swahilimonkfish

Here we have Betty trying to grow as a person (geddit?) and be the woman she wants to be
Chapter 12
 
Betty wiped the steamed-up glass of her bathroom mirror to be confronted with a tired looking girl with hair that had lost its sheen and eyes that had lost their sparkle. She saw smoother cheeks and a softer chin and red splotches on her forehead that just wouldn’t go away. She couldn't even hide the spots under her fringe any more, it had outgrown fringe length and now needed to be swept to one side in a semi-stylish kinda side-parting thing. It also meant that she couldn’t hide a new feature under there, the creases in her forehead that came from over-animated eyebrows. Her skin had always been immaculate, unblemished and smooth. Now it was maculate, blemished and increasingly creased. This would never do, Betty wanted to entice her students after what Minnie had said. She just hoped the five pounds she’d gained over the past week would keep Lionel at bay. It was a balancing act.
She applied soft foundation with a hint of colour to take the edge of her pale whitishness that her indoor lifestyle had cultivated. She then plucked her eyebrows to make their unruly disposition ruly again, supplementing it with delicate use of an eyebrow pencil to keep them shaped. Mascara, eye liner and eye shadow were all applied to her eyes to make them pop since they now needed help doing so. They gave them a deep grace and strong definition that her every glance. Further down her face, to deflate her slightly fuller face, she used a cosmetic highlighter for contouring, to try and reestablish the dominance that her cheekbones previously had on her facial landscape. Finally lipstick was drawn across her lips, careful not to get any on her white teeth, as red as the Queen of Hearts.
The difference was stark as she looked at the voraciously attractive woman in the mirror. She looked, well, it was hard to find the word for it. Betty found it easier to describe herself how she didn’t look. She didn’t look ‘cute’ or ‘sweet’ or ‘dainty’ or ‘innocent’. Words like ‘luscious’ and ‘luminous’ and ‘sexy’ and ‘irresistibly’ felt more appropriate. She felt… fierce. Not a waif or a victim or a dorky goofy best friend, but an independent woman with a Helen of Troy face. She could launch a thousand ejaculations.
It was new to her, all this. This whole new look, and she felt maybe this was her new skin now. This was her destination. She wasn’t losing her looks, she was just gaining new ones. She was worried she would look like a whore with such a stronger look and so much more make-up so unsubtly applied, but she felt less trampish and more vampish. And vampish felt good.
Now to the rest of her body, to get it up to the same standard. She wondered what to put around her neck, a neck now without the deformity of jutting out sinews. She wondered because she had a St Christopher necklace that she hadn’t worn since she left home under a stormcloud, but she felt guilty not wearing it after praying to God. She wrapped it around her neck, figuring it was the least that she could do after her Prodigal daughter act. She covered it up anyway with a light shawl to protect herself from the Autumnal bluster that October brought with it.
Further down still and she was met with the reflection of her torso. Nevermind her face, this was where the real battle would be. She had to contend with a series of concerns: that her tummy was wider than her ribs, taking away her shapeliness; that her tummy stuck outwards not inwards any more, even a little when standing; that, despite everything else opening their doors and welcoming in calorific refugees, her breasts steadfastedly insisted there was no room at the inn and hadn’t grown since her dangerously underweight marathon days; and that the tufts of hair under armpits were so darkly noticeable.
The issue with her cleavage, or lack thereof, could be solved with a thicker padded wireless bra to help create the illusion of some distinguishable outward curve on her ribcage. Then came the spanx that tucked in fiercely at the waist, to Betty’s immense and tender discomfort, but suggested shape at the top to further take her apple-based tendency and keep it hourglass. With the shapewear in place, she could now fit into her size 12 blouse without wrecking the buttons. It was still tight, but now it was tight in a seductive, tantalising way and not in a holy-mother-of-god-this-doesn’t-fit way. Over that was a grey power suit with angular shoulders that juxtaposed with her recent softening, that tapered in at the waist through its natural shape to create a further optical illusion of hourglass.
For the bottom half of her body, she wanted to wear her sexiest, laciest, frilliest knickers to boost her confidence but the vegetable patch of dark hair that she had been growing since April dented this bravado, so she pulled them back down, allowing her tummy to curl up into rolls as she did, to take them back off. Instead, begrudgingly, it was an item of clothes called ‘shaper briefs’ and they were a cross between spanx and granny pants. They tightly sucked her in and tucked her up, helping to slim her tummy yet further and also compact her arse from floppy and flabby to fierce and firm. It worked really well and encouraged Betty to try out the size 10 mini skirt. It was perhaps over-ambition she realised as she grunted in a most unladylike manner to get them to do up, but eventually she managed it. This meant she also needed black tights to hide her hairy legs, while a delicate silver bracelet around each wrist to hopefully hide the restraint marks from the previous night. Lastly, she had some dark relatively high-heels on that made her look taller, her legs thinner and made her feel imperious. She looked in the mirror one last time and did a twirl for good measure. Oh, the poor students weren’t going to know what hit them, she had never looked so beautiful in her life.
The students were going to like her, they might not recognise her but they sure were going to like her.
 
She leant against the lecture lectern as the students chattily seeped into the lecture hall and filled the seats before her, ready for a year of education and erudition. She tapped her foot as she waiting for the steady trickle of lackadaisical students to take their seats in the hall, whilst reading last year’s notes for the last year’s slides that she was repeating because she hadn’t actually updated them as she was supposed to.
She looked every inch the temptress with her filled our form flowing downwards. Her carefully chosen clothes enjoyed her snaking size shaping them. Her hips sassed out sexily, her butt bubbled to the brim of her pencil skirt’s cloth constraints, her tremulous tummy was cloaked by her clothes. Her untreated hair had outgrown the quandom bob she had billed the barber for, and with it swooshed to the side in a trendily half-assed side-parting she looked more knowingly attractive. And the second year students took in Betty’s improved form with appreciation. She had evolved beyond dainty and cute and into the realm of royally seductive. They had strong memories of this delectable desirous diva with hunched shoulders and nervous energy, and here she looked like a Siren and strode across the stage as if she owned the goddamn building. She knew what the males were all going to do once they got back to their dorm rooms.
She met up with Leona at lunch in the less salubrious environment that was McDonald’s, perched uncomfortably on their plastic chairs. Betty struggled because the grip of her pencil skirt was so tight that she found it difficult to fan her legs enough to get on. Leona’s issue was more that the seating wasn’t designed for people with her size of derriere. But, despite the inconvenience, they were settling down to eat their respective meals, Betty with the usual, and Leona with the same only more. Leona struggled to take her eyes off her friend. After the changing room cubicle incident with her, Betty and Minnie, things had become a little stilted between the two. And now Betty came swaggering in looking like she did, Leona felt even more conflicted. Betty, for her part, was either oblivious or flirting.
“So, what do you think? I’m prettier than I look, aren’t I?” Betty smiled gleefully.
“How can you be prettier than you look, because how you look is how pretty you are… oh, it’s too early for riddles Betz. Yes, you look gorgeous.” Leona tried and failed to avoid the question.
“Oh, and guess what? I’m giving Kyle from third year some ‘assistance’ over a cup of coffee at 2pm at Starbucks today” Betty said, struggling to contain herself just as much as her clothes were struggling to contain her. “And then, at 2.30pm it’s Ebba, the Swedish girl who models part-time, for the same. And 3pm is Jordan who is built like a brick shithouse. I’m happing to add 3.30pm and 4pm before the day is out.”
“You plan on fucking all those students? Wow, you’ll get a rep!” Leona laughed, not hiding the fact that she was impressed but successfully hiding the fact that she was jealous. Of the students that is.
“No, coffee and a bit of flirting maybe, but that’s all” Betty said, before letting her confidence wilt and weaken. “It’s nice to feel wanted, but I don’t want them… I don’t want them to see me naked.”
Leona almost choked on the chicken nugget she was eating when Betty said that. Betty was always one to confide never normally so forward. Maybe it was how she was dressing that made her so much more provocative.
“Don’t be silly Betz, you look great naked. I’d know!” Leona said, aiming to keep it light but immediately regretting the words as they fell from her mouth. There could have been tumbleweed floating across for the awkwardness of the silence that followed Leona’s throwaway comment as the elephant in the room was finally addressed.
“You think I look good naked? I thought you were put off now I’m fat?” Betty asked, suddenly less sure of herself.
“Well, that would be hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it? You know, given my… ahem, size.” Leona said while gesturing to her body in case Betty hadn’t inferred to what size she was referring. “But, of course you’re pretty naked. It’s just, I don’t want to find you pretty because of Wicky. It’s Wicky that I want to fancy.”
“Oh no, sorry Leona. I didn’t mean to...” Betty blundered, trying to retract the clumsiness of her statement. “I know you love Wiktoria, I was just feeling a bit insecure, that was all.”
“Hey, don’t. The courier wants a rematch doesn’t he, you have a small queue of students who just want to spend time with you, and I had to tear Minnie away from you just to protect Rutherford.” Leona said, putting a chubby hand on Betty’s shoulder.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that. Things got a little out of hand very quickly.” Betty apologised again.
“Hey don’t apologise! You do that too much!” Leona pointed her chubby finger now at Betty. “And anyway, things are fine with Wiktoria. But...”
“Oh no, is something wrong?” Betty’s eyes widened in worry.
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but our weight hasn’t plateaued quite yet. I’m sure its imminent but, in the meantime, we’ve gotten a bit bigger. And poor Wicky is finding cooking less enjoyable because she’s having to lug around an extra 150lbs or whatever it is, we don’t have scales that go past 250lbs. She loves cooking and I’m worried that her size is stop her from doing what she loves.” Leona admitted.
“But you love her still, don’t you? And that’s going to mean the world. If her weight is an issue for her, then she’s the only one who can do anything about it, and it’s not for you to impose. As long as you love her unconditionally, then I don’t see a problem” Betty said, returning the favour by offering a hand on the opposing shoulder.
“But what if I don’t?” Leona said with sad eyes.
“What if you don’t?”
“What if I don’t find her attractive any more?”
 
Betty and Leona sat in silence for a couple of minutes, trying to work out the best words to follow those last ones. Betty, for her part, felt underqualified as a relationship counsellor given how bad her track record was, but was passionately worried about Leona and wanted to do anything she could to do something about it. And Leona realised she was drifting past the point of no return and now certain words couldn’t be unsaid, and certain admissions were out in the public domain.
“I’m not sure I fancy her any more.” Leona finally broke the silence. “I love her as a human being, I love her to bits. But, I don’t get turned on by her any more and I don’t want her to blame herself for it. It’s my fault. I’m fat and she still finds me sexy, why can’t I return the favour?”
“Why can’t you?”
“I don’t know...” Leona’s face was now wrinkled as she cried. “She’s just… I know the girl I fancy is under there, but there is so much over it that I can’t see it any more. It’s so fucking superficial I know. How can a girl who fills a two-seater have the double-standard of being sizeist.”
“Hey, Leona. You’re not sizeist. You’re just diagnosing what your body is saying, that’s all.”
“I just look at you Betz, you’re so beautiful. So really pretty and I want that and I feel so shit for feeling this way” Leona continued to cry.
“You want… me?” Betty stammered in shock. The girl she had fancied for the past half a year before giving up on having any chance, just opened up and confessed that she wanted her.
“Yes, I really do” Leona nodded. Betty just sat in silence for a second, trying to gather her bearings. She only came here for the Big Macs, now she was winning over the woman of her dreams.
“No, sorry Leona, it doesn’t work like that” Betty said, before she realised what she was saying and could stop it. “You don’t get to do that to Wiktoria, I’m sorry”
Leona just cried and nodded. “It’s because I’m too fat as well isn’t it? You’re out of my league now Betz, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Leona Clefton-Brown, grow up!” Betty shouted, before realising how loud she’d raised her voice and quietening down so as not to make a scene. “I’ve fancied you ever since… we had… y’know… that one time. I’ve wanted you and wanted you, but you didn’t want me. You wanted Wiktoria. Now you don’t get to turn around 8 months later and change your mind. You’re so gorgeous Leona, that will never be your problem. Your problem is you chose her and you don’t get to break her heart and change your mind again. I’ve been on the receiving end of that and it destroys you, and you cannot do that to her. You don’t get to cash in for a new model because she’s put on a few, I’m sorry but you don’t, it’s not fair on her.”
Leona again just nodded her head whilst crying. She knew every word of what Betty said, she just didn’t want to believe it. She wanted Betty to say she was wrong, not to confirm that she was right. Leona was fishing for confirmation for something she didn’t believe, and hoped Betty would make her believe. But she agreed instead.
“Can we still be friends Betz? I know everything is really awkward but...” Leona sniffled.
“Of course Leona, I always want to be your friend. Forever. We’ve had so much awkward between the two of us, that this is just the latest in a long list.” Betty smiled soothingly to the scarred teacher. “And if you want Wiktoria to maybe lose a few pounds, and she wants to lose a few pounds too so she can cook more easily. Maybe she ease off on the Skinny meals for a bit?”
Betty had a point.
 
Betty had one more workshop class before she had her back-to-back coffee dates. Of course, they were ‘tutorial hours in a social setting’ because dating students is not just frowned upon but against the university’s guidelines. Sure, it hadn’t ever been enforced, otherwise they’d have been knocking on Leona’s door ages ago, but it was important for Betty to keep the illusion of professionalism.
Once she was done, she hurried as fast as her heeled feet could take her to the local Starbucks and grabbed herself a hot chocolate and a cinnamon whirl while she waited for student #1 – Kyle.
Kyle had ran late, which worried Betty who obviously had a backlog of students she wanted to unofficially speed-date under the guise of tutorship. But he got there by five past, apologising for the delay with innocent sincerity. Kyle wasn’t Betty’s favourite student, aesthetically at least, but he was conventionally handsome and he had a surprisingly deep voice for such a young man which Betty liked.
“Can I get you another coffee perhaps?” he asked, not believing his luck. Betty had been the one teacher that he’d fancied since she started last year. All the other students were signed up members of the Leona fan club, with her ethereal beauty and bodacity. But he preferred Betty’s delicate beauty, and while all the students despaired as Leona’s weight catapulted stratospherically, ruining everything they liked about her and turning their lust into bitching behind her back, he held his moral high ground. Betty would never be like that, her perfection was of the sweet variety and she would never fall foul of such disregard for herself. The other students suddenly jumped ship and came aboard the SS Fancying Betty, but Kyle was a founding member. Kyle was there before she became popular. He deserved this for loyalty alone.
“Hot chocolate please, and a cinnamon swirl if you can? I’ll pay you when you get back” Betty called back, wondering if she should admit in front of her students that this was the sort of thing she’d happily eat. But, in isolation, a hot chocolate and cinnamon swirl isn’t going to raise any eyebrows. And he wasn’t to know that it wouldn’t be in isolation. They sat and they chatted about the course and his dissertation choice and where he was planning on going after university, and Betty was giving every vibe she had in her playbook while he answered. She toyed with her hair, she laughed at his jokes, despite them being unfunny, she maintained sharp eye contact, she said she liked his hair and she even ran her finger past his hand on the way back from reaching for her drink. And then, as she saw Ebba crossing the road towards the Starbucks, she asked him politely to leave because she had work to do.
Ebba walked in the door as Kyle was leaving, but didn’t recognise him since she was only in second year. She was Swedish born but she had lived in the country since she was four and had long since forsaken her Swedish accent for a generic Southern one. It had to be said that Ebba was a fine specimen of a woman, with magnificently tall and thin legs that her denim shorts displayed to maximum effect. On her tall top half was a trendy mauve leather jacket with one of those fashionably shredded t-shirts underneath that her peerlessly perfect skin could protrude from on her model thin frame. Her face was no less awe-inducing, with wide eyes and a wide mouth, with layered blonde hair on top hidden under a furry hat.
“Can I get you a coffee, teach? And maybe a nice snack?” she asked, not believing her luck. But for very different reasons to Kyle. While Kyle had been a member of the Betty fandom from the off, Ebba’s interests in her had only recently been piqued. She was curious to find out how this would go.
“Hot chocolate please, and a cinnamon swirl if you can? I’ll pay when you get back” enjoying parroting her previous comment as it reiterated the wrongness of her indulgence to her quietly fetishistic mind.
“I got you what you asked for, teach. And I also got you some millionnaire’s shortbread on me, as a thank you” she said, and let the natural glide of her smile wrap around her face.
“Wow, thanks” Betty said, not sure how to eat this without seeming greedy, but knowing she had to eat it to not seem rude.
The conversation between the two of them was less studious and more personal as Ebba explained the bits about the modelling career that you might not already know while Betty listened attentively, hanging on every word from this Amazonian Aphrodite. When the conversation redirected to Betty, she felt she had to be careful what to reveal and decided to bring up her London marathon run that she was so proud of.
“It’s not just 4 hours of jogging, you have to be running the entire time, trying to make time up all the way. Your body isn’t designed for such distances, not really, so its really about timing and judging when to be in peak condition” she said, gushing about the topic she rarely got to talk about. Leona was never interested in such gluttony for punishment, not since she’d pursued a more traditional gluttony.
“So you’re not in peak condition now then?” Ebba asked, her face seeming sincere like the question wasn’t as loaded as Betty felt it to be.
“Ha, yes, I guess you could say that. I’ve actually put on a bit of weight since then” Betty confessed. “Don’t tell anyone, I don’t want to draw attention to it but I have put on a few since last year.”
“Oh, that’s okay teach. You carry it well!” she said, her eyes still wide and peering over her coffee cup and into Betty’s soul.
“Thanks, but you’re supposed to say ‘no you haven’t’ or something like that. Deny it.” Betty laughed. Ebba laughed too.
And the conversation continued in a jovial and personal manner until the brick shithouse crossed the street, at which point Betty bade farewell with the Swedish dreamgirl.
The brick shithouse was looking forward to this. This new teacher, on his first day at university no less, practically propositioned him. She looked fit as fuck too. He wanted to hit that hard. He wanted to cum on her tits and get really physical with her. Yeah, he bet she was the type, she looks the type. He sat down at her table.
“Ah cheers for this Miss. Would you get us a coffee or summat, I’m right parched.” he said whilst checking her out blatantly. Betty liked that. She didn’t like the fact that he didn’t offer to get her a drink though.
She came back to the table with a hot chocolate for herself, a cinnamon whirl for herself, some millionaire’s shortbread for herself, and a coffee for the brick shithouse. He arrogantly presumed that the shortbread was for him, and was about to reach out and grab a piece.
“Sorry, I forgot to ask if you want some” she said coquettishly whilst grabbing the piece he was about to lunge for and putting it in her hand. She ran her hand though her hair as she said it and let it drift nearer her chest, distracting the brick shithouse easily. He really didn’t seem to have the IQ to be at university.
The rest of the meeting was just her toying with him with gestures that he seemed to think he was subtly observing but was in fact practically salivating with his tongue hanging out. And when the thirty minutes drew to an end, Betty planned her rebuffing of him when an idea took her fancy.
“I don’t want to have sex with you, that would be unprofessional. But, if you promise to keep this to yourself, I’ll give you a blowjob in the mensroon if you like” she said whilst rolling her nail down his arm in a way similar to how Minnie would. “But you cannot tell a soul”
The brick shithouse’s face lit up as he nodded and, after all those cinnamon whirls, she put something else in her mouth while in a Starbucks.
 
She spent the rest of the week looking fabulous and feeling fabulous. She revelled in her newfound feminine wiles as she flirted harmlessly with any attractive male or female student who had previously tried to inconspicuously ogle her. She would wink at some, or let her hand glance the hand of others, she would lean over the very closely as she looked at their work and she would ruffle their hair when they did well. She was very popular with her students and felt very popular too. Unfortunately she was also very popular with a certain Head of Department.
“You should stop dressing like that Bollingbrooke, it’s practically an open invitation.”
“Looking like that Bollingbrooke, I find it very hard to concentrate.”
“That dress suits you Bollingbrooke”
“Do you want a hand with those books Bollingbrooke?”
“Bollingbrooke, if I behave irresponsibly around you, it’s only because you’re so easy on the eyes.”
“That fine arse of yours deserves some company Bollingbrooke”
And each comment took a hearty chunk of her freshly found confidence away from her. It seemed so frustrating that no matter how much she grew as a person, he could bring her back to square one with a throwaway line. Growing as a person in both senses of the word. He still wasn’t put off by her size, even if he seemed to notice it.
She would come back after a hard day’s work and a large Skinny meal dinner, lie in her bed and cry. Cry because the world wouldn’t let her get away from him. Cry because everywhere she ran, there was always another man who thought he had sovereignty over her body. Cry because every time she thought she was over the worst of her emotional downpours, he’d conjure another one for no other reason that idle titillation. She would glance at her bodkin, now back where it belonged by her bedside, and think dark thoughts all over again.
By the time Friday came around, she was deep in a quandary as to whether she should let rip like the weekend before or enjoy these newly stabilised version of herself. But, Lionel had pulled away her stability with her creepy comments, asinine asides and worrisome words. The rug had been pulled from neath her person and she figured she was going to let rip worse than ever before.

Ostensibly told from the perspective of Minnie (nee Skinny)
Chapter 11
 
“Where are you going?” Rutherford asked politely, shaking the crumbs off the vast expanse of her belly. “I was thinking about maybe, like I don’t know, eating and fucking right up until it’s dinner and sex time.”
“Oh love, oh love, you know how much I love feeding you and fucking you right up until dinner and sex time” Minnie smiled back, with a narrow shiver crawling along the hairs on the back of her neck.
“Well then… what are you waiting for? Feed me and fuck me!” Rutherford amusingly roared, lying back on the bed invitationally, spread-eagled and naked and head-spinningly large.
“No, sorry, I’ve got to meet a friend.” Minnie smiled back, admiring the view.
“A sexy friend? Can you bring her here, so we can have a real party?” Rutherford laughed, reaching over to the desk to the side of her to pick up another bowl of rhubarb crumble and custard from the queue of them ready served. “I just love British dessert by the way, we should like totally get more of it”
“Not that kind of friend love, and how about I grab some jam roly-poly on my way back, you’ll love it.” Minnie purred, rolling her sharp nail down the flaccid creases of fat that made up Rutherford’s drawn out stomach. Rutherford’s famous smile erupted as she tilted her head back in enjoyment.
“I like the sound of roly-poly, it reminds me of me haha!” she chortled while twisting her neck as the sensual reverberations lingered. Suddenly her face, previously tensed with enjoyment, drifted downwards. “Hey, you’re not cheating on me are you?”
Rutherford looked with a tenderly concerned expression, her engorged face chewing another slice of rhubarb crumble, as she allowed herself to think paranoid thoughts. Paranoid thoughts about being abandoned. Abandoned at her size. It might seem surprising that she prized monogamy so highly given that she had two girlfriends herself, an old friend from the US called Shay was cohabiting and co-shagging, but Minnie had been acting funny all week and Rutherford was worried she was losing her reason for being. “I’ve not got too fat for you have I?” she asked, woundedly.
Minnie’s face sat in stone for a brief second before erupting back into life.
“Fuck off, love. If I ever cheat on you, it’ll be because you’re too thin, you skinny-arse bitch. Now, I best get going love, but Shay will be back with edible reinforcements soon, and you can have this fucking and feeding session that you so desire with her” Minnie flashed a smile at her as she picked up her handbag. Rutherford deflated slightly in relief. She didn’t deflate too much however, she was much too inflated for that.
“Thanks Minnie. And don’t forget that roly-poly stuff on your way back!” she yelled, before leaning back on her bed and grabbing another bowl of pudding. Minnie walked out of the room and winced as she did so, that familiar sinking feeling of self-loathing rising up again as she lied to the love of her life about having sex with other women. Just another fucked up moment in a fucked up day in the fucked up life of the fucked up Minnie Charnwood. She needed to get a handle on this.
 
Minnie tip-toed into the living area to find Leona studying with her laptop atop her lap. Wiktoria was out with Shay grabbing some shopping, leaving Leona lonesomely lounging in the lounge. With this in mind, Minnie poked her head around the corner to have an overdue chat.
“Hey Leona love, can I have a word?”
Leona said nothing and just angled herself slightly further away from Minnie. Her silence could have filled tomes.
“Look, I’m sorry about that, I am. I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable between you and me, or you and Betty, or whatever. You know how I am though, you know how I can be when I get that itch. I’m trying to get better, I really really am, but you know better than most that mischief courses through me veins...” Minnie pleaded apologetically, walking back up into the eyeline of the scowling Leona blinkeredly glaring at her screen.
“It’s not just Betty is it though? I can deal with Betty, we’ll pick up the pieces that you’ve torn apart, slowly but surely we will. But, you’ve not told Ruthers either, have you? You’re fucking another girl behind her back and you’re hiding it from her.” Leona said, trying to keep her voice down so Rutherford didn’t hear, but not doing a very good job.
Minnie’s eyes glinted with tears as she looked at her teacher, ex-girlfriend and friend. Going cold turkey at not being self-destructive was such a horrific addiction to pack in, and it seemed she just kept falling off the wagon. She was now sabotaging the one good relationship she had with Ruthers to fuck another teacher. It’s just that virginal gains were so hot and Betty seemed like she needed Minnie’s mischievous guidance. But she couldn’t keep going like this. She couldn’t keep finding herself back in this moment where she realises she’s irreconcilably fucked everything up.
“This will be the last time. I promise. Just let me have one more day with her and then I’ll finish it. You’re right Leona, I can’t keep lying to Rutherford. I love her too fucking much to ruin it over something as petty as this.” Minnie confessed, almost begging with her hands together in despair and hope. Leona rolled her eyes in acknowledgement of Minnie’s well-meaning.
“How’s she doing up there anyway, she hasn’t come down much since I’ve been back?” Leona asked, still fond of the American from her time teaching her last year, before they moved in together and everything got a bit weird and very heavy.
“Fat. She’s doing fat.” Minnie smiled lightly. It was a joke, but it wasn’t a very funny one, given her current size, rate of growth and the fact that it was now deterring her from getting out and about any more. “And I’ll not derail Betty this time, I’ll look out for her, I’ll have her back. I just want one last go at her front before I move on is all.”
Leona didn’t acknowledge or comment, she just went back to looking at her laptop dismissively, passive-aggression seeping from her. Minnie walked out the door feeling guilty, and Minnie didn’t handle the emotion of guilt in the most productive of ways.
 
