Batman76

i knew about and actually like the brides wars one (for what it was) and now even though i know its just going to be a throw away line im probably going to have to see raising helen now (maybe ill draw some fixes on these) but it kinda just goes into hollywoods inability to deliver on some things, like in bride wars would it have been so bad to have kate hudson in some padding for afew scenes?

Lockdown weight gain - looking gorgeous.

And after far too long a wait, hah, the first half of chapter five...
Chapter 6: The Way Out
 
The worst thing about all of it, Tessa found, the worst thing was that Mortenson had been entirely right about her.
 
A long dining hall fit for a hundred.
 
A sneering goddess and her dead eyed servants.
 
Over stuffed, suffering victims.
 
It was Tessa’s third day.
 
Soft legs stepped.
 
An iron platform groaned.
 
A bronze dial spun.
 
“Two hundred and nineteen pounds! Miss Holmes you are making excellent progress!,” Dr. Mortenson smiled, “Why in just a few weeks, you’ll be back down to your goal weight! You’re setting new camp records every day!”
 
Tessa smiled back at the blonde doctor, feeling her puffy cheeks shift and the fat under her chin draw tighter at the motion. The smile was convincing, genuine and warm. Although she doubted it would grace a magazine cover ever again.
 
Not when she was twice her original weight.
 
“Thank you, I just wish I hadn’t let myself go so badly before coming here,” the actress admitted, “I knew I was getting heavier but I thought I had it under control…”
 
A tabloid headline, showing her on vacation with a sizeable beer gut hanging over a bikini. Laboring with a personal trainer as she tried to burn off party weight before a film. Showing up to a shoot with a few extra pounds and not for the first time.
 
“Ah, I’m sure you did. But control can be illusory, can’t it. Still, better late than never, I always say!” the physician replied, her plump lips curving over her perfect teeth, “Now come dear, your fellow campers need to be weighed next!”
 
The actress looked down, the soft, pale bulge of her stomach blocking all but the very edge of her sneaker toes. Tessa had never wanted kids, but she’d played a pregnant woman before and this gut was far bigger than the prosthetic baby belly she’d worn playing a teen mom. And it came with flabby, jiggly thighs and drooping breasts.
 
Nor could she just take this fat suit off.
 
“Of course, just taking a last look before it starts disappearing,” Tessa smiled, stepping off the scale so Rachel could get on.
 
Rachel didn’t move like a woman of about thirty. Her steps were heavy, weighed down by too much fat for a near six foot frame to handle. Thigh rolls hung over her knees, cankles hung over her gym socks and hips that would struggle to fit into a compact car seat hung out of her pink shorts. Cellulite coated ass fat studded with stretch marks wobbled out of the skin tight exercise gear. She had no chin whatsoever, her face chubby as a pig’s and her arms wobbled with bingo wings. A saggy gut hung over her pants, awkwardly small breasts jiggled in a sports bra...
 
“Yeah yeah, more like bragging you can see your feet,” her pop starlet friend said with a mock chuckle, “I used to be able to too! Believe it or not!”
 
The actress made herself chuckle back, “I remember…”
 
Rachel Fast, once famously twiggy actress, who’d stopped touring three years ago after an embarrassing weight gain. One that had accelerated over the years until she’d teetered in at a quarter ton. Before finally snapping out of it and coming to the Black Mountain Lodge, where she cut her weight down to…
 
“Three hundred and sixty...no seventy one pounds!” Mortenson smiled again as the dials stopped spinning.
 
Three hundred and seventy one pounds. Easily three times what Rachel had used to weigh. From famously svelte and leggy into an ass heavy chunk of blubber…
 
“Oh thank God, that’s over a hundred pounds!” Rachel laughed in real happiness, “Fuck, a lot of feeding sessions went into that ass fat...double fuck, that’s a skinny version of Tessa!”
 
Rachel’s step getting down from the scale was slow. She was clumsy, awkward in her movements. Tessa noted a wince in her friend’s face as she put all of her weight onto one leg, like her knee was in pain.
 
“And your gout symptoms are really fading, Miss Fast. If we keep you on this diet, in a week or so you’ll never know you had a flare up!” the doctor grinned, “Miss Downton…”
 
The super model had been sitting the entire time, bulk sprawled across a groaning wooden chair at the table. She was breathing heavily and red in the face, still panting from when she’d waddled into the room. With every breath, her ludicrously pendulous bosoms rose and fell, the left one several inches below its mismatched mate, both breasts clearly suffering from gigantomastia.
 
“One second,” the blonde gasped, closing her piggish eyes to muster her energy.
 
“Do you need help rising? I had believed you were past that…,” Mortenson asked, perfectly plucked eyebrow rising.
 
“I’m just, really tired today. I need just a second, maybe a drink,” Downton whined, voice deep.
 
“Would you like a walker again, Miss Downton?” Mortenson asked her, voice so friendly and inviting and yet...so cruel, “Perhaps I should check your blood sugar, you diabetic girls can get tired so easily…”
 
“No, no I don’t need a walker,” the model insisted, sausage fingers on her swollen knees.
 
She was in a black bikini fit for a circus fat woman. Tessa recognized it, recognized that Downton had worn one identical on a cover. Identical save for the thirty or so sizes separating them.
 
With tectonic force, Downton tried to get up. Something popped, a mystery whether it was a ** or the chair, and the model’s momentum stopped dead. She inhaled deeply and rocked slightly forwards, wobbling legs trying to push upwards while her heavy, sagging arms pressed forwards. Getting up owed more to Downton’s heavy gut and immense breasts than anything else, the immense ex-model rising at the same rate her gut drooped and her breasts sagged. 
 
“S-see, I’m *uhf* fine,” Downton insisted, wiping sweat off of her brow and slowly waddling towards the scale, her posture bowed forwards by the demanding pull of her chest, “I bet, bet I’m below four fifty today…”
 
Tessa remembered a magazine cover that Downton had been on. One that couldn’t have been more than a year ago, she remembered seeing it in a super market or a gas station before her diagnosis, when it had just been some bad headaches. Then, Downton had been athletically slim, her breasts large and heavy, but firm and ripe instead of the spoilt, passed their prime udders wobbling back and forth now. 
 
And she’d weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds.
 
“Four hundred and forty six, my my Miss Downton, you’ve quite the eye to your current size! You’re shrinking fast,” Doctor Mortenson smiled, “another year or so and who knows where you’ll be…”
 
“Maybe on a cover again,” Downton smiled, the motion making her jowls twitch.
 
Downton had had who knows how many covers. After all, she’d been the first plus size model in Sports Illustrated history to make the cover, although that was somewhat cheating given she’d had it before she’d started gaining weight. Only she hadn’t stopped gaining weight, what was laudable at a sixteen was decidedly too big ten sizes later and Downton had left a size twenty six behind long ago.
 
“Who knows? But I do know that now its time to eat, girls,” Mortenson grinned, “don’t you agree?”
 
Bellies growled in unison, gaunt grizzly bears awakening from hibernation to find a particularly obese troup of hikers carrying bags stuffed with pork rinds. The three patrons hurried as well as women in their condition could, Tesa feeling every ounce of adipose jiggling and wobbling. Her fat felt like it had a mind of its own, the gelatinous gut pushing down the spandex waist band of her shorts, surging towards the food she’d have to shovel into it. Moving a short distance, barely a hundred feet was well within the actress’ limits, but she found herself far more exerted than she would have been, even if she wasn’t panting like Rachel and downright gasping for air like Cat. 
 
Breakfast that morning was fried, as it always was.
 
This time it was fried custard. A gallon sized porcelain tub of frozen custard that had been flash fried and drowned in a quart of whipped cream and a quart of hot fudge. To drink was two liters of some horrifically yellow soft drink that fuzzed and fizzed like a grade school volcano project. If Downton didn’t have diabetes before drinking it, she would after, and the ice cream was going to give Tessa gout, let alone Rachel. Whatever Mortenson had said about this resort possibly being outside of the states, only an American could have created a breakfast like this.
 
“The berries look delicious,” Tessa smiled, salivating over the fatty, chocolately heart attack she was about to devour.
 
“Picked fresh this morning,” the doctor told them with a million dollar grin.
 
Breakfast that morning was healthy, as it always was.
 
Fresh blueberries. A glass of low sodium tomato juice with water to drink. A dry slice of turkey breast. Two small pieces of whole wheat toast with no butter. 
 
Two days ago, Tessa wouldn’t have been able to eat the former while pretending it was the later. She’d have hesitated at the start or gagged at the first taste perhaps, certainly the dainty actress would have been miserable at the end of it all and acted like she was shoveling in lard and washing it down with corn syrup. But after another session of therapy with Mortenson, after hearing she could see the belt busting, stomach turning slop and know it was a miniscule health meal. She could pace herself like this was a tiny snack meant to get her through hours of exercise and not a coma inducing barrage of calories that was going to be followed up with some infernal concoction that would make her yet fatter.
 
Two days ago, Tessa had been a gorgeous woman who happened to be in movies for a living.
Today, Tessa couldn’t pass for that woman anymore. Her elfin face had turned round, her graceful neck clumsily thick and her elegant legs flabby as her tiny waist had grown porcine. Tessa couldn’t even pass as Tessa Holmes’ fat cousin to be honest.
 
But today, after gaining perhaps a hundred or so pounds in maybe two days, Tessa was putting in an Oscar worthy performance.
 
She spooned deep fried ice cream into her mouth without pause like a fat girl.
 
She chugged hideously sugary soft drinks at breakfast like a fat girl.
 
Tessa was playing the part of a fat girl like she’d been born to it.
 
The actress’ spoon hit the empty porcelain tub before she realized she was done. Tessa looked down into the greasy  surface of the bowl, seeing the reflection of a fat faced, plain woman who seemed older than her years, not an A list actress known for youthful good looks. There was real disappointment on her features to be done. Her stomach was a little full, certainly swollen over her too tight shorts and with red marks showing on the side where the fabric had pinched, but she could certainly still eat.
 
“I swear these breakfasts get smaller ever day,” Tessa grumbled, finishing the last of her soda, her belly audibly sloshing as she put down the glass.
 
Behind her, the actress heard the rumble of wheels and the slosh of tanks. Whatever creamy concoction this place was feeding her was arriving.
 
“Before exercise, I wanted to ask,” Tessa began, only for Mortenson to smile.
 
The Doctor was in a beautiful red dress, its soft fabric glued to her muscularly curvaceou body, top cut low to show her high breasts. 
 
“Miss Holmes, delaying your work out won’t help you lose weight,” Mortenson insisted.
 
“No, no I just wanted to ask, who painted these beautiful pictures? They’re master pieces all of them but I don’t recognize the style,” the actress said, voice calm, like she wasn’t about to be force fed for hours.
 
Mortenson turned, staring at the picture of Freya and her valkyries feeding the valiant dead.
 
“These? They were all painted by our lodge’s founder, one Sarah Remington, in the late 19th century. An amazing woman, a President’s daughter and a tycoon’s wife. Had she been born a man or a century later she would have been President herself, instead she was a socialite and famous beauty,” the doctor opined sadly, “but sadly, all things fade. And she found herself both this lodge’s founder and its first member. Painting these images of the consequences of gluttony in mythology was one of her therapies.”
 
American presidents weren’t Tessa’s forte. For all the country talked about its independence it treated some of its past leaders like they were Gods all the earth should know the intricacies of. Damn but if she had her phone…
 
“She sounds amazing,” Tessa said, feeling the mask going over her face.
 
“Oh, she was, very amazing,” Mortenson smiled, “it is a shame you won’t enjoy meeting her.”
 
Tessa didn’t know how she knew not to react to the last statement. Just as she didn’t know how the disgusting, fattening feast could appear a tiny, healthy meal simultaneously. Perhaps lingering chemo drugs in her system were keeping whatever mind control serum she’d been dosed with from fully dominating her. Maybe the titanium plate in her skull had partially blocked out the spirit breaking, belittling hypnosis she’d suffered through hours of yesterday. It could be that the laser scalpel had slipped just a bit when the doctor’s had cut out part of her brain a year ago.
 
If the situation wasn’t so deathly serious, Tessa would even entertain the possibility that she really was a witch.
 
But the fattening concoction, that tasted of white chocolate and coconut cream and heavy whipping cream and God knows what else was already pouring into her mouth through the hose. And any thoughts of “why” had to give way to thoughts of how Tessa was going to try and escape this living nightmare tonight.
 
“We’ll need to start doing blood pressure readings on them, Downton’s getting to that delicate stage where the chocolate can only somewhat dull the symptoms,” Mortenson opined to a trainer, “and blood sugar every few hours too for Holmes. I want to know the minute she developes diabetes, I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow, probably around 11 am.”
 
Because of what Mortenson was saying. 
 
And because the taste on that fattening venom on Tessa’ tongue was so delicious, she sighed...

And after far too long a wait, hah, the first half of chapter five...
Chapter 6: The Way Out
 
The worst thing about all of it, Tessa found, the worst thing was that Mortenson had been entirely right about her.
 
A long dining hall fit for a hundred.
 
A sneering goddess and her dead eyed servants.
 
Over stuffed, suffering victims.
 
It was Tessa’s third day.
 
Soft legs stepped.
 
An iron platform groaned.
 
A bronze dial spun.
 
“Two hundred and nineteen pounds! Miss Holmes you are making excellent progress!,” Dr. Mortenson smiled, “Why in just a few weeks, you’ll be back down to your goal weight! You’re setting new camp records every day!”
 
Tessa smiled back at the blonde doctor, feeling her puffy cheeks shift and the fat under her chin draw tighter at the motion. The smile was convincing, genuine and warm. Although she doubted it would grace a magazine cover ever again.
 
Not when she was twice her original weight.
 
“Thank you, I just wish I hadn’t let myself go so badly before coming here,” the actress admitted, “I knew I was getting heavier but I thought I had it under control…”
 
A tabloid headline, showing her on vacation with a sizeable beer gut hanging over a bikini. Laboring with a personal trainer as she tried to burn off party weight before a film. Showing up to a shoot with a few extra pounds and not for the first time.
 
“Ah, I’m sure you did. But control can be illusory, can’t it. Still, better late than never, I always say!” the physician replied, her plump lips curving over her perfect teeth, “Now come dear, your fellow campers need to be weighed next!”
 
The actress looked down, the soft, pale bulge of her stomach blocking all but the very edge of her sneaker toes. Tessa had never wanted kids, but she’d played a pregnant woman before and this gut was far bigger than the prosthetic baby belly she’d worn playing a teen mom. And it came with flabby, jiggly thighs and drooping breasts.
 
Nor could she just take this fat suit off.
 
“Of course, just taking a last look before it starts disappearing,” Tessa smiled, stepping off the scale so Rachel could get on.
 
Rachel didn’t move like a woman of about thirty. Her steps were heavy, weighed down by too much fat for a near six foot frame to handle. Thigh rolls hung over her knees, cankles hung over her gym socks and hips that would struggle to fit into a compact car seat hung out of her pink shorts. Cellulite coated ass fat studded with stretch marks wobbled out of the skin tight exercise gear. She had no chin whatsoever, her face chubby as a pig’s and her arms wobbled with bingo wings. A saggy gut hung over her pants, awkwardly small breasts jiggled in a sports bra...
 
“Yeah yeah, more like bragging you can see your feet,” her pop starlet friend said with a mock chuckle, “I used to be able to too! Believe it or not!”
 
The actress made herself chuckle back, “I remember…”
 
Rachel Fast, once famously twiggy actress, who’d stopped touring three years ago after an embarrassing weight gain. One that had accelerated over the years until she’d teetered in at a quarter ton. Before finally snapping out of it and coming to the Black Mountain Lodge, where she cut her weight down to…
 
“Three hundred and sixty...no seventy one pounds!” Mortenson smiled again as the dials stopped spinning.
 
Three hundred and seventy one pounds. Easily three times what Rachel had used to weigh. From famously svelte and leggy into an ass heavy chunk of blubber…
 
“Oh thank God, that’s over a hundred pounds!” Rachel laughed in real happiness, “Fuck, a lot of feeding sessions went into that ass fat...double fuck, that’s a skinny version of Tessa!”
 
Rachel’s step getting down from the scale was slow. She was clumsy, awkward in her movements. Tessa noted a wince in her friend’s face as she put all of her weight onto one leg, like her knee was in pain.
 
“And your gout symptoms are really fading, Miss Fast. If we keep you on this diet, in a week or so you’ll never know you had a flare up!” the doctor grinned, “Miss Downton…”
 
The super model had been sitting the entire time, bulk sprawled across a groaning wooden chair at the table. She was breathing heavily and red in the face, still panting from when she’d waddled into the room. With every breath, her ludicrously pendulous bosoms rose and fell, the left one several inches below its mismatched mate, both breasts clearly suffering from gigantomastia.
 
