked up a Power Ring belonging to a fallen member of the Fit Lantern Corps – a kind of intergalactic police force who channelled cosmic powers through their magic (or hi-tech, Rachel wasn’t sure) Green Fitness Power Rings. The rings only operated for one heroine at a time – the heroine with the greatest strength of will and fitness of body, chosen from a sector of the universe holding billions of galaxies. Rachel had broken the Power Ring to her own will, and, combined with her speedster powers, kicked a trio of rampaging Fat Lanterns clear across the the solar system. Unfortunately the ring had then burnt out, its energy depleted – and the Fit Lantern Corps had been decimated by the crisis – but Rachel and the Nineties other greatest heroines had saved the universe from the greasy clutches of the villainous Fat Lantern Corps!
For a woman who had once controlled a Fit Lantern Ring – the greatest test of willpower in the galaxy – to turn into a helpless glutton like Diana Drake. The prospect filled Rachel Tate with icy dread. Alas, Rachel was also ravenous, so she texted an addendum to her husband...
“Honey! I want more donuts today! Six dozen last night wasn’t enough!”
* *
It was over several issues. Essentially she got pregnant, thought the father was dead and had an abortion, gained some weight out of depression and then gradually lost it after he got back.
So, I thought some readers might benefit from learning a bit of deep lore about some of the upcoming superheroine / supervillainess organisations in Calorie Girl's adventures... I recently realised that there's a set of DC comic book characters @Batman76 has not yet written about for Curvage (!!!) - the Green Lanterns. And so, here is some lore about the version Calorie Girl and her allies may come up against: the Fat Lanterns!
The Fit Lantern Corps. A cosmic police force, empowered by the Emerald Green Fit Power Rings. These rare artefacts select a champion from among the most disciplined adherents to diet, aerobic exercise, and clean living among the heroines in their sector of the universe, and like almost all the Power Rings they grant physical might and the power to do anything... but in the case of the Emerald Green Rings, this depends on the Fit Lantern possessing sufficient discipline of mind and body. Alas, the entire Fit Lantern Corps was wiped out in the 1990's, during the events of the Fattest Night Crisis, along the with Central Fitness Power Battery, and the very few surviving power rings are almost totally depleted of charge...
The Fat Lantern Corps. The "Fatty Impurity" was a corruption within the Fitness Power Battery, included by its creators in order to supply the device with its unlimited, eternal strength. Alas, the corruption ultimately caused the former leader of the Fit Lantern Corps, Voluptua, to transform into a fallen version of herself, and the first of the Fat Lanterns. With powers fuelled by obesity and gluttonous excess - either of the Fat Lantern herself or of those around her - her Alluring Gold Fat Power Ring grants unequaled might to the greedy Fat Lantern Corps.
The Bliss Lantern Corps. Known to their foes as the "Hippy Corps", as they are perpetually zoned out by exposure to the orgasmically blissful blue radiance of their Sapphire Bliss Power Rings. The Bliss Lanterns are chosen from the ancient Guardians of the planet Hedonia, who first discovered the Pleasure Spectrum and - since they were themselves physically weak and committed to peace, love, and potent narcotics - harnessed not only their own blue power rings, but also created the Fit Lantern Corps, in order to protect the universe from its most devastating horrors.
More obscure Corps, little known to the universe, include:
The Gourmet Lantern Corps. Their Amber Power Rings grant powers of irresistible temptations, such as the creation of sumptuous food. A Gourmet Lantern can fatten and increase the powers of a nearby Fat Lantern.
The Smug Lantern Corps. Possess Ruby power Rings. A Smug Lantern draws power from her extreme vanity, and can disempower other Lanterns by gloating at their weaknesses.
The Horny Lantern Corps. A mysterious corps, whose Purple Amethyst Horny Power Rings provide little power to the Horny Lantern other than mild super-strength and the ability to inflict extreme pleasure on those around them, but have the unique interaction that they can refuel and enhance the depleted energy of a Fit or Fat Lantern's power ring by overloading her with indulgence and pleasure - but with potentially disastrous consequences for a Fit Lantern whose willpower is cracked by such hedonistic excess!