Betty picked herself up to answer the door, presuming it to be Minnie. She was a little bit nervous about this whole reunion with Minnie thing, she suddenly felt quite out of her depth when confronted with the prospect of Hurricane Minnie. She was an amateur in the field of wanton behaviour, dabbling and dipping her toe in to test the waters, while Minnie had the air of an expert veteran who had seen and done it all, and it left Betty feeling a little at sea. Tomorrow she would go back to being the Betty everyone remembers from last year. Doe-eyed and lovely, with a friendly face and an easy smile, albeit larger than before. But this weekend she wanted something darker and more depraved. And nobody knew their way around devilish depravity quite like Minnie Charnwood.
Betty was excited though as well. She’d just had a whale of a time with Remus as Remus had his time with the whale that was her, and was feeling surprisingly confident about herself as a person. She might not have been as attractive as she had once been, but she could still do alright for herself if the sexy courier courting was anything to go by. That sugar-and-spice smile of hers swooshed across her face as she pulled the door to meet Minnie with real optimism and excitement. She was met with a black as thunder scowl.
“You bitch! You fucking bitch!”
Betty took a nervous step back, her smile scurrying away like prey near a predator.
“You fat bitch! You think you can just call me and ask me over, like clicking your fingers and summoning me!” Minnie raged at her, with emerald eyes clouding over with carnal fury.
Betty just shook her head nervously.
“At your fucking beck and call. Look at you, dressed up like this is amateur hour. Well, I guess I’ll have to show you how the professionals do it” Minnie tilted her head aggressively, before walking purposefully towards her, causing the terrified Betty to back off in fear. Then she saw Minnie grab some handcuffs out of her handbag and really did fear the worst. “Now get up to your bed, I have a few things I apparently need to teach you.”
It wasn’t just her hands that were handcuffed to the bedposts, her feet were as well. She lay on her back on her bed stretched apart like she was on the rack, her limbs spread in opposing directions like she was the Vitruvian man. The rest of her was naked and pale now, every inch of her on ebony display. She just lay there, with her head craning up waiting for Minnie to enter back into the room.
It wasn’t just the suspense that was killing her, it was being suspended. The handcuffs were tight around her arms and gripped each appendage with a vice-like tenacity. Still, the suspense was a bit of a struggle to though, the anticipation of what Minnie had in store for her. Betty had never done anything like this and did feel out of her depth with the swirling dervish from the North, tied up and wholly exposed, like Prometheus while he got his liver pecked out.
“Urmm.. Minnie, what you up to? You coming?” Betty asked nervously. She couldn't here Minnie and feared what that silence could mean. She glanced at the alarm clock in her room that told her it was 3pm, and she had only had breakfast so far. She was going to have to really unleash every ounce of her feasting capacity if she was going to indulge like she had planned to. But, for that, she needed Minnie.
“Hey, Minnie, what are you up to?” she called out, a bit more worried. It was now 2.20pm and she had still not heard anything from her. Not a creak in the house or the clatter of pans. Nothing. What could be taking her so long? Betty’s imagination didn’t know where to head next at the prospect of all the glorious ways that Minnie could take this. Betty was currently tethered, Minnie was notoriously untethered. This should be an experience.
“Hey, come on, what’s going on? I’m a bit nervous here Minnie, I’m… feeling a bit nervous” Betty cried out. It was now 3pm and Betty’s mind was racing. What was this sadistic game that Minnie was playing, and could she hurry along and get it started please. She kept looking around, hoping to catch the flicker of a shadow as her voluptuous vixen started fixin’ on mixin’ with Betty to get her licks in.
“Seriously Minnie, I’m getting worried. This isn’t a game any more. I need to pee.” Betty writhed in her constraints pulling futilely to see if anything would give, hoping to feel some looseness or give as she yanked and grunted. Of course it wouldn’t, these were handcuffs and this wasn’t the movies. She wasn’t getting out of these restraints without Minnie’s key. It was now 3.40pm and Betty wasn’t lying about needed to go to the toilet. She’d cross her legs except she couldn’t.
“Please, please, this isn’t funny. If you’re there, please let me out. I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever.” Betty was crying now, panicked. She was running through scenarios in her head as to how this could reasonably work if Minnie didn’t come back at all. Because surely she wasn’t coming back now. Would Betty be able to get to work somehow by tomorrow? Would a neighbour call the police, and if so what would they think when they saw her? What if nobody came to rescue her? She’d cacooned herself away from the world for four months and now what if she had nobody to check in on her? What if she died like this, fat, hairy and tied to her bed? What would her parents say, sanctimoniously tutting and saying that they always knew their precious Belinda wasn’t worth the Bollingbrooke name, if this was how her body was found? And what would kill her? Would she starve? Wouldn’t that be ironic, don’t ya think?
“I’m begging, I’ll do anything, please just let me go!” Minnie screamed, half hoping her neighbour would here her. Come on Maureen, don’t you usually leave for Bingo before tea? It was 4.45pm know and Betty truly was busting for the toilet, her bladder stung as it swelled and she wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer.
“I’m sorry God. I deserve this, don’t I? This is my rightful punishment isn’t it?” Betty wailed at the ceiling, her bladder now emptied on her bedsheets. It was 5.15pm and Betty was begging for divine intervention, that’s how bad things had gotten. Crawling back to God after years of abandonment, only praying to him when she needed something, like her mother always said. She whimpered pathetically, with snot coming out of her nose, as she pleaded to a God she no longer believed in to give up the habit of a lifetime and divinely intervene for once. She was a 27 year old girl who was admittedly possibly a little more screwed up than she realised, but still a 27 year old girl with a successful career and so much more to give. If only God would give her one more chance.
By the time 6pm came around, Betty wasn’t even calling for help any more. She had gone through the gruelling grinding gamut of ghastly emotions and come out the otherend, resigned to her humiliating demise. Maybe Leona would discover her body, since she’d notice she wasn’t at work, realise she wasn’t answering her calls and then maybe try the door. As her worry would grow after repeated days of absence, she might call the police out of worry. Yes, that’s how Betty’s body would be found. Like this.
The most embarrassing thing though, the thing that far exceeded the position she found herself in, was her hunger. She was lying in her bed with her limbs apart in a star jump position and she was in excruciating pain from a lack of consumption. It felt like it was eating her stomach from the inside, causing it to collapse in on itself. And this immense pain was simply from not eating an immense for four hours to her immense embarrassment. She’d already eaten 6000 calories today, mainly thanks to the Skinny meal for breakfast that she could no longer remember the taste of, and she was writhing in the agony of hunger. She’d eaten four times more calories than a woman is supposed to, to maintain a healthy weight, and she was crying because her hunger was so bad. This was terrifying news, it was like what Leona had said to her earlier in the week. That getting back to her healthy eating ways wouldn’t be like flicking a switch. She was already struggling to only eat quadruple what she should. She was never going to get thin, even if she got out of this. She was fat forever, and falling fast. Betty’s future was either starvation or obesity, she reckoned, and both futures horrified her.
That was when Minnie walked through the door.
“Where have you been? I’ve been so scared?” Betty wailed with tears in her eyes.
“Mainly just outside your bedroom, hearing your screams” Minnie shrugged nonchalantly. “But I did do some shopping while I was here too, you seemed short of supplies for what I have planned.”
“You just left me here! I thought I was going to die! I wet myself and everything!” Betty squeaked in shock.
“Yeah, I heard. My bad.” Minnie said, as if that was no big deal. “So, who’s hungry? I have jam roly-poly”
 
Minnie had spent most of the time sitting down in silence just outside the door with her ear to the wall, listening to Betty’s cries. She sat there as Betty begged and pleaded and promised everything with a quiet enjoyment, hearing the helpless heroine howl in hysterics thanks to her situation. She heard when she shouted for the neighbour with idle curiosity and she heard when she begged to be let out to go to the loo. She heard when she pissed herself as well, an explosion of urine presumably covering the bottom half of the bed and sinking deep into the mattress, and she heard when the born-again Atheist rediscovered God as a final Hail Mary. She felt like God.
Minnie then brought the food in two by two. The cakes and desserts and then the McDonald’s and a pizza, then lastly the Skinny meal and the milkshakes. She put them in a line, like an unmoving conveyor belt of nourishment, by the sodden bed that Betty was trapped on. She then took off her jeans and t-shirt, and pants and bra so she was every bit as naked as the girl trapped in cufflinks and tied to the bed. She grabbed the first thing, the McDonald’s and took it with her as she climbed onto the bed and mounted Betty, resting her fatty arse on Betty’s chubby legs and with her brutish stomach slapping down over Betty’s vagina. Then, one food item at a time, she fed Betty. The Big Macs disappointed pronto, Betty’s hunger made light work of them as Minnie smilingly shoved huge portions of each one down Betty’s facial abyss. The fries were the same, vanishing like they were in a magic act. The McFlurry and the milkshake also made themselves scarce in record time, tumbling down Betty’s throat to fill the expanse that seemed to have made itself violently known to Betty.
The cream cakes came next, each one pushed into Betty’s mouth by Minnie all the way in. Betty looked up to the heavens again, but this time in satisfaction, determined to prove her worth to her dominant captor by not wilting, while Minnie licked the spilt cream off Betty’s tummy. Then came cinnamon whirls, with their awkward size and shape making the eating experience messy for the girl being handlessly fed. Minnie had to wipe her hands down Betty’s midriff to get the gooeyness off them, smearing yet more detritus down her. Then it was another milkshake for Betty, replenishing her depleted bladder and also providing shocking brainfreeze that invoked zero sympathy from Minnie who wasn’t saying a word because her mouth was biting into Betty’s shoulder. After that, in this march of the foodstuffs, came something a bit different. She’d been knocking the food down like they were dominoes so, fittingly, it was Dominos that Minnie had lined up for Betty. Betty just shook her head at this, her mouth still full from the cinnamon whirls, this wasn’t part of the Betty plan or rota. Her eating was systemised and it was three meals, two of which were Skinny meals and one that was a McDonald’s. She’d had one Skinny meal, and the one McDonald’s, and she saw that Minnie had another Skinny meal lined up, so this meal was unregistered and not part of the plan.
But Minnie wasn’t the take-no-for-an-answer type of girl. She scratched Betty’s exposed stomach with her sharp nails and whispered into her ear “remember your training love. One piece at a time and think of Lionel.” That sharp nail of hers slowly clawed down towards Betty’s vagina, where she began circling round the tangled web of hair seductively. And with the other hand, she began feeding. After slice 3 was when Betty noticed that the feeling of hunger that had wrought such pain earlier had now completely gone, and by slice 9 she was feeling quite full again. By the time she finished the 14inch deep pan pepperoni pizza and the accompanying McDonald’s milkshake, she was drawing towards maximum capacity. The six pack of British style doughnuts took her to that point. It was now 11pm and Betty should really have been thinking about calling it a night and getting a good night’s sleep ready for the start of term tomorrow. As it happens, that was the thing furthest from her mind. Especially now Minnie was going down on her.
She convulsed against the restraints as Minnie hit every note like a first-chair violinist. She writhed and grimaced and arched her knees and back as Minnie’s tongue conjured shards of explosive sexual energy across her body. After all that gluttony, after all that panic, after all that shame, Betty was a powder keg of sexually charged explosivity and it wasn’t long until she erupted. She then gasped deeply to catch her breath and orientate herself.
“That was your breather, now we’re back at it, bucko” Minnie laughed as she leant over and grabbed the Skinny meal. It seemed that Minnie was happy to give cunnilingus to Betty, but never asked for anything sexual in return. From Minnie’s perspective, this was intentional. This was her trying to remain a form of faithful in her distorted mind. If she didn’t get off, she didn’t cheat. That was the lie that she could tell herself to keep the dark thoughts at bay.
Betty was struggling with this meal. She had never eaten so much, and never with such little respite either. She felt like John Hurt in Alien, bloated, in agony and ready to burst. And now she was confronted with the big one, the Skinny meal, the 5500 calorie behemoth that once, in isolation, seemed so far beyond her capacity. And now it was just the final mile in this marathon of food. She just had to treat it like it was the final mile in a marathon and push until she had nothing left to give.
She closed her eyes as she ate. She closed her eyes and thought of Lionel and what he’d think of her now if he could see her.
She closed her eyes and thought of Minnie, and how important it felt not to let her down. To prove herself worthy as a submissive partner.
She closed her eyes and thought of Leona, of her magnificent size that dwarfed Betty, and how envious Betty had been of it.
She closed her eyes and she ate every last crumb of the damn thing.
“We’re done Minnie. I can’t believe we made it!” Betty sighed in joy. “What time is it?”
“2.30am and no we’re not done. Did you not listen, I said we had jam roly-poly.”
And she wasn’t kidding. She’d put slices of jam roly poly in individual bowls and smothered each one in custard. They each had there own bespoke spoon and Minnie had every intention of feeding Betty these one by one until all eight bowls were gone. Minnie admired her handiwork as Betty ate herself into tears, the sweet delicious dessert taking up room in her stomach that simply didn’t exist. Minnie looked at the mess that she had helped create. The wincing expression on Betty’s pained face as tackles one mouthful after another, the state of her body, almost marinaded in the food that she had eaten. Her stomach, dotted with food she’d failed to get in her mouth and straining at the leash to expand against her taut skin. The bed, littered with litter and caked with cake, and a pungent dampness across the bedsheets. This was her doing, all her doing. She had caused this calamity by her own fair hand. At this point, Minnie was feeding Betty the last few bowls faster and faster, with Betty having to hamster cheek some of it because she couldn’t get through it fast enough. But Betty rammed it down her as hastily as she could, her intentions twisting. Betty was just swallowing the last bit, gasping fraughtly for oxygen, while Minnie stood up on the bed, causing it to creak and strain. Standing over Betty, she lowered herself down through the squat position over Betty’s head.
“Eat. Me. Out” Minnie said, not even looking at Betty but leaning back and looking up with her mouth agape. Betty took a deep breath, to prepare herself for her first time licking out another girl when a wave of impetuousness burst from Minnie. “NOW BITCH!”
And Betty didn’t have to work very hard, Minnie was practically there already. She then curled up next to the battered and beaten and fully over-eaten girl and cuddled her, with the pair drifting quickly to sleep.
 
“Miss, you wanna get up love. You’ve got to shower and go to work?” Minnie whispered whilst stroking her hair.
“Why are you being responsible Minnie, you’re so good at being not.” Betty smiled as she saw what she had woken next to, with Minnie’s straight black hair falling onto her face. She felt another surge of kinky lust with the student lying next to her. Last night had been an experience like no other. The fear, panic and hunger that preceded it just made her enjoy it all the more.
“I know but I’m trying to change, and I know how blurred the lines between on top of the world and rock bottom can be.” Minnie tried to empathise.
“Oh, don’t worry, we can be naughty for one more day, it’s only first day of term.” Betty interrupted, still feeling the urge for something more kinky. She was, after all, still tied up, though her arms and her feet were currently numb.
“No love, you’ve got to get up. It’s important and besides, I shouldn’t be doing this Miss, I’m not good for you. And you deserve someone good for you.” Minnie’s frosted face melted a little and a little sadness poured out. She couldn’t even lie to herself and pretend that she hadn’t ‘cheated’, because of that overwhelming urge that lead her to practically sit on Betty’s face.
“No, I want someone bad for me. You know who, according to my parents, was ‘good for me’? My abusive ex, that’s who. No, I want this. I’m not scared of not being who I was, I want to not be who I was. I hated that girl.” Betty was getting slightly wound up with the mish-mash of emotions that were clogging up her brain. Emotions of lust and yearning and self-destruction and rebellion and responsibility and kindness and fear and anger.
“If you’re sure love, then I believe you. But then know it can’t be me Miss. You need someone else, but I love Rutherford. I actually do. I know it seems silly, because I fuck other people. But it’s her I love. It’s not even because of her size. It’s fun and sexy but its not why I love her. I love her because I love her. It’s true, - I love her because I love her. I’m sure you’ll find someone else Miss, but I’m afraid it can’t be me. Now shower, put on your spanx, your best clothes, and smarten yourself up. And maybe there’s another student out there for you. But, either way, be at your best today. You’ve had a weekend of being at your worst, now be at your best.” she leant over and kissed her. Not sexually but sensually. It felt like a parting kiss. Betty just lay there, upset, as Minnie untied the teacher from her handcuffs.
“Are we over then?” Betty said, trying not to cry over something that she had told herself was just a bit of fun and exploration.
“Oh love, we were never together” Minnie said, trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.
Betty pulled herself up and flapped about a bit to try to get feeling into her limbs before getting off the bed.
“How many calories do you think we did? Sorry, I did?” Betty asked tenderly holding her still pained stomach. The spanx was going to hurt when she put it on. She shuffled first over to the shower and switched it on.
“Fuck knows, but a lot. You know, you could probably do stage 3 now, if you wanted to, love. You’ve got the appetite for it now, I think you’re there. You could get off now if you wanted to”
“Is it bad that I don’t want to? Not yet. Because when I do it, I have to stop and I’m not ready to stop yet. I don’t want to get healthy again, I want to live like this just a little bit more, a little bit longer. Is that bad?” Betty admitted, standing outside the en suite naked while the shower ran
“Of course it’s bad, love. Of course it is. It sounds like you’re off the deep-end and making excuses. But maybe bad is where you’re at these days. Maybe Betty Bollingbrooke is a bad girl.”
Maybe she was.
Betty stepped into the shower to get herself clean, Minnie decided to pack up her stuff and go back to Rutherford. She didn’t feel clean either.
 
Minnie got back at 8am, and walked up the stairs heavily. She’d had a lot to digest, and, for once, it wasn’t food. She was going to have to walk into Rutherford’s room and look her in the eyes and pretend that nothing happened. Like it was just another day in the office. Yesterday would have to exist in a zip file in the back of her mind out of the way. She just had to pretend that nothing had happened. She was a good girl now, a loyal girlfriend to a wonderful woman that wasn’t so much ballooning as Zeppelining under her watchful eye and Ratched-esque nursing. She had everything she wanted right here, the only thing wrong was herself. In some ways, she had a larger appetite than Rutherford. But it wasn’t so much an appetite for food these days, but an appetite for the pitch black aspects of her personality that she tried to keep under lock and key.
“Hey love, how are you holding up?” she smiled at her huge manatee with humanity.
“Alright, good. Had a nice day with Shay involving lots of whipped cream and butterscotch, y’know, nothing fancy. What about you?” Rutherford was grunting as she stretched in her bed.
“Yeah, nothing fancy either” Minnie lied, trying not to flinch as she did so.
“Wait, where’s my roly-poly thing?” Rutherford asked quizzically.
“Shit, fuck, I… I forgot. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to go get some for you? I can go right now if you like...” Minnie panicked, guilty hammering away at her MacBethian guilt.
“Hey, at ease soldier. Shay’s out getting salted caramel flapjack for me. Like, a shit-ton. I’ve got a craving, what can I say?” Rutherford smiled loosely as she scratched an itch on her belly. “When she gets back, do you wanna feed me or eat me out? Though Shay should really get first dibs given she didn’t forget the roly-poly thing. But, since she’s not here, pick one. You can’t have both.”
“No, I can’t have both.” Minnie agreed, but the words meant something else. “I’ll eat you out love, that way I can get started now”
“Y’know Minnie, you’re always there for me… oh boy. Oh, you’re keen, oh… yeah”
Minnie’s tongue attacked Rutherford with the vigour of a girl who wanted to be with the American for the rest of her life, and nothing was going to stop her.

So we have the full Minnie experience, the new kinder Leona experience and that the grotty Lionel experience, all exerting themselves on our poor heroine in different ways
Chapter 9
 
This time last year, Betty was long in bed. She’d baled nice and early to get a good night’s kip before the big start. Her skin hugged her skeleton brutally, but her hair had its dark sheen and her eyebrows were plucked and her tiny hips were so dainty and cute. She looked like an angel as she slept. Then, the following morning, she got up at 6am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a sprightly 10k to get that adrenal rush that comes from the rapid breathing of cold air in aerobic conditions. She loved to push herself beyond her limits with a seemingly unsustainable pace, and then trapped herself into maintaining it by not allowing herself the opportunity to slow down. If you remove the possibility from your mind that it’s even an option, then you give yourself no choice but to succeed. By clocking in below the 7 minute mile, 42 minute total threshold, she’d visually pictured her goal and thus she attained it. This hurtling pace also gave her time to have a shower to get that glistening body clean, and then dry her slender shell down before exalting her spectacular facial features with a smattering of make-up. She ran her hair through her hair-straighteners and she got her crease-free uniform of blouse, suit jacket, tights and a pencil skirt. She brushed her teeth, smiled at herself in the mirror and that strolled to work with a spring in her step, nice and early and ready to attack the day.
But Betty was still awake this time this year, drunk, just in her bra and knickers, and having a food party with Minnie at 1am. She’d been buoyed by the vodka shots that Minnie had sportingly provided for her, which muffled any nagging concerns about right and wrong. She was greedily wolfing down a 6 pack of British-style jammy doughnuts, covering her fingers with sugar and her mouth with jam. And then Minnie reached into the cupboard and pulled out a salted caramel chocolate cake, like a magician might a rabbit out of a hat. There was always one of these lying around in the household of the Musketeers, they were considered a staple food and a firm favourite of the gastronomic juggernaut from the US that was sleeping upstairs.
Putting the last doughnut in her mouth and then wiping her sugar-coated hands on her bare stomach, Betty spotted Minnie as she brought over the Bunyanesque baked showstopper and protested with her finger since her mouth was already full.
“Hey, hey, don’t argue. You promised me” Minnie said, talking down to the teacher with a patronising infliction usually reserved for people in their first or second childhood. “You want to disobey me and wear size 10, you’ve got to fill it. It’s workwear, not curtains so they need to fit properly, so in order to fill your clothes, you need to fill your face”
She sat facing forward on the young teacher’s knee and fed her the first slice, barely giving her time to breathe as she pushed more morsels before Betty had bested the last. She eventually gasped for air as the second one was pushed at her mouth for her to eat, and she relented and fed her this one too. Betty pulled her head away in objection after the second and begged for Minnie to stop.
“Hey, we’re not stopping. You can just take that thought out of your mind. Stopping is not on the table, love. We’re going to continue eating until there is nowt left of this cake and pretending that you have the opportunity to stop will just make it harder for yourself. Okay?” Minnie asked rhetorically, before grabbing slice number three.
Slice number four took her to only a third of the way through and Betty was struggling. Minnie was relentless though, the bit was between her teeth to ensure that cake was between Betty’s teeth, and she pushed this calorie bomb at her with vindictive abandon. Chocolate and caramel and cream were smeared across her face and dripping down down her measly chest and across to her engorged stomach.
“Don’t slow down now love. You’re doing reet well. Just keep it up” Minnie encouraged and Betty, drunk on both food and drink now, just nodded.
Slice five was hard work for Betty though, she kept chewing the cake but she just couldn’t seem to swallow it. It just stayed stuck in her mouth, spinning round like clothes in a washing machine. For some reason she couldn’t get in down past her uvula to swallow. And while she got there eventually, Minnie realised that Betty was reaching the limits of her capacity. But Minnie was an an expert feeder these days and thought of limits as something to be overcome. She was like a personal trainer always insisting on one further set of reps beyond your uppermost limit. Betty was going to need some of her feeder experience and motivation.
“When I feed you this next slice, slice number 6 by the way so that will take us halfway, when I feed you this slice of cake, I want you to think of Lionel. Yeah love, I know about Lionel. Leona told me all about that bastard. I want you to think of him, right? What he’d think of you if he saw this…” Minnie said, dragging her sharp and shockingly cold nail down Betty’s swollen abdomen. “I want you to picture his disgust, his revulsion at how far you’ve let yourself go, how much you’ve grown beyond him. Picture that and this slice will go down a lot easier than the last”
And it did go easier than the last. Betty had the idea fixed in her sloshy mind of growing beyond him and dug deeper as she dug in. Her methodology became more mechanical as she adopted the Skinny meal technique of steady but relentless pacing. Chew, chew, chew and swallow. Over and over again, the metronomic regularity propelling her forward like wind in her sails. Six went down quickly, and seven followed suit at the same pace. Her eyes became fixed, staring but not seeing as she diverted all of her resources to consuming the cake before her.
Next went slice eight, the sticky and messy treat falling like the Marie Rose as she ploughed with fading force. Her head started tilting now as her surpassed limits were taking their toll. Minnie wasn’t sure if Betty was going to make it or not as she gently turned the ninth slice towards her tiring mouth. After this, she would only have a quarter left, but her pace was tailing off now and Minnie needed to do something. One more pep talk, one more burst of motivation. Minnie had one more card to play.
“You feed yourself now, my love, I’ve got some feeding of my own to do. You’ve earned this” and Betty took herself off Betty’s knee and used those cold hands of hers to reach towards Betty’s knickers, she dragged them down to her knees and took her face down to where the knickers were. And then, despite the dense foliage that surrounded it, she face-first nosedived towards Betty’s vagina to lick her out.
Her tongue stroked her with the same rigorous pace that Betty was now eating at, only stopping occasionally to throw her head back in pleasure. Slice nine was done and now Betty was squirming. Picking up the slices herself meant her hands were now getting as caked in cake as her over-bloated stomach, but she gritted and grunted as slice ten was dealt with.
With her head still between Betty’s legs, she reached out with her right hand started scratching down the side of Betty’s aching stomach, her nails cutting into her ghostly skin. Slice eleven was eaten and Betty was practically rocking in her seat as she approached her climax. She was racing to that point to quickly and she was never going to finish upstairs before she finished downstairs so she grabbed the final hefty slice and just crammed the entire thing in her mouth, with crumbly scree and dollops of chocolate and cream tumbling as she crammed crumbs of cake into her cakehole, barely able to chew with her mouth so full but grunting and gasping as she finally erupted in pleasure.
Minnie walked out the room to leave the stuffed manatee of a teacher sighing whilst craning her neck back in relief and swallowing the last remnants of that 4000 calorie dessert while her knickers were still round her knees, knowing that was a job well done. It was 5am, and Betty pretty much fell straight asleep there and then, in that same undignified pose.
 
And Leona walked in on the sleeping Betty in that same undignified pose just one hour later. She didn’t know where to avert her eyes, with Betty spread-eagled and naked and doused in decadent deliciousness. She kept her eyes away from Betty’s prize as best she could and just threw the size 10 clothes that were on a pile on the floor over her friend. Betty was completely out cold and didn’t even stir as they hit her, so Leona decided to let her catch up on a little more sleep. Minnie can have that effect on people.
She wouldn’t be able to have long though, they would have to be at work in several hours, and Betty had four months of self-neglect to remedy, to restore the girl to her pulchritudinous best. But she would, like Leona herself, also need breakfast. So, breakfast was what Leona would have knocked up for the duo while Betty continued with her forty wink catching.
Breakfast was typically a hearty affair in the Musketeer’s household, since it was practically a hotel for the morbidly obese these days, and Leona had no intention of bucking this trend for her first day back at the university. And she thought some breakfast up should be rustled up for her friend and colleague, who was clearly in a bad place. And what a breakfast it would be.
See, she had an ongoing joke with Wiktoria about whether a cooked breakfast fry-up was “a Full English” or a “Continental breakfast” since these things seemed so diametrically opposed. So the conclusion that they came to while on their holibobs during their time in the South of France, was that it should only be called a continental breakfast if it was a Full English and also if it was served alongisde croissants and pains au chocolat. That way it was English and Continental. And that was exactly what breakfast was going to be.
Except, and here’s the thing, Leona can’t cook. Not really, never could. Sure, she could microwave and she could order takeout. Hell, pasta dishes were usually fine and heating curry sauces with rice was usually fine, but anything that ran the risk of being burnt or underdone, and Leona left it to the experts. And they don’t come more expert than her paramour, Wiktoria.
And this isn’t simply because she is ex-pert, though her ass has made the journey from pert and tight and downright Lilliputian through relentless exercise and healthy living, to the Brobdingnagian bulges they were now. She was also a spectacular cook who was at her second happiest in the kitchen (she was at her happiest in her bed, with her lover and her dinner), and Leona had summoned her to help prepare the pre-work breakfast. Leona really needed the excuse to not be left alone with Betty. No matter how slobby she seemed, she kept quietly clawing at Leona’s conflicted heart. So she asked Wiktoria if she could come down and make breakfast for the two of them, to safeguard herself from untoward behaviour by keeping her actual girlfriend nearby.
Wiktoria was down five minutes later, huffing and puffing as she navigated the stairs. She, like Leona, had not slimmed down over the long summer holiday but rather she ended up throwing caution to the wind and portions down her stomach to continue barrelling beyond barrel shaped. She walked into the kitchen where Leona met her with a generous kiss.
“That was very nice, this is why I like making breakfast for you” Wiktoria she said with a smile, before noticing the lightly snoring teacher on the couch. It would have shocked the average person to recognise their delicately dainty teacher all mushed out and with her only clothing wrapped around her knees. But Wiktoria was familiar with what rapid weight gain looked like, first and second-hand, and she was familiar with what Minnie was capable of doing to a person, though thankfully only second-hand. She also had no idea that her and Leona had ever shagged one another and it didn’t cross her mind to be jealous or suspicious about Leona’s feelings.
“Thanks babe for this, I’ll have to make this up to you” Leona said with a friendly smirk.
“Sex?”
“Speedway, it’s on Eurosport tonight”
“Wow, really!” Wiktoria said with a big smile. At an earlier weight, she would have jumped up and down giddily at the offer, but these days a simple girly clap of excitement would do. “And then sex?”
“You have yourself a deal, Ms. Radwanska” and she sealed the deal with another kiss.
Leona stood in front of a mirror fixing her hair while Wiktoria got to work, getting food sizzling and the oven warming up as she multi-tasked magnificently in the warmth of the kitchen. She wasn’t as quick to get about the kitchen these days, her stupendous size causing her to find even slow movement a labour. But with the incentive of cooking up a storm, she didn’t mind the physical exertion of getting about.
By the time Wiktoria had done her three breakfasts, one for each of the downstairs girls, Leona had fully readied herself for the day ahead. Her make-up was applied to bring shapes, colours and contrasts to her already beautiful face and her hair had rarely looked more lustrous. She couldn’t do much about her size however, she was an absolute unit and there were very few fashion choices that could draw attention from that, but her trousers and florid blouse combination was at least colour coordinated and smart.
Wiktoria hadn’t put that same amount of effort into her appearance yet, but she was still a pretty girl. The elfin cut that she started last year with was now hair that poured gently beyond her shoulders and down her back. Her face wasn’t made up but it had a natural radiance to it, even if it was sweating a bit due to the 30 minutes in the kitchen meaning 30 minutes of standing and walking, far more than she would ever do these days. And her nightie, while obviously informal and comfortable, was pretty with its pink and white frilly design. It needed to be a large nightie, however, as Wiktoria was an immense lady these days. Every part of her body was an outward swell, mottled and stretched taut. She didn’t notice herself getting bigger these days, the only evidence that she ever spotted of her ever-expansion was the appearance of new creases and folds on her body where there weren’t previously. A waddle of fat between her bra and her armpit or the slight overhang of fat sheltering her knee. At a glance, she looked over 450lbs, and it was a glance at her immensity that Betty woke up to, upon smelling salty food.
“Oh god, what time is it? Wait, where are my...” and Betty realised her knickers were around her ankles, though she couldn’t remember why. She tried to surreptitiously sneak them up, but both Leona and Wiktoria were looking at her as she woke up.
“From the looks of it, you had a good time with Minnie last night. But playtime’s over Bollingbrooke, we’ve got to get you ready for work” Leona said with typical confidence.
“But… I’m not sure… I’m so ugly and...” Betty whimpered as all the insecurity that had been swilling around her head yesterday came crawling back up.
“Hey, my very sexy beautiful friend. You have face like an angel. We will make you clean and pretty and you will look like the Hollywood movie star, very sexy” Wiktoria said reassuringly, before going in for Wiktoria-special hug. It felt awkward for Betty to hug Wicky whilst just in her underwear, especially with her girlfriend sitting nearby too, but Wicky was a hugger and so Betty good a-hugged, wrapping her branch-like arms around the slightly stumpy Betty. “But first we have very brilliant breakfast for you”
It was a very brilliant breakfast for them and all. Wiktoria didn’t serve up on a simple plate, that was insufficient to satiate a Musketeer. No, it was served on a platter bowl for each, and the platter bowl was loaded enough that it couldn’t be seen through all the food piled atop it. It was a mish-mash of breakfast goodies, from the fry-up foods of eggs, bacon, sausages, hash browns, blood pudding, beans, omelettes, mushrooms, fried tomato (though not for Betty, she famously couldn’t stand tomatoes), spam, blocks of cheese, ham, fried potatos and chips. Then there was slices of toast, heavily buttered and then further topped with peanut butter for that cholesterol finish. Then came the French inspired triumvirate of two pains au chocolat, two pains au raisin and two croissants, along with three slices of brioche to mop some of the fried stuff up. And finally, in the corner of the platter bowl, two muffins, two cream cakes and two US style donuts for a sweet finish. It was essentially the Skinny meal of breakfasts.
It took them over an hour to eat, and Betty over an hour and a half given that she still could feel the cake from yesterday in her stomach. After the other two girls finished their respective colossal servings, they chipped in with Betty’s to help her out. She didn’t have the appetite of these two and they needed to chivvy her along since it was going to take more than twenty minutes for her to shower herself clean, sort her hair and make-up and then make sure her clothes suited her. They rifled through the remains of her dinner while she took her bloated self up to use their shower and see if should rescue her appearance.
The hot water hit her like a tidal wave of warm relief. The plumbing was better in this property and the boiler didn’t take as long to warm up the water, a feature of her own that had contributed to her avoiding hygiene so severely. She spent an age on her hair, trying to shower and condition all the bedded in grease that she had allowed to fester. Washing the rest of herself was difficult also, but for a very different reason. It meant confronting her weight gain. She had to wash bits of her body that she didn’t previously have. Actual breasts, an actual tummy, actual thighs, an actual arse. Her stomach packed like a tin of sardines and hurt to touch, but her arse wasn’t nearly so packed. It seemed to be bigger than it needed to be, over-accommodating the density of it, giving it a soft and slightly saggy feel.
Once washed, it was her face that she had to deal with. Her eyebrows had merged into a caterpillar across the top of her eyes, with monobrows not uncommon on dark haired girls. The slight dark hair on her top lip also needed ridding, and then she could start with the make-up.
She was never normally a heavy applier of the stuff. She felt more comfortable without it but didn’t have the confidence to follow that comfort through. However, she needed a fair bit of it today. Firstly, a wodge of it was required just to downplay the raging storm of spots that had become a fixture on her milky face. Then, contouring to underplay the new softness of her cheeks and allude to the angular cheekbones that had previously defined her look. Also, a stronger shade of red for lip stick and a lot of work done around the eyes to misdirect from the tiredness that encompassed them. And finally that was done. She looked in the mirror again and felt her heart bounce a little. She looked pretty again and a little more like her old self.
She walked back downstairs with a towel around her to grab her clothes as Wiktoria and Leona continued ploughing through Betty’s serving of breakfast. My word were they troopers when it came to eating. Betty just hoped that this breakfast was exceptional and not some sort of morning norm. They were seriously large girls now and surely their habits were not sustainable. Betty of course didn’t pry, out of courtesy and respect, but a shard of worry plunged sharply into her heart as she saw the girls continue to rip through the food like it was the end of Ramadan.
“Betz, just a thought, maybe wear the Spanx too” Leona said with a mouth full of beans and brioche.
“But I want to look big, don’t I? To put off Lionel?” Betty asked unsurely.
“Yes, but try it with the Spanx first. If he makes a pass at you, next time, try it without. You might have already reached his cut-off point” Leona said, scarfing sausage and egg now.
Betty wasn’t sure about this. She might be big enough already, even with the Spanx? Had she managed to over-shoot? In all honesty, nobody knew, so it stood to reason to try the slimline look first in case that is still too much for him, and then upsize if it fails. But, while logical, it did seem slightly insulting to Betty, suggesting that she might already be too fat. Surely she was only curvy now? Or had she missed curvy earlier, and gone sailing past it without taking the time to truly appreciate it? Or was her build, and her flat-chestedness, preventing her from ever being curvy and it was inevitable that not being thin would mean she was fat? Either way, Spanx and the size 10 clothing that she looked at yesterday. She grabbed the clothes and went into an empty room to put it on. The Spanx was a new experience, and a deeply unpleasant one. With her stomach over-capacity already, it seemed brutishly painful where she was most tender. But when she put on the rest of her clothes, she saw its benefits.
First benefit was that her blouse buttoned without much difficulty. Which shouldn’t have been a benefit except it seemed that there would have been difficulty otherwise. Maybe it was just the bloating, but it shocked Betty to discover that the size 10 blouse was far from loose even with the shapewear underneath. The other benefit became apparent once the tights and skirt went on, because she looked drop-dead gorgeous all made up, dressed up and trussed up. The squashing of her waist made it look like her hips flared out, giving her the shape she craved. And the total look was one of a bombshell. She walked back into the living room to show the two girls, who were still at breakfast. Beaming and bright, her face was a lighthouse as she twizzled to demonstrate her form to the other two, who just stared agog. Their mouths were agape and, for the time being, not because they were eating.
“Fuck me, Betz, you look stunning!” Leona exclaimed in wonder. Wicky gave Leona a little side-eye at the sheer volume of admiration and appreciation for Betty’s appearance from her lover.
“Yes, I told you Betty, you look very stunning. You look like a painting of a very pretty lady” Wiktoria said, before aiming the next compliment to rile her girlfriend after her lustful stares at Betty. “You are much prettier than Leona”
And all the girls laughed in shock and amusement as Betty blushed at the compliments that were being hurled their way. And in such good spirits, Betty sat down next to her friends and went back at her breakfast, taking the muffins, the cream cakes and the donuts off of them in assistance.
They took a taxi to the university, and discussed the day ahead while it took them there. And after extolling the virtues of that virtuoso breakfast that Wiktoria created out of thin air, Betty made a really good point about the Skinny meal diet she was on.
“How can I have two Skinny meals a day while I’m working? I can’t have one during my lunch hour, they take more than an hour to eat!”
“Easy, have one for breakfast and one in the evening. Maybe just have a McDonald’s for lunch to tide you over. Order two in the evenings and just have one of them in the morning instead. No problem Betz, stop making excuses” Leona teased.
Two Skinny meals and a McDonald’s in one day though. That sounded like Stage 2.5, a halfway house between where she was and where she wanted to be. Honestly, given the amount of snacking she’d been doing between the two Skinny meals already, she was probably at this Stage 2.5 anyway. But if she was ever to manage three of them in one day, this seemed like a sensible basecamp upon which to mount an assault. So she could start the new term with a plan of action going forward and Betty had never felt so positive about the future.
 