“One second,” the blonde gasped, closing her piggish eyes to muster her energy.
 
“Do you need help rising? I had believed you were past that…,” Mortenson asked, perfectly plucked eyebrow rising.
 
“I’m just, really tired today. I need just a second, maybe a drink,” Downton whined, voice deep.
 
“Would you like a walker again, Miss Downton?” Mortenson asked her, voice so friendly and inviting and yet...so cruel, “Perhaps I should check your blood sugar, you diabetic girls can get tired so easily…”
 
“No, no I don’t need a walker,” the model insisted, sausage fingers on her swollen knees.
 
She was in a black bikini fit for a circus fat woman. Tessa recognized it, recognized that Downton had worn one identical on a cover. Identical save for the thirty or so sizes separating them.
 
With tectonic force, Downton tried to get up. Something popped, a mystery whether it was a ** or the chair, and the model’s momentum stopped dead. She inhaled deeply and rocked slightly forwards, wobbling legs trying to push upwards while her heavy, sagging arms pressed forwards. Getting up owed more to Downton’s heavy gut and immense breasts than anything else, the immense ex-model rising at the same rate her gut drooped and her breasts sagged. 
 
“S-see, I’m *uhf* fine,” Downton insisted, wiping sweat off of her brow and slowly waddling towards the scale, her posture bowed forwards by the demanding pull of her chest, “I bet, bet I’m below four fifty today…”
 
Tessa remembered a magazine cover that Downton had been on. One that couldn’t have been more than a year ago, she remembered seeing it in a super market or a gas station before her diagnosis, when it had just been some bad headaches. Then, Downton had been athletically slim, her breasts large and heavy, but firm and ripe instead of the spoilt, passed their prime udders wobbling back and forth now. 
 
And she’d weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds.
 
“Four hundred and forty six, my my Miss Downton, you’ve quite the eye to your current size! You’re shrinking fast,” Doctor Mortenson smiled, “another year or so and who knows where you’ll be…”
 
“Maybe on a cover again,” Downton smiled, the motion making her jowls twitch.
 
Downton had had who knows how many covers. After all, she’d been the first plus size model in Sports Illustrated history to make the cover, although that was somewhat cheating given she’d had it before she’d started gaining weight. Only she hadn’t stopped gaining weight, what was laudable at a sixteen was decidedly too big ten sizes later and Downton had left a size twenty six behind long ago.
 
“Who knows? But I do know that now its time to eat, girls,” Mortenson grinned, “don’t you agree?”
 
Bellies growled in unison, gaunt grizzly bears awakening from hibernation to find a particularly obese troup of hikers carrying bags stuffed with pork rinds. The three patrons hurried as well as women in their condition could, Tesa feeling every ounce of adipose jiggling and wobbling. Her fat felt like it had a mind of its own, the gelatinous gut pushing down the spandex waist band of her shorts, surging towards the food she’d have to shovel into it. Moving a short distance, barely a hundred feet was well within the actress’ limits, but she found herself far more exerted than she would have been, even if she wasn’t panting like Rachel and downright gasping for air like Cat. 
 
Breakfast that morning was fried, as it always was.
 
This time it was fried custard. A gallon sized porcelain tub of frozen custard that had been flash fried and drowned in a quart of whipped cream and a quart of hot fudge. To drink was two liters of some horrifically yellow soft drink that fuzzed and fizzed like a grade school volcano project. If Downton didn’t have diabetes before drinking it, she would after, and the ice cream was going to give Tessa gout, let alone Rachel. Whatever Mortenson had said about this resort possibly being outside of the states, only an American could have created a breakfast like this.
 
“The berries look delicious,” Tessa smiled, salivating over the fatty, chocolately heart attack she was about to devour.
 
“Picked fresh this morning,” the doctor told them with a million dollar grin.
 
Breakfast that morning was healthy, as it always was.
 
Fresh blueberries. A glass of low sodium tomato juice with water to drink. A dry slice of turkey breast. Two small pieces of whole wheat toast with no butter. 
 
Two days ago, Tessa wouldn’t have been able to eat the former while pretending it was the later. She’d have hesitated at the start or gagged at the first taste perhaps, certainly the dainty actress would have been miserable at the end of it all and acted like she was shoveling in lard and washing it down with corn syrup. But after another session of therapy with Mortenson, after hearing she could see the belt busting, stomach turning slop and know it was a miniscule health meal. She could pace herself like this was a tiny snack meant to get her through hours of exercise and not a coma inducing barrage of calories that was going to be followed up with some infernal concoction that would make her yet fatter.
 
Two days ago, Tessa had been a gorgeous woman who happened to be in movies for a living.
Today, Tessa couldn’t pass for that woman anymore. Her elfin face had turned round, her graceful neck clumsily thick and her elegant legs flabby as her tiny waist had grown porcine. Tessa couldn’t even pass as Tessa Holmes’ fat cousin to be honest.
 
But today, after gaining perhaps a hundred or so pounds in maybe two days, Tessa was putting in an Oscar worthy performance.
 
She spooned deep fried ice cream into her mouth without pause like a fat girl.
 
She chugged hideously sugary soft drinks at breakfast like a fat girl.
 
Tessa was playing the part of a fat girl like she’d been born to it.
 
The actress’ spoon hit the empty porcelain tub before she realized she was done. Tessa looked down into the greasy  surface of the bowl, seeing the reflection of a fat faced, plain woman who seemed older than her years, not an A list actress known for youthful good looks. There was real disappointment on her features to be done. Her stomach was a little full, certainly swollen over her too tight shorts and with red marks showing on the side where the fabric had pinched, but she could certainly still eat.
 
“I swear these breakfasts get smaller ever day,” Tessa grumbled, finishing the last of her soda, her belly audibly sloshing as she put down the glass.
 
Behind her, the actress heard the rumble of wheels and the slosh of tanks. Whatever creamy concoction this place was feeding her was arriving.
 
“Before exercise, I wanted to ask,” Tessa began, only for Mortenson to smile.
 
The Doctor was in a beautiful red dress, its soft fabric glued to her muscularly curvaceou body, top cut low to show her high breasts. 
 
“Miss Holmes, delaying your work out won’t help you lose weight,” Mortenson insisted.
 
“No, no I just wanted to ask, who painted these beautiful pictures? They’re master pieces all of them but I don’t recognize the style,” the actress said, voice calm, like she wasn’t about to be force fed for hours.
 
Mortenson turned, staring at the picture of Freya and her valkyries feeding the valiant dead.
 
“These? They were all painted by our lodge’s founder, one Sarah Remington, in the late 19th century. An amazing woman, a President’s daughter and a tycoon’s wife. Had she been born a man or a century later she would have been President herself, instead she was a socialite and famous beauty,” the doctor opined sadly, “but sadly, all things fade. And she found herself both this lodge’s founder and its first member. Painting these images of the consequences of gluttony in mythology was one of her therapies.”
 
American presidents weren’t Tessa’s forte. For all the country talked about its independence it treated some of its past leaders like they were Gods all the earth should know the intricacies of. Damn but if she had her phone…
 
“She sounds amazing,” Tessa said, feeling the mask going over her face.
 
“Oh, she was, very amazing,” Mortenson smiled, “it is a shame you won’t enjoy meeting her.”
 
Tessa didn’t know how she knew not to react to the last statement. Just as she didn’t know how the disgusting, fattening feast could appear a tiny, healthy meal simultaneously. Perhaps lingering chemo drugs in her system were keeping whatever mind control serum she’d been dosed with from fully dominating her. Maybe the titanium plate in her skull had partially blocked out the spirit breaking, belittling hypnosis she’d suffered through hours of yesterday. It could be that the laser scalpel had slipped just a bit when the doctor’s had cut out part of her brain a year ago.
 
If the situation wasn’t so deathly serious, Tessa would even entertain the possibility that she really was a witch.
 
But the fattening concoction, that tasted of white chocolate and coconut cream and heavy whipping cream and God knows what else was already pouring into her mouth through the hose. And any thoughts of “why” had to give way to thoughts of how Tessa was going to try and escape this living nightmare tonight.
 
“We’ll need to start doing blood pressure readings on them, Downton’s getting to that delicate stage where the chocolate can only somewhat dull the symptoms,” Mortenson opined to a trainer, “and blood sugar every few hours too for Holmes. I want to know the minute she developes diabetes, I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow, probably around 11 am.”
 
Because of what Mortenson was saying. 
 
And because the taste on that fattening venom on Tessa’ tongue was so delicious, she sighed...

And after far too long a wait, hah, the first half of chapter five...
Chapter 6: The Way Out
 
The worst thing about all of it, Tessa found, the worst thing was that Mortenson had been entirely right about her.
 
A long dining hall fit for a hundred.
 
A sneering goddess and her dead eyed servants.
 
Over stuffed, suffering victims.
 
It was Tessa’s third day.
 
Soft legs stepped.
 
An iron platform groaned.
 
A bronze dial spun.
 
“Two hundred and nineteen pounds! Miss Holmes you are making excellent progress!,” Dr. Mortenson smiled, “Why in just a few weeks, you’ll be back down to your goal weight! You’re setting new camp records every day!”
 
Tessa smiled back at the blonde doctor, feeling her puffy cheeks shift and the fat under her chin draw tighter at the motion. The smile was convincing, genuine and warm. Although she doubted it would grace a magazine cover ever again.
 
Not when she was twice her original weight.
 
“Thank you, I just wish I hadn’t let myself go so badly before coming here,” the actress admitted, “I knew I was getting heavier but I thought I had it under control…”
 
A tabloid headline, showing her on vacation with a sizeable beer gut hanging over a bikini. Laboring with a personal trainer as she tried to burn off party weight before a film. Showing up to a shoot with a few extra pounds and not for the first time.
 
“Ah, I’m sure you did. But control can be illusory, can’t it. Still, better late than never, I always say!” the physician replied, her plump lips curving over her perfect teeth, “Now come dear, your fellow campers need to be weighed next!”
 
The actress looked down, the soft, pale bulge of her stomach blocking all but the very edge of her sneaker toes. Tessa had never wanted kids, but she’d played a pregnant woman before and this gut was far bigger than the prosthetic baby belly she’d worn playing a teen mom. And it came with flabby, jiggly thighs and drooping breasts.
 
Nor could she just take this fat suit off.
 
“Of course, just taking a last look before it starts disappearing,” Tessa smiled, stepping off the scale so Rachel could get on.
 
Rachel didn’t move like a woman of about thirty. Her steps were heavy, weighed down by too much fat for a near six foot frame to handle. Thigh rolls hung over her knees, cankles hung over her gym socks and hips that would struggle to fit into a compact car seat hung out of her pink shorts. Cellulite coated ass fat studded with stretch marks wobbled out of the skin tight exercise gear. She had no chin whatsoever, her face chubby as a pig’s and her arms wobbled with bingo wings. A saggy gut hung over her pants, awkwardly small breasts jiggled in a sports bra...
 
“Yeah yeah, more like bragging you can see your feet,” her pop starlet friend said with a mock chuckle, “I used to be able to too! Believe it or not!”
 
The actress made herself chuckle back, “I remember…”
 
Rachel Fast, once famously twiggy actress, who’d stopped touring three years ago after an embarrassing weight gain. One that had accelerated over the years until she’d teetered in at a quarter ton. Before finally snapping out of it and coming to the Black Mountain Lodge, where she cut her weight down to…
 
“Three hundred and sixty...no seventy one pounds!” Mortenson smiled again as the dials stopped spinning.
 
Three hundred and seventy one pounds. Easily three times what Rachel had used to weigh. From famously svelte and leggy into an ass heavy chunk of blubber…
 
“Oh thank God, that’s over a hundred pounds!” Rachel laughed in real happiness, “Fuck, a lot of feeding sessions went into that ass fat...double fuck, that’s a skinny version of Tessa!”
 
Rachel’s step getting down from the scale was slow. She was clumsy, awkward in her movements. Tessa noted a wince in her friend’s face as she put all of her weight onto one leg, like her knee was in pain.
 
“And your gout symptoms are really fading, Miss Fast. If we keep you on this diet, in a week or so you’ll never know you had a flare up!” the doctor grinned, “Miss Downton…”
 
The super model had been sitting the entire time, bulk sprawled across a groaning wooden chair at the table. She was breathing heavily and red in the face, still panting from when she’d waddled into the room. With every breath, her ludicrously pendulous bosoms rose and fell, the left one several inches below its mismatched mate, both breasts clearly suffering from gigantomastia.
 
“One second,” the blonde gasped, closing her piggish eyes to muster her energy.
 
“Do you need help rising? I had believed you were past that…,” Mortenson asked, perfectly plucked eyebrow rising.
 
“I’m just, really tired today. I need just a second, maybe a drink,” Downton whined, voice deep.
 
“Would you like a walker again, Miss Downton?” Mortenson asked her, voice so friendly and inviting and yet...so cruel, “Perhaps I should check your blood sugar, you diabetic girls can get tired so easily…”
 
“No, no I don’t need a walker,” the model insisted, sausage fingers on her swollen knees.
 
She was in a black bikini fit for a circus fat woman. Tessa recognized it, recognized that Downton had worn one identical on a cover. Identical save for the thirty or so sizes separating them.
 
With tectonic force, Downton tried to get up. Something popped, a mystery whether it was a ** or the chair, and the model’s momentum stopped dead. She inhaled deeply and rocked slightly forwards, wobbling legs trying to push upwards while her heavy, sagging arms pressed forwards. Getting up owed more to Downton’s heavy gut and immense breasts than anything else, the immense ex-model rising at the same rate her gut drooped and her breasts sagged. 
 
“S-see, I’m *uhf* fine,” Downton insisted, wiping sweat off of her brow and slowly waddling towards the scale, her posture bowed forwards by the demanding pull of her chest, “I bet, bet I’m below four fifty today…”
 
Tessa remembered a magazine cover that Downton had been on. One that couldn’t have been more than a year ago, she remembered seeing it in a super market or a gas station before her diagnosis, when it had just been some bad headaches. Then, Downton had been athletically slim, her breasts large and heavy, but firm and ripe instead of the spoilt, passed their prime udders wobbling back and forth now. 
 
And she’d weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds.
 
“Four hundred and forty six, my my Miss Downton, you’ve quite the eye to your current size! You’re shrinking fast,” Doctor Mortenson smiled, “another year or so and who knows where you’ll be…”
 
“Maybe on a cover again,” Downton smiled, the motion making her jowls twitch.
 
Downton had had who knows how many covers. After all, she’d been the first plus size model in Sports Illustrated history to make the cover, although that was somewhat cheating given she’d had it before she’d started gaining weight. Only she hadn’t stopped gaining weight, what was laudable at a sixteen was decidedly too big ten sizes later and Downton had left a size twenty six behind long ago.
 
“Who knows? But I do know that now its time to eat, girls,” Mortenson grinned, “don’t you agree?”
 
Bellies growled in unison, gaunt grizzly bears awakening from hibernation to find a particularly obese troup of hikers carrying bags stuffed with pork rinds. The three patrons hurried as well as women in their condition could, Tesa feeling every ounce of adipose jiggling and wobbling. Her fat felt like it had a mind of its own, the gelatinous gut pushing down the spandex waist band of her shorts, surging towards the food she’d have to shovel into it. Moving a short distance, barely a hundred feet was well within the actress’ limits, but she found herself far more exerted than she would have been, even if she wasn’t panting like Rachel and downright gasping for air like Cat. 
 
Breakfast that morning was fried, as it always was.
 
This time it was fried custard. A gallon sized porcelain tub of frozen custard that had been flash fried and drowned in a quart of whipped cream and a quart of hot fudge. To drink was two liters of some horrifically yellow soft drink that fuzzed and fizzed like a grade school volcano project. If Downton didn’t have diabetes before drinking it, she would after, and the ice cream was going to give Tessa gout, let alone Rachel. Whatever Mortenson had said about this resort possibly being outside of the states, only an American could have created a breakfast like this.
 
“The berries look delicious,” Tessa smiled, salivating over the fatty, chocolately heart attack she was about to devour.
 
“Picked fresh this morning,” the doctor told them with a million dollar grin.
 
Breakfast that morning was healthy, as it always was.
 
Fresh blueberries. A glass of low sodium tomato juice with water to drink. A dry slice of turkey breast. Two small pieces of whole wheat toast with no butter. 
 