The house at Number One Witch Crescent presented such a splendidly authentic ambience of magic, and, well, general witchiness, that Sophia Sloane had positively fizzed with ideas for almost half a week! There were interior decorators to hire. Caterers to book. And, of course, wealthy, well-connected, and celebrity friends to invite so that the society magazines would get wind of the Sloane family’s fabulous new party venue!
Party invitations, Sophia Sloane avowed, were best given in person. It was to this end Sophia had laid on a lavish brunch in the orangery of opulent Sloane Mansion. The attendees were the choosiest of all party guests: billionaire’s wives. Eager to get an excellent attendance of them at her debut spooky-soirée, Sophia had hired Plains City’s most expensive pastry chef to ply her brunch guests with such hefty slices of irresistible cake, washed down with copious vintage Champagne. Thus fed and lubricated, the trophy wives would be in far too elated a sugar-high to say no to anything, least of all an invitation to enjoy Sophia’s delightful hospitality at her bijou little new house!
It was clear at a glance around the fragrant orangery that Sophia Sloane’s plan was working! Not one of her two-dozen ultra-wealthy peers, chit-chatting happily to each other, lacked a plate smeared in the residue of multiple large slices of gourmet cake! Nor even, Sophia snidely noted, a bosom free from evidence that its proud owner had dropped a crumb or two of “light and airy” cake, or a dollop of high-priced filling, onto her cleavage! Sophia had craftily restricted the healthy canapés in favour of yet more pastries and tarts loaded with sugar, and the oblivious billionaire’s spouses were grazing delightedly and washing it all down with Champers and cream cocktails.
It was quite a testament to the “stamina” of Plains City’s ultra-wealthy wife set that, after an hour of Sophia’s hospitality, they could still stand without swaying from excessive blood sugar and booze! Of course, these uber-rich women had a lot of practice with underwear-busting brunches! It was something of a miracle most of them could even squeeze into their exquisite, single-digit dress size outfits – a miracle Sophia Sloane attributed not primarily to the “strict regime” they all claimed, between mouthfuls of cake, they struggled through to atone for their “occasional” indulgent brunches. Sophia attributed their enviable silhouettes more to liposuction and the skills of elite cosmetic surgeons; to diet pills and mornings suffering the after-effects of laxative fruit smoothies; and to the skill of Plains City’s fashion houses with body-con outfits and vice-tight shapewear concealed in high-end lingerie!
Case in point was the city’s latest trophy wife: one “Minty” Sweetwater. Sophia generally thought of “Minty” in quote marks, because that had been the girl’s stage name… back when the six-foot knockout had been a pole-dancer! Alas for “Minty”, her sleazy past – and, more importantly, the fact she’d been born poor and only made it in life by working as a stripper – was public knowledge. And her elderly oil-tycoon husband’s fortune (at $2.5 billion, per Forbes, making “Minty” one of Sophia’s poorest brunch guests) was far too small to shield the lowly Missouri girl from the snide remarks of her better-educated peers.
Anyway, “Minty” had arrived from nowhere onto Plains City’s elite social scene, at the age of 22, one year and ten days prior to Sophia Sloane’s latest brunch (according to Sophia’s detailed party records). On her debut, the newly-married “Minty” had sported a gaudily-huge diamond on her wedding ring, to match the bombshell-sized breasts on the red-head’s smoking-hot, 6 foot frame. And she’d also sported a smoking-hot body, with a lean, concave midriff on display between her cheap cutoff T-shirt and her cheap but enviably loose-waisted size six jeans. But it hadn’t lasted! Smirks and titters followed the pole dancer from Missouri, who didn’t know which fork to use at a fancy dinner, but who certainly couldn’t resist loading up the wrong fork with shovelfuls of billionaire food she’d missed out on throughout her deprived youth! Minty could be seen shovelling herself full of Plains City’s richest fare at brunches, afternoon teas, and dinners, never stopping eating until she was green in the face! Lucky for her she didn’t have to fit into her stripper-shorts again! By a month into her marriage, Minty had been too fat for revealing crop-tops. At two months, she’d had to upsize the couture tops she’d replaced them with. And at three months she’d left a soirée crying after her widening caboose tore the seat of her favourite jeans! Sophia Sloane had openly tittered! And Minty had kept piling on the weight all year. Never a good conversationalist, at elite social events she soon learned to keep quiet in front of her betters, and instead stuck to something she was good at: eating herself sick!