“Looking good, Bollingbrooke” Lionel smirked in his oily way as she walked into the office for the meeting, immediately neutralising all that positivity and whiplashing Betty’s confidence back down. Leona could see her shoulders shrink back as the fetid, foul fumes of lust poured from each pore of the unkempt pervert leading the meeting.
His eye had been drawn to her as soon as she stepped into the room. She had been his favourite piece of totty for a while now, to lick his lips lasciviously over, ever since the previously divine looking Leona had swollen into a goddamn blob. He hated her for that, the stinking whore, for taking away all of her beauty so spitefully because she couldn’t help keep herself away from second servings, the lardy cow.
It was this contrast that was the catalyst of lust for him. When Leona waddled into the room, you could see the disgust on Lionel’s face, every wrinkle of his leathery expression souring with arrogant disappointment. And the comparison between better-than-ever Betty and larger-than-ever Leona made him drool after the younger teacher all the more. Her hips swayed like they were from the 1950’s and her eyes sparkled with a newfound confidence. She was almost a caricature of beauty, and Lionel couldn’t help himself and mention this fact. It deflated her immediately.
Not in terms of size though, Lionel couldn’t help but notice. She had been eating well over the holidays too, her thighs looked more substantial and her hips had more to hang onto. It suited her, he thought, she was always pretty but she was so thin before that it did her no harm. As long as this was the end of it, and not the start of a trend like last time with Leona. Fucking bitch, getting fat, the lazy fucker.
Betty was dazed after that comment from him. That was all it took to knock her off-kilter for the rest of the meeting. Every glance from him in her direction triggered her, the PTSD of abusive or harassing men in her life meant it didn’t take much to put her back in those dark places, vividly remembering those dark traumas. She tried to hide it the usual way, behind glowy charm and happy-go-lucky friendliness, but another crack had ruptured across her soul when he said that simple turn of phrase.
“Ms. Bollingbrooke? Have you uploaded your slides onto the University intranet yet?” Lionel sleazed. Betty hadn’t even done most of the slides, she’d been putting it off all summer and never gotten around to it. She was months behind in the work that she was supposed to be doing to get her classes ready for the coming year. She’d clean forgot, after all that had been going on in her life, in her stomach and in her emotional state, that she should have been panicking about this. It had been put on the back-burner, what with her clothing crisis, and she had walked to the meeting forgetting to be terrified of recriminations for essentially not doing her job. But, because she had forgotten about this until he mentioned it, and because her mind wasn’t in a good place all of a sudden, she didn’t care about the answer she threw back at him.
“Yeah, all done” she lied, with a poker face so straight that it can only come from apathy. She didn’t care if he’d find out and check, she just wanted to leave the room right now and couldn’t think about anything else. As it happened, he had no intention of checking, he was terrible at that sort of administrative aspect of his job. He thought that a job was only worth doing if it couldn’t be blagged and figured that simply by asking the question, he had fulfilled his role. And that was fine with Betty too, who asked to excuse herself from the room for a minute, before walking out to catch her breath. She sat down on the sofa in the corridor and tried to regain her composure, but her head kept spinning.
Screw it, she thought eventually, I’m not going back in there. So she decided to take Leona’s advice and she took a trip to McDonald’s while the rest of the teachers plotted and cross-referenced for the forthcoming terms. They were discussing plans and going over budgets, and Betty was looking at the menu to work out what to buy. They were wondering where Betty had gotten to and she was ordering two large Big Macs, a large fries, a large chocolate milkshake and a large McFlurry. Leona was defending her by suggesting maybe ‘lady troubles’ and Betty was gorging on fast food and accidentally spilling ketchup on her dress. She wiped it off with her finger and hoped nobody would notice.
By the time she’d finished and returned to the university, they were all filing out the room. Lionel was eagle-eyed and searching around for her as she came round the corner looking and feeling better. Before Lionel could ask where she was, Leona intervened.
“Don’t worry Betz, I told them you were having ‘lady troubles’” Leona hollered at her friend.
“Thanks Leona!” she shouted and smiled back, glad that Leona had her back. Leona then waddled to her and grabbed her by the arm and took her away from the rest of the department.
“What the fuck happened Betz? Are you okay?” Leona said, her eyes angled with concern. Betty just nodded, her throat suddenly dry as she came to explain the rush of emotions that his throwaway line had prompted in her.
“Wait, can I smell ketchup… did you ditch the meeting to have McDonald’s?” Leona asked with a smile, loving the normally whiter-than-white Betty’s derring-do to just walk off and eat while she should have been working. “Oh, I love it, Betz! You badass!”
Betty smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear, cat-like. Words still weren’t coming forth but at least the dread was easing.
“Don’t think where not going back to Maccy D’s though. You might have had your lunch, but I’ve not had mine yet. And the two girls turned back and wandered across the road to the McDonald’s there. And as Leona ordered a typically extravagant meal for her insatiable and unending appetite, Betty decided to order another McFlurry, and actually a large Big Mac and large fries. This was all prep for three Skinny meals for one day, and besides, she could stand to gain a few pounds if Lionel was still leering like he was. And the pattern was formally established, two Skinny meals a day – one for breakfast, one in the evening – and a large McDonald’s meal for lunch. Yes, this sounded like a plan. She would grow past Lionel’s desires in no time at this rate.
It helped that it broke up the mundanity having been eating only the same meal for the past three months, but the thin fries stood in pleasantly moreish contrast to their chunkier Kebabland counterpart and the sugar fix of the McFlurry scratched a sucrose itch that Betty didn’t know she had. It culminated in a relentless day of consumption that left her winded and dizzyingly bloated, but Betty resolved to establish this as her new routine, stuffing herself to and beyond the gills. And soon a new 13000-calorie a day pattern emerged, where three meals were being eaten and two of them were Skinny Meals, just in time for the kids to attend class.
 

I don't know if this is a good chapter per se, but it does at least feature my favourite ever character!
Chapter 8
 
Betty woke up with a mountainous headache and to the sight of a Skinny meal staring back at her. This was rarely a good sign.
She took a while to truly come to, and when she did, it took her a while to gather her bearings. For that can be the consequence of waking up somewhere unusual, and on the floor in your living room, underneath a takeaway, constituted as unusual in Betty’s mind. She tried to pull herself up but the movement made the hangover worse, and just made her feel sick, so she just lay there some more, just picking at the Skinny meal that she had thrown over herself like it was a blanket while she tried to summon up the will to live.
She may have dozed off again, though she wasn’t sure, but eventually she pulled herself together enough to pull herself up. She used her chair and the table as leverage for one final heave-ho before ascending to her bipedal station. The brightness of the room thanks to the light oozing in from out yonder ached her dilated pupils a little, but eventually she was righted and ready to rock’n’roll. She looked at her phone to gather then time and had seen messages from Leona.
Ah, that’s right, Leona wasn’t here. Betty knew something was missing, and that something was a 380lb goddess. The messages had been sent at midday, which was a couple of hours ago, and they were broadly positive though perhaps not glowing tributes to a meet-up that descended into a piss-up.
 
Great time yesterday, perhaps too good lol. Got a killer hangover. I told you we shouldn’t have started that second bottle. Or the third lol. Leona x
 
Hope you are okay, you were a little worse for wear when I left, just let me know when you come to so I can stop worrying. Leona x
 
Oh, and I managed my four Skinny meals btw. You’d be proud. But I really need to start cutting back. After today though, I need hangover food lol. Leona x
 
PS Never drinking again lol. Leona x
 
Betty smiled at them and hoped that the x at the end of her texts meant more than she knew they did. She hoped that the four texts were the kind of over-attentive neediness that you get when you fancy someone, but she knew it was just the kind concern of a kind colleague and friend. She had to come to terms that Leona was never going to leave Wiktoria for her, she had to move on and redirect her energies elsewhere. She knew that, but she pretended that she didn’t. She just wanted that sliver of hope, no matter how remote.
 
All good here, but very worse for wear haha. And never drinking again either haha. Betty x
 
She sent that message as she poured herself another glass of wine for that hair of the dog experience. With a headache as pounding as hers, she needed it. She wasn’t lying when she said she wouldn’t drink again, she was just joking, she convinced herself. She had a much needed swig and contemplated what this week would entail. The university year kicked into gear next week and from that point onwards it would be all hands to the deck. It was Monday today, so she had exactly one more week of respite, so she might as well make the most of it by doing nothing.
Except, she had so many things to do. Ease up on the drinking for a start, she thought as she took another gulp, though that would naturally come to an end simply by necessity when term tie started. She would have to tidy her place, it was an absolute shit-tip and she was embarrassed to have invited Leona to it. Though, that wasn’t urgent, not like the other things. She urgently needed to get formal clothing that actually fit her, ready for the academic year, and there was no two ways about that. And she urgently needed to fix herself up to. Her bedraggled bedridden state was not so bad when she was just wasting time until the new school year started, but she couldn’t go to class smelling as bad as she did, it just wasn’t appropriate. These would be the things that she would address ASAP.
Right away.
Immediately.
No excuses.
Tomorrow. She was too hungover to do any of that today.
Today, she would eat Skinny meals and drink wine.
 
Betty woke up with a mountainous headache and to the sight of a Skinny meal staring back at her. This was rarely a good sign.
This was the epiphany that she woke up to on days Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. And each day, she would remember that today would be the day that she would get her shit together. Get the clothes she needed. Take the self-care that she needed.
ASAP
Right away.
Immediately.
No excuses.
Tomorrow. She was too hungover to do any of that today.
Today, she would eat Skinny meals and drink wine.
She didn’t understand herself at times. Her rampant procrastination didn’t feel like a Betty trait, she didn’t understand why she kept putting it off. Was she in denial? Surely the fact that she was asking herself that question meant that she wasn’t. Was she depressed? It was so hard to tell, she didn’t have her sharp blade by her bedside any more, and she couldn’t say she’d missed it, but this behaviour seemed atypically apathetic from her. Was she happy? Maybe this was what happiness felt like, not being so enslaved to worries, anxieties and inhibitions, maybe she was just feeling liberated from the bone-crushing adherence to responsibility. Or was she just a lazy person now?
Surely it took more than one season for her entire personality to change, but she had to admit she was so markedly less active these days. Beds and sofas and nothing in between for the young teacher, with horizontal just feeling so much more comfortable than vertical. So maybe this was her issue, maybe she had eaten her self into a pattern of sedentary living. Maybe it wasn’t a mood thing – when she used to be happy, she was always so energetic and buzzing, and when she was sad, she was always so disciplined and driven by work ethic. So this was a new thing, maybe this was a fat thing. But either way, she knew all the things that she had to do urgently and continued not doing them.
She had taken to wearing just a dressing gown these final days before she had to go to work, throwing it over her otherwise naked carcass to cover her faded vanity. Her clothes were all dirty and all no longer fit, and she had doggedly failed to replace them, This did make the trips to Kebabland a little undignified, in just a dressing gown and crocs. The wind would whip up and she would have to fight to maintain her ever-diminishing dignity to stop herself having a Marilyn Monroe moment, only without any knickers on to conceal her clit. It also hung over her loosely so you could not tell how much she weighed while she wore it. She could be her old 30lbs lighter self or she could be 30lbs heavier and the way it hung off her made it impossible to tell.
In just a dressing gown, Betty was feeling more free and unencumbered. And this was evident in her lifestyle habits of just sleeping, eating and drinking. They say that sloth is a deadly sin, and Betty was behaving exactly as a sloth does. She continued to push the internal narrative that it was all just a final hurrah before duty and term time compelled her to get her life in order, but deep down she knew she was just scrambling for excuses at this point. She knew that she was drinking like a fish, eating like a whale and sleeping like a sloth.
But it was Sunday now, and those excuses couldn’t be made. There wasn’t a tomorrow to which she could put things off. This was it, no room for excuse-making now. She had to get up and go clothes-shopping, there was absolutely to alternative. She had to check that her shower worked and throw herself underneath it. She had to root around in the scrapyard that was her bedroom for her make-up bag and spruce herself up. She had to do these things, there were no two ways about it. She had forced herself into a position where there was no back-up, no plan b, she simply had to do it right away.
ASAP.
Immediately.
No excuses.
Later. She was too hungover to do any of it right now.
For now, she would eat Skinny meals, drink wine and maybe have a nap.
 
Betty came to from her boozy midday slumber and glanced at her phone to check the time. Hopefully it was before 4pm, because the shops would close by then since it was a Sunday. She just hoped she hadn’t overslept and given herself too little time to pick something nice and flattering for tomorrow’s work meeting. She obviously didn’t want to provoke the salacious advances of her superior, but she had a professional reputation to maintain and she couldn’t let her standards slip. Not like they had all summer. So, hopefully her phone would tell her it was before 4pm.
9pm.
Betty, still rubbing sand from her eyes and being forced into a squint by her yawn, tried to refocus on the screen to make sure that she had read that right. No, despite the blurry vision, it was definitely saying 9pm. The shops had closed for the day. They had done so 5 hours ago.
No, no, no, no, no, no! This wasn’t right! This couldn’t be happening. There was always tomorrow, there had always been a tomorrow. She’d had 120 days of having a tomorrow. And all of a sudden she didn’t have a tomorrow onto which she could defer her responsibilities. She had to face the music today, she had no option, and yet she didn’t face it at all. She was screwed. She was royally screwed. She had royally screwed up.
This couldn’t be happening. She must be wrong somehow. It must be Saturday still, or maybe she got the wrong week. Or, or, or… or nothing. There were no excuses, no alternatives, no back-up, no plan b. She had told herself this very thing this very morning. It was ruined, everything was ruined, and she had nobody to blame but herself.
Betty convulsed I distress, letting out a high-pitched shriek of defeatism. Her hands were shaking in panic and frustration. Why hadn’t she gone when she could? She bashed the table with the balls of her hands. Why did she just not do it when she had the chance? She shrieked again, more weakly again. Before curling back up on the sofa to sob.
Since she was screwed, she might as well go down in a blaze of glory. She rang Kebabland and ordered another Skinny meal, and then she challenged herself to see how much she could drink before it got there. She was already fairly tipsy but she was also mentally functioning, and she was in such a state of despair that she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to function.
3 glasses was the answer. Another 3 glasses were drunk in the half hour before her piping hot meal was delivered. It was the same courier, just her luck, as the one who delivered to her in the early afternoon, but the drunken, sniffling mess in just a loosely wrapped dressing gown meant that the fact that this was a repeat visit was the least memorable aspect of his delivery. When she opened the door, the dressing gown came undone and the poor unsuspecting courier was confronted with a full view of the transformation that Betty had undergone over the past four months. She didn’t even care enough to cover her dignity as he saw the tubby teacher reach over to grab the box. Once as skinny as a skeleton, now only as pale as one, he could see the softness of her stomach and the way it slightly pooched even standing up as she was. He saw her breasts, or the minor swells that Betty had for breasts anyway. He saw her vagina, forested with uncare. He saw her legs, malleable and wholesomely grown. Oh how he had spent so long yearning to see that woman naked and when he finally did, this is what she looked like. What the fuck had happened to the gorgeous girl who used to live at this address? She didn’t even leave him a tip.
In between the drinking and feasting that Betty had elected as a resolution to her problems, Betty was trying muster a plan of action. Because while neither of her forms of bingeing were fixing her situation, they were buying her time to think of how to get out of this hole that she had dug herself into. The repetitive cycle of wine, chips, chilli, meat ran on a loop in the background while desperate calculations ran in the foreground. Could she pull a sickie? Could she get clothes tomorrow morning before she was in? Could she wash the biggest clothes she owned and make do with that? All these thoughts being run to the background hum of wine, chips, chilli, meat. Wine, chips, chilli, meat.
But, by the time she had gotten to the end of her Hail Mary feast, she was still not a clue wiser as to what to do next. She was seriously sloshed, fantastically full and utterly out of ideas. It was near midnight as she only had one throw of the dice left. Maybe Leona Clefton-Brown would have a solution?
 
Leona was happily drifting off in the wonderful spooned embrace of her Polish lover when her phone lit up and vibrated to tell her of an incoming call. Wiktoria was snugly tied to her but deep asleep, so Leona quietly peeled herself off and picked up her phone and tip-toed as quietly and delicately out of her room as a woman of her size can. She glanced back at the Pole who sleepily repositioned herself in the bed without coming to, as she closed the door to take the call.
“Betty, what the fuck are you doing calling me at this hour?” She hissed under her breath down the phone to Betty.
“I need your help Leona, I’ve really messed up” bawled Betty back at her, her emotions completely unchecked and unmoderated.
“Are you… are you calling me drunk at midnight on the day before we start at work for the new academic year?” Leona said, startled and a little worried. This wasn’t like Betty. This wasn’t like her at all. Betty was a bastion of virtue, never knowingly reckless or ruinous. Sure, the pair had gotten drunk when the met up last week, but that was a one-off special occasion. So to be drunk-dialled by Betty suggested something worrying was up with the girl.
“Yes. I’m drunk and fat and naked and I don’t know what I’m doing” she said, mangling her verbal dexterity and tripping on her words, but managing to get them out of her mouth.
“For fuck’s sake Betty, I’m… we’ve got to get up early tomorrow, just get some sleep, I’m sure you’ll be fine in the morning.” Leona reasoned, trying to get her off the phone so she could get some sleep. It felt like cheating on Wiktoria, have this covert conversation with a girl she had before fucked, and she wanted to end the call and get back in bed with Wicky and canoodle and sleep until the morning. But Betty had other ideas.
“I can’t. I’ve got no clothes for tomorrow. I’m too fat.” Betty carried on croaking out her words in a voice hoarse from bawling.
“But what about the clothes you were going to buy this week?” Leona asked, before realising the obvious truth. “You did go and buy the clothes that you needed for the new term to start, didn’t you Betz? You’re not ringing me in the middle of the night, crying, because you couldn’t be arsed to go shopping. Tell me that’s not the case here Betz. Tell me I’m way off the mark.”
“I’m sorry Leona. I’m so sorry” Betty sobbed apologetically. Her life felt a ball of string, and somebody was pulling on one strand of it and now the whole thing was falling apart. “I know I should have done it earlier, I know that. And I don’t know why I haven’t. I’m starting to worry myself Leona. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I don’t feel like I’m me any more. I’m so scared.”
Leona calmed down for a second. She was angry, yes. Blindingly pissed off, in fact. She liked her sleep and she had a busy week on the horizon and here she was acting as a surrogate agony aunt. But she heard the hurt in Betty’s voice. The way it flaked when she said she was scared. This wasn’t just the wine talking, Betty really was in a low spot. The girl who always seemed so bubbly seemed to have burst.
“Hey, hey, don’t get worked up Betz. It’s nothing, I’m sure it’s nothing” Leona said, trying to calm her down.
“When you put on weight Leona, did you… change? Like, change how you were. As a person. Because I never used to be like this. I used to be… I don’t know, not like this. I would never be like this and now I am like this” Betty didn’t calm down but in fact carried on in the exact same emotionally raw vein.
Leona sighed. It was a fair question. Betty had, upon herself, undergone a great deal of personal upheaval, and it was all off the back of Leona’s sketchy advice. And Leona had gone through the weight gain crisis herself. She remembered crying on the toilet with her knickers round her ankles for climbing to half the weight she was now. She’d gone through this herself, and owed Betty some empathy.
“It was tough at times, Betz. Like, you have this idea of yourself, and it shakes you when the idea stays the same but you change. But it gets better. It does. You have to own it. But it wasn’t the weight that made me change. It was the people. It was Minnie, for better or for worse, and it was Wicky, who has turned my life around and made me happier than I thought possible. And it was you Betty. I couldn’t have done it without you. You made me feel like a good person, and so I tried to be a better person because of that. Kebab meat won’t change who you are, but your friends might. So I’m here for you Betty, whatever you need.”
Betty sobbed the most sincere thank you she had ever sobbed. From the deepest darkest recesses of the furthest corner on the most distant ventricle of her heart, she thanked Leona for those words. The balm that trickled out Leona’s mouth, down the phone and into Betty’s ear, a catholicon for the ailing girl.
“Whatever I need?” Betty whispered sweetly.
“Whatever you need Betz. Whatever you need.”
“I need clothes.”
 