Two days ago, Tessa wouldn’t have been able to eat the former while pretending it was the later. She’d have hesitated at the start or gagged at the first taste perhaps, certainly the dainty actress would have been miserable at the end of it all and acted like she was shoveling in lard and washing it down with corn syrup. But after another session of therapy with Mortenson, after hearing she could see the belt busting, stomach turning slop and know it was a miniscule health meal. She could pace herself like this was a tiny snack meant to get her through hours of exercise and not a coma inducing barrage of calories that was going to be followed up with some infernal concoction that would make her yet fatter.
 
Two days ago, Tessa had been a gorgeous woman who happened to be in movies for a living.
Today, Tessa couldn’t pass for that woman anymore. Her elfin face had turned round, her graceful neck clumsily thick and her elegant legs flabby as her tiny waist had grown porcine. Tessa couldn’t even pass as Tessa Holmes’ fat cousin to be honest.
 
But today, after gaining perhaps a hundred or so pounds in maybe two days, Tessa was putting in an Oscar worthy performance.
 
She spooned deep fried ice cream into her mouth without pause like a fat girl.
 
She chugged hideously sugary soft drinks at breakfast like a fat girl.
 
Tessa was playing the part of a fat girl like she’d been born to it.
 
The actress’ spoon hit the empty porcelain tub before she realized she was done. Tessa looked down into the greasy  surface of the bowl, seeing the reflection of a fat faced, plain woman who seemed older than her years, not an A list actress known for youthful good looks. There was real disappointment on her features to be done. Her stomach was a little full, certainly swollen over her too tight shorts and with red marks showing on the side where the fabric had pinched, but she could certainly still eat.
 
“I swear these breakfasts get smaller ever day,” Tessa grumbled, finishing the last of her soda, her belly audibly sloshing as she put down the glass.
 
Behind her, the actress heard the rumble of wheels and the slosh of tanks. Whatever creamy concoction this place was feeding her was arriving.
 
“Before exercise, I wanted to ask,” Tessa began, only for Mortenson to smile.
 
The Doctor was in a beautiful red dress, its soft fabric glued to her muscularly curvaceou body, top cut low to show her high breasts. 
 
“Miss Holmes, delaying your work out won’t help you lose weight,” Mortenson insisted.
 
“No, no I just wanted to ask, who painted these beautiful pictures? They’re master pieces all of them but I don’t recognize the style,” the actress said, voice calm, like she wasn’t about to be force fed for hours.
 
Mortenson turned, staring at the picture of Freya and her valkyries feeding the valiant dead.
 
“These? They were all painted by our lodge’s founder, one Sarah Remington, in the late 19th century. An amazing woman, a President’s daughter and a tycoon’s wife. Had she been born a man or a century later she would have been President herself, instead she was a socialite and famous beauty,” the doctor opined sadly, “but sadly, all things fade. And she found herself both this lodge’s founder and its first member. Painting these images of the consequences of gluttony in mythology was one of her therapies.”
 
American presidents weren’t Tessa’s forte. For all the country talked about its independence it treated some of its past leaders like they were Gods all the earth should know the intricacies of. Damn but if she had her phone…
 
“She sounds amazing,” Tessa said, feeling the mask going over her face.
 
“Oh, she was, very amazing,” Mortenson smiled, “it is a shame you won’t enjoy meeting her.”
 
Tessa didn’t know how she knew not to react to the last statement. Just as she didn’t know how the disgusting, fattening feast could appear a tiny, healthy meal simultaneously. Perhaps lingering chemo drugs in her system were keeping whatever mind control serum she’d been dosed with from fully dominating her. Maybe the titanium plate in her skull had partially blocked out the spirit breaking, belittling hypnosis she’d suffered through hours of yesterday. It could be that the laser scalpel had slipped just a bit when the doctor’s had cut out part of her brain a year ago.
 
If the situation wasn’t so deathly serious, Tessa would even entertain the possibility that she really was a witch.
 
But the fattening concoction, that tasted of white chocolate and coconut cream and heavy whipping cream and God knows what else was already pouring into her mouth through the hose. And any thoughts of “why” had to give way to thoughts of how Tessa was going to try and escape this living nightmare tonight.
 
“We’ll need to start doing blood pressure readings on them, Downton’s getting to that delicate stage where the chocolate can only somewhat dull the symptoms,” Mortenson opined to a trainer, “and blood sugar every few hours too for Holmes. I want to know the minute she developes diabetes, I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow, probably around 11 am.”
 
Because of what Mortenson was saying. 
 
And because the taste on that fattening venom on Tessa’ tongue was so delicious, she sighed...

Oh! Escape scenes are my favourites. I am immensely hyped for the next chapter ^^

Omg don’t tease that! Don’t hint that she could be a witch as well! Now I have to wait for answers!

And after far too long a wait, hah, the first half of chapter five...
Chapter 6: The Way Out
 
The worst thing about all of it, Tessa found, the worst thing was that Mortenson had been entirely right about her.
 
A long dining hall fit for a hundred.
 
A sneering goddess and her dead eyed servants.
 
Over stuffed, suffering victims.
 
It was Tessa’s third day.
 
Soft legs stepped.
 
An iron platform groaned.
 
A bronze dial spun.
 
“Two hundred and nineteen pounds! Miss Holmes you are making excellent progress!,” Dr. Mortenson smiled, “Why in just a few weeks, you’ll be back down to your goal weight! You’re setting new camp records every day!”
 
Tessa smiled back at the blonde doctor, feeling her puffy cheeks shift and the fat under her chin draw tighter at the motion. The smile was convincing, genuine and warm. Although she doubted it would grace a magazine cover ever again.
 
Not when she was twice her original weight.
 
“Thank you, I just wish I hadn’t let myself go so badly before coming here,” the actress admitted, “I knew I was getting heavier but I thought I had it under control…”
 
A tabloid headline, showing her on vacation with a sizeable beer gut hanging over a bikini. Laboring with a personal trainer as she tried to burn off party weight before a film. Showing up to a shoot with a few extra pounds and not for the first time.
 
“Ah, I’m sure you did. But control can be illusory, can’t it. Still, better late than never, I always say!” the physician replied, her plump lips curving over her perfect teeth, “Now come dear, your fellow campers need to be weighed next!”
 
The actress looked down, the soft, pale bulge of her stomach blocking all but the very edge of her sneaker toes. Tessa had never wanted kids, but she’d played a pregnant woman before and this gut was far bigger than the prosthetic baby belly she’d worn playing a teen mom. And it came with flabby, jiggly thighs and drooping breasts.
 
Nor could she just take this fat suit off.
 
“Of course, just taking a last look before it starts disappearing,” Tessa smiled, stepping off the scale so Rachel could get on.
 
Rachel didn’t move like a woman of about thirty. Her steps were heavy, weighed down by too much fat for a near six foot frame to handle. Thigh rolls hung over her knees, cankles hung over her gym socks and hips that would struggle to fit into a compact car seat hung out of her pink shorts. Cellulite coated ass fat studded with stretch marks wobbled out of the skin tight exercise gear. She had no chin whatsoever, her face chubby as a pig’s and her arms wobbled with bingo wings. A saggy gut hung over her pants, awkwardly small breasts jiggled in a sports bra...
 
“Yeah yeah, more like bragging you can see your feet,” her pop starlet friend said with a mock chuckle, “I used to be able to too! Believe it or not!”
 
The actress made herself chuckle back, “I remember…”
 
Rachel Fast, once famously twiggy actress, who’d stopped touring three years ago after an embarrassing weight gain. One that had accelerated over the years until she’d teetered in at a quarter ton. Before finally snapping out of it and coming to the Black Mountain Lodge, where she cut her weight down to…
 
“Three hundred and sixty...no seventy one pounds!” Mortenson smiled again as the dials stopped spinning.
 
Three hundred and seventy one pounds. Easily three times what Rachel had used to weigh. From famously svelte and leggy into an ass heavy chunk of blubber…
 
“Oh thank God, that’s over a hundred pounds!” Rachel laughed in real happiness, “Fuck, a lot of feeding sessions went into that ass fat...double fuck, that’s a skinny version of Tessa!”
 
Rachel’s step getting down from the scale was slow. She was clumsy, awkward in her movements. Tessa noted a wince in her friend’s face as she put all of her weight onto one leg, like her knee was in pain.
 
“And your gout symptoms are really fading, Miss Fast. If we keep you on this diet, in a week or so you’ll never know you had a flare up!” the doctor grinned, “Miss Downton…”
 
The super model had been sitting the entire time, bulk sprawled across a groaning wooden chair at the table. She was breathing heavily and red in the face, still panting from when she’d waddled into the room. With every breath, her ludicrously pendulous bosoms rose and fell, the left one several inches below its mismatched mate, both breasts clearly suffering from gigantomastia.
 
“One second,” the blonde gasped, closing her piggish eyes to muster her energy.
 
“Do you need help rising? I had believed you were past that…,” Mortenson asked, perfectly plucked eyebrow rising.
 
“I’m just, really tired today. I need just a second, maybe a drink,” Downton whined, voice deep.
 
“Would you like a walker again, Miss Downton?” Mortenson asked her, voice so friendly and inviting and yet...so cruel, “Perhaps I should check your blood sugar, you diabetic girls can get tired so easily…”
 
“No, no I don’t need a walker,” the model insisted, sausage fingers on her swollen knees.
 
She was in a black bikini fit for a circus fat woman. Tessa recognized it, recognized that Downton had worn one identical on a cover. Identical save for the thirty or so sizes separating them.
 
With tectonic force, Downton tried to get up. Something popped, a mystery whether it was a ** or the chair, and the model’s momentum stopped dead. She inhaled deeply and rocked slightly forwards, wobbling legs trying to push upwards while her heavy, sagging arms pressed forwards. Getting up owed more to Downton’s heavy gut and immense breasts than anything else, the immense ex-model rising at the same rate her gut drooped and her breasts sagged. 
 
“S-see, I’m *uhf* fine,” Downton insisted, wiping sweat off of her brow and slowly waddling towards the scale, her posture bowed forwards by the demanding pull of her chest, “I bet, bet I’m below four fifty today…”
 
Tessa remembered a magazine cover that Downton had been on. One that couldn’t have been more than a year ago, she remembered seeing it in a super market or a gas station before her diagnosis, when it had just been some bad headaches. Then, Downton had been athletically slim, her breasts large and heavy, but firm and ripe instead of the spoilt, passed their prime udders wobbling back and forth now. 
 
And she’d weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds.
 
“Four hundred and forty six, my my Miss Downton, you’ve quite the eye to your current size! You’re shrinking fast,” Doctor Mortenson smiled, “another year or so and who knows where you’ll be…”
 
“Maybe on a cover again,” Downton smiled, the motion making her jowls twitch.
 
Downton had had who knows how many covers. After all, she’d been the first plus size model in Sports Illustrated history to make the cover, although that was somewhat cheating given she’d had it before she’d started gaining weight. Only she hadn’t stopped gaining weight, what was laudable at a sixteen was decidedly too big ten sizes later and Downton had left a size twenty six behind long ago.
 
“Who knows? But I do know that now its time to eat, girls,” Mortenson grinned, “don’t you agree?”
 
Bellies growled in unison, gaunt grizzly bears awakening from hibernation to find a particularly obese troup of hikers carrying bags stuffed with pork rinds. The three patrons hurried as well as women in their condition could, Tesa feeling every ounce of adipose jiggling and wobbling. Her fat felt like it had a mind of its own, the gelatinous gut pushing down the spandex waist band of her shorts, surging towards the food she’d have to shovel into it. Moving a short distance, barely a hundred feet was well within the actress’ limits, but she found herself far more exerted than she would have been, even if she wasn’t panting like Rachel and downright gasping for air like Cat. 
 
Breakfast that morning was fried, as it always was.
 
This time it was fried custard. A gallon sized porcelain tub of frozen custard that had been flash fried and drowned in a quart of whipped cream and a quart of hot fudge. To drink was two liters of some horrifically yellow soft drink that fuzzed and fizzed like a grade school volcano project. If Downton didn’t have diabetes before drinking it, she would after, and the ice cream was going to give Tessa gout, let alone Rachel. Whatever Mortenson had said about this resort possibly being outside of the states, only an American could have created a breakfast like this.
 
“The berries look delicious,” Tessa smiled, salivating over the fatty, chocolately heart attack she was about to devour.
 
“Picked fresh this morning,” the doctor told them with a million dollar grin.
 
Breakfast that morning was healthy, as it always was.
 
Fresh blueberries. A glass of low sodium tomato juice with water to drink. A dry slice of turkey breast. Two small pieces of whole wheat toast with no butter. 
 
Two days ago, Tessa wouldn’t have been able to eat the former while pretending it was the later. She’d have hesitated at the start or gagged at the first taste perhaps, certainly the dainty actress would have been miserable at the end of it all and acted like she was shoveling in lard and washing it down with corn syrup. But after another session of therapy with Mortenson, after hearing she could see the belt busting, stomach turning slop and know it was a miniscule health meal. She could pace herself like this was a tiny snack meant to get her through hours of exercise and not a coma inducing barrage of calories that was going to be followed up with some infernal concoction that would make her yet fatter.
 
Two days ago, Tessa had been a gorgeous woman who happened to be in movies for a living.
Today, Tessa couldn’t pass for that woman anymore. Her elfin face had turned round, her graceful neck clumsily thick and her elegant legs flabby as her tiny waist had grown porcine. Tessa couldn’t even pass as Tessa Holmes’ fat cousin to be honest.
 
But today, after gaining perhaps a hundred or so pounds in maybe two days, Tessa was putting in an Oscar worthy performance.
 
She spooned deep fried ice cream into her mouth without pause like a fat girl.
 
She chugged hideously sugary soft drinks at breakfast like a fat girl.
 
Tessa was playing the part of a fat girl like she’d been born to it.
 
The actress’ spoon hit the empty porcelain tub before she realized she was done. Tessa looked down into the greasy  surface of the bowl, seeing the reflection of a fat faced, plain woman who seemed older than her years, not an A list actress known for youthful good looks. There was real disappointment on her features to be done. Her stomach was a little full, certainly swollen over her too tight shorts and with red marks showing on the side where the fabric had pinched, but she could certainly still eat.
 
“I swear these breakfasts get smaller ever day,” Tessa grumbled, finishing the last of her soda, her belly audibly sloshing as she put down the glass.
 
Behind her, the actress heard the rumble of wheels and the slosh of tanks. Whatever creamy concoction this place was feeding her was arriving.
 
“Before exercise, I wanted to ask,” Tessa began, only for Mortenson to smile.
 
The Doctor was in a beautiful red dress, its soft fabric glued to her muscularly curvaceou body, top cut low to show her high breasts. 
 
“Miss Holmes, delaying your work out won’t help you lose weight,” Mortenson insisted.
 
“No, no I just wanted to ask, who painted these beautiful pictures? They’re master pieces all of them but I don’t recognize the style,” the actress said, voice calm, like she wasn’t about to be force fed for hours.
 
Mortenson turned, staring at the picture of Freya and her valkyries feeding the valiant dead.
 
“These? They were all painted by our lodge’s founder, one Sarah Remington, in the late 19th century. An amazing woman, a President’s daughter and a tycoon’s wife. Had she been born a man or a century later she would have been President herself, instead she was a socialite and famous beauty,” the doctor opined sadly, “but sadly, all things fade. And she found herself both this lodge’s founder and its first member. Painting these images of the consequences of gluttony in mythology was one of her therapies.”
 
American presidents weren’t Tessa’s forte. For all the country talked about its independence it treated some of its past leaders like they were Gods all the earth should know the intricacies of. Damn but if she had her phone…
 
“She sounds amazing,” Tessa said, feeling the mask going over her face.
 
“Oh, she was, very amazing,” Mortenson smiled, “it is a shame you won’t enjoy meeting her.”
 
Tessa didn’t know how she knew not to react to the last statement. Just as she didn’t know how the disgusting, fattening feast could appear a tiny, healthy meal simultaneously. Perhaps lingering chemo drugs in her system were keeping whatever mind control serum she’d been dosed with from fully dominating her. Maybe the titanium plate in her skull had partially blocked out the spirit breaking, belittling hypnosis she’d suffered through hours of yesterday. It could be that the laser scalpel had slipped just a bit when the doctor’s had cut out part of her brain a year ago.
 
If the situation wasn’t so deathly serious, Tessa would even entertain the possibility that she really was a witch.
 
But the fattening concoction, that tasted of white chocolate and coconut cream and heavy whipping cream and God knows what else was already pouring into her mouth through the hose. And any thoughts of “why” had to give way to thoughts of how Tessa was going to try and escape this living nightmare tonight.
 