After a year of marriage, poor Minty’s fattened-up caboose and thighs were straining her rhinestone-encrusted size 12 jeans, and only firm shapewear was keeping her muffin top under a degree of control…
… And Mrs Sophia Sloane eagerly looked forward to the day when Minty’s swelling badonk outweighed her own! To which end, she laid on extra portions of sugary junk at brunches and soirées, and made sure to always invite Minty!
“Tee hee!”
Sophia headed over to the buffet table at which she saw Minty was already glutting herself green on Monsieur du Goo’s gourmet cake, and decided to make sure the Missouri poledancer was the next invitee to her upcoming spooky soirée.
Sophia chortled under her breath. “Minty’s soon going to make me look slim! Tee hee!"
The prospect cheered the milfish Mrs Sloane greatly.
And Sophia Sloane had already been in a wonderful mood this brunchtime! Partly because of her plans proceeding apace for Witch Crescent.
But, also, and just as pleasing, Sophia Sloane had awoken that morning feeling much less bloated than she had in weeks! Perhaps the new fruit-and-berry smoothies she’d added to her breakfast were easing her constipation problem? Perhaps the good, hard fucking she’d received from her personal trainer had helped matters? Or perhaps she was just full of energy thanks to Witch Crescent?
Whatever the reason, Sophia Sloane was in an excellent mood. So excellent, in fact, nothing whatsoever could possibly spoil it…
… Which was just as well. For, as Sophia rounded a cluster of Old Money wives who’d already accepted their own party invitations – and who were helping themselves to more of Monsieur du Goo’s carrot cake even though they were all obviously testing the limits of their size 8 and 10 ultra-bodycon lingerie – Sophia saw that Minty Sweetwater’s conversation conversation partner was the overweight poledancer’s polar opposite.
Rachel Tate!
“Eeek!” Sophia’s eyes bulged as she saw the perfect Mrs Rachel Tate’s absolutely outrageous – as in so outrageous it was certain to draw prime mention in all the best Society magazines – outfit.
A frayed white cotton crop top… Tied under ample C-cup boobs, that reached eagerly for the orangery’s glass ceiling, as if they’d gone through life unaffected by gravity. They obviously weren’t getting any support from the barely-existent black bikini bra that had blatantly been Rachel Tate’s choice because its skimpy flimsiness showed through her tight white top!
A bare midriff... With smooth abs to make a heptathlete glow green with envy.
Daisy Dukes… Sophia groaned; briefly regretted the cubic yards of hot chocolate she’d guzzled during her marriage; and tried in vain to avert her gaze before noticing Rachel’s perfect legs.
Gulp.
Sophia involuntarily swallowed a huge mouthful of the carrot cake she’d barely begun to even taste.
Somehow – and utterly unfairly, in the view of Sophia Sloane – Rachel Tate had made it through 25 or more years of married life with the body of a nineteen year old. The sluttishness with which Rachel was flaunting her body was beyond indecent – and at a brunch hosted by a woman who struggled with her milf-gut, no less! Ooof! It was – almost – enough to make Sophia say something catty!
“Rachel!” Sophia trilled. “You look fabulous! Not a day over…” Sophia gulped, and forced herself not to say twenty-five, but something with a bit of High Society bite to it “… forty. You must tell me your secret!”
“Oh, I don’t think you’d like to know my secret, Sophia…” Rachel replied. “… I had to shape up for a little cross country contest, and I’ve been doing a bit more running. I do hope you don’t mind my coming to brunch in just my training gear. I lost track of time, so I had to run here directly, and I simply had nothing else to wear!”