Betty wrapped the dressing gown round her as tightly as she could as she called the cab to get from hers to Leona’s. She shuffled her crocs onto her feet and waited outside in her front garden for her taxi to arrive.
She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol hammering her coordination and balance, or more prosaic car-sickness, but the car journey was excruciating for a girl in her tender state. The car carelessly careened and careered to the house of The Musketeers, but at least the abandonment of his driving meant that she got there quickly enough. And she clumsily stumbled out of the vehicle, thanked and paid the driver, and doddered to the door. Before she could knock, Leona opened it and gestured for Betty to keep the volume down.
She was guided into the house by Leona and sat disoriented and despondent on one of the four two-seater sofas that their living area now had. Leona felt awfully guilty that she was being deceitful by sneaking a girl who was drunk and dressed in just a gown, that she’d had sex with, while her girlfriend was lying asleep and oblivious upstairs. But she had to be a good friend to Betty, the poor girl deserved that.
“So, I’ve brought you some of my old clothes here. I’ve never thrown them out, it would feel to much like admitting I’m going to be fat forever. I’ve got no idea what size you are, but there are some 8’s, some 10’s, some 12’s and some 14’s. Like I say, I had no idea so I thought I’d bring you a range of options. And Betsy mouthed a weak thank you to Leona as a pile of clothing was dumped in front of her. It was all fashionable stuff, the trendy Greta Garbo garbs with power suits and matching trousers or more flowing drapery depending on if her mood was feminine or feminist.
Betty looked at the pile with an open face, still soggy with tears, at the array of clothing options that she had been generously afforded by her best friend. She picked up a size 10 skirt and blouse combination that loosely mirrored her pencil skirt look. But before she needed knickers, since she didn’t have any of these. So Leona turned around so Betty could put some on. She didn’t want the awkwardness of seeing Betty’s muff in the buff.
Unfortunately, Minnie came down the stairs just as Betty pulled off her dressing gown to reveal herself in just a bra and no panties. Walking down the stairs, she was met with a vision of Betty in all of her inglory, and regardless of the inappropriate dress code, she rushed down the stairs and pushed her lardy body against Betty’s in a hug. The hug lasted awkwardly long as Minnie’s hands dug sharply into Betty’s moonlight skin and her leg slid up and down the inside of Betty’s to create the warm frisson of friction. Betty silently gasped and tried to pull away, and Minnie licked the side of her face as she did so.
This hullabaloo turned Leona around, who had been trying not to stare, and now she was confronted with the nearly fully naked form of the best friend she had once fucked.
“Sorry Minnie, did we wake you?” Betty asked, quickly yanking the knickers up to conceal a portion of her dignity, whilst wobbling with poor balance.
“No Betz, I messaged her to come down. Remember when I told you about that time I cried about my weight while I was on the loo. Well, it was Minnie who came to my rescue, and I thought maybe she’d do the same for you”
Betty’s tears welled up at the kind gesture. Minnie just smiled with menacing glee, before turning to Leona.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got her now. You can go back up with your lover-girl, and I’ll take care of her” Minnie said, before darting in for a snog with her ex. Leona pulled away sharply, with the lip that Minnie was biting pulling away slowly thanks to her dental grip.
“Not cool Minnie!” Leona lambasted with rare fury, before regaining composure and going off to bed. “But thanks for taking care of her Minnie”
 
All alone, Minnie redirected her eyes on the young teacher, who had taken her dressing gown off again and was sorting through the pile of clothes to see what she could wear as a jacket with the skirt and blouse that she had already chosen. Bending over to peruse, Minnie took a keen look at the small slab of roll that tended forwards under the pull of gravity.
“Hey Betz, you look good.”
Betty recoiled, as if knocked out of a daze. Her processes weren’t fully functioning and she had become so absorbed in her clothes hunt that she had forgotten about Minnie already.
“I don’t though, I look fat and ugly” she sulked.
Minnie strolled behind her and pressed herself back against Betty. She reached around in a hug to grab the minor mound of mass that coated her stomach, her cold sharp hands caressing it.
“This isn’t ugly, this...” Minnie gripped her tummy more fiercely, her nails digging into Betty’s flesh. “I like this a lot.”
She felt Betty twitch at this as she breathed heavily on her shoulder, before sinking her teeth into her lower neck.
“Minnie, I… I need to get changed. I have work in...” Betty gasped, her focus wandering towards the synaptic sensations that Minnie was inflicting on the teacher.
“I know, I know, 8 hours” Minnie said breathily. “So, maybe grab a size 8 and see how it fits?”
“I don’t think I’m a size 8 anymore Minnie, I was going to try the 10.” Betty lightly protested.
“Weren’t you a size 0 or 2 a couple of months ago, love? I’m sure it’ll be reet. Put it on and we’ll have us a looksie, what’s the worse that can happen?” Minnie said, her voice as sweet as nectar but her intentions as dark as squid ink.
Betty didn’t realise the sinister intentions of the Machiavellian Minnie and obliged. She grabbed a size 8 pair of pin-stripe work trousers and a blouse to go with them. She shoved her right arm in the matching blouse sleeve and immediately sensed danger at the tightness it imposed on her softened bicep. Putting her other arm in required a grunt of effort, but despite the shirt’s back being unpleased with the demands placed upon it, she got it through. The buttons were going to be the tough bit, and Betty decided enough was enough and to try the larger size without doing them up. Minnie intervened there with a quiet assertiveness, and by running her nail down the bloated stomach of the gasping teacher.
“Don’t worry, love. I’ll do this for you. Just breathe in and I’ll do the rest” and she stretched the material to draw the buttons closer to their respective holes while Betty sucked her stomach inwards, before doing each one up with a bit of difficulty. “There you go love. See? Fits just dandy”
It didn’t fit just dandy at all, it was suffocating on Betty, The buttons being torn against by the finite nature of the blouse’s material, leaving holes of pale skin visible in the curled up bits between the buttons.
“Now the trousers, love. Come on, let’s help you put them on.”
They climbed up her lower leg easily enough, but each thigh felt resistance as the trousers were pulled up to the waist, before Minnie helped Betty squeeze them over her squashable bum. Then, they had to tie the trousers up, and this would prove to be the boss level in terms of difficulty. The button was inches apart and looked cut adrift from the hole in which it is supposed to be tethered. But Minnie fixed on it and was undeterred, even if Betty was finding the whole incident humiliating. She venomously yanked the button and hole together while Betty squealed an intake of breath, sucking in as far as she could while Betty fought against the material’s resistance. Toiling furiously, she hooked the button through the hole just as Betty was about to give up and breath out. When she did breathe out, her stomach’s skin flooded over the waistband like fresh bread, a sandwiched muffintop between the blouse and the trousers.
Minnie took a step back to admire her handiwork, and bit her lip at the sight presented before her. Betty looked like a woman in child’s clothing, oversized and chubby. And as Minnie stepped back, Betty took a good look at the siren before her. She was a big girl alright, her tummy jutting out like the bus at the end of the Italian Job in her slinky nightwear, her arms thick and meaty, her whale thighs blubbery and broad in the men’s boxers that spared the blushes of her lower half. But she was still gorgeous, those mesmeric emerald eyes that hawked into the back of your skull and that black hair surging down her back in a long straightened waterfall of glistening tar. And, despite her impressive size, was the young girl looking slimmer than the massively bloated student she remembered from the end of term last year?
“Hey Minnie, have you lost weight?” Betty said, dizzy from the alcohol and the minor oxygen starvation from the cripplingly tight clothing.
“I think so, but it’s so hard to tell when there’s so much of me, y’know. But I’ve been trying to get my life right on track over the summer. Every time I get that self-destructive itch, Rutherford eats self-destructively for me and I just feed and live vicariously through that. It’s how she’s managed to get so big so quickly.”
Betty dreaded to think how big Minnie meant.
“That said, I’m the only one who can use the scales these days so I guess I must have lost weight. They max out, y’see, at 250lbs and I’m down to 240lbs. I’m the only one here who has a clue how much they weigh” she aggressively giggled. “I know, let’s see if I’ve lost any more, the scales are down here I think”
She pulled the scales out from under one of the settees, and stood on it. The needle wiggled its way to the number 232.
“232lbs Betty! I’ve lost even more! You impressed?” Minnie said, her eyes lighting up as she did a flirtatious swizzle. “What about you, let’s see your progress?”
Betty reluctantly stepped on the machine to see the damage. And the needle told her 145lbs. Betty came again from behind and rested her chin on Betty’s shoulder to have a look.
“Hey girl, well done. Oh my how you’ve grown” Minnie said, her devilish grin not dissipating for one second.
“Am I too big?” Betty asked insecurely.
“Fuck off love, you’re not big enough. Nowhere fucking close. You’ve got so much potential though, you just need to… fill it. I just need to… get my teeth into you”
But Betty blanked this blatant come-on and flusteredly flapping at her fall from grace. She felt a wave of humiliation as she stood there with her midriff bubbling out to the side in the pale white gap between her blouse and trousers. Her stifled breath, her painful chest, all from wearing clothes that were embarrassingly small. She needed to get out of them, she should have just ignored Minnie and stuck to the plan. Just put on the size 10’s.
“Why are you taking it off?” Minnie said quite sharply, as Betty did her best to detach herself from her clothing constraints.
“I’m sorry Minnie, I’m just too fat for it. I need to wear the size 10’s, I can’t wear this, I look ridiculous. I’m so sorry” she said, upset, panicked but still polite.
“Ugh, fine...” Minnie sighed passive-aggressively. “But on one condition”
“Uh, yeah sure, what?” Betty said innocently.
“If you want to wear a larger size, you have to prove to me that you’re a larger girl with a larger appetite. So, before you go…” Minnie said harshly, before softening. “Do you fancy a bite to eat?”
“I’m sorry Minnie, I’d love to. But it’s 1am and Leona’s right, I need to get back, shower, and sort myself out for tomorrow”
“Oh come on...” she said, leaning into her ear and running her sharp finger nails down her neck. “One bite won’t hurt...”

Chapter 7
 
“Wow” they both said in unison as the were confronted with the image of the other. But while Leona reeled back to take a better and more complete look at the traditionally immaculate Betty Bollingbrooke, Betty pounced on her colleague with typically ebullient affection and did her damnedest to wrap her arms around the almighty Leona. And while there was however too much Leona to truly encompass her with her arms, Betty hugged her with warmth and purity regardless, resting her head on the bigger girl’s bosom like a child might its mother’s.
“Wow, missed me much Betz?” Leona chuckled as Betty flooded her with affectionate contact.
“Oh my god, I’ve missed you soooo much!” Betty said, finally relinquishing her grip on her colleague and allowing to take a further step back to get a proper look at the changes that Betty had inflicted upon her self over the Summer holidays. And this gave Betty a chance to ogle back what she had previously only been able to ogle on the screen of her phone.
Leona looked at Betty and tried to reconcile the image put in front of her with the one her memory stored of the straight-backed, pencil-thin and flawlessly presented younger teacher. Her bed hair was a work of art, like an Emin installation or a Lynchian nightmare, showing very little acknowledgement of order, shape or indeed gravity. Below the Unmade Bed of hair, was Betty’s unmade face. Leona had never seen Betty without precise eye pencil marks and light foundation, and the contrast with that perfectly attended Before image and the zitty and blotchy After image was startling. Her tatty and tattered old white vest was also unlike anything Leona had ever seen Betty adorn on her dainty body. The two girls mainly hung out at work where Betty dressed sharply in straight lines and sombre colours that gave her tiny body shape and purpose. Contrastingly, the loose at the top and tight round the midriff white vest looked like something Phil Mitchell might wear, and had last night’s Skinny Meal victim staining it. And yes, it was tight around the midriff. The size 6 vest was designed for people without a splodge of pudge below the ribbed rib ridge, whereas this cuddled her contained wobble like Betty had cuddled Leona earlier. It was only a tummy that Betty now sported, absolutely nothing more, but it was also still a tummy and size 6 tops are no friend of a tummy, despite how tightly it hugs them. Further down, the tracksuit bottoms were marked deviation from the angry angles of the pencil skirts that Leona had only ever seen her in. Without their tight wraparound grip, her bottom half looked softer and less shaped, taking her lower-half look from starving starling to chunky chicken. All in all, Leona was losing a battle to hide her mixed feelings in the deterioration of Betty Bollingbrooke’s body.
Though she had plenty of places to hide her feelings, as Betty was able to see herself. Because despite being draped in a really trendy summer dress, and wearing a stylish matching summer hat, the main takeaway from seeing Leona was that she had still loved takeaways, and had thus continued to grow. Her chins could not be hidden, even if she was looking up in her fabled aloof expression you could see the crease folds in her neck that would turn into additional chinage when looking down. It wasn’t just facially that the evolution of Leona’s size could be witnessed, the width of her arms were now like Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson’s but with squish instead of muscle. Her breasts were magnificent beasts that strode out from her chest and pulled down on the dress she was wearing. Beneath that, her stomach was a goliath of globular growth, straining against every direction. But it was her bottom half that took the biscuit – something Leona was prone to doing also. The width of her hips were of mind-boggling jiggling that swept wide like a vista and her jellied arse behind them were a feat of wobbling wonder. Her thighs, clearly seen under the too short dress, had ripples of fat in them now, and even her cow-like calves bulged with an atrocity of adiposity. All in all, Leona looked the almighty 378lbs that she was, though she was wholly oblivious to the number since she hadn’t weighed herself for the past 130lbs.
“Sorry, you can come in” Betty said nervously, gauging the response from Leona and fearing the worst.
“You seem awfully confident about that” Leona laughed, squeezing her magnificent width through the tight and narrow doorframe, with the wood panels from the old terraced house brushing gently on her side.
“You look amazing Leona. Really. Oh, take the sofa, I’ll grab a chair to sit” she unsubtly ogled Leona’s magnificent form, whilst signalling for Leona to sit on the one sofa in the house.
“Thanks” Leona replied, grunting as she lowered herself down on it, making a sterling effort at filling the two-seater with all of her plenty.
“So, how was the continent?” Betty asked politely despite wanting to shift the conversation onto… ahem… weightier matters.
“Oh, beautiful. We had a great time. Wonderful weather, great food, great students. Me and Wicky considered it paradise, I’m sad to be back.” Leona extolled with her eyes shut in fond remembrance, before laughing as she realised how that comment could be taken. “No offense!”
“Sounds delightful.” Betty politely replied, not so impolite as to probe about the great food comment. Betty was a courteous conversational collaborator and would always defer her own interests to appease the people she was talking to. Some would call it sycophantic, others submissive, but her intention was always only to just be a nice person.
“Talking of great food, I see you’ve been busy” Leona was unsure what to make of Betty’s weight gain and general loss of beauty. Betty had dragged a chair in over the messy floor of the living room and sat down, and the deathly tight vest, that was purposed to cover her form, revealed a little pooch as she sat down. It was a foreign intrusion on Betty’s body, like an additional appendage alien to Leona’s perception of her good friend, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
Her first instinct was one of schadenfreude glee. Back before Betty began this journey towards jiggledom, Leona had only encouraged her down this path out of envy for that sticklike figure and cutesy beauty, and this ramshackle ruination was everything her envy desired. She was irritated by Betty’s positivity and perfection, and jealousy had lead her to the selfish suggestion of maybe filling out a bit. Her confidence, which was her pride and joy, had been dented by her own growth and the unenviable comparison between the two women silently upset her. She had gotten to the point where she was so overencumbered with the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meet it feeds on, that she whispered about the Free Hit philosophy Iago-like into Betty’s ears. Leona had caused this, to feel better about herself.
So then the guilt hit her next, like the secondary wave of an earthquake. This was her friend onto whom she had unfurled all of her jealousy and look what Betty had done to herself over the course of just one Summer holiday? It was devastating to see the downward spiral that Betty had managed to latch onto in such a short space of time. She had downsized dramatically in beauty by upsizing so sharply in size, going from practically perfect in every way to looking rougher than a ruffian. From a piece of hot ass to a hot mess. Her advice had been like poison to Betty and now Leona was confronted with consequence of her deeds. Betty had plummeted on her advice, and it devastatingly destructive and painful to see.
Or was it? The third thought that popped into her head was one of “fuck convention” and “fuck beauty standards” and “fuck women being reduced to their appearance”. No, Betty had it right. Why should she shave her armpits for a man, they don’t do it for women? Why shouldn’t she dress down, not every woman every day should dress up? No, Betty was doing great for her gender and Leona should be proud. Not every road’s a catwalk and not every man gets to be a judge. Betty’s body was her own, it belonged to no other knuckle-drugging beer-gutted bloke and why should she shy away from her own appearance to fit engendered gender expectations? Beauty came from within and that’s where Betty was beautiful. It didn’t matter if her exterior was somewhat sullied.
But a fourth thought came forth, and drip-fed itself into Leona’s consciousness from the back of her brain. Was Betty really less pretty? Looking past the lack of effort that Betty was making with herself and was she really physically downgraded? She had the same sharp facial features, the same endearingly bouncy energy that made her like a seductive Tigger, and the same unsheathed radiant smile and unintentionally flirty eyes. Put her in the fitted formal attire that was her workplace norm and put on the make-up she normally wear, and sort out that mop of hair on her head and… she would still look really pretty. If anything, prettier. Because Betty’s beauty had always been girlish and candy-cane sweet. There was the endearing innocence and loveliness that you would associate with a puppy. But, nobody would ever turn around and say that puppies were sexy, would they? But now she looked like a woman, her pre-pubescent prettiness substituted for the teacher’s tantalisingly tasty truss. Yes, her curves would, if anything, make her look hotter than before. Come start of term and Betty would probably be looking at her all time sexiest, and then the poor girl would feel the feeling wrath of Lionel worse than ever before. And it was this final point that Leona shared with Betty.
“You really think he’ll find me even hotter?” The colour would have drained from pallid Betty’s face, had she not been so pale already. The plan could not have back-fired more. Leona’s poor poker face told Betty that she now found her less attractive and Betty wanted her to want her more. Her first objective of wooing the woman owning the coach in front of her had backfired. But worse was the hideous thought that the dinosaur, Lionel Stewart, would prefer her more, when Betty’s intention was to put him off. His blatant comments and tactile touching had pulverised Betty’s emotional state over the past year and it was only going to get worse? She had committed her entire summertime to sacrifice her enviable appearance to appeal to Leona and oppose to Lionel, and the antipodean opposite had instead occurred.
Betty’s bottom lip starting quivering uncontrollably and she tried to stifle whimpering noises, but the ball started rolling downhill and soon Betty was fully crying. Every time Betty looked forward to something, it went wrong. Every time Betty had hoped, it got dashed. Every positive decision that Betty made rotted into something negative, and now she felt like she had thrown away all that she had left.
“Come here you soft pot” Leona gestured with wide open arms for the sniffling teaching to come over to her on the sofa and give her a hug. Betty just nodded since words were too difficult between the involuntary noises that crying brings upon, and walked over to her best friend, favourite colleague and the girl she wanted more than anything in the world. She nestled into Leona’s squidgy embrace and rested her head back on Leona’s fun-sized funbags until the crying stopped. Leona stroked her like a child as Betty closed her eyes. Everything felt better in Leona’s warmth.
 
But she couldn’t hide in Leona’s cushion forever, she would have to face the music. She would have to face a conundrum. Option one was to lose the weight that she had worked so hard to pile on, and return to being built like a pylon. Slim down, tone up and get back on the fit and healthy bandwagon. The downside to this was obvious – Lionel would still like her. He would still be drawn to her figure like iron filings to a magnet. It would be a return to a status quo that Betty knew was unsustainable. She didn’t want to go there again. No way, Jose. The upside, however, was that at least Leona would find her attractive again. The vision of quiet disgust on Leona’s face that she was unable to quell, was engrained in Betty’s memory banks. She didn’t want to revisit Lionel, but she didn’t want to leave Leona behind. She felt the insatiable urge to win her over, and Leona got past first base and all the way to a home run when Betty was at her physical prime and pomp. If Betty could get back there, then there would be the hope of some Leona loving.
Or Betty could carry on gaining. This was option two, more of the same as before. To stick at it and plough on ploughing through chow. The downside here was that Leona would like her less and less, physically anyway. While Betty was unopposed to checking out Leona’s lovely lovely lady lumps, it seemed the feeling wasn’t mutual. Leona clearly preferred a bit of Betty to a lot of Betty. This seemed unfair given that Leona’s lover was Wiktoria, a student who had absolutely ballooned over the course of her first year at university. She had begun as a tall and scrawny heptathlete straight from Poland, but that was certainly not the case any more. She had evidently exorcised exercise from her day-to-day life and replaced that void with over-consumption. She had finished her first year 250lbs heavier than she had started it, even heavier than Leona and by a decent chunk too. And while she had uploaded photos onto Facebook a lot more infrequently than Leona, it was blatant that her gain hadn’t reversed, but rather persevered.
Maybe Leona was always a mirage. This idea of being with her colleague seemed like wishful thinking when in her company. She was as happy as she had ever seen her, Wiktoria clearly brought out the best in Leona just as she clear brought out the hungriest in Leona. Betty didn’t want to be a home-wrecker, she didn’t want to break up a perfectly good relationship just to placate her own unwholesome yearnings. That was something she’d associate with Tim 2, who was not abusive as Time 3 but still evil in his own way, through his adultery and his disregard for monogamy and his ignorance of honesty. Betty didn’t want to be that person, it wasn’t fair on Leona.
There was also an upside to option two, finally getting Lionel off her back. Leona was living proof that piling on pounds put off the perverted professor, he had stopped leering quite early onto Leona’s gain despite her being so incredibly staggeringly jaw-droppingly beautiful. Even when she had found herself at 200lbs, she was magnificence personified. Any person would look at her and think to themselves “ahhh, that’s why Shakespeare wrote sonnets, is it?”, because she was comparable to a summer’s day, so lovely and temperate was she. Even now, 178lbs further down the line, Leona turned heads. And not just because people wondered what was causing the tremours of her footsteps.
“Do you think I should stop, and lose the weight?” Betty said vulnerably to her idol. She needed to know what to do. Well, she knew what she had to do, but she needed to hear Leona say it. She knew she should ditch the dream of getting with Leona and continue to climb in corpulence, but she didn’t want to let go of the dream of being with her. She needed Leona to tell her to move on. She needed Leona to say it.
Leona paused before giving her answer, mulling over the thought in her mind before phrasing it exactly how she wanted to. She drew the words in her minds and rearranged them into the correct order to maximally convey her intended meaning. She finally, after a long pause of contemplation, decide exactly how she wanted to phrase it.
“Absolutely fucking not” was exactly how she wanted to phrase it. “Fuck no Betz. Fuck. No. You’ve got to keep going. You’ve got to keep on keeping on. You were never going to get to big girl status from where you were over the course of just one summer. No, you’ve had to go the long way round. You’ve got to break on through to the other side. You’ve done an amazing job so far, I can’t believe how well you’ve done. I’m so proud of you Betz, I really am. I look at you, and how far you’ve come, and where you’ve come from and I’m so proud of you. You’ve just got to hold your nerve and keep your foot on the gas. That’s all. Just do that and you’ll be in the clear. Keep at it, Betty Bollingbrooke. Keep on keeping on.”
Betty cried again, but this time her tears were happier. The words were exactly the words that Betty needed to hear. “You really think I’ve done well?” she meekly mewed, fishing for praise but also wrestling with her insecurity.
“Fuck yes, girl. I’m… well I can’t believe how well you’ve done. I never thought you’d get to where you are, let alone in one summer. The amount of emotional reprogramming it must have taken you, the habits you must have overcome. Hell, you’ve somehow managed to gain more weight over the summer than me!”
Betty’s mind boggled at that last comment. Sure, Betty had managed to gain 30lbs over the Summer break, a fairly eye-watering number by more regular standards, but Leona had clearly piled on nearer 100lbs. She had gained as much weight over the summer as Betty weighed at the start of it, but hadn’t seemed to realise. Was she really that oblivious to her own gain? Betty wanted to pry to see how deep the denial ran, how far from reality Leona’s self-perception was. But Betty was, as consistent as ever, more courteous than that and avoided prying to protect Leona’s feelings. Instead, she quickly recalibrated her brain to be more focused on all the nice comments beforehand. Her best friend was here, and there was no need to make things awkward.
“Well, in that case, shall we order a Skinny Meal each?” Betty asked sweetly.
“Ooo, best make mine a double” Leona said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. An 11000 calorie lunch explained the 100lb weight gain then.
While they waited for their Kebabland feast to arrive, Betty wandered into the kitchen.
“Red or white?” she called out to Leona in her sing-song voice.
“Wine?” Leona asked, sitting on her sofa and looking around at the messy living area that the sofa was in, in disbelief.
“Well, durrr...” Betty said, popping back into the living room with a big goofy grin on her face. “I wasn’t asking what your favourite colour was on a barbershop pole” she joked, before bursting suddenly into an involuntary and hearty laugh at her own joke.
“It’s midday, that’s way too early to be drinking. And anyways, I didn’t think you drank Betz, apart from special occasions?” Leona asked, surprised at the invitation to tipple.
Betty’s smiley face slipped sourwards. This comment had caught her off-guard. She had been so entrenched and focused on her more obvious bad habit – eating a week’s worth of calories each day – that she had overlooked her slide into daytime drinking. On her own and without anyone around her to impose social norms, she had simply forgotten that it wasn’t especially normal to drink during daytime hours. Leona rightly remembered Betty as a girl of impressive sobriety, and Betty now felt like she’d been caught red-handed.
“But it is a special occasion… you’re back” she said, trying to conceal her shame at how much she had been drinking recently. From tomorrow, she was really going to have to rein that in, as well as clean her house and fix her hair and buy some clothes and catch up on the mountain of pre-term work that she had fallen behind on… no, Betty didn’t want to think about that while Leona was here. Push those grim thoughts from her superego to one side and focus on having a lovely time with her houseguest.
“Oh, I guess you’re right. It’s just funny to think of you as a girl who drinks haha, I’ve only ever seen you drink once or twice...” Leona paused, realising that she had accidentally brought up the evening that they kissed and the evening the fucked. Awkward af. “Yeah… sooo… make mine a white will you?”
Betty’s face flushed at the gaffe, and walked back into the kitchen to hide her reddening cheeks under the convenient pretence of pouring those drinks. She came back into the living area with the wine glasses, and the red and white bottle respectively for if they ever fancied a top-up and they waited for their delivery now with alcoholic lubrication.
“So, you think you can eat a whole Skinny meal now, huh? I remember when you could barely eat a third haha!” Leona chuckled. A lesser girl might have bristled at the implied criticism but breezy Betty smiled and laughed it off.
“Oh, you’ve not seen nothing yet Leona. Stay until evening time and you can watch me eat a second one” Betty cheekily gloated. It never felt like bragging when Betty did it, more like humorous cheekiness, but Betty was rightly proud of how much food she could consume these days. “I’m a two Skinny meals a day girl now”
“Wow, it might just be worth me hanging about to see that.” Leona said, impressed. She liked it when Betty drifted away from her chronic humility and showed a bit of self-confidence. “I’m sure Wiktoria won’t mind. She’s got her classmates to catch up with and besides, I bet she’s sick of the sight of me after four moths uninterrupted”
And that conversational cue lead them to discuss the four months on foreign soil that Leona and Wiktoria spent together, and all the mischief that they got up to over there. Betty listened keenly, revelling in every detail of the story. She was a good listener, was Betty. In fact, the only thing that interrupted her concentration was the doorbell.
“I’ll get it if you like Betz, if you’re dressed like that” Leona said, considering heaving herself off the sofa that she had so comfortably sunk into.
“Don’t be silly Leona, you’re the guest. And they see me looking like this all the time anyway. If you tip them, they don’t seem to mind” she said with a juvenile giggle. She skipped to the door and politely received the three monstrously sized boxes.
“Don’t worry, they’re not all for me” she said with that same cheeky grin. She even winked as she handed over the tip to the cyclist. The courier wouldn’t have been surprised if they were, he had made so many deliveries to this residence over the past four months and had seen such a transformation over that period of time. When he first delivered there, he was confronted with Betty on one of her more presentable days, stylishly dressed and with a cute hair do. She looked absolutely heaven-sent to the adolescent courier with her elfin features and flirtatious smile. It was only the smile that remained as she swelled up 32lbs and dressed like she was auditioning for the part of a street urchin. He’d still bang her, he thought as he looked at her builder’s bum as she turned away with the door still closing. But she’d gone from being a 10/10 dream girl to being someone he’d fuck and then ghost afterwards. It was such a terrible shame, a terrible terrible waste, and a terrible terrible terrible worry how far she’d continue free-falling.
But Betty was no wiser to the courier’s thoughts and sang to herself as she brought the steaming food in to her and her guest.
 
Once Betty finished her meal, she leaned back with a contented sigh and put her hands behind her head in satisfaction at a job well done. As she did so, her top rode up and her food baby poked out. The two girls giggled at the sight of it as Betty sheepishly hurried to rectify it by pulling it down over her wan flesh. Betty wasn’t sure whether she actually liked the taste of the Skinny meal or just the high of knowing that she completed it.
“I can’t believe I actually beat you Leona” she said, proud of herself at eating all that within the hour.
“Well, in my defence, to be fair, I have got twice as much” Leona defended herself, halfway through her second portion and not presenting any outward evidence of wilting.
“Yeah, but there’s twice as much of you” Betty said, jokingly. Betty briefly panicked upon uttering that gentle jibe that she’d overstepped the mark by disparagingly commenting on Leona’s weight, but Leona didn’t mind, she giggled at this occasionally snarky streak of Betty’s. And, if anything, this joke flattered the elder teacher since she was 100lbs heavier than being twice as big as Betty. The two girls giggled as they ate, drank and acted generally quite merry. They were so comfortable in each other’s company that it seemed effortless to spend time with one another. It was buoyed by the massive amount of respect that they had for each other, Betty idolised Leona and everything she stood for in terms of independence, strength and confidence, while Leona admired Betty’s chirpy spirit, ceaseless kindness and the occasional flash of impudence.
Post-meal and fully glutted, they just lounged about and chatted like the good friends that they were, genially discussing anything and everything under the sun. Betty told as much as she could remember about her incident with Sabrina the mid-age bitch, though Sabrina’s bitchy comment about Leona had been long forgotten thanks to the amnesiac that is wine. Leona, in turn, regaled Betty with gossip from her house, with this newcomer called Shay, also from America, who formed a love triangular threesome tryst type thing with Rutherford and Minnie, all kinky and fucked up. Rutherford that is, who was apparently bigger than everyone else in the house still, despite being the shortest.
“I bet she’s over 350lbs!” said Leona as if that was some great revelation, again revealing how grossly she had been underestimating her own weight gain by sounding shocked at 300lbs when she herself was actually 378lbs. So if Rutherford weighed more than Wiktoria, who weighed more than Leona at 378lbs, what did that make Rutherford actually weigh? Betty dreaded to think.
“I’ll go grab us another bottle each” Betty said, wandering back into the kitchen for grape-based reinforcements.
“Jeez, I dunno, we should probably slow down, it’s only 2pm.” Leona said, looking at the time on her phone. But Betty didn’t hear, she was back to humming to herself some merry ditty, before barking back into the living room. “By the way, I’ve got a deep fat fryer now Leona. So, how about battered Mars bars and some Ben & Jerry’s to dip it into for dessert?”
She brought in the new bottles with the deep-fat fryer warming up.
“Wow Betz, are you sure you’ll be able to eat the second Skinny meal if you eat all that?” Leona said, surprised but impressed.
“Yeah, no worries, they go together so well, you’ll love it, trust me”
Oh how easily the hours whiled away in such good company. Several hours, many conversation topics, plenty of wine and thousands of calories later, Betty and Leona were still going strong. Their conversations showed no signs of letting up, they just gabbled and gobbled and giggled and glugged. They talked about the coming term and all the dread of dealing with their balding Head of Department Lionel Stewart. They talked about British weather and US politics and bad TV and worse music. It just flowed with effortless ease between the two girls. They talked and talked and talked until 6pm came around and it was time to stroll down to Kebabland.
“Do we have to walk there? Can’t we just order in again?” Leona whinged at the thought of the quarter mile she would have to cover. Her treadmill days were well and truly behind her. Her walking down a simple road days were looking increasingly short-lived.
“Yes. We can’t order in again in case we get the same courier. Oh my god, can you imagine how embarrassing that would be! And, anyway, don’t you want to see Ahmed? I bet France doesn’t have any Kebablands” Betty said as she grabbed a jacket to cover her messy white vest. Leona rolled her eyes and braced herself for the most exercise she’d done for a year. However, it wasn’t her heft or her abandonment of exercise that prevented Leona from making the small walk into town, it was her balance. It was only when she had successfully plied herself off the sofa and onto her two wide feet standing two feet wide that she realised that she had successfully plied herself with two much alcohol. More than two bottles of wine can do that to a person, even a person at Leona’s considerable size.
“OK, how’s this for an idea, you just wait here and chill on the sofa and I’ll bring them back” said Betty, fairly drunk herself but fast developing a better tolerance for it. “I’ll have them back faster than you can say… I dunno, something that takes about fifteen minutes to say.”
When she returned however in a less than sprightly half an hour, Leona was not waiting attentively as they had planned. No the sleepy effects of all that drinking had convinced Leona to shuffle around on the sofa and drift into a deep slumber, with her feet sticking off the arm of the chair that was also far too shallow for a lady of her size. Betty put down the food and stared in wonder at the whale that was currently beached on her sofa. It was a sight to behold for the lovesick teacher.
Leona’s legs hanging over the sofa arm meant that her dress had fully rolled up and Betty could see Leona’s overstrained underwear surrounded by the packets of fleshy bundles that littered her legs leading up to them. All that warm pliable skin reaching up towards her knickers, and then beyond, where her tight dress contained her tight belly that rose and fell steeply with every inhale and exhale of somnolent breath. Then her face, propped up by a cushion and sinking into her chins with her luscious locks slipping down either side of her face. She was a sleeping angel.
So that was why Betty put her hand down her trousers while she was looking at her best friend asleep on the couch. A more sober Betty would have castigated and chastised this more inebriated version for stepping well beyond her remit and out of bounds. It was unacceptable for her to do this, and downright creepy too, leering and fiddling like Lionel might have at her. But drunk Betty just saw the woman of her dreams asleep and dreamily perfect, and felt the need to masturbate gently whilst staring at her unconscious guest. Gradually, with a eyes widely focused on her love on the lounger, her pace quickened and her thighs tensed and her breath staggered as she continued to work herself to pleasureville, all whilst standing and staring at Leona’s snoring self. Twenty minutes later and Betty was done.
 