“We’ll need to start doing blood pressure readings on them, Downton’s getting to that delicate stage where the chocolate can only somewhat dull the symptoms,” Mortenson opined to a trainer, “and blood sugar every few hours too for Holmes. I want to know the minute she developes diabetes, I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow, probably around 11 am.”
 
Because of what Mortenson was saying. 
 
And because the taste on that fattening venom on Tessa’ tongue was so delicious, she sighed...

And after far too long a wait, hah, the first half of chapter five...
Chapter 6: The Way Out
 
The worst thing about all of it, Tessa found, the worst thing was that Mortenson had been entirely right about her.
 
A long dining hall fit for a hundred.
 
A sneering goddess and her dead eyed servants.
 
Over stuffed, suffering victims.
 
It was Tessa’s third day.
 
Soft legs stepped.
 
An iron platform groaned.
 
A bronze dial spun.
 
“Two hundred and nineteen pounds! Miss Holmes you are making excellent progress!,” Dr. Mortenson smiled, “Why in just a few weeks, you’ll be back down to your goal weight! You’re setting new camp records every day!”
 
Tessa smiled back at the blonde doctor, feeling her puffy cheeks shift and the fat under her chin draw tighter at the motion. The smile was convincing, genuine and warm. Although she doubted it would grace a magazine cover ever again.
 
Not when she was twice her original weight.
 
“Thank you, I just wish I hadn’t let myself go so badly before coming here,” the actress admitted, “I knew I was getting heavier but I thought I had it under control…”
 
A tabloid headline, showing her on vacation with a sizeable beer gut hanging over a bikini. Laboring with a personal trainer as she tried to burn off party weight before a film. Showing up to a shoot with a few extra pounds and not for the first time.
 
“Ah, I’m sure you did. But control can be illusory, can’t it. Still, better late than never, I always say!” the physician replied, her plump lips curving over her perfect teeth, “Now come dear, your fellow campers need to be weighed next!”
 
The actress looked down, the soft, pale bulge of her stomach blocking all but the very edge of her sneaker toes. Tessa had never wanted kids, but she’d played a pregnant woman before and this gut was far bigger than the prosthetic baby belly she’d worn playing a teen mom. And it came with flabby, jiggly thighs and drooping breasts.
 
Nor could she just take this fat suit off.
 
“Of course, just taking a last look before it starts disappearing,” Tessa smiled, stepping off the scale so Rachel could get on.
 
Rachel didn’t move like a woman of about thirty. Her steps were heavy, weighed down by too much fat for a near six foot frame to handle. Thigh rolls hung over her knees, cankles hung over her gym socks and hips that would struggle to fit into a compact car seat hung out of her pink shorts. Cellulite coated ass fat studded with stretch marks wobbled out of the skin tight exercise gear. She had no chin whatsoever, her face chubby as a pig’s and her arms wobbled with bingo wings. A saggy gut hung over her pants, awkwardly small breasts jiggled in a sports bra...
 
“Yeah yeah, more like bragging you can see your feet,” her pop starlet friend said with a mock chuckle, “I used to be able to too! Believe it or not!”
 
The actress made herself chuckle back, “I remember…”
 
Rachel Fast, once famously twiggy actress, who’d stopped touring three years ago after an embarrassing weight gain. One that had accelerated over the years until she’d teetered in at a quarter ton. Before finally snapping out of it and coming to the Black Mountain Lodge, where she cut her weight down to…
 
“Three hundred and sixty...no seventy one pounds!” Mortenson smiled again as the dials stopped spinning.
 
Three hundred and seventy one pounds. Easily three times what Rachel had used to weigh. From famously svelte and leggy into an ass heavy chunk of blubber…
 
“Oh thank God, that’s over a hundred pounds!” Rachel laughed in real happiness, “Fuck, a lot of feeding sessions went into that ass fat...double fuck, that’s a skinny version of Tessa!”
 
Rachel’s step getting down from the scale was slow. She was clumsy, awkward in her movements. Tessa noted a wince in her friend’s face as she put all of her weight onto one leg, like her knee was in pain.
 
“And your gout symptoms are really fading, Miss Fast. If we keep you on this diet, in a week or so you’ll never know you had a flare up!” the doctor grinned, “Miss Downton…”
 
The super model had been sitting the entire time, bulk sprawled across a groaning wooden chair at the table. She was breathing heavily and red in the face, still panting from when she’d waddled into the room. With every breath, her ludicrously pendulous bosoms rose and fell, the left one several inches below its mismatched mate, both breasts clearly suffering from gigantomastia.
 
“One second,” the blonde gasped, closing her piggish eyes to muster her energy.
 
“Do you need help rising? I had believed you were past that…,” Mortenson asked, perfectly plucked eyebrow rising.
 
“I’m just, really tired today. I need just a second, maybe a drink,” Downton whined, voice deep.
 
“Would you like a walker again, Miss Downton?” Mortenson asked her, voice so friendly and inviting and yet...so cruel, “Perhaps I should check your blood sugar, you diabetic girls can get tired so easily…”
 
“No, no I don’t need a walker,” the model insisted, sausage fingers on her swollen knees.
 
She was in a black bikini fit for a circus fat woman. Tessa recognized it, recognized that Downton had worn one identical on a cover. Identical save for the thirty or so sizes separating them.
 
With tectonic force, Downton tried to get up. Something popped, a mystery whether it was a ** or the chair, and the model’s momentum stopped dead. She inhaled deeply and rocked slightly forwards, wobbling legs trying to push upwards while her heavy, sagging arms pressed forwards. Getting up owed more to Downton’s heavy gut and immense breasts than anything else, the immense ex-model rising at the same rate her gut drooped and her breasts sagged. 
 
“S-see, I’m *uhf* fine,” Downton insisted, wiping sweat off of her brow and slowly waddling towards the scale, her posture bowed forwards by the demanding pull of her chest, “I bet, bet I’m below four fifty today…”
 
Tessa remembered a magazine cover that Downton had been on. One that couldn’t have been more than a year ago, she remembered seeing it in a super market or a gas station before her diagnosis, when it had just been some bad headaches. Then, Downton had been athletically slim, her breasts large and heavy, but firm and ripe instead of the spoilt, passed their prime udders wobbling back and forth now. 
 
And she’d weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds.
 
“Four hundred and forty six, my my Miss Downton, you’ve quite the eye to your current size! You’re shrinking fast,” Doctor Mortenson smiled, “another year or so and who knows where you’ll be…”
 
“Maybe on a cover again,” Downton smiled, the motion making her jowls twitch.
 
Downton had had who knows how many covers. After all, she’d been the first plus size model in Sports Illustrated history to make the cover, although that was somewhat cheating given she’d had it before she’d started gaining weight. Only she hadn’t stopped gaining weight, what was laudable at a sixteen was decidedly too big ten sizes later and Downton had left a size twenty six behind long ago.
 
“Who knows? But I do know that now its time to eat, girls,” Mortenson grinned, “don’t you agree?”
 
Bellies growled in unison, gaunt grizzly bears awakening from hibernation to find a particularly obese troup of hikers carrying bags stuffed with pork rinds. The three patrons hurried as well as women in their condition could, Tesa feeling every ounce of adipose jiggling and wobbling. Her fat felt like it had a mind of its own, the gelatinous gut pushing down the spandex waist band of her shorts, surging towards the food she’d have to shovel into it. Moving a short distance, barely a hundred feet was well within the actress’ limits, but she found herself far more exerted than she would have been, even if she wasn’t panting like Rachel and downright gasping for air like Cat. 
 
Breakfast that morning was fried, as it always was.
 
This time it was fried custard. A gallon sized porcelain tub of frozen custard that had been flash fried and drowned in a quart of whipped cream and a quart of hot fudge. To drink was two liters of some horrifically yellow soft drink that fuzzed and fizzed like a grade school volcano project. If Downton didn’t have diabetes before drinking it, she would after, and the ice cream was going to give Tessa gout, let alone Rachel. Whatever Mortenson had said about this resort possibly being outside of the states, only an American could have created a breakfast like this.
 
“The berries look delicious,” Tessa smiled, salivating over the fatty, chocolately heart attack she was about to devour.
 
“Picked fresh this morning,” the doctor told them with a million dollar grin.
 
Breakfast that morning was healthy, as it always was.
 
Fresh blueberries. A glass of low sodium tomato juice with water to drink. A dry slice of turkey breast. Two small pieces of whole wheat toast with no butter. 
 
Two days ago, Tessa wouldn’t have been able to eat the former while pretending it was the later. She’d have hesitated at the start or gagged at the first taste perhaps, certainly the dainty actress would have been miserable at the end of it all and acted like she was shoveling in lard and washing it down with corn syrup. But after another session of therapy with Mortenson, after hearing she could see the belt busting, stomach turning slop and know it was a miniscule health meal. She could pace herself like this was a tiny snack meant to get her through hours of exercise and not a coma inducing barrage of calories that was going to be followed up with some infernal concoction that would make her yet fatter.
 
Two days ago, Tessa had been a gorgeous woman who happened to be in movies for a living.
Today, Tessa couldn’t pass for that woman anymore. Her elfin face had turned round, her graceful neck clumsily thick and her elegant legs flabby as her tiny waist had grown porcine. Tessa couldn’t even pass as Tessa Holmes’ fat cousin to be honest.
 
But today, after gaining perhaps a hundred or so pounds in maybe two days, Tessa was putting in an Oscar worthy performance.
 
She spooned deep fried ice cream into her mouth without pause like a fat girl.
 
She chugged hideously sugary soft drinks at breakfast like a fat girl.
 
Tessa was playing the part of a fat girl like she’d been born to it.
 
The actress’ spoon hit the empty porcelain tub before she realized she was done. Tessa looked down into the greasy  surface of the bowl, seeing the reflection of a fat faced, plain woman who seemed older than her years, not an A list actress known for youthful good looks. There was real disappointment on her features to be done. Her stomach was a little full, certainly swollen over her too tight shorts and with red marks showing on the side where the fabric had pinched, but she could certainly still eat.
 
“I swear these breakfasts get smaller ever day,” Tessa grumbled, finishing the last of her soda, her belly audibly sloshing as she put down the glass.
 
Behind her, the actress heard the rumble of wheels and the slosh of tanks. Whatever creamy concoction this place was feeding her was arriving.
 
“Before exercise, I wanted to ask,” Tessa began, only for Mortenson to smile.
 
The Doctor was in a beautiful red dress, its soft fabric glued to her muscularly curvaceou body, top cut low to show her high breasts. 
 
“Miss Holmes, delaying your work out won’t help you lose weight,” Mortenson insisted.
 
“No, no I just wanted to ask, who painted these beautiful pictures? They’re master pieces all of them but I don’t recognize the style,” the actress said, voice calm, like she wasn’t about to be force fed for hours.
 
Mortenson turned, staring at the picture of Freya and her valkyries feeding the valiant dead.
 
“These? They were all painted by our lodge’s founder, one Sarah Remington, in the late 19th century. An amazing woman, a President’s daughter and a tycoon’s wife. Had she been born a man or a century later she would have been President herself, instead she was a socialite and famous beauty,” the doctor opined sadly, “but sadly, all things fade. And she found herself both this lodge’s founder and its first member. Painting these images of the consequences of gluttony in mythology was one of her therapies.”
 
American presidents weren’t Tessa’s forte. For all the country talked about its independence it treated some of its past leaders like they were Gods all the earth should know the intricacies of. Damn but if she had her phone…
 
“She sounds amazing,” Tessa said, feeling the mask going over her face.
 
“Oh, she was, very amazing,” Mortenson smiled, “it is a shame you won’t enjoy meeting her.”
 
Tessa didn’t know how she knew not to react to the last statement. Just as she didn’t know how the disgusting, fattening feast could appear a tiny, healthy meal simultaneously. Perhaps lingering chemo drugs in her system were keeping whatever mind control serum she’d been dosed with from fully dominating her. Maybe the titanium plate in her skull had partially blocked out the spirit breaking, belittling hypnosis she’d suffered through hours of yesterday. It could be that the laser scalpel had slipped just a bit when the doctor’s had cut out part of her brain a year ago.
 
If the situation wasn’t so deathly serious, Tessa would even entertain the possibility that she really was a witch.
 
But the fattening concoction, that tasted of white chocolate and coconut cream and heavy whipping cream and God knows what else was already pouring into her mouth through the hose. And any thoughts of “why” had to give way to thoughts of how Tessa was going to try and escape this living nightmare tonight.
 
“We’ll need to start doing blood pressure readings on them, Downton’s getting to that delicate stage where the chocolate can only somewhat dull the symptoms,” Mortenson opined to a trainer, “and blood sugar every few hours too for Holmes. I want to know the minute she developes diabetes, I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow, probably around 11 am.”
 
Because of what Mortenson was saying. 
 
And because the taste on that fattening venom on Tessa’ tongue was so delicious, she sighed...

And after far too long a wait, hah, the first half of chapter five...
Chapter 6: The Way Out
 
The worst thing about all of it, Tessa found, the worst thing was that Mortenson had been entirely right about her.
 
A long dining hall fit for a hundred.
 
A sneering goddess and her dead eyed servants.
 
Over stuffed, suffering victims.
 
It was Tessa’s third day.
 
Soft legs stepped.
 
An iron platform groaned.
 
A bronze dial spun.
 
“Two hundred and nineteen pounds! Miss Holmes you are making excellent progress!,” Dr. Mortenson smiled, “Why in just a few weeks, you’ll be back down to your goal weight! You’re setting new camp records every day!”
 
Tessa smiled back at the blonde doctor, feeling her puffy cheeks shift and the fat under her chin draw tighter at the motion. The smile was convincing, genuine and warm. Although she doubted it would grace a magazine cover ever again.
 
Not when she was twice her original weight.
 
“Thank you, I just wish I hadn’t let myself go so badly before coming here,” the actress admitted, “I knew I was getting heavier but I thought I had it under control…”
 
A tabloid headline, showing her on vacation with a sizeable beer gut hanging over a bikini. Laboring with a personal trainer as she tried to burn off party weight before a film. Showing up to a shoot with a few extra pounds and not for the first time.
 
“Ah, I’m sure you did. But control can be illusory, can’t it. Still, better late than never, I always say!” the physician replied, her plump lips curving over her perfect teeth, “Now come dear, your fellow campers need to be weighed next!”
 
The actress looked down, the soft, pale bulge of her stomach blocking all but the very edge of her sneaker toes. Tessa had never wanted kids, but she’d played a pregnant woman before and this gut was far bigger than the prosthetic baby belly she’d worn playing a teen mom. And it came with flabby, jiggly thighs and drooping breasts.
 
Nor could she just take this fat suit off.
 
“Of course, just taking a last look before it starts disappearing,” Tessa smiled, stepping off the scale so Rachel could get on.
 
Rachel didn’t move like a woman of about thirty. Her steps were heavy, weighed down by too much fat for a near six foot frame to handle. Thigh rolls hung over her knees, cankles hung over her gym socks and hips that would struggle to fit into a compact car seat hung out of her pink shorts. Cellulite coated ass fat studded with stretch marks wobbled out of the skin tight exercise gear. She had no chin whatsoever, her face chubby as a pig’s and her arms wobbled with bingo wings. A saggy gut hung over her pants, awkwardly small breasts jiggled in a sports bra...
 
“Yeah yeah, more like bragging you can see your feet,” her pop starlet friend said with a mock chuckle, “I used to be able to too! Believe it or not!”
 
The actress made herself chuckle back, “I remember…”
 
Rachel Fast, once famously twiggy actress, who’d stopped touring three years ago after an embarrassing weight gain. One that had accelerated over the years until she’d teetered in at a quarter ton. Before finally snapping out of it and coming to the Black Mountain Lodge, where she cut her weight down to…
 
“Three hundred and sixty...no seventy one pounds!” Mortenson smiled again as the dials stopped spinning.
 
Three hundred and seventy one pounds. Easily three times what Rachel had used to weigh. From famously svelte and leggy into an ass heavy chunk of blubber…
 
“Oh thank God, that’s over a hundred pounds!” Rachel laughed in real happiness, “Fuck, a lot of feeding sessions went into that ass fat...double fuck, that’s a skinny version of Tessa!”
 
Rachel’s step getting down from the scale was slow. She was clumsy, awkward in her movements. Tessa noted a wince in her friend’s face as she put all of her weight onto one leg, like her knee was in pain.
 
“And your gout symptoms are really fading, Miss Fast. If we keep you on this diet, in a week or so you’ll never know you had a flare up!” the doctor grinned, “Miss Downton…”
 
The super model had been sitting the entire time, bulk sprawled across a groaning wooden chair at the table. She was breathing heavily and red in the face, still panting from when she’d waddled into the room. With every breath, her ludicrously pendulous bosoms rose and fell, the left one several inches below its mismatched mate, both breasts clearly suffering from gigantomastia.
 