Bullshit! Sophia grumbled to herself. As if the slut arrives from a run with pageant-perfect hair and makeup to go with her slutty fake running clothes.
Etiquette didn’t permit Sophia to remark upon Rachel’s ostentatiously implausible nonsense explanation for her scandalously slutty outfit, however, so she turned next to Minty. Teasing the overweight and under-confident new Mrs Sweetwater was always good sport.
“Minty! How lovely to see you!” Minty smiled weakly. “You’ve positively glowing.” Sophia continued, glancing at the amount of cake on Minty’s plate. “And such… a healthy appetite for my delicious cakes! Is it possible that you might, perhaps, have had the felicitous delight of… falling pregnant?”
Tee hee! Sophia smirked, at the cleverly snide way of calling the red-head ex-stripper fat.
Minty’s head hung, and she glanced over the side of her enormous boobs, at her too-tight jeans and muffin top.
“No…” The poledancer sniffed sadly. “… I still haven’t. But I do hope to soon! And…” Misty paused, perhaps knowing she was going to say something silly. “… Rachel. Um, Mrs Tate. Rachel has been giving me some tips. Um, on how to get pregnant. Um.”
“Hahaha!” Sophia laughed heartily. Minty might be 23, but the gossip magazines laughed on a regular basis at any picture of her with her absurdly old and frail husband. The redheaad was six foot, broadly-built, and now overweight with added fat as well. Any attempt on her part to consummate her marriage let alone get pregnant would certainly backfire and turn her into a widow!
Minty froze, and looked like she wanted to cry.
“No, really! I very much hope to get pregnant.”
“Oh.”
Sophia decided that she had more important things to do at her brunch than chat with the fat and busty ex-poledancer, and the perfect former Miss Universe.
Such as handing out party invitations to super-rich wives.
“Anyway. Minty and Rachel. You must come to my upcoming soirée at Number One, Witch Crescent… It is Plains City’s most haunted mansion, and formerly belonged to a powerful witch… So, Minty: I’m sure that the magic of the house, as well as my fabulous cakes that you love so much, will help you to get pregnant! And Rachel: it’s fancy dress, so if you want you can come as you are!”
Haha!
Take that, Rachel Tate! Come-as-you-are indeed. A good one!
Sophia smirked. Not even Rachel Tate had a snappy comeback to that one. She’d probably have to accept the invitation just so she could spend the intervening time until the party thinking of one!
“What a generous offer, Sophia.” Rachel really did decide to spend the time up to the party coming up with a suitable comeback. “I think I have space in my calendar.”
Minty, of course, was too far below Sophia in social status to have an option.
“Thank you, Sophia. I hope it will.” Minty said
And, with that, Sophia proceeded to the next buffet table. There, another plumped-up ex plus model, married to the owner of Ohio’s biggest burrito restaurant chain, was grazing on cake next to a skinny ex weather-girl married to a financier. The previous, ridiculous conversation faded from Sophia’s mind with one final thought.
Bah! How ridiculous! Fertility advice from Rachel Tate. What a joke! The only advice Rachel Tate could possibly offer was that if you got railed like a freight train seven times a day by a demigod like Hal Tate, you would assuredly fall pregnant within about three hours after forgetting to use two forms of contraception at all times!
Sophia’s tummy rumbled. She was hungry! It must be because her bloating problem had gone away overnight. Leaving room for more carrot cake! The carrot cake today was sublime.
“Perhaps another slice of carrot cake.” Sophia decided, before joining the next guests. After all, she was hungry… And, even better, Sophia’s girdle had been so easy to fasten this morning, that she’d actually hunted out an old one from when she wore a size 12. That one, after a struggle, had actually gone on too! As a result, Sophia’s designer day dress, with a trendy geometric print on white silk, was actually rather flattering – her mommy gut was held in closer than her generous boobs, and although her caboose was still large there was clearly scope for a slice or two more cake! And that was before her guests departed… After that… Sophia would be at liberty to shed her girdle, and lounge around gorging on leftover carrot cake and pastries like a grizzly bear!