Leona woke up to see her friend pouring herself more wine and eating her Skinny meal by herself.
“Sorry, I must have dozed off Betz. Oooo, you’ve brought the food” Leona cooed excitedly at the sight of two more Skinny meals. “I thought you were only going to bring me one, I’m not sure I can eat four in one day Betz.”
Betty felt too sheepish to reply after what she had done, jacking off whilst hovering over her best friend, so she just smiled politely and then downed her glass of wine. She didn’t want to remember her actions next morning and wine can help with that. She didn’t want to remember how far she’d trespassed into the forbidden forest of Lionel-esque lust and leering, she poured herself another and drank some more. Of course, the more she drank, the more difficult her meal became as even the coordination required to sit on a chair and eat food was becoming harder and harder. Leona didn’t think much of it, preoccupied with her mountain of food but Betty was quaffing at an alarming rate, hoping to hide behind a blackout. Even drinking was getting harder as she started swaying, like she was on the deck of a ship with rolling waves, and the red wine flowed down her just as much as it had been flowing in general. And eventually, when Leona had heroically finished her fourth meal of the day, swollen up to gigantic proportions and too full to talk, she looked up to see her friend unconscious on the floor with half of her meal upside down and on top of her. More pissed than an Irish fart on St Patrick’s day, eventually the younger of the two had just passed on the debris covered floor before she had finished the meal that she wanted to prove to Leona. That was when Leona decided to call a taxi to go home. Today had been messy, too messy. And messy in so many ways.

So the past two chapters haven't been the best, because my laptop crashed before I saved them, and I couldn't retrieve them. This meant I've had to re-write them as best I can from memory, but the standard may have slipped a tad. Sorry.
Chapter 5
 
She came to the following morning to discover her tights were wet and sticky. While that may have been partly down to images of Leona, it was mainly due to the spilled ice cream tub that toppled as she drifted to sleep, and ran down her breasts, past her navel and into her tights. But Betty didn’t care, she didn’t have anyone she was trying to impress, so what did it matter?
She did need to get changed though. But clothing choices were tough, since she possessed very little that both fitted and was washed. Her shirt was now down to its final button, ferociously straining and clinging on like Tobey Maguire did to stop that train in Spiderman 2, so that had to be removed. She hurled it aimlessly onto the floor to deal with later and wondered around the downstairs of her house looking for something with which to cover her upper body. Her tights on her legs were also on their last legs, laddered and pinching and worse for wear. However, in her hungover state, she procrastinated dealing with removing them by just covering them up. And so she settled on a scratty and unwashed men’s vest over her upper half that didn’t conceal her hairier armpits but was at least able to cover her softer midriff. On her lower half, to avoid taking off her over-worn tights, she just concealed them by throwing some chavvy jogging bottoms over the top of her bottom half.
And, cognisant and clothed, and this time without the air of defeat that had been hanging over her of late, she could rally herself to do battle once more with two Skinny meals over the course of one day. No breakfast and early lunch was the plan to get this show on the road, and so she could begin her Skinny Meal at 11.30am with revitalised focus. To her immense pride and satisfaction, she finished it in one sitting, by 1pm. She had, just by not eating it for one day, begun to miss its overly salty flavours and acidically spicy chilli sauce, and ravaged it like a lover. And this early finishing time gave her the maximum window of recovery before she explored the second part of this Skinny Meal diptych. She just had to kill a few hours until early evening before she could rid herself of the Stage 2 albatross around her neck.
Lying back on her sofa contemplating her imminent victory, she looked around for a way to kill the time. Stimulation-deprived, she settled down to watch a film on Netflix and maybe a glass of wine or two. And what was Netflix without the corresponding chilling, and so to Betty’s phone where she could ogle photos of Leona while Arrested Development played in the background. She betrayed her friend once more and put her hand down her joggers and tights again, and, with just glasses of wine three and four, pictures of Leona bathed in Mediterranean sunshire, and the shrieking voice of Tobias Fünke for company, masturbated herself to pleasure and sleep once more.
She woke again at 6pm, giving herself a respectable window for Stage 2 this time. Far earlier than normal, she swaggered into the Kebabland saloon with a cool grace and fierce nerve. Ahmed saw the time, recognised the girl and prepared the dish, as she sat herself down and began her ritual of exhaling to get her breathing steady and under control.
Once he had put the massive platter of salted carbohydrates before her, she hurtled at the dish with intensity and commitment, barrelling towards the quarterly waymarkers that she had built up in her mind. She made light work of the first quarter, much to her relief, and then continued her ascent with precision and efficiency. The second quarter and the consequence of her gluttony were beginning to tell once more, but she knew that it would and she had faith that she had the resilience to not let it affect her pace. The third quarter took its toll with each mouthful being more difficult than the last and each forkful seeming to clear less space than the one previously, but she was in the right frame of mind not to be de-railed by the inevitable strain it would have on her appetite. The final quarter however, was another kettle of fish. It was now a straight-up battle of wills between her expansive dish, her flagging appetite and her ruthlessly determined mind. And as she grimaced with each mouthful, her mind mattered more. Each bite caused physical pain, and sweat was trickling down her forehead, but the dish would be her victim one way or the other. And eventually she prodded the last two chips and put them in her mouth. And with a tired aching jaw, she swallowed her 11,000th Kebabland calorie of the day. Victory at last! She whooped in the kebab shop, to the bewilderment of the people queuing to be served and the amusement of the genial moustachioed proprietor of the place.
Having waddled home with a straining stomach, Betty rewarded herself with a victory lap in the form of a weigh-in and progress review. And the numbers added to the sense of achievement, 133lbs signalling the incredible progress the young professor had made in such short time. The weight that she debuted with this Summer was now 25lbs ago, and our pencil-like protagonist was dabbling in curves for the first time in her life. Her pencil skirt was no longer the clothing item of choice for Betty, no she had nobody to impress for the entire Summertime and downgraded her fashion aesthete accordingly. Instead the loose and elastic-waisted size 6 furry tracksuit bottoms over her tights that her newly expanded form was considering filling out, looked tacky. They did her very few favours, but they did make her bum look more plush and padded, and they hid the unshaven nature of her now less twiggy legs. I mean, she wasn’t aspiring to glamour, that was the reason for the diet, she didn’t have a partner to show her legs to, and leaving them untouched felt like a score for the matriarchy. Up higher, her stomach swung outward lightly over the elastic below. The tight white vest over her top was similarly unglamorous and hung uncompromisingly around her midriff to exacerbate every softness and deviation from the magazine-inspired hourglass expectation placed upon her gender. Higher up and the vest lost its tightness around her chest and unflattered the one insecurity she had about her appearance growing up, but the weight gain had at least turned the land around her areolae into something resembling a breast now, almost talking the form of half-apples where there once was nothing. The vest hung over her still bony shoulders, but at least the clavicle’s extrusion didn’t look as painful before. Down her arms saw the scary thinness of yore replaced by more regular width, looking better than they did on her previously underweight frame. The dark brown of her unshaven armpits were the only downside to having this feature of hers on show, but she was just trying to live her life and not trying to win any beauty awards. Her face still made that difficult however, her skeletal bone structure not as harsh as it was before, highlighting the natural friendliness of her resting facial expression. The break out of spots across her nose and forehead were perhaps to beauty’s detriment, the small mole on her right cheek was a slight site of unsightliness and the messy bun that her dark brown hair was tied in was function over form, but only the harshest critic would call her anything other than jaw-droppingly stunning. Truth be known, if she was dolled up in make-up and ensconced in more vogueish attire, you would say she had never looked better. But there was nobody here to woo so she didn’t feel the need to dress to impress.
If Leona had been here, it would have been a different story. Despite the seeming breakdown of their relationship before Christmas, they slowly began to repair it once more. Leona seemed reluctant this time, though Betty didn’t know this was down to Leona’s recent acquisition of weight. She now had curves in all the right places, but a cynic might say some of the wrong ones too. It certainly dampened Lionel’s affection for her, which Betty saw with envy. It was his loss of interest in Leona that saw him redirect more monomaniacally on poor Betty. And the girl with Leslie Knope positivity began to wilt under his undiminished leer. She sought shelter under the wider teacher, and hoped for advice, empathy and commiseration. And gradually, as the softening teacher softened emotionally, she let her back into her one woman circle of friends.
And then the kiss happened. Betty had been really suffering from the strain of Lionel Stewart when Leona made her unwanted move, and Betty spiralled as a consequence. All her earnest kindness felt battered by the betrayal of her closest workfriend. Leona knew that Betty was struggling with unsolicited advances, how could she then try one of her own? When Betty needed Leona the most, Leona mimicked Lionel in her sexually forward perversion. And it was perverse, right? Woman on woman? Yes, as Leona pleaded, men couldn’t be trusted and women were safer together, but if that was the case, then why did Leona show she couldn’t be trusted either? It was in this conversation that Betty alluded to Leona’s weight gain. It was accidental and void of malice, but she heard over the phone how deep that barb cut Leona. She never once considered that Leona would feel vulnerable about such a thing, it seemed against her entire ethos, but she heard Leona hide her pain behind a voice rising in anger, and Betty knew that she had hurt the growing teacher.
The following day, she saw Leona eating two Big Macs at her desk in despondent greed and she realised that she could never report Leona. Imagine condemning Leona, who had, bar that night, been her only ally against the creepiness from up the academic ladder, but not report Lionel despite him acting much worse, for much longer. No, Betty forgave Leona straight away and strove to find herself back into her affections. No, not affections, that was the wrong word. She didn’t like Leona like that. She admired her plenty, sure. She sought to emulate her, and wanted to be like her. But there is a big difference between idolisation and yearning, and Betty was straight. But Leona was a force of nature. With her new and growing size, and her proud strength of character, she was a force of nature and Betty couldn’t help but get swept up in it. There was something alluring about the way her growth made her seem like a juggernaut, as if the bigger she got, the more unstoppable a force she was. She took such little shit from patronising colleagues, and stuck up for so much good inside and outside of work, it was as if the weight was power. Or, at least, that was how Betty conflated the two. And that was how admiration turned into something more from the bijou teacher to her zaftig colleague. And that was what preceded the two girls getting drunk, making out and, though only hazily remembered, having sex.
It pained Betty that she had done this when she had been so angry at just being kissed so recently. And it pained Betty that she could barely remember it, losing her lesbian virginity was a memory that could only be found in the bottom of a long discarded bottle. And it pained Betty that she didn’t follow up, meaning that Leona instead paired up with the considerably bigger Wiktoria from one of her classes. It seemed incredibly inappropriate when she first heard, to date a first year student no less, but upon seeing her Betty was confronted with only admiration. These were two utterly monolithic females. If Leona was now fat, then Wiktoria was something else. Tall like an Amazon and wide like the Amazon, Wiktoria was just so much woman. And Betty felt so small and insignificant against the remarkable forms of these two lovers. So the pencil-sized, pencil-shaped and pencil-skirt-wearing girl endeavoured to transform into something more befitting.
And Leona was so encouraging, selling the positives of such surfeit of mass. She guided her and supported her, and introduced her to the Skinny Meal. But try as she might, Betty couldn’t make a breakthrough against this monstrosity of a serving. But, with Leona leaving for the Summer with her belle, to teach in Southern France and then Northern Spain, Betty saw an opening to make the progress she needed. To win over Leona and put off Lionel. And this was what Betty remembered as she saw dishevelled look in the mirror as she celebrated 133lbs and two Skinny Meals in one day.
 

Here we have Betty trying to grow as a person (geddit?) and be the woman she wants to be
Chapter 12
 
Betty wiped the steamed-up glass of her bathroom mirror to be confronted with a tired looking girl with hair that had lost its sheen and eyes that had lost their sparkle. She saw smoother cheeks and a softer chin and red splotches on her forehead that just wouldn’t go away. She couldn't even hide the spots under her fringe any more, it had outgrown fringe length and now needed to be swept to one side in a semi-stylish kinda side-parting thing. It also meant that she couldn’t hide a new feature under there, the creases in her forehead that came from over-animated eyebrows. Her skin had always been immaculate, unblemished and smooth. Now it was maculate, blemished and increasingly creased. This would never do, Betty wanted to entice her students after what Minnie had said. She just hoped the five pounds she’d gained over the past week would keep Lionel at bay. It was a balancing act.
She applied soft foundation with a hint of colour to take the edge of her pale whitishness that her indoor lifestyle had cultivated. She then plucked her eyebrows to make their unruly disposition ruly again, supplementing it with delicate use of an eyebrow pencil to keep them shaped. Mascara, eye liner and eye shadow were all applied to her eyes to make them pop since they now needed help doing so. They gave them a deep grace and strong definition that her every glance. Further down her face, to deflate her slightly fuller face, she used a cosmetic highlighter for contouring, to try and reestablish the dominance that her cheekbones previously had on her facial landscape. Finally lipstick was drawn across her lips, careful not to get any on her white teeth, as red as the Queen of Hearts.
The difference was stark as she looked at the voraciously attractive woman in the mirror. She looked, well, it was hard to find the word for it. Betty found it easier to describe herself how she didn’t look. She didn’t look ‘cute’ or ‘sweet’ or ‘dainty’ or ‘innocent’. Words like ‘luscious’ and ‘luminous’ and ‘sexy’ and ‘irresistibly’ felt more appropriate. She felt… fierce. Not a waif or a victim or a dorky goofy best friend, but an independent woman with a Helen of Troy face. She could launch a thousand ejaculations.
It was new to her, all this. This whole new look, and she felt maybe this was her new skin now. This was her destination. She wasn’t losing her looks, she was just gaining new ones. She was worried she would look like a whore with such a stronger look and so much more make-up so unsubtly applied, but she felt less trampish and more vampish. And vampish felt good.
Now to the rest of her body, to get it up to the same standard. She wondered what to put around her neck, a neck now without the deformity of jutting out sinews. She wondered because she had a St Christopher necklace that she hadn’t worn since she left home under a stormcloud, but she felt guilty not wearing it after praying to God. She wrapped it around her neck, figuring it was the least that she could do after her Prodigal daughter act. She covered it up anyway with a light shawl to protect herself from the Autumnal bluster that October brought with it.
Further down still and she was met with the reflection of her torso. Nevermind her face, this was where the real battle would be. She had to contend with a series of concerns: that her tummy was wider than her ribs, taking away her shapeliness; that her tummy stuck outwards not inwards any more, even a little when standing; that, despite everything else opening their doors and welcoming in calorific refugees, her breasts steadfastedly insisted there was no room at the inn and hadn’t grown since her dangerously underweight marathon days; and that the tufts of hair under armpits were so darkly noticeable.
The issue with her cleavage, or lack thereof, could be solved with a thicker padded wireless bra to help create the illusion of some distinguishable outward curve on her ribcage. Then came the spanx that tucked in fiercely at the waist, to Betty’s immense and tender discomfort, but suggested shape at the top to further take her apple-based tendency and keep it hourglass. With the shapewear in place, she could now fit into her size 12 blouse without wrecking the buttons. It was still tight, but now it was tight in a seductive, tantalising way and not in a holy-mother-of-god-this-doesn’t-fit way. Over that was a grey power suit with angular shoulders that juxtaposed with her recent softening, that tapered in at the waist through its natural shape to create a further optical illusion of hourglass.
For the bottom half of her body, she wanted to wear her sexiest, laciest, frilliest knickers to boost her confidence but the vegetable patch of dark hair that she had been growing since April dented this bravado, so she pulled them back down, allowing her tummy to curl up into rolls as she did, to take them back off. Instead, begrudgingly, it was an item of clothes called ‘shaper briefs’ and they were a cross between spanx and granny pants. They tightly sucked her in and tucked her up, helping to slim her tummy yet further and also compact her arse from floppy and flabby to fierce and firm. It worked really well and encouraged Betty to try out the size 10 mini skirt. It was perhaps over-ambition she realised as she grunted in a most unladylike manner to get them to do up, but eventually she managed it. This meant she also needed black tights to hide her hairy legs, while a delicate silver bracelet around each wrist to hopefully hide the restraint marks from the previous night. Lastly, she had some dark relatively high-heels on that made her look taller, her legs thinner and made her feel imperious. She looked in the mirror one last time and did a twirl for good measure. Oh, the poor students weren’t going to know what hit them, she had never looked so beautiful in her life.
The students were going to like her, they might not recognise her but they sure were going to like her.
 
She leant against the lecture lectern as the students chattily seeped into the lecture hall and filled the seats before her, ready for a year of education and erudition. She tapped her foot as she waiting for the steady trickle of lackadaisical students to take their seats in the hall, whilst reading last year’s notes for the last year’s slides that she was repeating because she hadn’t actually updated them as she was supposed to.
She looked every inch the temptress with her filled our form flowing downwards. Her carefully chosen clothes enjoyed her snaking size shaping them. Her hips sassed out sexily, her butt bubbled to the brim of her pencil skirt’s cloth constraints, her tremulous tummy was cloaked by her clothes. Her untreated hair had outgrown the quandom bob she had billed the barber for, and with it swooshed to the side in a trendily half-assed side-parting she looked more knowingly attractive. And the second year students took in Betty’s improved form with appreciation. She had evolved beyond dainty and cute and into the realm of royally seductive. They had strong memories of this delectable desirous diva with hunched shoulders and nervous energy, and here she looked like a Siren and strode across the stage as if she owned the goddamn building. She knew what the males were all going to do once they got back to their dorm rooms.
She met up with Leona at lunch in the less salubrious environment that was McDonald’s, perched uncomfortably on their plastic chairs. Betty struggled because the grip of her pencil skirt was so tight that she found it difficult to fan her legs enough to get on. Leona’s issue was more that the seating wasn’t designed for people with her size of derriere. But, despite the inconvenience, they were settling down to eat their respective meals, Betty with the usual, and Leona with the same only more. Leona struggled to take her eyes off her friend. After the changing room cubicle incident with her, Betty and Minnie, things had become a little stilted between the two. And now Betty came swaggering in looking like she did, Leona felt even more conflicted. Betty, for her part, was either oblivious or flirting.
“So, what do you think? I’m prettier than I look, aren’t I?” Betty smiled gleefully.
“How can you be prettier than you look, because how you look is how pretty you are… oh, it’s too early for riddles Betz. Yes, you look gorgeous.” Leona tried and failed to avoid the question.
“Oh, and guess what? I’m giving Kyle from third year some ‘assistance’ over a cup of coffee at 2pm at Starbucks today” Betty said, struggling to contain herself just as much as her clothes were struggling to contain her. “And then, at 2.30pm it’s Ebba, the Swedish girl who models part-time, for the same. And 3pm is Jordan who is built like a brick shithouse. I’m happing to add 3.30pm and 4pm before the day is out.”
“You plan on fucking all those students? Wow, you’ll get a rep!” Leona laughed, not hiding the fact that she was impressed but successfully hiding the fact that she was jealous. Of the students that is.
“No, coffee and a bit of flirting maybe, but that’s all” Betty said, before letting her confidence wilt and weaken. “It’s nice to feel wanted, but I don’t want them… I don’t want them to see me naked.”
Leona almost choked on the chicken nugget she was eating when Betty said that. Betty was always one to confide never normally so forward. Maybe it was how she was dressing that made her so much more provocative.
“Don’t be silly Betz, you look great naked. I’d know!” Leona said, aiming to keep it light but immediately regretting the words as they fell from her mouth. There could have been tumbleweed floating across for the awkwardness of the silence that followed Leona’s throwaway comment as the elephant in the room was finally addressed.
“You think I look good naked? I thought you were put off now I’m fat?” Betty asked, suddenly less sure of herself.
“Well, that would be hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it? You know, given my… ahem, size.” Leona said while gesturing to her body in case Betty hadn’t inferred to what size she was referring. “But, of course you’re pretty naked. It’s just, I don’t want to find you pretty because of Wicky. It’s Wicky that I want to fancy.”
“Oh no, sorry Leona. I didn’t mean to...” Betty blundered, trying to retract the clumsiness of her statement. “I know you love Wiktoria, I was just feeling a bit insecure, that was all.”
“Hey, don’t. The courier wants a rematch doesn’t he, you have a small queue of students who just want to spend time with you, and I had to tear Minnie away from you just to protect Rutherford.” Leona said, putting a chubby hand on Betty’s shoulder.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that. Things got a little out of hand very quickly.” Betty apologised again.
“Hey don’t apologise! You do that too much!” Leona pointed her chubby finger now at Betty. “And anyway, things are fine with Wiktoria. But...”
“Oh no, is something wrong?” Betty’s eyes widened in worry.
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but our weight hasn’t plateaued quite yet. I’m sure its imminent but, in the meantime, we’ve gotten a bit bigger. And poor Wicky is finding cooking less enjoyable because she’s having to lug around an extra 150lbs or whatever it is, we don’t have scales that go past 250lbs. She loves cooking and I’m worried that her size is stop her from doing what she loves.” Leona admitted.
“But you love her still, don’t you? And that’s going to mean the world. If her weight is an issue for her, then she’s the only one who can do anything about it, and it’s not for you to impose. As long as you love her unconditionally, then I don’t see a problem” Betty said, returning the favour by offering a hand on the opposing shoulder.
“But what if I don’t?” Leona said with sad eyes.
“What if you don’t?”
“What if I don’t find her attractive any more?”
 
Betty and Leona sat in silence for a couple of minutes, trying to work out the best words to follow those last ones. Betty, for her part, felt underqualified as a relationship counsellor given how bad her track record was, but was passionately worried about Leona and wanted to do anything she could to do something about it. And Leona realised she was drifting past the point of no return and now certain words couldn’t be unsaid, and certain admissions were out in the public domain.
“I’m not sure I fancy her any more.” Leona finally broke the silence. “I love her as a human being, I love her to bits. But, I don’t get turned on by her any more and I don’t want her to blame herself for it. It’s my fault. I’m fat and she still finds me sexy, why can’t I return the favour?”
“Why can’t you?”
“I don’t know...” Leona’s face was now wrinkled as she cried. “She’s just… I know the girl I fancy is under there, but there is so much over it that I can’t see it any more. It’s so fucking superficial I know. How can a girl who fills a two-seater have the double-standard of being sizeist.”
“Hey, Leona. You’re not sizeist. You’re just diagnosing what your body is saying, that’s all.”
“I just look at you Betz, you’re so beautiful. So really pretty and I want that and I feel so shit for feeling this way” Leona continued to cry.
“You want… me?” Betty stammered in shock. The girl she had fancied for the past half a year before giving up on having any chance, just opened up and confessed that she wanted her.
“Yes, I really do” Leona nodded. Betty just sat in silence for a second, trying to gather her bearings. She only came here for the Big Macs, now she was winning over the woman of her dreams.
“No, sorry Leona, it doesn’t work like that” Betty said, before she realised what she was saying and could stop it. “You don’t get to do that to Wiktoria, I’m sorry”
Leona just cried and nodded. “It’s because I’m too fat as well isn’t it? You’re out of my league now Betz, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Leona Clefton-Brown, grow up!” Betty shouted, before realising how loud she’d raised her voice and quietening down so as not to make a scene. “I’ve fancied you ever since… we had… y’know… that one time. I’ve wanted you and wanted you, but you didn’t want me. You wanted Wiktoria. Now you don’t get to turn around 8 months later and change your mind. You’re so gorgeous Leona, that will never be your problem. Your problem is you chose her and you don’t get to break her heart and change your mind again. I’ve been on the receiving end of that and it destroys you, and you cannot do that to her. You don’t get to cash in for a new model because she’s put on a few, I’m sorry but you don’t, it’s not fair on her.”
Leona again just nodded her head whilst crying. She knew every word of what Betty said, she just didn’t want to believe it. She wanted Betty to say she was wrong, not to confirm that she was right. Leona was fishing for confirmation for something she didn’t believe, and hoped Betty would make her believe. But she agreed instead.
“Can we still be friends Betz? I know everything is really awkward but...” Leona sniffled.
“Of course Leona, I always want to be your friend. Forever. We’ve had so much awkward between the two of us, that this is just the latest in a long list.” Betty smiled soothingly to the scarred teacher. “And if you want Wiktoria to maybe lose a few pounds, and she wants to lose a few pounds too so she can cook more easily. Maybe she ease off on the Skinny meals for a bit?”
Betty had a point.
 
Betty had one more workshop class before she had her back-to-back coffee dates. Of course, they were ‘tutorial hours in a social setting’ because dating students is not just frowned upon but against the university’s guidelines. Sure, it hadn’t ever been enforced, otherwise they’d have been knocking on Leona’s door ages ago, but it was important for Betty to keep the illusion of professionalism.
Once she was done, she hurried as fast as her heeled feet could take her to the local Starbucks and grabbed herself a hot chocolate and a cinnamon whirl while she waited for student #1 – Kyle.
Kyle had ran late, which worried Betty who obviously had a backlog of students she wanted to unofficially speed-date under the guise of tutorship. But he got there by five past, apologising for the delay with innocent sincerity. Kyle wasn’t Betty’s favourite student, aesthetically at least, but he was conventionally handsome and he had a surprisingly deep voice for such a young man which Betty liked.
“Can I get you another coffee perhaps?” he asked, not believing his luck. Betty had been the one teacher that he’d fancied since she started last year. All the other students were signed up members of the Leona fan club, with her ethereal beauty and bodacity. But he preferred Betty’s delicate beauty, and while all the students despaired as Leona’s weight catapulted stratospherically, ruining everything they liked about her and turning their lust into bitching behind her back, he held his moral high ground. Betty would never be like that, her perfection was of the sweet variety and she would never fall foul of such disregard for herself. The other students suddenly jumped ship and came aboard the SS Fancying Betty, but Kyle was a founding member. Kyle was there before she became popular. He deserved this for loyalty alone.
“Hot chocolate please, and a cinnamon swirl if you can? I’ll pay you when you get back” Betty called back, wondering if she should admit in front of her students that this was the sort of thing she’d happily eat. But, in isolation, a hot chocolate and cinnamon swirl isn’t going to raise any eyebrows. And he wasn’t to know that it wouldn’t be in isolation. They sat and they chatted about the course and his dissertation choice and where he was planning on going after university, and Betty was giving every vibe she had in her playbook while he answered. She toyed with her hair, she laughed at his jokes, despite them being unfunny, she maintained sharp eye contact, she said she liked his hair and she even ran her finger past his hand on the way back from reaching for her drink. And then, as she saw Ebba crossing the road towards the Starbucks, she asked him politely to leave because she had work to do.
Ebba walked in the door as Kyle was leaving, but didn’t recognise him since she was only in second year. She was Swedish born but she had lived in the country since she was four and had long since forsaken her Swedish accent for a generic Southern one. It had to be said that Ebba was a fine specimen of a woman, with magnificently tall and thin legs that her denim shorts displayed to maximum effect. On her tall top half was a trendy mauve leather jacket with one of those fashionably shredded t-shirts underneath that her peerlessly perfect skin could protrude from on her model thin frame. Her face was no less awe-inducing, with wide eyes and a wide mouth, with layered blonde hair on top hidden under a furry hat.
“Can I get you a coffee, teach? And maybe a nice snack?” she asked, not believing her luck. But for very different reasons to Kyle. While Kyle had been a member of the Betty fandom from the off, Ebba’s interests in her had only recently been piqued. She was curious to find out how this would go.
“Hot chocolate please, and a cinnamon swirl if you can? I’ll pay when you get back” enjoying parroting her previous comment as it reiterated the wrongness of her indulgence to her quietly fetishistic mind.
“I got you what you asked for, teach. And I also got you some millionnaire’s shortbread on me, as a thank you” she said, and let the natural glide of her smile wrap around her face.
“Wow, thanks” Betty said, not sure how to eat this without seeming greedy, but knowing she had to eat it to not seem rude.
The conversation between the two of them was less studious and more personal as Ebba explained the bits about the modelling career that you might not already know while Betty listened attentively, hanging on every word from this Amazonian Aphrodite. When the conversation redirected to Betty, she felt she had to be careful what to reveal and decided to bring up her London marathon run that she was so proud of.
“It’s not just 4 hours of jogging, you have to be running the entire time, trying to make time up all the way. Your body isn’t designed for such distances, not really, so its really about timing and judging when to be in peak condition” she said, gushing about the topic she rarely got to talk about. Leona was never interested in such gluttony for punishment, not since she’d pursued a more traditional gluttony.
“So you’re not in peak condition now then?” Ebba asked, her face seeming sincere like the question wasn’t as loaded as Betty felt it to be.
“Ha, yes, I guess you could say that. I’ve actually put on a bit of weight since then” Betty confessed. “Don’t tell anyone, I don’t want to draw attention to it but I have put on a few since last year.”
“Oh, that’s okay teach. You carry it well!” she said, her eyes still wide and peering over her coffee cup and into Betty’s soul.
“Thanks, but you’re supposed to say ‘no you haven’t’ or something like that. Deny it.” Betty laughed. Ebba laughed too.
And the conversation continued in a jovial and personal manner until the brick shithouse crossed the street, at which point Betty bade farewell with the Swedish dreamgirl.
The brick shithouse was looking forward to this. This new teacher, on his first day at university no less, practically propositioned him. She looked fit as fuck too. He wanted to hit that hard. He wanted to cum on her tits and get really physical with her. Yeah, he bet she was the type, she looks the type. He sat down at her table.
“Ah cheers for this Miss. Would you get us a coffee or summat, I’m right parched.” he said whilst checking her out blatantly. Betty liked that. She didn’t like the fact that he didn’t offer to get her a drink though.
She came back to the table with a hot chocolate for herself, a cinnamon whirl for herself, some millionaire’s shortbread for herself, and a coffee for the brick shithouse. He arrogantly presumed that the shortbread was for him, and was about to reach out and grab a piece.
“Sorry, I forgot to ask if you want some” she said coquettishly whilst grabbing the piece he was about to lunge for and putting it in her hand. She ran her hand though her hair as she said it and let it drift nearer her chest, distracting the brick shithouse easily. He really didn’t seem to have the IQ to be at university.
The rest of the meeting was just her toying with him with gestures that he seemed to think he was subtly observing but was in fact practically salivating with his tongue hanging out. And when the thirty minutes drew to an end, Betty planned her rebuffing of him when an idea took her fancy.
“I don’t want to have sex with you, that would be unprofessional. But, if you promise to keep this to yourself, I’ll give you a blowjob in the mensroon if you like” she said whilst rolling her nail down his arm in a way similar to how Minnie would. “But you cannot tell a soul”
The brick shithouse’s face lit up as he nodded and, after all those cinnamon whirls, she put something else in her mouth while in a Starbucks.
 