“One second,” the blonde gasped, closing her piggish eyes to muster her energy.
 
“Do you need help rising? I had believed you were past that…,” Mortenson asked, perfectly plucked eyebrow rising.
 
“I’m just, really tired today. I need just a second, maybe a drink,” Downton whined, voice deep.
 
“Would you like a walker again, Miss Downton?” Mortenson asked her, voice so friendly and inviting and yet...so cruel, “Perhaps I should check your blood sugar, you diabetic girls can get tired so easily…”
 
“No, no I don’t need a walker,” the model insisted, sausage fingers on her swollen knees.
 
She was in a black bikini fit for a circus fat woman. Tessa recognized it, recognized that Downton had worn one identical on a cover. Identical save for the thirty or so sizes separating them.
 
With tectonic force, Downton tried to get up. Something popped, a mystery whether it was a ** or the chair, and the model’s momentum stopped dead. She inhaled deeply and rocked slightly forwards, wobbling legs trying to push upwards while her heavy, sagging arms pressed forwards. Getting up owed more to Downton’s heavy gut and immense breasts than anything else, the immense ex-model rising at the same rate her gut drooped and her breasts sagged. 
 
“S-see, I’m *uhf* fine,” Downton insisted, wiping sweat off of her brow and slowly waddling towards the scale, her posture bowed forwards by the demanding pull of her chest, “I bet, bet I’m below four fifty today…”
 
Tessa remembered a magazine cover that Downton had been on. One that couldn’t have been more than a year ago, she remembered seeing it in a super market or a gas station before her diagnosis, when it had just been some bad headaches. Then, Downton had been athletically slim, her breasts large and heavy, but firm and ripe instead of the spoilt, passed their prime udders wobbling back and forth now. 
 
And she’d weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds.
 
“Four hundred and forty six, my my Miss Downton, you’ve quite the eye to your current size! You’re shrinking fast,” Doctor Mortenson smiled, “another year or so and who knows where you’ll be…”
 
“Maybe on a cover again,” Downton smiled, the motion making her jowls twitch.
 
Downton had had who knows how many covers. After all, she’d been the first plus size model in Sports Illustrated history to make the cover, although that was somewhat cheating given she’d had it before she’d started gaining weight. Only she hadn’t stopped gaining weight, what was laudable at a sixteen was decidedly too big ten sizes later and Downton had left a size twenty six behind long ago.
 
“Who knows? But I do know that now its time to eat, girls,” Mortenson grinned, “don’t you agree?”
 
Bellies growled in unison, gaunt grizzly bears awakening from hibernation to find a particularly obese troup of hikers carrying bags stuffed with pork rinds. The three patrons hurried as well as women in their condition could, Tesa feeling every ounce of adipose jiggling and wobbling. Her fat felt like it had a mind of its own, the gelatinous gut pushing down the spandex waist band of her shorts, surging towards the food she’d have to shovel into it. Moving a short distance, barely a hundred feet was well within the actress’ limits, but she found herself far more exerted than she would have been, even if she wasn’t panting like Rachel and downright gasping for air like Cat. 
 
Breakfast that morning was fried, as it always was.
 
This time it was fried custard. A gallon sized porcelain tub of frozen custard that had been flash fried and drowned in a quart of whipped cream and a quart of hot fudge. To drink was two liters of some horrifically yellow soft drink that fuzzed and fizzed like a grade school volcano project. If Downton didn’t have diabetes before drinking it, she would after, and the ice cream was going to give Tessa gout, let alone Rachel. Whatever Mortenson had said about this resort possibly being outside of the states, only an American could have created a breakfast like this.
 
“The berries look delicious,” Tessa smiled, salivating over the fatty, chocolately heart attack she was about to devour.
 
“Picked fresh this morning,” the doctor told them with a million dollar grin.
 
Breakfast that morning was healthy, as it always was.
 
Fresh blueberries. A glass of low sodium tomato juice with water to drink. A dry slice of turkey breast. Two small pieces of whole wheat toast with no butter. 
 
Two days ago, Tessa wouldn’t have been able to eat the former while pretending it was the later. She’d have hesitated at the start or gagged at the first taste perhaps, certainly the dainty actress would have been miserable at the end of it all and acted like she was shoveling in lard and washing it down with corn syrup. But after another session of therapy with Mortenson, after hearing she could see the belt busting, stomach turning slop and know it was a miniscule health meal. She could pace herself like this was a tiny snack meant to get her through hours of exercise and not a coma inducing barrage of calories that was going to be followed up with some infernal concoction that would make her yet fatter.
 
Two days ago, Tessa had been a gorgeous woman who happened to be in movies for a living.
Today, Tessa couldn’t pass for that woman anymore. Her elfin face had turned round, her graceful neck clumsily thick and her elegant legs flabby as her tiny waist had grown porcine. Tessa couldn’t even pass as Tessa Holmes’ fat cousin to be honest.
 
But today, after gaining perhaps a hundred or so pounds in maybe two days, Tessa was putting in an Oscar worthy performance.
 
She spooned deep fried ice cream into her mouth without pause like a fat girl.
 
She chugged hideously sugary soft drinks at breakfast like a fat girl.
 
Tessa was playing the part of a fat girl like she’d been born to it.
 
The actress’ spoon hit the empty porcelain tub before she realized she was done. Tessa looked down into the greasy  surface of the bowl, seeing the reflection of a fat faced, plain woman who seemed older than her years, not an A list actress known for youthful good looks. There was real disappointment on her features to be done. Her stomach was a little full, certainly swollen over her too tight shorts and with red marks showing on the side where the fabric had pinched, but she could certainly still eat.
 
“I swear these breakfasts get smaller ever day,” Tessa grumbled, finishing the last of her soda, her belly audibly sloshing as she put down the glass.
 
Behind her, the actress heard the rumble of wheels and the slosh of tanks. Whatever creamy concoction this place was feeding her was arriving.
 
“Before exercise, I wanted to ask,” Tessa began, only for Mortenson to smile.
 
The Doctor was in a beautiful red dress, its soft fabric glued to her muscularly curvaceou body, top cut low to show her high breasts. 
 
“Miss Holmes, delaying your work out won’t help you lose weight,” Mortenson insisted.
 
“No, no I just wanted to ask, who painted these beautiful pictures? They’re master pieces all of them but I don’t recognize the style,” the actress said, voice calm, like she wasn’t about to be force fed for hours.
 
Mortenson turned, staring at the picture of Freya and her valkyries feeding the valiant dead.
 
“These? They were all painted by our lodge’s founder, one Sarah Remington, in the late 19th century. An amazing woman, a President’s daughter and a tycoon’s wife. Had she been born a man or a century later she would have been President herself, instead she was a socialite and famous beauty,” the doctor opined sadly, “but sadly, all things fade. And she found herself both this lodge’s founder and its first member. Painting these images of the consequences of gluttony in mythology was one of her therapies.”
 
American presidents weren’t Tessa’s forte. For all the country talked about its independence it treated some of its past leaders like they were Gods all the earth should know the intricacies of. Damn but if she had her phone…
 
“She sounds amazing,” Tessa said, feeling the mask going over her face.
 
“Oh, she was, very amazing,” Mortenson smiled, “it is a shame you won’t enjoy meeting her.”
 
Tessa didn’t know how she knew not to react to the last statement. Just as she didn’t know how the disgusting, fattening feast could appear a tiny, healthy meal simultaneously. Perhaps lingering chemo drugs in her system were keeping whatever mind control serum she’d been dosed with from fully dominating her. Maybe the titanium plate in her skull had partially blocked out the spirit breaking, belittling hypnosis she’d suffered through hours of yesterday. It could be that the laser scalpel had slipped just a bit when the doctor’s had cut out part of her brain a year ago.
 
If the situation wasn’t so deathly serious, Tessa would even entertain the possibility that she really was a witch.
 
But the fattening concoction, that tasted of white chocolate and coconut cream and heavy whipping cream and God knows what else was already pouring into her mouth through the hose. And any thoughts of “why” had to give way to thoughts of how Tessa was going to try and escape this living nightmare tonight.
 
“We’ll need to start doing blood pressure readings on them, Downton’s getting to that delicate stage where the chocolate can only somewhat dull the symptoms,” Mortenson opined to a trainer, “and blood sugar every few hours too for Holmes. I want to know the minute she developes diabetes, I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow, probably around 11 am.”
 
Because of what Mortenson was saying. 
 
And because the taste on that fattening venom on Tessa’ tongue was so delicious, she sighed...

And after far too long a wait, hah, the first half of chapter five...
Chapter 6: The Way Out
 
The worst thing about all of it, Tessa found, the worst thing was that Mortenson had been entirely right about her.
 
A long dining hall fit for a hundred.
 
A sneering goddess and her dead eyed servants.
 
Over stuffed, suffering victims.
 
It was Tessa’s third day.
 
Soft legs stepped.
 
An iron platform groaned.
 
A bronze dial spun.
 
“Two hundred and nineteen pounds! Miss Holmes you are making excellent progress!,” Dr. Mortenson smiled, “Why in just a few weeks, you’ll be back down to your goal weight! You’re setting new camp records every day!”
 
Tessa smiled back at the blonde doctor, feeling her puffy cheeks shift and the fat under her chin draw tighter at the motion. The smile was convincing, genuine and warm. Although she doubted it would grace a magazine cover ever again.
 
Not when she was twice her original weight.
 
“Thank you, I just wish I hadn’t let myself go so badly before coming here,” the actress admitted, “I knew I was getting heavier but I thought I had it under control…”
 
A tabloid headline, showing her on vacation with a sizeable beer gut hanging over a bikini. Laboring with a personal trainer as she tried to burn off party weight before a film. Showing up to a shoot with a few extra pounds and not for the first time.
 
“Ah, I’m sure you did. But control can be illusory, can’t it. Still, better late than never, I always say!” the physician replied, her plump lips curving over her perfect teeth, “Now come dear, your fellow campers need to be weighed next!”
 
The actress looked down, the soft, pale bulge of her stomach blocking all but the very edge of her sneaker toes. Tessa had never wanted kids, but she’d played a pregnant woman before and this gut was far bigger than the prosthetic baby belly she’d worn playing a teen mom. And it came with flabby, jiggly thighs and drooping breasts.
 
Nor could she just take this fat suit off.
 
“Of course, just taking a last look before it starts disappearing,” Tessa smiled, stepping off the scale so Rachel could get on.
 
Rachel didn’t move like a woman of about thirty. Her steps were heavy, weighed down by too much fat for a near six foot frame to handle. Thigh rolls hung over her knees, cankles hung over her gym socks and hips that would struggle to fit into a compact car seat hung out of her pink shorts. Cellulite coated ass fat studded with stretch marks wobbled out of the skin tight exercise gear. She had no chin whatsoever, her face chubby as a pig’s and her arms wobbled with bingo wings. A saggy gut hung over her pants, awkwardly small breasts jiggled in a sports bra...
 
“Yeah yeah, more like bragging you can see your feet,” her pop starlet friend said with a mock chuckle, “I used to be able to too! Believe it or not!”
 
The actress made herself chuckle back, “I remember…”
 
Rachel Fast, once famously twiggy actress, who’d stopped touring three years ago after an embarrassing weight gain. One that had accelerated over the years until she’d teetered in at a quarter ton. Before finally snapping out of it and coming to the Black Mountain Lodge, where she cut her weight down to…
 
“Three hundred and sixty...no seventy one pounds!” Mortenson smiled again as the dials stopped spinning.
 
Three hundred and seventy one pounds. Easily three times what Rachel had used to weigh. From famously svelte and leggy into an ass heavy chunk of blubber…
 
“Oh thank God, that’s over a hundred pounds!” Rachel laughed in real happiness, “Fuck, a lot of feeding sessions went into that ass fat...double fuck, that’s a skinny version of Tessa!”
 
Rachel’s step getting down from the scale was slow. She was clumsy, awkward in her movements. Tessa noted a wince in her friend’s face as she put all of her weight onto one leg, like her knee was in pain.
 
“And your gout symptoms are really fading, Miss Fast. If we keep you on this diet, in a week or so you’ll never know you had a flare up!” the doctor grinned, “Miss Downton…”
 
The super model had been sitting the entire time, bulk sprawled across a groaning wooden chair at the table. She was breathing heavily and red in the face, still panting from when she’d waddled into the room. With every breath, her ludicrously pendulous bosoms rose and fell, the left one several inches below its mismatched mate, both breasts clearly suffering from gigantomastia.
 
“One second,” the blonde gasped, closing her piggish eyes to muster her energy.
 
“Do you need help rising? I had believed you were past that…,” Mortenson asked, perfectly plucked eyebrow rising.
 
“I’m just, really tired today. I need just a second, maybe a drink,” Downton whined, voice deep.
 
“Would you like a walker again, Miss Downton?” Mortenson asked her, voice so friendly and inviting and yet...so cruel, “Perhaps I should check your blood sugar, you diabetic girls can get tired so easily…”
 
“No, no I don’t need a walker,” the model insisted, sausage fingers on her swollen knees.
 
She was in a black bikini fit for a circus fat woman. Tessa recognized it, recognized that Downton had worn one identical on a cover. Identical save for the thirty or so sizes separating them.
 
With tectonic force, Downton tried to get up. Something popped, a mystery whether it was a ** or the chair, and the model’s momentum stopped dead. She inhaled deeply and rocked slightly forwards, wobbling legs trying to push upwards while her heavy, sagging arms pressed forwards. Getting up owed more to Downton’s heavy gut and immense breasts than anything else, the immense ex-model rising at the same rate her gut drooped and her breasts sagged. 
 
“S-see, I’m *uhf* fine,” Downton insisted, wiping sweat off of her brow and slowly waddling towards the scale, her posture bowed forwards by the demanding pull of her chest, “I bet, bet I’m below four fifty today…”
 
Tessa remembered a magazine cover that Downton had been on. One that couldn’t have been more than a year ago, she remembered seeing it in a super market or a gas station before her diagnosis, when it had just been some bad headaches. Then, Downton had been athletically slim, her breasts large and heavy, but firm and ripe instead of the spoilt, passed their prime udders wobbling back and forth now. 
 
And she’d weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds.
 
“Four hundred and forty six, my my Miss Downton, you’ve quite the eye to your current size! You’re shrinking fast,” Doctor Mortenson smiled, “another year or so and who knows where you’ll be…”
 
“Maybe on a cover again,” Downton smiled, the motion making her jowls twitch.
 
Downton had had who knows how many covers. After all, she’d been the first plus size model in Sports Illustrated history to make the cover, although that was somewhat cheating given she’d had it before she’d started gaining weight. Only she hadn’t stopped gaining weight, what was laudable at a sixteen was decidedly too big ten sizes later and Downton had left a size twenty six behind long ago.
 
“Who knows? But I do know that now its time to eat, girls,” Mortenson grinned, “don’t you agree?”
 
Bellies growled in unison, gaunt grizzly bears awakening from hibernation to find a particularly obese troup of hikers carrying bags stuffed with pork rinds. The three patrons hurried as well as women in their condition could, Tesa feeling every ounce of adipose jiggling and wobbling. Her fat felt like it had a mind of its own, the gelatinous gut pushing down the spandex waist band of her shorts, surging towards the food she’d have to shovel into it. Moving a short distance, barely a hundred feet was well within the actress’ limits, but she found herself far more exerted than she would have been, even if she wasn’t panting like Rachel and downright gasping for air like Cat. 
 
Breakfast that morning was fried, as it always was.
 
This time it was fried custard. A gallon sized porcelain tub of frozen custard that had been flash fried and drowned in a quart of whipped cream and a quart of hot fudge. To drink was two liters of some horrifically yellow soft drink that fuzzed and fizzed like a grade school volcano project. If Downton didn’t have diabetes before drinking it, she would after, and the ice cream was going to give Tessa gout, let alone Rachel. Whatever Mortenson had said about this resort possibly being outside of the states, only an American could have created a breakfast like this.
 
“The berries look delicious,” Tessa smiled, salivating over the fatty, chocolately heart attack she was about to devour.
 
“Picked fresh this morning,” the doctor told them with a million dollar grin.
 
Breakfast that morning was healthy, as it always was.
 
Fresh blueberries. A glass of low sodium tomato juice with water to drink. A dry slice of turkey breast. Two small pieces of whole wheat toast with no butter. 
 