What a splendid prospect! Monsieur du Goo’s carrot cake was the best thing she’d tasted all year. Best of all, Sophia had encountered it on a day she wasn’t even feeling remotely overfed or bloated! She might even have to have Mr Goo whip up a whole another cake for later!
*
Minty Sweetwater dug her fork sadly into the last piece of carrot cake on her plate.
“Rachel? Is there more carrot cake? I feel a bit sick, but it’s soo good!” Asked the redhead.
Minty was wearing kitten heels such that with a teeny slouch she was as conspiratorial eye-level with Rachel Tate. Rachel gulped down her own cake and glanced at the overfed redhead… A sheen of sugary-looking perspiration, and dilated pupils, suggested Minty Sweetwater had eaten enough for one brunch.
Very suspicious. What was in that cake?
“Hmm. I don’t know, Minty. You’ve gone kind-of a mid shade of green. Don’t you think the nine big slices you already ate are enough?”
“Um…” Minty concentrated. “… No? Um, I only feel a bit sick, and I can take off my bodyshaper and unbutton my jeans soon!”
Rachel eyed the remaining carrot cake platter. Four slices. All huge. While Minty was answering, Rachel unhinged her jaw and stuffed a whole slice into her mouth.
“Only three left, Minty.” Rachel said. “I think I should probably finish them.”
“Aw!!! Rachel, please? I’m hungry!”
“No.”
Two slices left.
Minty sniffed sadly.
“Please, Mrs Tate! I’m starving.”
“No.”
Gulp.
One slice.
“Rachel! Not fair! You’ve already eaten twice as much as me! Please may I have-”
Gulp.
“Nope. Ugh. That carrot cake is sickly sweet!” Rachel gulped from a water jug while Minty stared sadly at the crumbs… And then looked around the room for more, and started towards the next table.
“OUCH!” Minty cried, at the sudden hard grip on her arm.
“Let me go! Rachel, I want more cake!”
Rachel Tate shook her head and blinked, as if clearing her vision.
“No. Minty. I think the carrot cake has – had – some kind of illicit ingredient. Maybe… That’s why the pastry chef is the city’s richest? Perhaps Monsieur du Goo puts an illicit appetite stimulant in his most expensive recipes? To secure the big bucks from cake-loving clients like Sophia? That would be sneaky, but very Plains City!”
Minty tried to free her arm from Rachel’s grip, but couldn’t. And she couldn’t keep from being pulled outside to the mansion’s car park either, so she went along with it and pretended she wasn’t being dragged out of the cake-laden conservatory against her will.
“But Rachel! You ate my cake! Why? To save me from being sick?” Sob. “That’s so nice of you! No-one else would do that for me! I think Sophia even smirks at me when I get fatter. But aren’t you worried you’ll get fat like me?”
Rachel more or less threw the heavier trophy wife into the seat of her sports car.
“Nope.”
“But why?”
“Because, Mints, I have a fast metabolism, which will definitely burn away any appetite stimulant before it does anything to me… You on the other hand we take for blood tests, to find out if I’m right, and assuming I am then what it is. And also…”
Rachel floored the accelerator of her sports car, eliciting a shriek from Minty as they cornered with insane speed from opulant Sloane mansion’s driveway onto the wide, private roads of billionaire suburbia.
“… My husband prefers me fat… I’ve lost some weight, Minty, and if I don’t fluff back up to chubby milf status soon, I fear he may refuse to let me fuck him more than six times a day… And entropy will claim the universe before I will ever accept less than unlimited fucking from my husband!”
I’d also like to point out that socially awkward people are “louder” than others. They will text, type, message, and comment more than the average person. This skews online communities into appearing to have more creeps and weirdos than they actually do. You also see this on every website, not just kink ones.
We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue.
Batman76 reacted to JLH_Lover in Jennifer Love Hewitt
Batman76 got a reaction from kachenjunga in Stefania Ferrario - Thick Australian Model with great thighs
Batman76 got a reaction from Borghen in Calorie Girl
Batman76 got a reaction from flyer33 in Calorie Girl