She spent the rest of the week looking fabulous and feeling fabulous. She revelled in her newfound feminine wiles as she flirted harmlessly with any attractive male or female student who had previously tried to inconspicuously ogle her. She would wink at some, or let her hand glance the hand of others, she would lean over the very closely as she looked at their work and she would ruffle their hair when they did well. She was very popular with her students and felt very popular too. Unfortunately she was also very popular with a certain Head of Department.
“You should stop dressing like that Bollingbrooke, it’s practically an open invitation.”
“Looking like that Bollingbrooke, I find it very hard to concentrate.”
“That dress suits you Bollingbrooke”
“Do you want a hand with those books Bollingbrooke?”
“Bollingbrooke, if I behave irresponsibly around you, it’s only because you’re so easy on the eyes.”
“That fine arse of yours deserves some company Bollingbrooke”
And each comment took a hearty chunk of her freshly found confidence away from her. It seemed so frustrating that no matter how much she grew as a person, he could bring her back to square one with a throwaway line. Growing as a person in both senses of the word. He still wasn’t put off by her size, even if he seemed to notice it.
She would come back after a hard day’s work and a large Skinny meal dinner, lie in her bed and cry. Cry because the world wouldn’t let her get away from him. Cry because everywhere she ran, there was always another man who thought he had sovereignty over her body. Cry because every time she thought she was over the worst of her emotional downpours, he’d conjure another one for no other reason that idle titillation. She would glance at her bodkin, now back where it belonged by her bedside, and think dark thoughts all over again.
By the time Friday came around, she was deep in a quandary as to whether she should let rip like the weekend before or enjoy these newly stabilised version of herself. But, Lionel had pulled away her stability with her creepy comments, asinine asides and worrisome words. The rug had been pulled from neath her person and she figured she was going to let rip worse than ever before.

I really like where the story is going. It keeps getting better. Thanks for updating so frequently!

Chapter Thirty Five
Collette and I had just had a real discussion about preferences and fat and what could beauty include. The conversation had pushed all of the way to her questioning whether I maybe preferred her fatter. Still, I wimped out. I could have told her that my entire life I fantasized about chubbier women. I could have shown her my collection of downloads from Curvage, BigCuties, and even Dimensions, which was the first webpage that I had discovered maybe 15 years ago. Over those years, so much had been posted that it seemed like an idea that may have always been there, but didn’t have a place to be exposed.
Why was I so hesitant to let her know my real feelings? I felt kind of cowardly. And saying that I felt guilty was clearly an understatement. I had always felt guilty about this. It was my secret. I didn’t admit it to anyone.
Several years ago, when I was in architecture school, four of us went on a road trip from New York to Chicago to take a look at the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright in Oak Park, as well as the work of people like Louis Sullivan in the city itself. I had a van and I was doing most of the driving. Our plan was to push through the 13 hour drive in one day. When we were about four hours out, we stopped and picked up a case of beer. I was the designated driver, so I committed to the last four hours, leaving my three friends free to enjoy the beer. After they had each had several, the discussion turned to women. All three had very attractive girlfriends, who coincidently were all decidedly slim. In fact, even in her totally toned state at that time, Collette was probably the heaviest at 130. Jeff’s girlfriend Maggie had to be almost six feet tall and couldn’t have weighed 120. She was model thin.
The discussion turned to one of the women in our class who was full figured. Perhaps induced by the alcohol in the beer, the three of them proceeded to express their lust for Ellen with her big tits, big ass, and thick waist. She was nice looking, but I am sure she didn’t see herself as anyone’s ideal, since our society made it very clear: fat is not beauty. Ellen was smart and talented and it was clear that she had confidence, but I wondered whether she was willing to have sex with the lights on. These three guys proceeded to describe her as erotic and how they all thought of her at times and in ways that they shouldn’t. James even admitted that he sometimes thought of her when he was making love to his girl friend, two of whom could probably fit into Ellen’s body.
I stayed relatively silent during that discussion and did not reveal that I could show them a collection of photos that I had downloaded in which Ellen would be considered one of the thinner women. That conversation really stuck with me. How many guys were going through life maintaining a proper image with their acceptably thin wives and girlfriends, while secretly craving to be making love to a big beautiful woman. If all of the men who felt the way that I felt were willing to be honest, I wondered what would happen.
As my discussion with Collette continued, we got to a point where she directly asked me whether it was possible that I was actually enjoying her overweight body more than I had her slimmer self. It was like we were playing Truth or Dare and I took the dare to avoid having to really answer that question. It wasn’t that I had questions about how I felt, but I just didn’t feel ready to be that honest. I knew that it was coming; but not yet.
Collette’s dare for me was great. She dared me to make her an ice creamed Sunday. Not much of a challenge, but one that signaled that this experiment was still moving forward.
We went into the kitchen to make Sundays. "Do you have a flavor preference?" I asked.
"Yes," she answered, "a combination."
I took out a big bowl and several of the cartons. Collette took out a second bowl and made it clear that she wanted me to have one, too. I remember thinking that was interesting. I put four large scoops into her bowl and smaller scoops into mine, which prompted Collette to put another scoop into mine. "I don’t want my consumption to cause you to be deprived. I know you like ice cream, too," she explained. Still, there was a lot more ice cream in her bowl than mine. I added a large dollop of the Marshmallow Fluff only to hers, since I didn’t really like it, and chocolate sauce to both. I then made a tower of whipped cream on her Sunday.
We carried them to the table and got her laptop. "What do you want to watch now?" I asked.
"Can you find an appropriate video with Shar?" She asked.
I knew the perfect one: where Shar is shown sitting in a restaurant eating a steak and potatoes, and then a Sunday of her own. I downloaded it and, as soon as the video began, we started eating our Sundays.
Collette was toying with me by kind of moaning with satisfaction as she slowly spooned the ice cream into her mouth. She was performing for me. We watched as Shar made her way through her meal and then started in on her own Sunday.
"My Sunday is bigger than Shar’s" Collette said, sounding pleased.
"Yes, but Shar’s belly is bigger than yours," I countered.
"Well, she has been doing this longer than I have,"Collette responded.
I didn’t exactly know what to do with that statement, so I left it alone. We ate slowly and as we were getting close to finishing, I asked Collette if she wanted to fix her more.
"I think I am good for now with ice cream, but do you think you could be interested in eating something else?" she flirted.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure what she meant. She pushed her bowl away and sat back with a satisfied expression, rubbing her belly. By this point in the video, Shar was climbing the stairs in the building where she lived looking as if it was a bit of an effort. As she is unlocking to door, Shar unbuttoned her pants to relieve the pressure on her belly, which generously curved forward. Inside her apartment, Shar changed into shorts and flopped onto her bed, with her belly proudly defying gravity.
Collette stood up and took my hand to get me to stand up. Then she led me to the bedroom where she duplicated Shar’s flop onto our bed. While not quite as big as Shar, Collette’s belly was impressive. I lay down next to her and we started making out. Her mouth tasted like chocolate, and I assumed my did too.
"Are you hungry for anything else?" she asked coyly.
"What do you have in mind?" I asked, already having a pretty good idea.
"Well, I thought maybe you would be in the mood to nibble on me a bit," she answered. "I could enjoy seeing how you taste, if you are interested.
"I am feeling a little bit full," I answered, "but I would enjoy licking you."
She smiled and shifted herself to give me more room on the bed. I got myself between her chubby thighs with her knees bent up. With my head positioned so that I could lick her cunny, I realized that the geography had changed a little. My forehead was pushing into her belly, which I assumed would not be comfortable for her.
"Here, let’s try this," I suggested, getting her to shift her ass over and slide down a bit on the bed so that I had my head perpendicular to her legs. This enabled me to lick her and work my tongue into her cunny and along her clit without putting unwanted pressure on her belly. "How is this?" I mumbled while my tongue was busy.
"That is absolutely quite nice," she answered.
We got into a nice rhythm, with her rocking her ass a little bit. I liked this position because it made it easier for me to reach her breasts, which I started fondling. I worked on her cunny, making teasing circles around her clit. As her clit came out to play, I started to punctuated my pattern with an occasional draw of my tongue wide over her clit. This caused her to push back against me. I had been playing with her thighs with my other hand, but then shifted so I could reach her cunny. Using my fingers to tug on her lips, I increased the tension on her clit so my tongue would pull up, while my fingers pulled down.
I could actually feel her skin getting hotter, with a slight sheen of sweat starting to form on her belly. I moved my hand from her breasts to her belly and started to rub, but she grunted in a way that suggested that was not a good idea. I shifted so that my body was more along side of hers, which enabled me to move my hand to her ass. Now I was able to pull her crotch more up towards me as part of the rhythm. This continued for a few minutes as her breathing got deeper. Finally, she pushed up hard into my face and then bucked back and forth as she came. She was vibrating and pushed my head away. Often when she came like this, any further contact on her cunny was simply too intense.
I shifted around so that my head was next to hers and I put my skin against hers, avoiding putting any pressure on her belly. I figured that, with how much she had eaten, almost any position to have intercourse would be either uncomfortable or too much effort.
"What about you? Would you like me to go down on you?" she asked.
"I think that sounds great," I answered, if you aren’t too worn out.
"Do you mind if we try something a little bit different?" she asked. "It will fit into our little adventure?"
"Whatever you would like to try. I’m game," I answered.
She got up from the bed, her first steps being a bit wobbly, and headed out of the room. She came back with the whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and a towel. We spread the towel on the bed and I laid down on it, with pillows behind my back. She kneeled down on the bed in front of me and started to shake the can of whipped cream. The motion of her shaking the can was a wonderful treat, in the way that it made her breasts and belly wiggle and jiggle. This really showed off her chub.
Then she sprayed the whipped cream on my cock. My first reaction was to the fact that it was cold, but she quickly put her mouth over the top of my cock as she swallowed the cream. She repeated this several times. Then she took the bottle of chocolate sauce, drizzled it on my cock, and sucked it off, licking from top to bottom with her hot tongue. I would have loved to keep doing this for a while, but when she sprayed me again with whipped cream and put her mouth on me to swallow it, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I came violently with the feeling that my mind had left my body. The whole day was foreplay for me and I guess I was in a high state of arousal. Collette had not previously been a swallower, but with her mouth full of whipped cream already, she swallowed everything.
She lay down along side of me and it felt good to have her warm, chubby body next to me. I had my arm around her and my fingers found her love handle, which in the way she was laying, was very pronounced.
"You have to be one of those guys," she said. "You can’t stop playing with my fat."
My mouth didn’t seem to be operating properly yet, as I lay there in post-cum flutter, so I didn’t try to answer her. We lay there for a little while, as I returned to earth.
"I want to take a shower. Do you feel like joining me"? Collette asked, nestling her head into my chest.
Realizing that I had the leftovers of whipped cream and chocolate sauce all over my crotch, I agreed it would be a good idea.
"I’ll call you when it is ready," she said getting herself up off the bed.
A few minutes later, she called me that the shower was hot and she was getting in. I got up and joined her. The warm water felt great. I took the soap and started rubbing it on her body. All soapy, her rounds and mounds of chub felt even sexier. I couldn’t believe it, but I started getting hard again. While I rubbed up against her, I didn’t try to slide into her.
After we were cleaner than we may have ever been before, with each crevice and fold carefully washed, we got out and dried off.
"How would you feel about some exercise?" I asked.
"Exercise?" I am not sure that sounds all that great right now. What do you have in mind?" she asked.
"I am just thinking that it would be good to get our bodies moving. I is a beautiful day. What about a bike ride? Nothing fast or demanding. Maybe just ride along the Aqueduct and loop over to the South County Trailway," I asked. "We could give Mike and Elisa a call to see if they would like to join us."
"I guess if it is agreed that we are riding casual. I am not up for lycra riding," she explained.
"Let’s do it. We can work up an appetite for dinner," I suggested. She turned and smiled, but with a kind of sarcastic look, just shaking her head as if to say, "I should have known."
Chapter Thirty Six
After a most excellent lick-fest, Eric suggested that we go for a bike ride. At first I was thinking that this would not work, given my consumption over the last day, but then I thought it was actually a good idea. As long as he promised that we would not be riding hard, I figured that it could help to get my body moving. Plus he made arrangements for us to meet up with Mike and Elisa, who I knew would not be too judgmental about how fat I had gotten. I hadn’t seen them since maybe a month before I left, when Elisa was in her ninth month of pregnancy. They had the baby a couple of days before I flew out, but I didn’t get to see her or the baby, although her Facebook page was photos of little else but her baby.
I got dressed again, but this time put on my Spandex. I thought this could hold me together and prevent my belly from bouncing all over the place from the bumps on the trail. It was harder to squeeze my bloated belly into the bodysuit, but once I had it on, it felt good. I looked at myself in the mirror and, while it smoothed me out, it also seemed to emphasize my roundness. Even with the Spandex on, my size 14 jeans felt snug. Even though it was a warm day, I put on a large button down shirt, which I did not tuck in. I figured that this gave me a bit of camouflage, although it also left more to the imagination. I decided that it was a toss up. Someone could either assume that I looked big because my oversized shirt was billowy or that I had become billowy, as evidenced by my oversized shirt. At some point, I decided that I needed to lose the anxiety of what people were going to think about my body. It was what it was.
We got the bikes out from under the deck and took off the covers. Everything seemed in good shape. Eric got out his electric pump so that he could quickly bring the tires up to pressure. And we were off. We rode down to Main Street and met up with Mike and Elisa. Mike gave me a big hug and said, "Whow, Mama!" as he reached around me. Elisa had a similar reaction when we hugged, although she didn’t say anything. I was a little disappointed that Elisa seemed to already be back to her pre-pregnancy body. I was remembering her at nine months when she was very round.
Elisa gave me a puzzled look, but still didn’t ask. I knew what she was thinking. Eric and Mike got on their bikes and started riding slowly ahead. Elisa gave me one more look and I whispered to her, "No. I am not pregnant. I just really enjoyed the Italian and French pastries."
I could tell that I was freaking Elisa out a little bit, but I just pushed off on my bike and said, "Let’s catch up to the boys." We rode along at an easy pace for about half an hour. My legs were starting to feel it. We came up to a little downtown area that had good views of the Hudson River and decided to get something to drink. It was Labor Day and around 4:30 so a glass of wine at an outside table seemed appropriate.
While we were sitting, Mike asked me to tell them about my travels. I talked about the places that I had gone and what I had seen. After I had not mentioned anything about food, Mike asked me straight out, "You went there to learn more about making pastries, right? How successful was that?"
"Very," I answered, pulling my shirt tight and holding my belly.
"Mike, Collette is not pregnant," Elisa explained.
I wasn’t sure how such an announcement was necessary, but Elisa continued, "Since I was pregnant, Mike thinks every woman with a bit of a belly is pregnant. Twice now he has awkwardly embarrassed himself by asking women who were not pregnant when they were due."
"Maybe I should get a "T" shirt with an arrow pointing down to my belly that says ‘creme puffs and cannolis’," I suggested. I said it in a way to make sure that they understood that I wasn’t offended and everyone laughed.
"I guess I was just thinking maybe it was a baby because of the way that you were putting on weight last spring," Mike said. "I figured that maybe you were pregnant and getting your flights to and from Europe in before the third trimester."
"You have to excuse Mike," Elisa explained. "Since we were pregnant and had the baby, he has decided that he is the authority on everything about having kids."
I turned to Elisa and complemented her, "You sure did a good job getting your figure back. I mean, it has been less than four months. I know some women who are still struggling a year later."
"I think it has been the breast feeding and the fact that I may have looked huge, but I didn’t really go crazy with the weight gain," Elisa explained. "I wasn’t trying to keep it down, but I didn’t really feel that good for several months. I mean I did put on 35 pounds, but a lot of it seemed to drop off of me in the two weeks after giving birth. I guess I was holding a lot of water."
"Well, you look great. How is the baby?" I asked.
"Wonderful beyond description, but exhausting," Mike answered.
"I think Mike was a little disappointed that I did get my figured back so quickly," Elisa said. "I think he enjoyed me being the madonna with my big belly."
"You were beautiful," Mike said wistfully.
The three of us looked at him and he quickly corrected how that sounded, "But you are just as beautiful now," Mike added, sounding awkward.
"It’s okay, Mike," Elisa said, "we understand how you are attracted to pregnant women. Eric and I looked at one another. "Mike is going to need another hug from you soon," she said looking at me. "He definitely has a thing for the fuller figured woman and you do look very ripe. I also was wondering whether you were pregnant last spring when you started putting on weight."
I looked at Eric again. "How is it that everyone seemed to be aware that I was gaining weight last spring except me?" I asked. "We were talking about it earlier, since I was kind of freaked out about how much I had gained in the three month of traveling, but Eric also suggested that maybe a third of it was pre-departure weight gain. I honestly had no idea that I was gaining."
"How much have you gained," asked Mike.
"MICHAEL!," Elisa shouted at him. "That is not a question that is appropriate to ask any woman."
Elisa turned to me and said, "Please excuse him. Since I started growing with my pregnancy he has had this obsession with women gaining weight. It is weird."
"So that there is no confusion," Mike explained, "I wasn’t being critical. I think you are looking very beautiful. Even if you aren’t pregnant. I didn’t mean to offend you."
"No offense taken," I said, letting him off the hook. "In a way, I actually appreciate it. You said it in a very nice way and I am taking it as a complement."
"Complement intended," Mike continued.
"Okay, Michael, end of discussion about Collette’s body," Elisa commanded.
"I just think the two of us are very lucky to have beautiful women in our lives," Eric added, sounding oh so politically correct.
We paid the bill and got back on our bikes. It was now approaching 5:30 and I figured we should be heading back. We road a different way, which took us over a bridge that had boards. Eric was ahead of me and turned around so that he was riding back towards me as I rode over the bridge. He had actually stopped so that he could watch me. As I was going over the boards, I figured out he was watching how my body was bouncing with the uneven surface. "I hope you are enjoying yourself," I said as I passed him, but I did say it in a nice way.
"Very scintillating," was his only comment.
"Glad that I could entertain," I said with a smile.
We said goodby to Mike and Elisa. As we were about to ride away, Mike called after us, "Let’s get together soon for dinner."
I don’t think we were supposed to hear Elisa’s comment, but she turned to him and said, "Would you give it a rest?"
When we were maybe 10 minutes from home, I started riding faster. I could tell that something was happening in my guts and I wanted to be home when this hit. As we were walking into our apartment I suggested that Eric use the bathroom quickly, if he needed it, because I was going to need it in a minute. Eric rushed in and took a piss. While he was peeing, I quickly downed a large glass of water. As I closed the door, I said to Eric, "Hope to see you soon."
I sat on the toilet feeling like I really needed to go. For maybe a minute, it felt like my guts were trying, but were stopped up. Suddenly, it was if the plug passed and I experienced a wonderful feeling of a ton of crap evacuating my system. I actually moaned in pleasure. I sat for about a minute after the first wave and then experienced a second and third wave. I actually considered flushing the toilet half way through for fear I was going to fill it.
Finally, I was done. My belly actually looked smaller. I had really been full. I pulled out the scale and even with all of the food that I ate at lunch, which had to weigh maybe three pounds by itself, I had "lost" 4 pounds and the scale read 187. Remembering how much water I was holding from the salty Chinese food, I figured that I had sweat out some of that difference.
As I came out, Eric asked me whether everything was okay. I told him that I was feeling much better, since the bike ride seemed to have loosened me up. "It was probably that ride over the bridge," he suggested. "You were really bouncing."
I went into our bedroom and stripped out of my spandex. Wearing it made my body feel toned, which contrasted dramatically as I pulled it off with how my blubber revealed itself. I felt like dough rising. I put on an oversized sweatshirt as if it were a short dress. I decided against anything that had a waist so that I would feel unconstrained.
I came out of the bedroom and Eric smiled. "You look very comfy," he observed.
"I am," I answered, kind of sashaying with my belly feeling loose and every thing feeling free.
"Dinner is going to take me about an hour to make. When do you think you are going to feel like eating?"
"I could be ready to eat anytime you like," I answered with renewed enthusiasm.
"Well, it is after 6:30 now so maybe between 7:30 and 8:00?" he asked.
"Sounds great to me," I answered.
"Why don’t you bring your laptop in to the kitchen and hang with me while I am cooking?" he suggested.
We moved into the kitchen and I started searching on my laptop, while Eric began preparing dinner. The first thing he did was open the one of the boxes of pastries that we had forgotten to take out to the Hamptons and fixed me a generous plate to nibble on. After all it was going to be a long hour before dinner. The pastries were slightly stale, but they still tasked good.
"What do you want to drink with the pastries," Eric asked.
"There is a chilled Riesling in the wine refrigerator which should be a good match," I answered.
So, as Eric worked on making our dinner, I absent mindedly grazed on the plate of pastries. which he replenished as needed. The Riesling did work with the richness of the pastries. While I was enjoying these treats with my mouth, I enjoyed some other treats with my eyes. I searched plus sized models and was amazed about how many there were and how beautiful they were. Lingerie and swimsuit catwalks for fashion shows were well represented on YouTube. Many were in Brazil, where is seemed that women with large butts were particularly in fashion.
I found La’tecia Thomas, who was a very popular fashion model despite the fact that she was big. Then I tried to correct my thinking. Should I have described her as a "very popular fashion model who happened to be big" or even as a "very popular big fashion model? Then I wondered if her sized even needed to be an issue. I hesitated to describe her as chubby or fat, although both would be fair, but she was something different. Similar in many ways to Shar, she was just more. I was struck by how beautiful she was. Again, not in spite of being fat, but more because of how wonderful she looked fat. There was a video of her on YouTube that showed her trying on different swimsuits. She stood facing the camera with a mirror behind her so that you could see how she looked from the front and from the back at the same time. She had a big belly, big breast, big thighs, big hips and a big ass. She was completely unapologetic about her figure. She had folds of back fat that simply seemed that the most natural attribute on a beautiful woman. Ashley Graham was beautiful, but kind of like a larger version of a regular model. La’tecia was different.
"What do you think of this woman," I asked Eric.
He looked at her and simply said, "Fucking beautiful. But if you show me any more like that, I am going to have trouble finishing making our dinner."

Ostensibly told from the perspective of Minnie (nee Skinny)
Chapter 11
 
“Where are you going?” Rutherford asked politely, shaking the crumbs off the vast expanse of her belly. “I was thinking about maybe, like I don’t know, eating and fucking right up until it’s dinner and sex time.”
“Oh love, oh love, you know how much I love feeding you and fucking you right up until dinner and sex time” Minnie smiled back, with a narrow shiver crawling along the hairs on the back of her neck.
“Well then… what are you waiting for? Feed me and fuck me!” Rutherford amusingly roared, lying back on the bed invitationally, spread-eagled and naked and head-spinningly large.
“No, sorry, I’ve got to meet a friend.” Minnie smiled back, admiring the view.
“A sexy friend? Can you bring her here, so we can have a real party?” Rutherford laughed, reaching over to the desk to the side of her to pick up another bowl of rhubarb crumble and custard from the queue of them ready served. “I just love British dessert by the way, we should like totally get more of it”
“Not that kind of friend love, and how about I grab some jam roly-poly on my way back, you’ll love it.” Minnie purred, rolling her sharp nail down the flaccid creases of fat that made up Rutherford’s drawn out stomach. Rutherford’s famous smile erupted as she tilted her head back in enjoyment.
“I like the sound of roly-poly, it reminds me of me haha!” she chortled while twisting her neck as the sensual reverberations lingered. Suddenly her face, previously tensed with enjoyment, drifted downwards. “Hey, you’re not cheating on me are you?”
Rutherford looked with a tenderly concerned expression, her engorged face chewing another slice of rhubarb crumble, as she allowed herself to think paranoid thoughts. Paranoid thoughts about being abandoned. Abandoned at her size. It might seem surprising that she prized monogamy so highly given that she had two girlfriends herself, an old friend from the US called Shay was cohabiting and co-shagging, but Minnie had been acting funny all week and Rutherford was worried she was losing her reason for being. “I’ve not got too fat for you have I?” she asked, woundedly.
Minnie’s face sat in stone for a brief second before erupting back into life.
“Fuck off, love. If I ever cheat on you, it’ll be because you’re too thin, you skinny-arse bitch. Now, I best get going love, but Shay will be back with edible reinforcements soon, and you can have this fucking and feeding session that you so desire with her” Minnie flashed a smile at her as she picked up her handbag. Rutherford deflated slightly in relief. She didn’t deflate too much however, she was much too inflated for that.
“Thanks Minnie. And don’t forget that roly-poly stuff on your way back!” she yelled, before leaning back on her bed and grabbing another bowl of pudding. Minnie walked out of the room and winced as she did so, that familiar sinking feeling of self-loathing rising up again as she lied to the love of her life about having sex with other women. Just another fucked up moment in a fucked up day in the fucked up life of the fucked up Minnie Charnwood. She needed to get a handle on this.
 
Minnie tip-toed into the living area to find Leona studying with her laptop atop her lap. Wiktoria was out with Shay grabbing some shopping, leaving Leona lonesomely lounging in the lounge. With this in mind, Minnie poked her head around the corner to have an overdue chat.
“Hey Leona love, can I have a word?”
Leona said nothing and just angled herself slightly further away from Minnie. Her silence could have filled tomes.
“Look, I’m sorry about that, I am. I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable between you and me, or you and Betty, or whatever. You know how I am though, you know how I can be when I get that itch. I’m trying to get better, I really really am, but you know better than most that mischief courses through me veins...” Minnie pleaded apologetically, walking back up into the eyeline of the scowling Leona blinkeredly glaring at her screen.
“It’s not just Betty is it though? I can deal with Betty, we’ll pick up the pieces that you’ve torn apart, slowly but surely we will. But, you’ve not told Ruthers either, have you? You’re fucking another girl behind her back and you’re hiding it from her.” Leona said, trying to keep her voice down so Rutherford didn’t hear, but not doing a very good job.
Minnie’s eyes glinted with tears as she looked at her teacher, ex-girlfriend and friend. Going cold turkey at not being self-destructive was such a horrific addiction to pack in, and it seemed she just kept falling off the wagon. She was now sabotaging the one good relationship she had with Ruthers to fuck another teacher. It’s just that virginal gains were so hot and Betty seemed like she needed Minnie’s mischievous guidance. But she couldn’t keep going like this. She couldn’t keep finding herself back in this moment where she realises she’s irreconcilably fucked everything up.
“This will be the last time. I promise. Just let me have one more day with her and then I’ll finish it. You’re right Leona, I can’t keep lying to Rutherford. I love her too fucking much to ruin it over something as petty as this.” Minnie confessed, almost begging with her hands together in despair and hope. Leona rolled her eyes in acknowledgement of Minnie’s well-meaning.
“How’s she doing up there anyway, she hasn’t come down much since I’ve been back?” Leona asked, still fond of the American from her time teaching her last year, before they moved in together and everything got a bit weird and very heavy.
“Fat. She’s doing fat.” Minnie smiled lightly. It was a joke, but it wasn’t a very funny one, given her current size, rate of growth and the fact that it was now deterring her from getting out and about any more. “And I’ll not derail Betty this time, I’ll look out for her, I’ll have her back. I just want one last go at her front before I move on is all.”
Leona didn’t acknowledge or comment, she just went back to looking at her laptop dismissively, passive-aggression seeping from her. Minnie walked out the door feeling guilty, and Minnie didn’t handle the emotion of guilt in the most productive of ways.
 