Two days ago, Tessa wouldn’t have been able to eat the former while pretending it was the later. She’d have hesitated at the start or gagged at the first taste perhaps, certainly the dainty actress would have been miserable at the end of it all and acted like she was shoveling in lard and washing it down with corn syrup. But after another session of therapy with Mortenson, after hearing she could see the belt busting, stomach turning slop and know it was a miniscule health meal. She could pace herself like this was a tiny snack meant to get her through hours of exercise and not a coma inducing barrage of calories that was going to be followed up with some infernal concoction that would make her yet fatter.
 
Two days ago, Tessa had been a gorgeous woman who happened to be in movies for a living.
Today, Tessa couldn’t pass for that woman anymore. Her elfin face had turned round, her graceful neck clumsily thick and her elegant legs flabby as her tiny waist had grown porcine. Tessa couldn’t even pass as Tessa Holmes’ fat cousin to be honest.
 
But today, after gaining perhaps a hundred or so pounds in maybe two days, Tessa was putting in an Oscar worthy performance.
 
She spooned deep fried ice cream into her mouth without pause like a fat girl.
 
She chugged hideously sugary soft drinks at breakfast like a fat girl.
 
Tessa was playing the part of a fat girl like she’d been born to it.
 
The actress’ spoon hit the empty porcelain tub before she realized she was done. Tessa looked down into the greasy  surface of the bowl, seeing the reflection of a fat faced, plain woman who seemed older than her years, not an A list actress known for youthful good looks. There was real disappointment on her features to be done. Her stomach was a little full, certainly swollen over her too tight shorts and with red marks showing on the side where the fabric had pinched, but she could certainly still eat.
 
“I swear these breakfasts get smaller ever day,” Tessa grumbled, finishing the last of her soda, her belly audibly sloshing as she put down the glass.
 
Behind her, the actress heard the rumble of wheels and the slosh of tanks. Whatever creamy concoction this place was feeding her was arriving.
 
“Before exercise, I wanted to ask,” Tessa began, only for Mortenson to smile.
 
The Doctor was in a beautiful red dress, its soft fabric glued to her muscularly curvaceou body, top cut low to show her high breasts. 
 
“Miss Holmes, delaying your work out won’t help you lose weight,” Mortenson insisted.
 
“No, no I just wanted to ask, who painted these beautiful pictures? They’re master pieces all of them but I don’t recognize the style,” the actress said, voice calm, like she wasn’t about to be force fed for hours.
 
Mortenson turned, staring at the picture of Freya and her valkyries feeding the valiant dead.
 
“These? They were all painted by our lodge’s founder, one Sarah Remington, in the late 19th century. An amazing woman, a President’s daughter and a tycoon’s wife. Had she been born a man or a century later she would have been President herself, instead she was a socialite and famous beauty,” the doctor opined sadly, “but sadly, all things fade. And she found herself both this lodge’s founder and its first member. Painting these images of the consequences of gluttony in mythology was one of her therapies.”
 
American presidents weren’t Tessa’s forte. For all the country talked about its independence it treated some of its past leaders like they were Gods all the earth should know the intricacies of. Damn but if she had her phone…
 
“She sounds amazing,” Tessa said, feeling the mask going over her face.
 
“Oh, she was, very amazing,” Mortenson smiled, “it is a shame you won’t enjoy meeting her.”
 
Tessa didn’t know how she knew not to react to the last statement. Just as she didn’t know how the disgusting, fattening feast could appear a tiny, healthy meal simultaneously. Perhaps lingering chemo drugs in her system were keeping whatever mind control serum she’d been dosed with from fully dominating her. Maybe the titanium plate in her skull had partially blocked out the spirit breaking, belittling hypnosis she’d suffered through hours of yesterday. It could be that the laser scalpel had slipped just a bit when the doctor’s had cut out part of her brain a year ago.
 
If the situation wasn’t so deathly serious, Tessa would even entertain the possibility that she really was a witch.
 
But the fattening concoction, that tasted of white chocolate and coconut cream and heavy whipping cream and God knows what else was already pouring into her mouth through the hose. And any thoughts of “why” had to give way to thoughts of how Tessa was going to try and escape this living nightmare tonight.
 
“We’ll need to start doing blood pressure readings on them, Downton’s getting to that delicate stage where the chocolate can only somewhat dull the symptoms,” Mortenson opined to a trainer, “and blood sugar every few hours too for Holmes. I want to know the minute she developes diabetes, I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow, probably around 11 am.”
 
Because of what Mortenson was saying. 
 
And because the taste on that fattening venom on Tessa’ tongue was so delicious, she sighed...

Hi curvage. Most of you might know me as someone who posts gains, but recently I've been branching out a bit into weight gain fiction. I haven't had the time or privacy to download and organize pictures lately, but luckily it has been slow at work, where I can at least get away with having a word document open. Here's what I've written so far. Enjoy:


UNITS OF MEASUREMENT
“Great, I’ll see you at the house tomorrow!” Hannah pressed send.

“Whoo! Get it girl!” Kelsey shouted. The other girls at the large round table laughed. Hannah and her friends were taking part in their usual Friday night routine which largely consisted of consuming copious amounts of alcohol, dancing, and flirting with guys at the club. Their usual group of seven was probably a bit intimidating and maybe a bit easy to judge. At first glance, they seemed like your attractive, but basic, sorority girls who only cared about partying and keeping up superficial appearances. However, once people got to know them, they found them to be a pretty down to earth group that knew how to have a good time. They fully embraced the “work hard, play hard” mentality, and at the moment they were playing hard, nursing their buzz at the bar while cheering their friend on for setting up a date with a hot guy from Tinder.
 
“Stop you guys” Hannah said, though she had a smile on her gorgeous face. Hannah was probably the one in the group who looked most like a model. One look at her dating profile and everyone could see why. She had shoulder-length straight brown hair, the classic prominent cheek bones, and piercing blue eyes. She stood at 5’8, giving her enough height to have presence, but not enough to tower over people or scare men off. She was also very thin framed, weighing a thin 136 pounds, perky breasts, and a nice slightly rounded butt.

At least, Hannah used to be thin framed. The nights of going out and mornings of taking pre-med courses had taken a bit of a toll on her figure. Her bikini picture on her dating profile might have displayed a perfect body, but Hannah had been putting on weight since the latter half of the past summer. Knowing she couldn’t afford to go abroad for a semester due to her course load, Hannah opted to spend 6 weeks in Italy through one of the university’s summer programs. The trip was one of the times of her life, but came at the cost of softening her a bit, having sampled many types of pasta, wine, and gelato. When she got back, she only had a few days of downtime before moving back into her sorority house for her junior year. The course load ended up being just as intense as she anticipated, and, while living in the sorority house was always entertaining, it wasn’t exactly the best influence.

As a result, she hadn’t been able to dedicate much time to eating well or exercising and she was starting to feel the literal weight of her new lifestyle. Having good genetics and height on her side, Hannah wore her new weight well. Her belly might have just started to stick out slightly, but she still looked fantastic overall. Her butt and boobs received the brunt of the weight making her look curvier, and her upper arms, the area most people saw fat accumulate, had only thickened a little bit. Barring the opinions of the shallowest of people, Hannah still looked drop dead gorgeous, and Hannah still had a lot of success in her nighttime outings. That said, she was aware of the tightening of her clothes as of late and wore what was once a loose dress that night to draw attention away from the slight roll around her waist.
“Besides, I think I might actually really like Mason” Hannah continued.

“Who wouldn’t. He’s so hot!” said Jackie. Normally Jackie was a bit on the quieter side, but being the shortest in the group at 5’2 and weighing maybe 100 pounds, she was feeling her second drink. Hannah and the others always thought Jackie was very pretty, but could be stunning with a few adjustments. She had half Asian features with beautiful thick straight hair that fell at about shoulder length, and kind brown eyes. She didn’t have much trouble finding guys interested in her, but the girls thought if she filled out her waifish figure a bit more, she would have someone to go home with whenever she wanted. They didn’t vocalize this to her since they didn’t want to create body image issues for her, but they tried to subtly nudge food and other calories in her direction, often to little success.

“Sshhh Jackie, quiet down a bit” said Amanda. The group of 7 lovingly referred to Amanda as the mom of the group. Amanda stood at 5’3 and was your typical blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority beauty who turned heads the last couple years. The group used to joke that Amanda and Kelsey were sisters, since they were both had similar features and voices. However, Kelsey was maybe an inch taller and these days she looked much slimmer than Amanda. If Hannah were to guess, Kelsey weighed maybe a trim 110-115 lbs. whereas Amanda had started to thicken. Unlike the rest of the girls, Amanda was in a relationship as of last year, and with it she had put on some comfort weight. She still looked great, but Hannah guessed she put on about 30 lbs. and weighed between 140-150 lbs. She was definitely wider overall and looked “big boned” despite having a naturally thin frame, but she certainly wasn’t fat yet. However, Amanda’s body wasn’t the only thing that changed with her new relationship. No longer feeling the need to go out and meet people, Amanda had cut her alcohol consumption and assumed the role as the responsible person in the group. She still enjoyed the girls’ company though and was always down to grab a drink or two with them.

“Anyways, what makes you think you like him?” said Morgan. Like the other girls, Morgan was also very pretty facially, with hazel eyes and wavy light brown hair. That said, she was definitely the chubby girl of the group. She wasn’t quite full-on fat yet, but Hannah estimated she was probably about 220 lbs. She didn’t carry the weight terribly. Her boobs carried a decent amount of the weight and her stomach stuck out, but not further than her boobs. She did have a double chin and her arms looked like they strained her sleeves a little more than Hannah remembered the last time she wore that shirt. Despite the weight, Morgan was still very pretty and managed to bring attractive guys home on occasion.

“I mean, besides the fact that he’s really attractive, I just felt like I could really talk to him. He really related to my travels in Italy and he’s pretty funny,” Hannah responded.

“Hannah, you went abroad for 6 weeks. You don’t need to make it a part of your personality,” Abby joked. The table laughed. That was Abby for sure, funny and direct as always. Abby was about 5’5 with a darker complexion due to being mixed race. If Morgan was the “fat one” in the group, then Abby was the next closest. Hannah estimated she weighed a thicc 180 lbs., but luckily Abby was blessed with the genetics that made it mainly go to her boobs and ass. She might have been an hourglass a few lbs. ago, but having put on a few recently, she was starting to look rounder. However, her charming personality and direct nature meant that her extra weight didn’t hurt her chances at all. In fact, Abby was probably the most successful at getting one night stands in the group, and she fully intended on doing so tonight.

“Yeah guys I get it, but seriously I’m excited to meet him at the party tomorrow” said Hannah.

“Well good luck. I meet nothing, but douchebags on Tinder” responded Sydney, the last of the group of seven. If there were another person in the group that looked like a model, it was Sydney. She stood at 5’10 and was a trim 135-140 lbs. by Hannah’s estimation. She had shoulder-length raven black colored hair that slightly curled at the bottom. Her eyes were a shade of deep green that made you feel like she could see right through you and she had nice full lips. Her legs were long and slender, making her look like a runway model. Hannah liked Sydney but wasn’t quite as close to her as she was with the rest of the group. She got along with her very well, but she always felt like there was a slight tension there. Hannah often chalked it up to feeling a bit threatened by her given her gorgeous looks. Sydney had never given Hannah any indication that there was a rivalry going on and had always been nice to her, but Hannah always worried Sydney secretly judged her. The feeling got worse when Hannah had started putting on a few and as she expanded, she couldn’t help but feel like she might be upstaged by Sydney somehow. Hannah was getting chubby. Sydney was stunning.

“Wow way to kill the mood Sydney” said Kelsey, probably being the next most outgoing in the group. “I say we celebrate Hannah meeting Mason and then we try to find Mason’s of our own tonight.” Kelsey raised her drink and the girls clinked glasses before gulping down a big portion of their drinks.

The group ended up getting a couple more drinks before heading to the club. Normally Hannah would try to get some action, but she had Mason on her mind and even in her drunken state kept her eyes on the prize. Still, that didn’t stop her from having a good time. She ended up getting a few too many drinks with the girls at the club and danced her ass off before heading home.

----------------------

The room was still spinning for Hannah when she got back. She had a lot of fun with her friends again, but she wanted to try to get some rest so she could be mentally sharp for the party the house was hosting, and more importantly, for meeting Mason. She kept picturing his 6’2 bodybuilder body and could feel herself getting a little wet. Her hand instinctually reached toward her crotch.

Control yourself, Hannah she thought as she pulled away. She knew she had to make it to her room and didn’t want to embarrass herself or wake the other sleeping sorority girls who hadn’t gone out that night. Carefully, Hannah made her way to her room, thankful her roommate Courtney was abroad this semester so she wouldn’t be waking anyone up. She passed the mirror and noticed that the dress, the one she purposely picked out because of it being looser, was grabbing a bit more at her belly.

Ugh I really need to lose some of these pounds. I know some of it is just bloat from the drinks, but I’m feeling like a whale lately.

She took her clothes off and noticed her belly sticking out a bit more. She then made her way to the bathroom on her side of the hall. While wiping her face off, she noticed the electronic scale in the mirror ominously waiting for her.

Hannah hadn’t weighed herself in a while. Last time was a little bit after her trip to Italy, which was when she resolved to lose the extra 11 lbs. That had been before the whirlwind of a school year began, and before she knew it her clothes were starting to feel very tight on her, sometimes exposing her slightly flabby midsection. She had been avoiding the scale at all costs, but in her drunken state, Hannah didn’t find it as foreboding.

I guess I might as well see the damage Hannah thought. She completely removed her clothes, powered the scale on and stepped on it.

180 lbs?! I’m closer to 200 than I am to 100 at this rate. I have to get this under control!

Hannah tried to think about how much weight she gained. She remembered when she went to Italy she weighed almost 62 kilograms. Hannah remembered that because she thought it was funny to see such a small number from the weird European system. That put her at how much? Hannah couldn’t handle the mental math, so she pulled out her phone. 62 multiplied by 2.2 made her about 136 lbs. Yeah that sounded about right. So she put on--

“44 pounds?!” she gasped quietly to herself. It was even worse than she thought, and Hannah began to feel a bit self-conscious. Despite her looks, Hannah was never super vain, but it still hurt to not be in her prime. Fully naked, she examined herself in the mirror. She could have sworn her face looked a little softer and her belly had a thicker roll. What is Mason going to think when he sees me like this? She closed her eyes and breathed for a bit. When she reopened them, she eyed her naked self in the mirror again with a fresh perspective. Sure, she was softer, but she still looked very good overall. She was sure Mason would still find her very attractive, especially since they shared such a connection.

Don’t panic Hannah. It’s just 44 lbs, and you’re 5’8. The pounds don’t show THAT much and you still look pretty good.

After some rationalizing, Hannah felt a bit better about the situation. Maybe it was the alcohol in her blood, but it only was bothering her a little bit now. She knew that she would be getting it under control soon.

Hannah stared down at the display again and noticed the number had gone away. While looking down, she saw that there was an option on the display to toggle the units of measurement to kg.

Hmm, maybe I should check my weight in kilograms again. For old time’s sake. She pressed the button to toggle the settings and stepped on the scale.

82 kgs. That number didn’t sound so bad. By European standards, she hadn’t even broken into triple digits. Compared to her old weight, she had only put on, what, 20 kilograms? That sounded much better. 20 sounded like a much more manageable number. She knew it was kind of silly because it was all the same amount of weight, but something about the smaller number just made it easier to accept for her.

“I wish we all weighed kilograms instead of pounds” said Hannah thinking out loud a bit **.

She stepped off the scale and resumed wiping off her makeup. Sure, she might be chubby by her high standards, but when she thought about it, the looks and the flirts from guys hadn’t really slowed down. She was sure she could handle a number as small as “20 kilograms”. She smiled to herself after finding her confidence again and turned her thoughts away from her weight to her big day tomorrow. She had to set up for the party they were hosting at the sorority house tomorrow, the party she invited Mason to.

Tomorrow should be a lot of fun she thought as she drifted off for the night.

-----
Hannah yawned loudly as she woke up the next morning. She must have had way too much to drink last night because she still felt off. Her head was in moderate pain and she just felt a little disoriented. Was she still **?

Hannah saw the early morning light beginning to filter into her room, making the outlines of her furniture lightly visible. Perhaps it was the dim lighting or the leftover alcohol in her system, but Hannah couldn’t help but feel like the room felt a bit different. Did she move some things in her drunken stupor last night? She then noticed a big outline under her covers. She must have forgotten the clothes she left on her bed last night and covered them last night when she pulled the covers up. She’d done that a few times when she’d gotten blackout **, but while the details of the night before were a bit fuzzy, she seemed to have at least some recollection of the events, so she couldn’t have blacked out.