Betty picked herself up to answer the door, presuming it to be Minnie. She was a little bit nervous about this whole reunion with Minnie thing, she suddenly felt quite out of her depth when confronted with the prospect of Hurricane Minnie. She was an amateur in the field of wanton behaviour, dabbling and dipping her toe in to test the waters, while Minnie had the air of an expert veteran who had seen and done it all, and it left Betty feeling a little at sea. Tomorrow she would go back to being the Betty everyone remembers from last year. Doe-eyed and lovely, with a friendly face and an easy smile, albeit larger than before. But this weekend she wanted something darker and more depraved. And nobody knew their way around devilish depravity quite like Minnie Charnwood.
Betty was excited though as well. She’d just had a whale of a time with Remus as Remus had his time with the whale that was her, and was feeling surprisingly confident about herself as a person. She might not have been as attractive as she had once been, but she could still do alright for herself if the sexy courier courting was anything to go by. That sugar-and-spice smile of hers swooshed across her face as she pulled the door to meet Minnie with real optimism and excitement. She was met with a black as thunder scowl.
“You bitch! You fucking bitch!”
Betty took a nervous step back, her smile scurrying away like prey near a predator.
“You fat bitch! You think you can just call me and ask me over, like clicking your fingers and summoning me!” Minnie raged at her, with emerald eyes clouding over with carnal fury.
Betty just shook her head nervously.
“At your fucking beck and call. Look at you, dressed up like this is amateur hour. Well, I guess I’ll have to show you how the professionals do it” Minnie tilted her head aggressively, before walking purposefully towards her, causing the terrified Betty to back off in fear. Then she saw Minnie grab some handcuffs out of her handbag and really did fear the worst. “Now get up to your bed, I have a few things I apparently need to teach you.”
It wasn’t just her hands that were handcuffed to the bedposts, her feet were as well. She lay on her back on her bed stretched apart like she was on the rack, her limbs spread in opposing directions like she was the Vitruvian man. The rest of her was naked and pale now, every inch of her on ebony display. She just lay there, with her head craning up waiting for Minnie to enter back into the room.
It wasn’t just the suspense that was killing her, it was being suspended. The handcuffs were tight around her arms and gripped each appendage with a vice-like tenacity. Still, the suspense was a bit of a struggle to though, the anticipation of what Minnie had in store for her. Betty had never done anything like this and did feel out of her depth with the swirling dervish from the North, tied up and wholly exposed, like Prometheus while he got his liver pecked out.
“Urmm.. Minnie, what you up to? You coming?” Betty asked nervously. She couldn't here Minnie and feared what that silence could mean. She glanced at the alarm clock in her room that told her it was 3pm, and she had only had breakfast so far. She was going to have to really unleash every ounce of her feasting capacity if she was going to indulge like she had planned to. But, for that, she needed Minnie.
“Hey, Minnie, what are you up to?” she called out, a bit more worried. It was now 2.20pm and she had still not heard anything from her. Not a creak in the house or the clatter of pans. Nothing. What could be taking her so long? Betty’s imagination didn’t know where to head next at the prospect of all the glorious ways that Minnie could take this. Betty was currently tethered, Minnie was notoriously untethered. This should be an experience.
“Hey, come on, what’s going on? I’m a bit nervous here Minnie, I’m… feeling a bit nervous” Betty cried out. It was now 3pm and Betty’s mind was racing. What was this sadistic game that Minnie was playing, and could she hurry along and get it started please. She kept looking around, hoping to catch the flicker of a shadow as her voluptuous vixen started fixin’ on mixin’ with Betty to get her licks in.
“Seriously Minnie, I’m getting worried. This isn’t a game any more. I need to pee.” Betty writhed in her constraints pulling futilely to see if anything would give, hoping to feel some looseness or give as she yanked and grunted. Of course it wouldn’t, these were handcuffs and this wasn’t the movies. She wasn’t getting out of these restraints without Minnie’s key. It was now 3.40pm and Betty wasn’t lying about needed to go to the toilet. She’d cross her legs except she couldn’t.
“Please, please, this isn’t funny. If you’re there, please let me out. I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever.” Betty was crying now, panicked. She was running through scenarios in her head as to how this could reasonably work if Minnie didn’t come back at all. Because surely she wasn’t coming back now. Would Betty be able to get to work somehow by tomorrow? Would a neighbour call the police, and if so what would they think when they saw her? What if nobody came to rescue her? She’d cacooned herself away from the world for four months and now what if she had nobody to check in on her? What if she died like this, fat, hairy and tied to her bed? What would her parents say, sanctimoniously tutting and saying that they always knew their precious Belinda wasn’t worth the Bollingbrooke name, if this was how her body was found? And what would kill her? Would she starve? Wouldn’t that be ironic, don’t ya think?
“I’m begging, I’ll do anything, please just let me go!” Minnie screamed, half hoping her neighbour would here her. Come on Maureen, don’t you usually leave for Bingo before tea? It was 4.45pm know and Betty truly was busting for the toilet, her bladder stung as it swelled and she wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer.
“I’m sorry God. I deserve this, don’t I? This is my rightful punishment isn’t it?” Betty wailed at the ceiling, her bladder now emptied on her bedsheets. It was 5.15pm and Betty was begging for divine intervention, that’s how bad things had gotten. Crawling back to God after years of abandonment, only praying to him when she needed something, like her mother always said. She whimpered pathetically, with snot coming out of her nose, as she pleaded to a God she no longer believed in to give up the habit of a lifetime and divinely intervene for once. She was a 27 year old girl who was admittedly possibly a little more screwed up than she realised, but still a 27 year old girl with a successful career and so much more to give. If only God would give her one more chance.
By the time 6pm came around, Betty wasn’t even calling for help any more. She had gone through the gruelling grinding gamut of ghastly emotions and come out the otherend, resigned to her humiliating demise. Maybe Leona would discover her body, since she’d notice she wasn’t at work, realise she wasn’t answering her calls and then maybe try the door. As her worry would grow after repeated days of absence, she might call the police out of worry. Yes, that’s how Betty’s body would be found. Like this.
The most embarrassing thing though, the thing that far exceeded the position she found herself in, was her hunger. She was lying in her bed with her limbs apart in a star jump position and she was in excruciating pain from a lack of consumption. It felt like it was eating her stomach from the inside, causing it to collapse in on itself. And this immense pain was simply from not eating an immense for four hours to her immense embarrassment. She’d already eaten 6000 calories today, mainly thanks to the Skinny meal for breakfast that she could no longer remember the taste of, and she was writhing in the agony of hunger. She’d eaten four times more calories than a woman is supposed to, to maintain a healthy weight, and she was crying because her hunger was so bad. This was terrifying news, it was like what Leona had said to her earlier in the week. That getting back to her healthy eating ways wouldn’t be like flicking a switch. She was already struggling to only eat quadruple what she should. She was never going to get thin, even if she got out of this. She was fat forever, and falling fast. Betty’s future was either starvation or obesity, she reckoned, and both futures horrified her.
That was when Minnie walked through the door.
“Where have you been? I’ve been so scared?” Betty wailed with tears in her eyes.
“Mainly just outside your bedroom, hearing your screams” Minnie shrugged nonchalantly. “But I did do some shopping while I was here too, you seemed short of supplies for what I have planned.”
“You just left me here! I thought I was going to die! I wet myself and everything!” Betty squeaked in shock.
“Yeah, I heard. My bad.” Minnie said, as if that was no big deal. “So, who’s hungry? I have jam roly-poly”
 
Minnie had spent most of the time sitting down in silence just outside the door with her ear to the wall, listening to Betty’s cries. She sat there as Betty begged and pleaded and promised everything with a quiet enjoyment, hearing the helpless heroine howl in hysterics thanks to her situation. She heard when she shouted for the neighbour with idle curiosity and she heard when she begged to be let out to go to the loo. She heard when she pissed herself as well, an explosion of urine presumably covering the bottom half of the bed and sinking deep into the mattress, and she heard when the born-again Atheist rediscovered God as a final Hail Mary. She felt like God.
Minnie then brought the food in two by two. The cakes and desserts and then the McDonald’s and a pizza, then lastly the Skinny meal and the milkshakes. She put them in a line, like an unmoving conveyor belt of nourishment, by the sodden bed that Betty was trapped on. She then took off her jeans and t-shirt, and pants and bra so she was every bit as naked as the girl trapped in cufflinks and tied to the bed. She grabbed the first thing, the McDonald’s and took it with her as she climbed onto the bed and mounted Betty, resting her fatty arse on Betty’s chubby legs and with her brutish stomach slapping down over Betty’s vagina. Then, one food item at a time, she fed Betty. The Big Macs disappointed pronto, Betty’s hunger made light work of them as Minnie smilingly shoved huge portions of each one down Betty’s facial abyss. The fries were the same, vanishing like they were in a magic act. The McFlurry and the milkshake also made themselves scarce in record time, tumbling down Betty’s throat to fill the expanse that seemed to have made itself violently known to Betty.
The cream cakes came next, each one pushed into Betty’s mouth by Minnie all the way in. Betty looked up to the heavens again, but this time in satisfaction, determined to prove her worth to her dominant captor by not wilting, while Minnie licked the spilt cream off Betty’s tummy. Then came cinnamon whirls, with their awkward size and shape making the eating experience messy for the girl being handlessly fed. Minnie had to wipe her hands down Betty’s midriff to get the gooeyness off them, smearing yet more detritus down her. Then it was another milkshake for Betty, replenishing her depleted bladder and also providing shocking brainfreeze that invoked zero sympathy from Minnie who wasn’t saying a word because her mouth was biting into Betty’s shoulder. After that, in this march of the foodstuffs, came something a bit different. She’d been knocking the food down like they were dominoes so, fittingly, it was Dominos that Minnie had lined up for Betty. Betty just shook her head at this, her mouth still full from the cinnamon whirls, this wasn’t part of the Betty plan or rota. Her eating was systemised and it was three meals, two of which were Skinny meals and one that was a McDonald’s. She’d had one Skinny meal, and the one McDonald’s, and she saw that Minnie had another Skinny meal lined up, so this meal was unregistered and not part of the plan.
But Minnie wasn’t the take-no-for-an-answer type of girl. She scratched Betty’s exposed stomach with her sharp nails and whispered into her ear “remember your training love. One piece at a time and think of Lionel.” That sharp nail of hers slowly clawed down towards Betty’s vagina, where she began circling round the tangled web of hair seductively. And with the other hand, she began feeding. After slice 3 was when Betty noticed that the feeling of hunger that had wrought such pain earlier had now completely gone, and by slice 9 she was feeling quite full again. By the time she finished the 14inch deep pan pepperoni pizza and the accompanying McDonald’s milkshake, she was drawing towards maximum capacity. The six pack of British style doughnuts took her to that point. It was now 11pm and Betty should really have been thinking about calling it a night and getting a good night’s sleep ready for the start of term tomorrow. As it happens, that was the thing furthest from her mind. Especially now Minnie was going down on her.
She convulsed against the restraints as Minnie hit every note like a first-chair violinist. She writhed and grimaced and arched her knees and back as Minnie’s tongue conjured shards of explosive sexual energy across her body. After all that gluttony, after all that panic, after all that shame, Betty was a powder keg of sexually charged explosivity and it wasn’t long until she erupted. She then gasped deeply to catch her breath and orientate herself.
“That was your breather, now we’re back at it, bucko” Minnie laughed as she leant over and grabbed the Skinny meal. It seemed that Minnie was happy to give cunnilingus to Betty, but never asked for anything sexual in return. From Minnie’s perspective, this was intentional. This was her trying to remain a form of faithful in her distorted mind. If she didn’t get off, she didn’t cheat. That was the lie that she could tell herself to keep the dark thoughts at bay.
Betty was struggling with this meal. She had never eaten so much, and never with such little respite either. She felt like John Hurt in Alien, bloated, in agony and ready to burst. And now she was confronted with the big one, the Skinny meal, the 5500 calorie behemoth that once, in isolation, seemed so far beyond her capacity. And now it was just the final mile in this marathon of food. She just had to treat it like it was the final mile in a marathon and push until she had nothing left to give.
She closed her eyes as she ate. She closed her eyes and thought of Lionel and what he’d think of her now if he could see her.
She closed her eyes and thought of Minnie, and how important it felt not to let her down. To prove herself worthy as a submissive partner.
She closed her eyes and thought of Leona, of her magnificent size that dwarfed Betty, and how envious Betty had been of it.
She closed her eyes and she ate every last crumb of the damn thing.
“We’re done Minnie. I can’t believe we made it!” Betty sighed in joy. “What time is it?”
“2.30am and no we’re not done. Did you not listen, I said we had jam roly-poly.”
And she wasn’t kidding. She’d put slices of jam roly poly in individual bowls and smothered each one in custard. They each had there own bespoke spoon and Minnie had every intention of feeding Betty these one by one until all eight bowls were gone. Minnie admired her handiwork as Betty ate herself into tears, the sweet delicious dessert taking up room in her stomach that simply didn’t exist. Minnie looked at the mess that she had helped create. The wincing expression on Betty’s pained face as tackles one mouthful after another, the state of her body, almost marinaded in the food that she had eaten. Her stomach, dotted with food she’d failed to get in her mouth and straining at the leash to expand against her taut skin. The bed, littered with litter and caked with cake, and a pungent dampness across the bedsheets. This was her doing, all her doing. She had caused this calamity by her own fair hand. At this point, Minnie was feeding Betty the last few bowls faster and faster, with Betty having to hamster cheek some of it because she couldn’t get through it fast enough. But Betty rammed it down her as hastily as she could, her intentions twisting. Betty was just swallowing the last bit, gasping fraughtly for oxygen, while Minnie stood up on the bed, causing it to creak and strain. Standing over Betty, she lowered herself down through the squat position over Betty’s head.
“Eat. Me. Out” Minnie said, not even looking at Betty but leaning back and looking up with her mouth agape. Betty took a deep breath, to prepare herself for her first time licking out another girl when a wave of impetuousness burst from Minnie. “NOW BITCH!”
And Betty didn’t have to work very hard, Minnie was practically there already. She then curled up next to the battered and beaten and fully over-eaten girl and cuddled her, with the pair drifting quickly to sleep.
 
“Miss, you wanna get up love. You’ve got to shower and go to work?” Minnie whispered whilst stroking her hair.
“Why are you being responsible Minnie, you’re so good at being not.” Betty smiled as she saw what she had woken next to, with Minnie’s straight black hair falling onto her face. She felt another surge of kinky lust with the student lying next to her. Last night had been an experience like no other. The fear, panic and hunger that preceded it just made her enjoy it all the more.
“I know but I’m trying to change, and I know how blurred the lines between on top of the world and rock bottom can be.” Minnie tried to empathise.
“Oh, don’t worry, we can be naughty for one more day, it’s only first day of term.” Betty interrupted, still feeling the urge for something more kinky. She was, after all, still tied up, though her arms and her feet were currently numb.
“No love, you’ve got to get up. It’s important and besides, I shouldn’t be doing this Miss, I’m not good for you. And you deserve someone good for you.” Minnie’s frosted face melted a little and a little sadness poured out. She couldn’t even lie to herself and pretend that she hadn’t ‘cheated’, because of that overwhelming urge that lead her to practically sit on Betty’s face.
“No, I want someone bad for me. You know who, according to my parents, was ‘good for me’? My abusive ex, that’s who. No, I want this. I’m not scared of not being who I was, I want to not be who I was. I hated that girl.” Betty was getting slightly wound up with the mish-mash of emotions that were clogging up her brain. Emotions of lust and yearning and self-destruction and rebellion and responsibility and kindness and fear and anger.
“If you’re sure love, then I believe you. But then know it can’t be me Miss. You need someone else, but I love Rutherford. I actually do. I know it seems silly, because I fuck other people. But it’s her I love. It’s not even because of her size. It’s fun and sexy but its not why I love her. I love her because I love her. It’s true, - I love her because I love her. I’m sure you’ll find someone else Miss, but I’m afraid it can’t be me. Now shower, put on your spanx, your best clothes, and smarten yourself up. And maybe there’s another student out there for you. But, either way, be at your best today. You’ve had a weekend of being at your worst, now be at your best.” she leant over and kissed her. Not sexually but sensually. It felt like a parting kiss. Betty just lay there, upset, as Minnie untied the teacher from her handcuffs.
“Are we over then?” Betty said, trying not to cry over something that she had told herself was just a bit of fun and exploration.
“Oh love, we were never together” Minnie said, trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.
Betty pulled herself up and flapped about a bit to try to get feeling into her limbs before getting off the bed.
“How many calories do you think we did? Sorry, I did?” Betty asked tenderly holding her still pained stomach. The spanx was going to hurt when she put it on. She shuffled first over to the shower and switched it on.
“Fuck knows, but a lot. You know, you could probably do stage 3 now, if you wanted to, love. You’ve got the appetite for it now, I think you’re there. You could get off now if you wanted to”
“Is it bad that I don’t want to? Not yet. Because when I do it, I have to stop and I’m not ready to stop yet. I don’t want to get healthy again, I want to live like this just a little bit more, a little bit longer. Is that bad?” Betty admitted, standing outside the en suite naked while the shower ran
“Of course it’s bad, love. Of course it is. It sounds like you’re off the deep-end and making excuses. But maybe bad is where you’re at these days. Maybe Betty Bollingbrooke is a bad girl.”
Maybe she was.
Betty stepped into the shower to get herself clean, Minnie decided to pack up her stuff and go back to Rutherford. She didn’t feel clean either.
 
Minnie got back at 8am, and walked up the stairs heavily. She’d had a lot to digest, and, for once, it wasn’t food. She was going to have to walk into Rutherford’s room and look her in the eyes and pretend that nothing happened. Like it was just another day in the office. Yesterday would have to exist in a zip file in the back of her mind out of the way. She just had to pretend that nothing had happened. She was a good girl now, a loyal girlfriend to a wonderful woman that wasn’t so much ballooning as Zeppelining under her watchful eye and Ratched-esque nursing. She had everything she wanted right here, the only thing wrong was herself. In some ways, she had a larger appetite than Rutherford. But it wasn’t so much an appetite for food these days, but an appetite for the pitch black aspects of her personality that she tried to keep under lock and key.
“Hey love, how are you holding up?” she smiled at her huge manatee with humanity.
“Alright, good. Had a nice day with Shay involving lots of whipped cream and butterscotch, y’know, nothing fancy. What about you?” Rutherford was grunting as she stretched in her bed.
“Yeah, nothing fancy either” Minnie lied, trying not to flinch as she did so.
“Wait, where’s my roly-poly thing?” Rutherford asked quizzically.
“Shit, fuck, I… I forgot. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to go get some for you? I can go right now if you like...” Minnie panicked, guilty hammering away at her MacBethian guilt.
“Hey, at ease soldier. Shay’s out getting salted caramel flapjack for me. Like, a shit-ton. I’ve got a craving, what can I say?” Rutherford smiled loosely as she scratched an itch on her belly. “When she gets back, do you wanna feed me or eat me out? Though Shay should really get first dibs given she didn’t forget the roly-poly thing. But, since she’s not here, pick one. You can’t have both.”
“No, I can’t have both.” Minnie agreed, but the words meant something else. “I’ll eat you out love, that way I can get started now”
“Y’know Minnie, you’re always there for me… oh boy. Oh, you’re keen, oh… yeah”
Minnie’s tongue attacked Rutherford with the vigour of a girl who wanted to be with the American for the rest of her life, and nothing was going to stop her.

On the original version of this story, this was where my second chapter started pretty much. I worry I've gone overboard in expanding the story to cover the cracks of it. Hope you don't mind.
Chapter 10
 
Betty kept a low profile for the rest of the week, afraid of the prowling prat that was Lionel. Walking around the corridor halls with him about felt like being trapped in a labyrinth with a minotaur roaming. She felt sheepish about lying to him – about why she walked out on Monday, about whether she had done any work over the Summer – but she mainly felt intimidated by a man who thought women were buffet items. She had buffered herself, she’d hoped, by eschewing the shapewear that tucked her in where she had begun to pooch out so if he didn’t crawl up to her, he might not be so keen. But thankfully it hadn’t yet come to that.
And hiding from Lionel wasn’t the only healthy choice that Betty had been making, mainly thanks to the close monitoring and support of her deeply concerned friend Leona. Betty had been on the precipice of a complete meltdown for a while and it culminated on that Sunday night when she cried over the phone to her colleague about having no clothes. After this point, Leona made an effort to cajole her into being the better version of herself. She didn’t want another drunken phone call about Betty having no clothes.
So clothes were the first thing on the agenda, and the two girls went clothes shopping. This was much to the chagrin of Minnie who wanted this role, having enjoyed playing with Betty like a cat would a mouse earlier, but Leona figured Betty needed a friend, not a fiend. So they decided to hit up the Churchill Square shopping centre to sack it of its most stylish formal clothing choices.
Betty wasn’t really a subscriber to the philosophy of retail therapy like Leona was, though Leona’s enthusiasm for it had dimmed as clothes became less and less likely to fit her magnificent magnitude, so it wasn’t so much a joy as a chore. She hoped to be in and out quickly, and come aware with uninteresting work skirt and shirt combinations so as not to provoke comment from her keen-eyed colleagues. Anyone who says ‘is that new?’ about the clothing that Betty had purchased might be prompted to take in her figure and draw negative conclusion. She wanted to dim the desires of the dastardly department head, but she didn’t want to be a laughing stock amongst faculty members for ballooning bigly.
As such, she opted straight for the safe option of Debenhams and worked her way through the clothing racks, picking things out that might be suitable.
“What size should I get?” Betty asked, unsure of herself and her size.
“Well, not 10s, that’s for sure. You’re current ones are already overworked” Leona replied, as Betty sheepishly put back the size 10s that she had picked out for herself. “Definitely some 12s, probably some 14s too, just to be safe. I mean, you can help yourself to my old clothes whenever you fancy Betz, but I’d grab some 14s just in case.”
Betty paused at that comment. It came from a kind and thoughtful place, but Leona’s comment about buying size 14 seemed to ram home how much Betty had butterballed. It was an inevitability of her tactic to divert Lionel’s attention elsewhere, but that seemed a world away from where she saw herself. Was she really going to be the kind of woman that wore a size 14? And it begged a further question, one that Betty had given surprisingly little thought thus far. How far was she going to go with this?
The obvious answer was until she completed Stage 3 of the Skinny meal challenge. She was rarely one to back away from a challenge and it was the success of every forward step made towards this goal that put a smile on her face more than anything else. It also wasn’t a million miles away, she felt like now she was up to 2 Skinny meals and a McDonalds every day without to much difficulty, the next step up to having a Skinny meal was no longer such a great stride. Surely Lionel’s libido would subside soon, she could experience the rush of task completion, and then she could finally return to normal, whatever that meant. For a woman so emotionally scarred and tortured, the allure of normality was fainter than for most.
“Do you think I’ll get up to 14?” Betty said, trying to normalise that number that currently felt like an anchor had tied itself to her stomach and been dropped.
“Well get it just to be safe, you’re on good money these days so why not? But, to answer your question, yeah I do. At least.” Leona replied with typical frank honesty.
“At least? But I’m practically at the finishing line. I’ll be able to draw a line under all this soon, and get back to being healthy again.” Betty said sweetly, trying to stifle the minor irritation from Leona’s insinuation. But Leona laughed heartily and sighed deeply.
“Oh Betz, I love you but you do say the funniest things. You’re eating about 15000 calories a day, which is ten times your RDA by the way, you haven’t touched a vegetable in a third of a year and you’d lie in bed all day if it wasn’t for work, when you used to exercise like a Duracell bunny. You won’t be able to just flick a switch and be healthy my dear. You can slam on the brakes, but travelling at your speed and it will still take a while to slow down.” Leona rested her arm on Betty’s shoulder as she delivered the cold hard truth. Betty had been kidding herself in thinking that she could just drop 13500 calories from her diet just like that, and she needed the wake-up call.
“Oh god Leona, I think you’re right” she said, her eyes wide with worry and her bottom lip quivering again as the waterworks seeped from her tear ducts again. Between sniffles she asked “Do you think I should maybe get some size 16s too, just in case?”
“Probably better had, Betz.” she said as kindly as she could to the upset teacher. “Probably better had”
Betty put the clothes back for a second and decided to sit down for a second to collect her thoughts. Her mood these days felt precarious, like it could topple in an instant. She would be going about her day genuinely believing that she’s quite happy, and the slightest touch could crush her spirit. She felt constantly deflated, and every time she tried to pump herself back up, a slow puncture would whittle her back down again. She was getting sick and tired of feeling sick and tired, she just wanted these self-doubts to go away and leave her alone. But this quiet contemplation was rudely interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Ay up, if it isn’t my two favourite women?” Minnie bounced into the shop with tiggerish verve.
“Firstly, how can we be your two favourite women Minnie, when you’re in a relationship with two other women? And secondly, what the actual fuck are you doing her?” Leona bristled.
“Well, it’s a funny story actually, but you see, the thing is, I wanted to.” Minnie said and then smiled. “You said I shouldn’t come, and I disagreed. I thought I should come. The thought of you two made me come.”
“Please rephrase that” Leona said, unamused.
“Sorry, I’ll rephrase that. I should have said, I came whilst thinking about you two.” Minnie let out a feminine cackle that broke Betty’s sullen mood a little. “So we trying these clothes on or what? Come on you two, we’ll go in together”
Leona didn’t want to be trapped in a changing booth with two women she had previously had sex with, but Minnie was insistent and Betty’s mood was slowly perking up. So the three walked into an empty booth and closed the door behind them.
It was, perhaps predictably, a tight fit for the troika, all crammed into one booth. Leona took up most of it with her width, though her respectable gut pushed forward and took up valuable depth. The other two girls were mushed together in the other half, though Minnie was not as mini as her name suggested and the two girls struggled for their part too. Even Betty these days was taking up some room.
“So, what sizes you got love?” Minnie asked mischievously.
“Some 12s, 14s and some 16s. I hope I never have to wear those though.” Betty sighed, self-doubt whirring up in the background of her mind once more.
“Oooo, you’re planning on going up to size 16, they’re the plus sizes. Oh, you’ll look good at them sizes Miss. Can’t wait to see you grow” Minnie purred fiendishly. “But, in the meantime, let’s get you naked so we can try on the underwear, shall we?”
Leona twitched as Minnie said that, trapped in the back of the booth and squashed in by her two former lovers, one of whom was stripping. It was fairly uncomfortable for Betty also, who desperately fancied Leona and didn’t want to show her the chubbiness that had made itself known on her body. But Minnie was comfortable. She was in her element. Two fat women and all the power.
Once Betty had taken off her clothes and down to her underwear, she just stood there awkwardly. She could feel the two other girls on her skin in the cramped conditions and she was loath to pull down her knickers with such a tactile audience to present her untended garden for their judgement.
“If you’re feeling awkward, love, I can help with that” Minnie said. She then pulled the nice black dress she was wearing over her head to reveal her own naked body. Only she wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath to begin with. Poor Leona didn’t know where to look. “See, isn’t that better? Not all eyes are on you now”
Betty tentatively took off her knickers, and tried on a pair that she had brought in with her. They weren’t silky or frilly knickers, they were plain Jane granny pants designed to cover skin and not reveal skin. Fortunately, they fit like a dream and seemed to compact her softness flatteringly.
“She looks good, doesn’t she Leona?” Minnie asked, turning the screw merrily. Leona just gulped and nodded, having only briefly glanced in Betty’s direction. Betty then reached down to take them off, having confirmed that they fit, only for Minnie to stop her.
“Hey, you know what would be fun, love? If you leave them on. We’ll not pay for them, and instead just walk out with them on. Nobody will look, will they? I’ll just put your old knickers down here” Betty thrust her poorly circulated cold hand down Betty’s knickers to deposit the old ones there, and ran her nail along Betty’s skin on the way up.
“But… that’s shoplifting!” Betty whispered sharply.
“I know, love. You’re first ever crime. Oh, they grow up so fast don’t they?” Minnie snickered.
“Seriously Minnie, cut it out” Leona chimed in, but neither of the other two girls felt like they had much autonomy in Minnie’s presence, and Minnie knew it. She leant in and kissed Betty seductively to stop any further protestations, while grabbing her hair tightly. Leona winced as she felt Minnie’s chubby legs run along Betty’s. “Come on then, let’s try that size 12 blouse and skirt shall we?”
Betty was hoping for bags of bagginess when she put the size 12s on, but they fit alarming well. Her tummy rested delicately on the upper rim of the skirt, and the white blouse wasn’t so loose as to flow over her love handles in concealment. She pulled up the size 12 tights for underneath the skirt, finding it difficult without much room to lean or pivot, but she got them up to find that they fit her bum disappointingly well. Size 12 wasn’t Betty’s future, it was her present.
“Now the size 16s” Minnie cooed, fully enjoying the moment.
“But we know they won’t fit...” Betty weakly protested.
“I wasn’t asking. Now put on the size 16s” and Minnie leaned over again and put her tongue in her ear, while Leona continued to squirm.
Betty dutifully obliged and saw the funny side of it once they were on. The arms of the blouse were so loose and there was so much room around her waist also. The skirt only stayed up by Betty grabbing a huge chunk of the fabric and continuously yanking it. Betty looked ridiculous, Leona looked perplexed and Minnie looked at her prey.
“At some point, you’re going to have put on so much weight that you’re going to fill these clothes. You stomach is going to press against the fabric at the front, your arse is gonna expand enough to keep the skirt up. You’re gonna get so fucking fat, and it’s gonna be so fucking hot” Minnie rolled the words out of her mouth filthily.
A weird shiver went down Betty’s spine as she said it, a strange convulsion that Minnie could feel as she pressed her hands against Betty’s thighs. The skirt slipped down and Minnie pulled the blouse back off, and she began to press further and further into Betty, pushing her blooming belly against her, and then she slipped her hand up Betty’s thigh and worked her. Poor Leona just stood, squashed at the back. And it got worse as Minnie pushed Betty onto Leona’s front and attacked her there, sandwiching Betty between the two girls. If it hadn’t been for the knock on the door from a staff member of the place, Betty wouldn’t have been able to resist long.
They quickly got clothed and grabbed their stuff and walked out the shop, paying for all they had bought. Well, nearly all. And a charge ran along Betty’s spine as she felt her old knickers snug in her new knickers as she walked out the shop without paying for this particular item.
 