Suddenly it hit her that she really had to pee. She flung the covers off feeling a strange resistance in her arms and squinted her eyes toward the bedroom door. She then tilted her body towards the side of the bed, eyes half shut, and began to push herself up from the bed, noticing it felt oddly laborious to do so. She felt like there was someone pushing down on her as she struggled to stand up, but she got on her feet. She took a few steps then accidentally bumped her hip into her dresser. Since when was that so close to the wall? She must still be **. Why else would she still be this uncoordinated? She kept her eyes narrowed to filter as much light out as possible and walked towards her bedroom door, noticing it was difficult to move her legs. It felt like they were fighting each other, but Hannah did spend a lot of last night dancing and standing so perhaps they were fatigued. Accepting the explanation of drunkenness and fatigue, Hannah did her best to ignore the resistance of her body and walked out of her room into the hallway, then into the bathroom. Due to it still being early morning and the bathroom facing away from the morning sun, the bathroom was nearly pitch black. Reluctantly, Hannah went to flick the lights on, bracing her drunken sensitive eyes for adjusting to the brightness. She blinked a few times and turned around towards the bathroom mirror, before gasping loudly.

What Hannah saw was inexplicable to her. It wore her maroon nightgown and it looked like it had her hair and eyes, but was much wider than her. At first, she thought the girls were playing a prank on her by replacing her bathroom mirror with a fun-house mirror, but on second glance it looked too realistic to be some sort of distorting. Suddenly feeling alert and sober, Hannah looked at her body for the first time this morning.
The first thing Hannah noticed in the mirror when looking down was a huge pair of boobs covering herself. The nightgown was pretty loose on her, but she noticed they were sticking out much further and sagging much lower than she remembered. Upon closer inspection, she noticed another thing sticking out of her gown. It was her belly.

What the FUCK is going on? Hannah thought, before realizing once again she really had to pee and walked to the toilet. She sat down on the toilet with a grunt, realizing she seemed to be higher up on the seat. Once she was finished, she got up with another grunt.

As she washed her hands, she took the time to fully examine herself in the mirror. Yep, that was definitely her. Hannah noticed she still had her piercing blue eyes and well-groomed straight brown hair. However, her prominent cheekbones were all but gone at this point, as her face had widened and sprouted a double chin. Being morbidly curious about her sudden morbid obesity, Hannah decided to examine her new strange body. Her nightgown, which had been loose on her normal self, seemed to have grown with her, so she decided to slide it off as she backed up from the mirror, now noticing it might have also grown slightly larger with her.

Hannah took a long hard look at her new body. Despite being way fatter than she ever pictured being, Hannah was weirdly relieved that her good genetics seemed to still have worked out for her. Well, as much as they could for someone of her gigantic new size. Like before, her boobs and ass seemed to carry most of the weight, with her ass being almost as wide as the doorway to her room. Her massive boobs sagged heavily, but this time they rested on a new belly that expanded outwards. The belly was very large and formed one huge roll rather than a double belly. Her belly expanded width-wise to attempt to meet her hips, but her hips had also expanded outwards to accommodate for it, as well her new tree trunk thighs and round calves. Hannah rotated to her side to view her profile and noticed that her belly was sticking out quite a bit, but was overshadowed by the depth of her massive boobs, boobs which she wasn’t even sure how to measure. What are they, L cups? Maybe even M cups? She also noticed she had gained in more unflattering places than before. Examining her profile some more, she first noticed that her arms were extremely thick now, fat accumulating above and even slightly below the elbow. They looked like they were as thick as her legs the night before if not thicker. Her ass also exploded outwards, blemished with slight cellulite, and they were topped with a belly and love handles that separated her legs from her torso. Despite her panic, Hannah counted her blessings. She wasn’t quite as belly heavy as many girls she had seen that were her size. She almost had an hourglass figure, if that hourglass had two massive watermelon sized bulbs filled to the brim with sand, and a neck that that was more sphere-like than cylindrical.

She then started feeling her body up and down, realizing it was a bit tougher to move her arms. First, she grabbed her belly, feeling its soft flesh ripple with the resistance of her fleshier hand. She then grabbed her boobs, realizing her pudgy hands could no longer entirely hold them. She turned around and craned her neck to look at herself as she grabbed her huge ass. She could see it jiggle with the light touch of her hands. She then turned to her profile again and took a few steps forward and back, realizing just how much of her body seemed to bounce with her heavy footfalls. Her boobs, multiple back rolls, butt, even her arms seemed to move with the excess adipose. Hannah would have been weirdly fascinated if it weren’t her body, but she was still shocked looking at her transformation. After a while of examining and feeling her new body, Hannah noticed the bathroom scale in the mirror’s reflection once again.

Hannah’s heart was pounding. She already felt anxiety stepping on the scale last night, and that was before her sudden expansion. Did she really want to know just how big she was now in this foreign body of hers? Hannah still wasn’t even sure if this was all real, and having a definitive number telling her she was heavier would make things seem more official to her.

No, she had to know. The more information she had, the more she might be able to find out what happened. Plus she might know what she had to do to lose the weight. She braced herself and stepped on the scale

396 lbs? What the fuck?!

She was nearly 400 lbs. Hannah didn’t know how to react besides with overwhelming shock. Before she could ponder it more, she heard a knocking on the bathroom door.

“Hey are you almost done in there?”. It was Jackie’s voice. Hannah couldn’t let her see her like this. How would she react to her sudden expansion? Would Jackie even know it was her? There was nobody in the house as big as her, and even though Jackie wasn’t the type of person to rat out guests, she knew she was bad at keeping secrets. If the others found out, she might get kicked out of the house. Or worse, they might realize it’s her and then who knows what would happen to her reputation. Regardless, it couldn’t be good and Hannah was not ready to face it.

“Hey I’m almost done, but I realize I forgot my towel. Can you close your eyes so I can leave?”

“Hannah is that you? Uhh sure I can do that” Jackie responded a bit perplexed, knowing they had seen each other naked a few times.

“Thanks, I’m coming out”

Hannah slowly opened the door, peaking her head out through the opening to make sure Jackie was respecting her request. Hannah couldn’t help but gasp when she saw her.

Jackie, petite 5'2 Jackie was fat.

Hannah couldn’t help but gawk for a moment. Jackie was by no means huge, but she certainly had put on a lot of weight. Her face looked softer and wide, accentuating her Asian features, but she had yet to develop a double chin. Unlike her flat appearance before, Jackie now had some breasts to grab. Unfortunately, the belly they rested on stuck out a little bit further. However, both new features were overshadowed by the complete change in Jackie’s lower half. Jackie had developed a pear figure, and her hips and butt expanded outwards. Sure, Jackie was beyond the point where she should have gained to fill out her figure, but Hannah had to admit it was at least an improvement over her previous stick-like appearance.

“Hannah, are you alright? Are you coming out soon?” Jackie said, her eyes still closed.

“Oh, uh yeah I’m coming sorry”. Hannah awkwardly shuffled her way out of the door. She tried sneaking out by slightly cracking the door, but realized her massive body wouldn’t fit through the doorway unless the door was all the way open. She opened the door all the way and then waddled her way back to her room.

Hannah collapsed on her bed. It had maybe been only a 20 to 30 minute bathroom trip, but Hannah felt exhausted, both mentally from what she had experienced and physically from standing for a prolonged period of time. She lied down in her bed, noticing her boobs were close to her face, and tried to digest what had happened. So she was almost 400 pounds. Jackie was fat too, but hadn’t seen her so she never really saw a reaction. The only thing Hannah had to go on then was that Jackie seemed to be act like her normal self, so evidently she didn’t notice she had also gained weight or she didn’t care. Hannah had a tough time believing she didn’t care, so maybe she had also spontaneously gained weight, but didn’t have the awareness that Hannah did? Or maybe she had always been that way? Did that mean there were others?  How did this happen then? Hannah was beginning to question her sanity.

Then Hannah saw her phone. Of course, maybe she could search it somehow… But what would she search? She pulled up Safari and searched “spontaneous weight gain” hoping to find a news article about a disease or maybe chemical outbreak that caused this. However, all she found were articles of what you might expect: a healthline article mentioning “Unintentional Weight Gain: Clauses, Symptoms, and Diagnosis”, a WedMD article talking about reasons for weight gain, a health.com article mentioning what might cause sudden weight gain, etc.” She sighed, right as she received an Instagram notification of someone liking her photo.  Instinctually she clicked on it, her phone taking her to the photo in question.

It was the bikini photo that she also had on her Tinder. The photo featured her posed on a beach during golden hour, one of her legs bent with her other outstretched, leaning on her left arm. Except this time she was fat.

Hannah looked it over in detail. That photo had been taken at her thinnest, so she should not have been nearly as big as what she was looking at. However, there she was, confidently showing off her curves. Hannah did notice that, while way heavier than the original, she didn’t look as fat in that photo as she did in the mirror moments ago. Her boobs were still big, but not nearly the size of her head like they were now, and while the pose did not do her stomach any favors, she could tell it wasn’t sticking out as much. Her legs also looked a bit slimmer and her double chin was not as pronounced. Despite her looking smaller, Hannah was still wondering why she ever had the confidence to post this in the first place, when she then realized that she still had a little over 600 likes on the post, just like she had the night before.

She scrolled down the comments, noticing they were completely the same, filled with praise and creepy comments from men. She scrolled back to the top comment from Courtney that said “Beautiful😍😍” and noticed her profile picture looked a bit different. Hannah clicked on her username.

She was initially greeted by pictures of London from Courtney’s semester abroad, but as she scrolled down she noticed something: Courtney was also fat. She still had her blonde curly hair, but there was no question she was obese. She scrolled down further to rush week last semester where Courtney had a photo of the whole sorority in front of the sorority house. Hannah remembered it well, as all of the higher ups in the sorority posted it for good publicity and she had to like the same photo multiple times. However, this time the photo was slightly different. It looked almost identical, except it was taken from slightly further back to fit all of the girls in frame, because all of the girls were fat.

Hannah pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, noticing she grabbed more of her doughy skin. She was awake alright, despite being in some big nightmare. So was everyone fat now? That would explain the thirsty comments and likes on her bikini photo despite her size. By this new world’s standards, she was thin in that photo. It would also explain why Jackie, while much larger than before, was still not obese the way that Hannah currently was. Jackie was overly skinny in their normal life, so it would make sense that she was fat, but not overly fat, in this world. Similarly, Hannah had put on weight recently, so it would explain why she was bigger now than in her bikini photo.
 
But just how much weight had she put on? Hannah began to question it when she heard a knock on her door.

“Hey Hannah it’s Jackie again. Can I come in?”

Hannah thought about it for a second, but then realized she didn’t really have to keep her weight a secret anymore.

“Sure, come in”

Jackie walked in the door, and Hannah once again got to examine her inflated figure. Yes, Jackie was definitely still fat, though not quite the blob that Hannah felt she was.

“Hey so I just wanted to make sure you’re feeling okay. You seemed a little off at the bathroom, and plus I’ve never known you to ask me to close my eyes when you leave the bathroom before. I mean, we skinny dipped together during rush week. Did I do something?”

Hannah felt a bit put on the spot, trying to come up with an explanation other than being put off over her sudden obesity.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I guess I’m feeling a little self-conscious lately. I just feel kind of…fat. And I’m a little nervous to meet Mason tonight when I’m not looking my best”.

“Oh please, Hannah. It’s just a few kilos. You still look amazing. So many girls would kill for your body. If Mason isn’t head over heels in love with you by the end of the night, then something is wrong with him”

Despite her enlarged state, Jackie’s words meant a lot to Hannah. It was nice to know that in this strange universe, people still saw her as attractive, and it made her a little less nervous to meet Mason tonight. Even though it was a much different Jackie than what she was used to, Hannah was happy she was just as supportive as ever.

“Thanks Jackie, you’re making me feel a lot better”.

“You should feel better, you’re gorgeous. Plus, we need you at your best to help set up the party in a few hours”.

Hannah chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

“Great, then I’ll see you later.” Jackie smiled and exited Hannah’s room.

Like most good social interactions, Hannah replayed the recent conversation she had with Jackie in her mind a few times. She was already feeling more relaxed knowing how she was viewed in this bizarre world. But something that Jackie said was a little bit strange to her. What did Jackie say again?

“It’s just a few kilos.”

Kilos as in kilograms? Why would Jackie be referring to kilograms as an American? Was she poking fun at her time in Italy? Hannah didn’t think so. It wasn’t like Jackie to joke around when people were feeling vulnerable, and it seemed to slip out of her mouth so naturally, as if it were a word she was used to.

Then Hannah remembered her weigh-in today. Why did it default to pounds? Didn’t she switch it to kilograms last night? Something was fishy.

Hannah, grunted again as she forced herself to get out of bed, this time minding her larger hips’ tendency to bump into things. She made her way back to the scale in the bathroom, which she could now confirm was larger than she remembered. The units were at the toggled setting which should have been kilograms based on placement, but when Hannah turned on the screen it read “lbs.” on the righthand side. Hannah toggled the switch to the opposite selection, and sure enough it switched back to kilograms. She pondered why kilograms was the new normal and had a theory, but she needed to confirm. She stepped on the scale.

180 kgs. Hannah recognized that number immediately. She had weighed in at 180 lbs. last night. Now she weighed the exact same number, except it was in kilograms.

Hannah thought back to her drunken wish last night. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Somehow, whatever magical forces there were misinterpreted her request out loud and had made everyone weigh kilograms instead of pounds. It would explain why everyone in this world had ballooned overnight, and why someone as skinny as Jackie hadn’t become a complete butterball. In this universe, Jackie was still rail thin, crazy as that might seem. Hannah was confused and frustrated. Why, out of all the prayers the universe could have listened to it chose this one, which wasn’t even a real one? And clearly this wasn’t what she meant. Whatever power answered this request had to be a malevolent one.

She tried to digest this information, then came to the realization that she had recently put on 44 lbs. At the time, she was happy that it was only 20 kgs., but if the world had replaced kilograms with pounds that would mean she put on 44 kgs, which would mean she put on…

“96.8 pounds. Almost 100 pounds” she whispered to herself.

Hannah was kicking herself. It was one thing to put on 44 lbs., but in this universe she had put on 44 kgs. There was no way she would have ever been skinny if this transformation had occurred, but knowing she was lugging around an extra 100 lbs. due to her indulgence made her regret her past decisions even more.

Ugh it is what is I guess. I just would have liked to be a smaller blob.

Hannah walked back to her room, already noticing her heart rate beginning to climb. She pulled up her bikini picture again. She would have killed to be “just” 300 lbs. like she was there. Sure, 400 lbs. in this universe might not be viewed the same way as in her old universe, but it didn’t stop her from feeling the physical effects. She got back to her room and plopped herself on her bed again, noticing her belly and boobs jiggle.

Heard a jack ** today:
 
I've mentioned elsewhere I work in a building of milfs and that since we returned from quarantine a lot of them are thicker. 
Today I was on a different floor then usual and heard one woman, let's call  her H, I haven't seen since last spring. She's fairly short, late thirties, quite pretty with unusual ashen blonde blonde/ prematurely grey hair. Wasn't super thin or curvy but not plump or chubby, kind of "thin but a little soft'
I hear her talking with another co-worker, L,
L: every one's put on some lockdown weight.
H: yeah, in November my new years goal was to lose my lockdown weight. Now it's too get back to my lockdown weight...
 
She's out on at least forty pounds, grown a full Kardashian ass and a gut big enough she looks pregnant, wearing tight jeans and a seriously snug sweater with a double chin hanging from her mask.
 
Another one from the same building, girl named D. Late 20s, early 30s, dark haired and blue eyed. Very tall and willowy, no real curves. She got pregnant, probably in september judging by her bump and is one of those girls who's pregnancy takes them from skinny into full on fat girl. Her flat ass is getting immense, panty lines visible through a thick jean skirt and her legs are seriously hefty. Her bump isn't that big, but her limbs and ass are going nuts, while every day the lunches she carries in get bigger and bigger.

For Savage X Fenty

Getting off on someones embarrassment. For me, over wg. Granted, I like wg and view it positively to a limit on rl but there's still the enjoyment factor from noticing a very fit woman who took pride in being fit has let herself get out of shape, breaking a taboo and 'falling' if you would, in a paradise lost fashion.  Think "She used to think she was so superior for being thin but look at her now, like the people she mocked !"
 
I blame my earliest exposure coming from a critical mother and reinforcement at a formative age from seeing tabloid headlines switch from praising Britney spears for her fitness to mocking her for gaining weight.

Damn, love pics of this babe.

Heard a jack ** today:
 
I've mentioned elsewhere I work in a building of milfs and that since we returned from quarantine a lot of them are thicker. 
Today I was on a different floor then usual and heard one woman, let's call  her H, I haven't seen since last spring. She's fairly short, late thirties, quite pretty with unusual ashen blonde blonde/ prematurely grey hair. Wasn't super thin or curvy but not plump or chubby, kind of "thin but a little soft'
I hear her talking with another co-worker, L,
L: every one's put on some lockdown weight.
H: yeah, in November my new years goal was to lose my lockdown weight. Now it's too get back to my lockdown weight...
 
She's out on at least forty pounds, grown a full Kardashian ass and a gut big enough she looks pregnant, wearing tight jeans and a seriously snug sweater with a double chin hanging from her mask.
 
Another one from the same building, girl named D. Late 20s, early 30s, dark haired and blue eyed. Very tall and willowy, no real curves. She got pregnant, probably in september judging by her bump and is one of those girls who's pregnancy takes them from skinny into full on fat girl. Her flat ass is getting immense, panty lines visible through a thick jean skirt and her legs are seriously hefty. Her bump isn't that big, but her limbs and ass are going nuts, while every day the lunches she carries in get bigger and bigger.

Heard a jack ** today:
 
I've mentioned elsewhere I work in a building of milfs and that since we returned from quarantine a lot of them are thicker. 
Today I was on a different floor then usual and heard one woman, let's call  her H, I haven't seen since last spring. She's fairly short, late thirties, quite pretty with unusual ashen blonde blonde/ prematurely grey hair. Wasn't super thin or curvy but not plump or chubby, kind of "thin but a little soft'
I hear her talking with another co-worker, L,
L: every one's put on some lockdown weight.
H: yeah, in November my new years goal was to lose my lockdown weight. Now it's too get back to my lockdown weight...
 
She's out on at least forty pounds, grown a full Kardashian ass and a gut big enough she looks pregnant, wearing tight jeans and a seriously snug sweater with a double chin hanging from her mask.
 
Another one from the same building, girl named D. Late 20s, early 30s, dark haired and blue eyed. Very tall and willowy, no real curves. She got pregnant, probably in september judging by her bump and is one of those girls who's pregnancy takes them from skinny into full on fat girl. Her flat ass is getting immense, panty lines visible through a thick jean skirt and her legs are seriously hefty. Her bump isn't that big, but her limbs and ass are going nuts, while every day the lunches she carries in get bigger and bigger.

This party will be off all the following: the hook, the chain, the charts, the grid, and most importantly, the wagon.

The set up for this is alarmingly perfect. I'm dying to see the party go haywire.

FEEDER-MAN RETURNS, PART 4
The Wieringo Building had once been a modest office building that was simply a part of the urban landscape for decades, and sadly fell into decline in the 2000s during the economic downturn.  It was saved from demolition when it became the home of its most colorful occupants—the Sensational Six.  The team bought the entire building and used it as their headquarters, adding living quarters, several laboratories, and even a hangar to store their various vehicles.  It went through several changes over the years since the Six set up shop, but their notoriety had helped to make the Wieringo Building into a landmark for anyone visiting the West Coast.
On the evening of the 30th though, no one was visiting it to marvel at the accomplishments of the Sensational Six, attend scientific lectures with Doctor Sensational, or train with the Creep.  That night was all about Pia Lorenz, the Flare, as she crossed her final threshold into adulthood and had her first legal drink.  Her birthday called for a celebration unlike any other, and several floors had been converted into party space for the masses.  It was planned to be a night no one would ever forget, and it would be—just not for the reasons Pia intended.
The trouble began when Nathan Nixon got in.  Unlike his time at DittCo, he did not need to sneak in; all he had to do was flash the press pass that Dee gave him, and they opened the doors for him.  He traveled light, carrying only his backpack and cell phone, and despite the best efforts of the security team, they did not check the bag as closely as they should have.  In their defense, there were far more obvious concerns than some nobody, like how the Neptunian visitors insisted on carrying weaponry at all times.  If they had looked, they might have noticed that Nathan had packed his ‘work clothes’ in a hidden pouch.
“Okay, where to go first?” the redhead mumbled to himself as he scouted the party.
It was everything he thought it would be: loud, obnoxious, and full of people he wanted nothing to do with.  Nathan was already as bitter as a cup of coffee, but being around so much debauchery and revelry only exacerbated his feelings.  Between the Sensational Six and the guests, the entire evening seemed like an opportunity for everyone to flaunt their wealth and status in the face of people like him.  He had been looking forward to ruining their night before, but as he was jostled around by the crowds, he felt justified in doing so.
“Let’s just get the lay of the land and see what we can find,” Nathan decided as he pulled his phone out and searched for easy targets.
***
“Mo Money!  You came!” Pia squealed as her former costar waddled up.
Mona gave a small wave to her excited friend before being wrapped in a warm, clingy hug that knocked the wind out of her.  She wheezed, “Hey Pia…wouldn’t miss this for the world.  I told you I’d come, and here I am.”
“Yeah, but you were such a sourpuss at first, I almost didn’t think you would make it,” the birthday girl hummed as she rocked Mona in her arms.  “But you’re here, and all my friends are here, and everyone in the whole world is here!”
The longer Pia held onto her, the more obvious it became that she had already had a few spirits to start off the night.  Knowing the Flare, she had likely been pre-gaming since the afternoon, while everything was still being set up; were it not for her superhuman metabolism, she would likely be having her stomach pumped at the moment.  It was reasons like this that made Mona glad she had shied away from the limelight after her days as a child star.
“Yep, it sure is a scene,” the tattooed girl replied as she peeled Pia off her.  “Look, I mostly just wanted to say hi and wish you a happy birthday—this isn’t really my scene, you know?”
“Aw, but you just got here!” Pia whined, the tequila strong in her breath.  “Come on, at least let me show you around?  You should see what we did with the place!  Each floor is something completely different, right down to mood lighting!  The fifth floor is gold and showing movies, the ninth is purple and for dancing, and the seventeenth is green and lined with video games.”
Mona scoffed at the notion and asked, “Let me guess—there’s a smoking room that’s all black and lit with scarlet?”
The drunken heroine stuck her tongue out and scowled, “Ew, no way.  We don’t allow smoking inside; the scarlet room is for couples to sneak off to.”
“Of course it is,” Mona muttered under her breath.  Seeing as Pia was not going to leave her alone, nor did she exactly want to let her wander off in such a state, the chubby girl sighed and linked arms with her.  “Lead the way, Prospero.”
***
As Nathan scouted out the party and Mona was led around by Pia, two unexpected arrivals made their way through the bustling lobby.  Cooper Culpepper, Nathan’s old nemesis from high school, had managed to win tickets to the party and could not have been more excited to schmooze with some of the upper crust of society.  He did not look the part though, dressing in a pair of ratty jeans, an Ed Hardy t-shirt, and his letterman jacket, which was a little snugger than it used to be.  Not that the galoot cared much, as he was too awestruck by the spectacle of the party.
“Damn, Maggie, can you believe this?  And I thought the parties at Revolori’s place were huge,” Cooper remarked as he held his girlfriend close.
“Sure is,” the blonde replied, though her mind was elsewhere.
When Cooper told her about the party, Maggie Sloan’s immediate thought was not about getting to see all her favorite celebrities—it was what she was going to wear.  Her entire wardrobe was tight these days, but especially her party clothes, which were snug even before she put on 30 pounds in her freshman year.  She had managed to squeeze herself into a jade cocktail dress, but even after getting it let out, it still clung to her like a second skin.  The straps dug ever so slightly into her shoulders, the neckline showed a little more cleavage than she was comfortable with, and the hem came down just low enough to hide her panties.  Most embarrassing was how it was tight enough on her stomach that her belly button was visible through the fabric.
“Babe, look, it’s the Creep!” Cooper exclaimed, shaking Maggie from her weight woes as he pointed to one of the strongest beings on the planet.
The chubby blonde followed his point and saw the hulking man-thing across the hall, flexing his craggy muscles as people dangled from his arms.  The Creep looked like a crude mass of clay sculpted into something vaguely humanoid, but despite his appearance and name, he was a veritable sweetheart, provided people stayed on his good side.  His gruff attitude appealed to people like Cooper, who admired his brashness and even tried smoking the Creep’s favorite brand of cigars until he realized just how expensive they were.
“I’ve got to get a picture with him,” Cooper told his beau.  “If people know that I have an in with the Creep, that’ll give our bar lots more cred!”
Just like that, he left Maggie on her own as he ran off to get the attention of his idol, but what else was new?  Cooper was fun and could even be sweet on occasion, but she often felt like arm candy for him—except she did not even feel like that sometimes.  He was always going on about the club he was going to open up with his friends, and he never seemed to make time for anything she wanted to do.  If they ever went out, it was to something that he wanted, which usually meant someplace he could schmooze with people and try to get investors.
Despite being surrounded by dozens of people, Maggie felt very alone and wrapped her chubby arms around herself.  The familiar shiver of anxiety ran down her spine, and she knew that it would not be long before her belly started to grumble.  It was stress and nerves that led to her plumping up as much as she had, and being left in a sea of people was making them act up again.  She placed one hand on her tummy and felt it rumbling, and though she promised she would stick to her diet for the night, that idea went out the window.
“It wouldn’t hurt to have a bite,” she reasoned with herself as she made her way through the crowd in search of something to eat.
***
If there was one thing Nathan was impressed with at the party, it was that no expense had been spared on the food.  Everything he sampled was delicious, from the hors d’ouevres that various waiters carried around to the sushi bar on the seventh floor and the churrascaria on the nineteenth.  While he was delighted to get a taste of cuisine far beyond his budget, he was not eating to sate his appetite.  No, if he wanted to play Feeder-Man at the party, he needed to make sure he knew exactly how everything tasted—that way, he could substitute in his own, much more fattening cooking.
“We switch a little here, a little there, and none will be the wiser,” Nathan hummed to himself as he went about swapping cookies and sweets at a dessert table.  The trick was to change a few at a time so as not to attract attention; no one would notice him taking a few cookies, but they would certainly see if he took an entire tray.
After finishing up with the desserts, the roguish redhead sauntered off to snap some more pictures and wait for the chance to activate his fattening traps.  He managed to get a few snapshots of tight pants, exposed bellies, and one stance of split jeans, but his mind was elsewhere.  What he really wanted was to capture the moment when someone ate one of his goodies and came away with an extra twenty pounds—if he could get that, he was sure that Dee would pay a queen’s ransom.
Just as he was making his way out of the room, he bumped into Pia and Mona as they walked in.  Nathan was about to mumble an apology before quietly moving on, unaware of just who he passed, when the tattooed girl glanced his way and said, “Hey there!  You’re from the grocery store, right?”
It took Nathan a moment to recollect, but he finally remembered Mona from his trip to the grocery store earlier that week.  They had a brief, friendly greeting before he surreptitiously took some pictures of her for LAZ, but she bailed him out by paying for his groceries when his card was declined.  For the beleaguered boy, that act of kindness had been almost enough to make up for what was an otherwise garbage day, so to see her again brought a genuine smile to his lips.
“That’s right!  How are you?” Nathan asked Mona.
“She’s awesome!” Pia butted in.  She stumbled between the two and clapped Nathan on the shoulder as she babbled, “That’s Mona Park, and she’s the best friend I’ve ever had!  Like, I’ve got so many friends, but she’s maybe my best!”
Mona patted Pia on the shoulder and told her, “That’s right, and as your best friend, might I suggest you go take a little breather?  We’ve been walking around for an hour or two, and we could both do with a break.”
“No, no, no, I’m good, I’m good!” the fiery girl insisted.  “I still need to show you the hangar and Riley’s secret lab and—ooh, Jell-O shots!”
With that, Pia released Mona for the first time since her arrival and staggered off in pursuit of the sweet, boozy treats.  Nathan drank in the lush Latina as she departed, noting just how short she was—barely over 5 feet—and how petite her frame was.  Small, pert breasts that were made perkier by her crop top, a tight midriff, and a curvy little backside that switched from side to side with every drunken step she took.  He was going to enjoy fattening her up, hopefully to the point where she was wider around than she was tall.
“Jesus Christ, I’m too old for her shit,” Mona grumbled, alerting Nathan to her presence.  “Sorry about her—I’d say she’s not always like this, but I’d be lying.”
“Don’t sweat it—celebrities, right?” the redhead chuckled.
“Tell me about it.  That’s why I try to stay away from this kind of scene if I can,” she replied.  “So, what brings you here?  You a big shot in disguise?”
Nathan waggled his press pass at the bespectacled girl and answered, “Not really.  Just here to get some pictures and be on my way.  It’s not exactly my type of space either; I’d much rather be home working on some new recipes.”
“Oh, you’re a cook?  That’s awesome!” Mona remarked before offering her hand.  “By the way, I didn’t get to properly introduce myself the other day.  Mona Park, but you already knew that, right?”
“I did, but it’s nice to finally meet you,” Nathan chuckled as he shook her hand.  “Nathan Nixon, photographer of the stars.”
Mona shared in his laugh and asked, “Well, Mr. Nixon, I see that they have some cheesecake over there—shall we sample it and see how it compares to Ralphs’?”
Much as he wanted to see Mona Park blimp up on his food, the redhead replied, “Actually, I wouldn’t really try the desserts; I tried a couple things, but they almost gave me instant diabetes.  I was just about to head down and see about getting some sushi—want to come with?”
“I’d never pass up a good sashimi platter,” Mona answered with a lick of her lips.
As they left, Nathan glanced over his shoulder and spied Pia getting a big forkful of cheesecake while gabbing with other guests.  He was going to have to keep an eye out for her later—he was not going to pass up the chance to see the birthday girl balloon…
***
Maggie had eaten more than she had all day and was currently on her third sushi roll, but she could not rid herself of the jitters that filled her belly.  Everywhere she went, she was surrounded by unfamiliar faces dancing, singing, and shouting, and she could not find a quiet place to sit down and calm her nerves.  She had to look like a pig, scarfing down plate after plate like she had, all while crammed into a dress that had not fit her in months.  That must have been what that couple was laughing about in the last room—what was a chubby little porker like her doing in a place like this?  It was almost enough to make her vomit, but that would only attract more unwanted attention.
Just as she was about to go scrambling for a bathroom to hide in, Maggie spied a familiar face sitting at a nearby table.  Unless her eyes deceived her, that was Nathan Nixon and…no way.  Mona Park was here?  She was one of her favorite actresses—if she saw her in this state, Maggie would probably die from embarrassment.  Still, the need for a familiar face in the sea of strangers outweighed the desire to run and hide, and the bulbous blonde eventually worked up the nerve to waddle over to the table.
Meanwhile, Mona told Nathan, “So I says to Mabel, I says—”
“Hey you!” Maggie cheerfully greeted her old classmate before blushing as she realized she had interrupted their conversation.  “Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to come say hi.”
Nathan was stunned to see Maggie at the party, but he was more taken by how her dress clung to every inch of her curves.  He tried to avoid staring for too long and instead replied with a grin, “No problem!  It’s great to see you—and you look amazing.”
The blush in Maggie’s cheeks grew and she gave a nervous laugh as she answered, “Oh, it’s just an old thing I had in the closet.”
“Wish I had something like that in my closet,” Mona chuckled.
“Aw, thank you,” Maggie meekly replied before telling Mona, “And Ms. Park, let me just say that I love your work.  I mean, I grew up with Cannonball High and all, but your recent stuff just speaks to me on such another level.  Dress Rehearsal Rag hit me so hard, and I love it for that.”
The compliment about her independent film brought a smile to Mona’s lips, and she told Nathan, “I like her.  Anyone that knows my stuff post-Cannonball gets a pass in my book.”
With that, the chunky blonde felt calmer than she had all evening as she joined the pair for another round of sushi.  There was a part of Nathan that was appreciative of being in the company of two big, beautiful women, but more than anything, he liked having two normal people in a sea of phonies.  Mona shared in that sentiment, and was delighted that neither one tried to get an autograph or start singing her old TV show’s theme song.  It was the best part of the night thus far for the three of them, and as they laughed and chatted about this and that, Nathan almost forgot about his plans to fatten up half the party—the keyword being ‘almost’…
((Fret not, true believers!  This is not the end, and I'm not going to leave you hanging for months on end.  Nathan's night out will be conclude in the stunning conclusion to an entire year of Capes and Cuisines goodness with next Friday's CAPES AND CUISINES ANNUAL!  Stay tuned to this thread, because you don't want to miss the explosive end to this saga and get a hint of what's to come!))

Another 5lbs gained in 2 weeks guys! The weight gain shakes are definitely helping, I literally set an alarm for 4am to have a shake lol