Betty resolved to keep Minnie away from her if possible after her second encounter with the minx. And Leona felt awkward about being near her two, even though she was only indirectly involved with the changing room escapade, she’d seen to much and felt to much to face Betty in a social situation again. She just wouldn’t know what to say or where to look with her if she did. It wasn’t so bad at work where they could keep focused on the day-to-day stuff, but hanging out with her just felt so awkward.
And this left Betty alone again at the weekend. She’d been so productive over the course of the week, almost back to her self-caring self. She had cleaned her house a little, clearing out the rubbish and recycling her old and stained clothes. She left the underwear on the light fitting as a reminder but at least the floor was clear now. She even hoovered the carpet. She found, during this tidy up, her missing sharp needle, and put it back in her bedside drawer. You never know when you might next need it.
Also, productively, she had curbed her drinking across the week. It was a challenge after the Monday incident with Lionel, but she had managed to keep her wine consumption to a moderate level. Not being able to drink during the day helped, but even still, she felt proud that this wasn’t a problem that was spiralling out of control now.
Of course that was before she felt abandoned thanks to Minnie’s sexual provocation. The weekend before the first lectures of the academic year and her bosom buddies had baled for one reason or another. Minnie was barred from ever seeing her again, and neither Betty nor Leona could face one another after the mid-week shopping incident. Now, without the stability of Leona to prop Betty up, the rush of wanton temptation sparked again. Of bingeing and boozing and generally letting loose while her clothes got tight. She was also wrestling with that strange sexual bolt of energy that Minnie prompted after she told Betty that she was going to be so fat. Something about that suggested slippery slope that punctured Betty’s inhibitions. So Betty made a vow to herself. During the week, she would be a bastion of responsibility, training her appetite but otherwise behaving maturely and demurely. And then at the weekends she would raise hell. Starting from this weekend. Booze, biscuits and any other vice she could think of. She would live a double life, between the working week and the workless weekend, and she would start living it now.
This was why she didn’t wake up until 1pm. This time last year, she would have gotten up six or seven hours earlier, but she was not that girl any more. She was on her way to being size sixteen, after all. This did mean she had a narrowed window to consume all the calories she expected of herself, but she didn’t care. Oh no. She was going to eat them anyway, and any more she could while she was at it.
But before she could start all of that good fun, she had to make a decision about what to wear. Too small and embarrass herself that way, or too big and mirror the Minnie humiliation from earlier. Either way, she was making a mockery of herself and that was what the weekend was all about. Well, for the sake of variety she opted for the too small option. She found some of her unbinned but unwashed size 6 polo shirts, and picked out a light blue one to wear.
Finding something for her bottom half was harder. She was hoping for some old jeans maybe that she could pull up but not button, and walk around with the indignity of her flies splayed. But she couldn’t even find clothes that did that, none of her size 6s got over her thickened thighs, she could pull and pull and pull, but they didn’t even approach the second obstacle that was her bum. After size 6, she only had size 12s and up, with one size 10 work skirt that she didn’t fancy anyway. So maybe just underwear then? She didn’t actually possess any thongs, she was too much of a former Christian goody-two-shoes, but she had some nice frilly underwear that she presumably had outgrown. Pulling them up her leg was a funny experience, the weird sensation of pushing her thigh through like mince through a sausage maker, but it was getting them over her bum was the real hurdle to be overcome. They cut into her sides so much she thought she might bleed, and she couldn’t get it high enough over her bum to cover her crack. And after a very little time, the knickers fell down this cavernous crevice, wedgying herself. So, maybe she did have a thong after all.
She looked at herself in the mirror and laughed at what she saw. But before she could fully investigate up close what she looked like, she wanted to look at an old picture for comparison. An in-progress report of deterioration. She found an official photo from that marathon she ran, of her celebrating her time after the finishing line with a flirty hands-on-hip posture and that gregarious grin of hers. The thin lines of her legs, marked by harsh sinews going up to her running shorts. Her hips, no wider than the skeleton beneath them, pushed to one side in victory. The convex stomach, like stretched skin over a vacuum beneath her ribs. Her arms, spindly like a spider’s legs. Her face, illuminated with joy and pride, with glistening eyes, a wide and welcoming mouth, and cheekbones that cut out from the side of her face. It was a BBC cameraman who took this photo as part of their “get up and run” campaign and coverage of the London Marathon, and they had probably chosen her as lightening bolt of electric beauty.
Now, she got close to the mirror to compensate for her untreated close-sightedness and compared. No electric beauty but dulled charm. Her eyes didn’t glisten but haunt with rings of melancholy around them and a listlessness in the pupil. Her mouth, so easily grinning but knitted close in solemn fashion. Her cheekbones that were once jagged cliffs on the side of her face, now struggling to keep up against the rising water levels of her softened cheeks. Her concave stomach, heaving out 3 inches with heavy heft and resting above her her hips. It could be seen underneath the red polo shirt that didn’t cover further than the belly-button that was pointed at by raw crimson stretchmarks. Her arms sticking out the arm hole of her shirt with difficulty, limiting the movement with their rounding shape. The hips themselves, lost under undercoats of fat and a gloss of blanched skin that were pulled at so harshly by the thin frills at the sides of her knickers that they nearly swelled around the material. The chunky legs, frosty pale and thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. Now flirty hands-on-hip pose, just her arms flat by her side as she gawped at this worn-out and grown-out version of her formerly model-like beauty. A hushed smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
She leant down to grab the scales, that caused her stomach to squish into baby rolls, and placed it in front of her. With calmness and composure, she set it to zero before putting both feet where advised. The digital display twitched and flickered before settling on 149lbs. She now weighed more than the maximum break in snooker. She grabbed her phone and looked at her BMI app to see where that left her. She was 5ft6, though people often mistook her for shorter with her dainty and curled up manner, Her weight in stone and pounds? Well, there was 14lbs in a stone, so 140lbs was 10 stone so she weight 10st 9lbs. Her age was 27 now, but those flourishes of grey that she’d noticed had been popping up suggested that her days of looking younger than her age were behind her. She used to get mistaken for a student outside of work, she essentially passed for 18, but that wouldn’t happen now. Her sex? Kinky but infrequent wasn’t an option, so the selected female. Her ethnic group (optional), she’ll ignore that one. Activity levels, well that was comfortably “Inactive – Less than 30 minutes a week”. And Enter.
Betty had a BMI of 23.9, which put her at a healthy weight still, which felt perhaps a little disappointing. The green colour that represented healthy turned ominously orange at 25, so she was closing in on no longer being healthy apparently. She remembered being told off for being underweight and red on the graph, and the rush of pride she felt for such malnourishment under the pretence of peer-pressured beauty standards. The website left comments about not to use if you are suffering from an eating disorder, rather insinuatingly back then. It didn’t make such a comment now. Now she had two more days to do as much damage as she could to this already damaged carcass, before sprucing herself up ready for Monday. Best call Ahmed then.
While she awaited her delivery, Betty poured herself a rum and coke and got the party started. She had spent five days trying to minimise her thirst but for two days she could let rip, and let rip she did. The Skinny meal was ceremonially and unceremoniously devoured as she maintained her gluttonous breakfast routine, with rum and cokes, and wine, and ciders all flowing to hurry her along to that mid-afternoon fuzzy buzz.
Once she had gotten through one meal, her concentration shifted to the next one. It was 2pm and she had only just had what you could loosely describe as breakfast. She needed to up her game and she decided a great start would be to get the deep-fat fryer up to temperate. It was probably for the best that she chose to operate this now, while she was still sober enough to use it safely, and she merrily deep-fat fried her customary Mars bars to dip into 1 pint carton of ice cream as was the post-Skinny meal tradition. She shoved as many as she could muster into her mouth, and ate not for pleasure but for purpose. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to do worse to herself, she needed more.
McDelivery was next for lunch. 3pm was a strange time for lunch but Betty was behaving like a strange girl. She ordered her usual (two large big macs, two large fries, chocolate milkshake and a McFlurry) and sat down to eat this too. She surprised herself by struggling with it, eating so soon after her previous gorging session, but she was attacking herself with vindictive pleasure through her calorific outburst, in a bid to burst out of her clothes. The chips were lean and went down quick and the big macs seemed lightweight compared to the heavyweight gorging that Kebabland provided. The milkshake was a sweet relief betwixt all that oleaginous goodness, though its sharp chill prompted sharp brainfreeze. And the McFlurry was a fitting finale with all the heaviness of the former and the sugariness of the latter. By 4pm, Betty was back on schedule food-wise and could redirect power to thrusting drinks down her neck.
She teetered and tottered as she picked herself off the coach and walked back to the fridge to pull out another cider. She had been diligent and systemised in her drinking as she had been in her eating, rotating religiously between rum and coke, wine and then cider in a Fordist fashion. And the net result had been a ravaging on her coordination and cohesion as she sat back down on her settee with all the caution of a person who couldn’t guarantee she wasn’t going to miss. Another swig and then she lay down to scratch another hedonistic itch that had been forming downstairs. So, she picked her phone off the floor and logged onto Facebook, to collect images for her own mental wank bank.
She scrolled through her friends on the app first. Leona was normally the point person for Betty in this sort of mood, but it felt awkward given the whole having-sex-with-Minnie-while-Leona-was-trapped-in-the-same-cubicle thing. Maybe Minnie, with those emerald eyes that burrowed and that obsidian black hair, would be just the ticket. After all, she enjoyed what Minnie did to her and the way that she did it, and Betty craved that rush of sensation again. But it wasn’t the same just looking at a photo of her, she needed to feel the sharpness of her nails and the dominance in her voice to get the kick that she craved. So, Betty just scrolled through various students that she taught, before settling on a Swedish girl called Ebba who she found on Facebook as a common friend of Minnie’s. She was clearly a vain student with stereotypically blonde hair and a Cali girl smile. She had legs longer than Wiktoria’s and as thin as Betty’s had ever been. It made sense, going through her photos, that she had done some part-time modelling. But still Betty couldn’t get off from it, a high resolution pixelated image serving as no substitute for a breathing human being.
Lastly, in a final throw of the dice, she tried to masturbate whilst looking at herself in the mirror. She put her hand in her knickers as she watched the way her tummy pooched over them. She ran her other hand down her side, feeling how the texture of her skin had changed from glacially smooth to feeling more like over-worked dough. She ran her hand down the inside of her thigh and felt how lunar they’d become from cellulite, and how close they were to converging on one another. She squeezed her plump rump to feel how it was so much more than a handful now, and how much give it had. It was all so sensual… but not sexual. She couldn’t marvel at her demise yet, she just felt too pretty to taste her own distaste.
Without her orgasmic fix, she switched her energies to a fattier direction and decided to order another Skinny meal. Now, this was mixing things up from her normal routine. She had always been a fast believer in only asking for a Skinny meal delivery once a day, and walking there the other time. She figured the exercise would be useful given her deteriorating physical condition and, more importantly, what if it was the same courier? She couldn’t ever take that chance and always picked up the food manually. But not today, not given Betty’s hunger for self-destruction.
And much to her perverse pleasure, it was the same hunky courier that gave her the meal earlier in the day. Last time, she hid her lower half behind the door and just bent her body around to collect the meal. This time he got the full Betty visual experience, as she swung the door open to show herself in a blue polo shirt with ice cream on it and some overly tight knickers. The rest of her was pudgy alabaster skin and he could see it all. Every inch of her decline as his all-time favourite drop-off and one-time favourite crush mushed her plush tush and padded out in every direction. Her face, once of angelic purity, now a holiday resort for zits and spots and rashes, and that sweet cute figure of hers thickened like porridge.
She jumped on him, irrespective of his disappointment in her appearance, with a vicious hug, wrapping her arms around him before forcibly locking lips.
“You’re my favourite delivery man” she said to the dumbstruck Deliveroo deliverer. “I’m having a one-woman party, do you want to join me?”
“Do you have a lot of one-woman parties” he wryly commented, trying to deflect from the invitation. He knew, of course from his deliveries, that she did. And he knew, from her size, that she did.
“Yes! Yes I do!” she beamed with that famous smile of hers. She hugged firmly and conspicuously grinded against his cycling shorts. “Now, do you want to have sex with me?”
“Um, I can’t… I’ve got deliveries ma’am” he said, shocked at how forward the typically sweet and innocent girl was being. He tried to stop the rush of blood heading downwards.
“Ma’am, how old do you think I am?”
“Dunno, late twenties I guess?” he said, hoping he’d dodged the tricky question by underestimating. 5 months ago and he’d have guessed she was a student, now he’d be tempted to guess she was a student’s mum.
“Close enough. Anyway, is the reason you don’t want me because I’m fat?” she teased, wrapping his hand round to her bigger bum.
“Umm”
“You remember what I used to look like, and now look at me. Do you think I’m too fat?” Her face and eyes glistered as she ran her hand through his tousled hair.
“No, um, no? I mean, you’re y’know still quite pretty” he tried to protect her feelings while letting her down gently, but she was missing the hint. It was hard for him to come to terms with this, he had fancied her for so long. But he couldn’t fancy her now, not looking like this. Even if it was the same woman.
“I’m really drunk by the way”
“I can tell”
“And I’ve put on a few”
“I can also tell”
“You don’t seem to think I’m too far gone yet” she said, with her hands down his trousers. He tried to recoil but old habits died as hard as he was, and he still wanted her, even now. “Now, are you gonna come in or are we gonna screw in my front garden?”
And the bewildered courier came inside. So to speak.
Betty was never much of a screamer typically, she was far too demure and ladylike for such vocal histrionics, but she bucked the trend as the courier bucked the teacher. Something about having tried to get herself there literally single-handedly, and how that had already taken her to the precipice, meant that every thrust ran so much deeper and sweeter. He pushed her against the wall and grabbed her bum to lift her while she wrapped her legs around his waist, and then he plundered. Her gasps became groans became grunts, and before long she was shrieking in over-the-top fashion. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder and neck, and scratched the side of his face deeply while he rode his lucky customer. And despite not being a fan of her appearance, he revelled in her feisty manner and took very little time to get what he came for.
He eased her down and pulled up his trousers and boxers hurriedly, wanting to make his exit. She tried to pin him against the wall for a second serving, but he gently guided her away and then walked out without saying a word. But Betty didn’t mind, she got what she wanted. Fucked and food.
The food coma came not long after.
 
Sunday afternoon had a familiar feel to it. Waking up to a pounding headache in the early afternoon was not an unusual experience these days. And treated the hangover with drink was not an unusual experience either. She saw that she had finished the coke and just swigged the half-empty rum that was on the living room floor. She sighed and tried to work out what to do for today.
She felt like she exhausted all of her debauched options with that wild Saturday, and didn’t know how to quell the desire to one-up yesterday’s craziness. While she pondered her choices, she figured she better order. And as she looked down her contact’s list, she saw Minnie’s name and worked out how she was going to spend her Sunday. But, first she had to get her Skinny meal in.
The courier that delivered it was a familiar one, since he’d been inside her just the day previous. And the girl that answered the door was a familiar one, since she’d not changed since yesterday, and had gotten up in the same get-up. He smiled awkwardly as her passed the meal over to her..
“About yesterday...” he said, struggling to make eye-contact.
“Did we screw?” Betty said, only vaguely recollecting bits and pieces at that point of her frenzied feasting.
“Ha, yes, um, yes we did” he looked around, this was worse than he thought it would be. “Look, it was… oh god, how do I say this?”
“A one-off? Because you don’t find me attractive? No, don’t worry, that’s fine. You’re a really good-looking boy and you deserve better than this” she looked down at her dishevelled appearance. “I’m sorry for doing that to you”
“No, don’t apologise, it was actually really fun. I’m just not looking for a girlfriend was what I was trying to say” he still couldn’t meet her gaze but at least her was looking at the floor a little less after he got this off his chiselled chest.
“It was fun?” Betty smiled, typically endearingly. “I’ll take that. But, seriously, find yourself a pretty young girl, one who’ll look after herself better than I am, you deserve it.”
“Thanks but you miss my point. I liked the sex. A lot. You’re not my usual… type, but I can spare thirty minutes if you like?” he said, hopefully glancing up her at last. She ran her hand through his hair again, this time with care.
“Aww, that’s so sweet and really flattering. But I shouldn’t have done that to you.” she saw his facial expression droop. “Oh, I dunno, maybe some other time, when I’ve got a bit more liquid courage down my neck okay? Not today, I’ve got plans, but some other night maybe.”
“Really? That’ll be cool. No strings still?” his face lit up.
“No strings, you can still play the field with your pretty young girls. But every now and then we could, I guess, have sex.” She said, with a big smile. This could be fun, she thought. But she was sober, so she also wanted to make sure she didn’t play with his heart.
“Sure, that’s… that’s great. Just, please don’t wait too long. Please. I think you’re really cute but… I don’t mean to be mean but…” he couldn’t find the words that filled the heart of his Venn diagram of protecting Betty’s feelings and admitting how he felt.
“I know, I’m getting progressively less cute. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt my feelings, I am well aware of the change. I was only thinking like, maybe in a week or two though. I won’t be much worse than now”
“I dunno, I’ve seen what you can do in two weeks...” he cheekily joked, feeling a little more confident given that he didn’t have to treat Betty’s feelings with an archaeologist’s caution.
“Hey!” she laughed, and pushed against his chest lightly. “What’s your name by the way?”
“Remus” he answered.
“What? What kind of name’s that?” she guffawed.
“An embarrassing one. What about yours?”
“Technically it’s Belinda, but everyone knows me as Betty” she said, telling him something about herself that not a lot of people knew. “Betty Bollingbrooke”
“Okay, Betty Bollingbrooke. If I deliver one of these to you, and you’re drunk and have no company, then I might just have sex with you again. Just try not to gain too much in the coming weeks?” He asked, only half-joking.
“I can’t guarantee that Remus. Think of me as a Skinny meal. You best eat me while I’m still hot.”
“Well, I’ll come back two months ago then” he smiled and Betty laughed again. This must be what loving life felt like. Free sex and fast food and funny jokes. She was loving life indeed.
Talking of loving life, when he left, she grabbed her phone and messaged Minnie to come over. This, she hoped, would be fun.

Ostensibly told from the perspective of Minnie (nee Skinny)
Chapter 11
 
“Where are you going?” Rutherford asked politely, shaking the crumbs off the vast expanse of her belly. “I was thinking about maybe, like I don’t know, eating and fucking right up until it’s dinner and sex time.”
“Oh love, oh love, you know how much I love feeding you and fucking you right up until dinner and sex time” Minnie smiled back, with a narrow shiver crawling along the hairs on the back of her neck.
“Well then… what are you waiting for? Feed me and fuck me!” Rutherford amusingly roared, lying back on the bed invitationally, spread-eagled and naked and head-spinningly large.
“No, sorry, I’ve got to meet a friend.” Minnie smiled back, admiring the view.
“A sexy friend? Can you bring her here, so we can have a real party?” Rutherford laughed, reaching over to the desk to the side of her to pick up another bowl of rhubarb crumble and custard from the queue of them ready served. “I just love British dessert by the way, we should like totally get more of it”
“Not that kind of friend love, and how about I grab some jam roly-poly on my way back, you’ll love it.” Minnie purred, rolling her sharp nail down the flaccid creases of fat that made up Rutherford’s drawn out stomach. Rutherford’s famous smile erupted as she tilted her head back in enjoyment.
“I like the sound of roly-poly, it reminds me of me haha!” she chortled while twisting her neck as the sensual reverberations lingered. Suddenly her face, previously tensed with enjoyment, drifted downwards. “Hey, you’re not cheating on me are you?”
Rutherford looked with a tenderly concerned expression, her engorged face chewing another slice of rhubarb crumble, as she allowed herself to think paranoid thoughts. Paranoid thoughts about being abandoned. Abandoned at her size. It might seem surprising that she prized monogamy so highly given that she had two girlfriends herself, an old friend from the US called Shay was cohabiting and co-shagging, but Minnie had been acting funny all week and Rutherford was worried she was losing her reason for being. “I’ve not got too fat for you have I?” she asked, woundedly.
Minnie’s face sat in stone for a brief second before erupting back into life.
“Fuck off, love. If I ever cheat on you, it’ll be because you’re too thin, you skinny-arse bitch. Now, I best get going love, but Shay will be back with edible reinforcements soon, and you can have this fucking and feeding session that you so desire with her” Minnie flashed a smile at her as she picked up her handbag. Rutherford deflated slightly in relief. She didn’t deflate too much however, she was much too inflated for that.
“Thanks Minnie. And don’t forget that roly-poly stuff on your way back!” she yelled, before leaning back on her bed and grabbing another bowl of pudding. Minnie walked out of the room and winced as she did so, that familiar sinking feeling of self-loathing rising up again as she lied to the love of her life about having sex with other women. Just another fucked up moment in a fucked up day in the fucked up life of the fucked up Minnie Charnwood. She needed to get a handle on this.
 
Minnie tip-toed into the living area to find Leona studying with her laptop atop her lap. Wiktoria was out with Shay grabbing some shopping, leaving Leona lonesomely lounging in the lounge. With this in mind, Minnie poked her head around the corner to have an overdue chat.
“Hey Leona love, can I have a word?”
Leona said nothing and just angled herself slightly further away from Minnie. Her silence could have filled tomes.
“Look, I’m sorry about that, I am. I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable between you and me, or you and Betty, or whatever. You know how I am though, you know how I can be when I get that itch. I’m trying to get better, I really really am, but you know better than most that mischief courses through me veins...” Minnie pleaded apologetically, walking back up into the eyeline of the scowling Leona blinkeredly glaring at her screen.
“It’s not just Betty is it though? I can deal with Betty, we’ll pick up the pieces that you’ve torn apart, slowly but surely we will. But, you’ve not told Ruthers either, have you? You’re fucking another girl behind her back and you’re hiding it from her.” Leona said, trying to keep her voice down so Rutherford didn’t hear, but not doing a very good job.
Minnie’s eyes glinted with tears as she looked at her teacher, ex-girlfriend and friend. Going cold turkey at not being self-destructive was such a horrific addiction to pack in, and it seemed she just kept falling off the wagon. She was now sabotaging the one good relationship she had with Ruthers to fuck another teacher. It’s just that virginal gains were so hot and Betty seemed like she needed Minnie’s mischievous guidance. But she couldn’t keep going like this. She couldn’t keep finding herself back in this moment where she realises she’s irreconcilably fucked everything up.
“This will be the last time. I promise. Just let me have one more day with her and then I’ll finish it. You’re right Leona, I can’t keep lying to Rutherford. I love her too fucking much to ruin it over something as petty as this.” Minnie confessed, almost begging with her hands together in despair and hope. Leona rolled her eyes in acknowledgement of Minnie’s well-meaning.
“How’s she doing up there anyway, she hasn’t come down much since I’ve been back?” Leona asked, still fond of the American from her time teaching her last year, before they moved in together and everything got a bit weird and very heavy.
“Fat. She’s doing fat.” Minnie smiled lightly. It was a joke, but it wasn’t a very funny one, given her current size, rate of growth and the fact that it was now deterring her from getting out and about any more. “And I’ll not derail Betty this time, I’ll look out for her, I’ll have her back. I just want one last go at her front before I move on is all.”
Leona didn’t acknowledge or comment, she just went back to looking at her laptop dismissively, passive-aggression seeping from her. Minnie walked out the door feeling guilty, and Minnie didn’t handle the emotion of guilt in the most productive of ways.
 
Betty picked herself up to answer the door, presuming it to be Minnie. She was a little bit nervous about this whole reunion with Minnie thing, she suddenly felt quite out of her depth when confronted with the prospect of Hurricane Minnie. She was an amateur in the field of wanton behaviour, dabbling and dipping her toe in to test the waters, while Minnie had the air of an expert veteran who had seen and done it all, and it left Betty feeling a little at sea. Tomorrow she would go back to being the Betty everyone remembers from last year. Doe-eyed and lovely, with a friendly face and an easy smile, albeit larger than before. But this weekend she wanted something darker and more depraved. And nobody knew their way around devilish depravity quite like Minnie Charnwood.
Betty was excited though as well. She’d just had a whale of a time with Remus as Remus had his time with the whale that was her, and was feeling surprisingly confident about herself as a person. She might not have been as attractive as she had once been, but she could still do alright for herself if the sexy courier courting was anything to go by. That sugar-and-spice smile of hers swooshed across her face as she pulled the door to meet Minnie with real optimism and excitement. She was met with a black as thunder scowl.
“You bitch! You fucking bitch!”
Betty took a nervous step back, her smile scurrying away like prey near a predator.
“You fat bitch! You think you can just call me and ask me over, like clicking your fingers and summoning me!” Minnie raged at her, with emerald eyes clouding over with carnal fury.
Betty just shook her head nervously.
“At your fucking beck and call. Look at you, dressed up like this is amateur hour. Well, I guess I’ll have to show you how the professionals do it” Minnie tilted her head aggressively, before walking purposefully towards her, causing the terrified Betty to back off in fear. Then she saw Minnie grab some handcuffs out of her handbag and really did fear the worst. “Now get up to your bed, I have a few things I apparently need to teach you.”
It wasn’t just her hands that were handcuffed to the bedposts, her feet were as well. She lay on her back on her bed stretched apart like she was on the rack, her limbs spread in opposing directions like she was the Vitruvian man. The rest of her was naked and pale now, every inch of her on ebony display. She just lay there, with her head craning up waiting for Minnie to enter back into the room.
It wasn’t just the suspense that was killing her, it was being suspended. The handcuffs were tight around her arms and gripped each appendage with a vice-like tenacity. Still, the suspense was a bit of a struggle to though, the anticipation of what Minnie had in store for her. Betty had never done anything like this and did feel out of her depth with the swirling dervish from the North, tied up and wholly exposed, like Prometheus while he got his liver pecked out.
“Urmm.. Minnie, what you up to? You coming?” Betty asked nervously. She couldn't here Minnie and feared what that silence could mean. She glanced at the alarm clock in her room that told her it was 3pm, and she had only had breakfast so far. She was going to have to really unleash every ounce of her feasting capacity if she was going to indulge like she had planned to. But, for that, she needed Minnie.
“Hey, Minnie, what are you up to?” she called out, a bit more worried. It was now 2.20pm and she had still not heard anything from her. Not a creak in the house or the clatter of pans. Nothing. What could be taking her so long? Betty’s imagination didn’t know where to head next at the prospect of all the glorious ways that Minnie could take this. Betty was currently tethered, Minnie was notoriously untethered. This should be an experience.
“Hey, come on, what’s going on? I’m a bit nervous here Minnie, I’m… feeling a bit nervous” Betty cried out. It was now 3pm and Betty’s mind was racing. What was this sadistic game that Minnie was playing, and could she hurry along and get it started please. She kept looking around, hoping to catch the flicker of a shadow as her voluptuous vixen started fixin’ on mixin’ with Betty to get her licks in.
“Seriously Minnie, I’m getting worried. This isn’t a game any more. I need to pee.” Betty writhed in her constraints pulling futilely to see if anything would give, hoping to feel some looseness or give as she yanked and grunted. Of course it wouldn’t, these were handcuffs and this wasn’t the movies. She wasn’t getting out of these restraints without Minnie’s key. It was now 3.40pm and Betty wasn’t lying about needed to go to the toilet. She’d cross her legs except she couldn’t.
“Please, please, this isn’t funny. If you’re there, please let me out. I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever.” Betty was crying now, panicked. She was running through scenarios in her head as to how this could reasonably work if Minnie didn’t come back at all. Because surely she wasn’t coming back now. Would Betty be able to get to work somehow by tomorrow? Would a neighbour call the police, and if so what would they think when they saw her? What if nobody came to rescue her? She’d cacooned herself away from the world for four months and now what if she had nobody to check in on her? What if she died like this, fat, hairy and tied to her bed? What would her parents say, sanctimoniously tutting and saying that they always knew their precious Belinda wasn’t worth the Bollingbrooke name, if this was how her body was found? And what would kill her? Would she starve? Wouldn’t that be ironic, don’t ya think?
“I’m begging, I’ll do anything, please just let me go!” Minnie screamed, half hoping her neighbour would here her. Come on Maureen, don’t you usually leave for Bingo before tea? It was 4.45pm know and Betty truly was busting for the toilet, her bladder stung as it swelled and she wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer.
“I’m sorry God. I deserve this, don’t I? This is my rightful punishment isn’t it?” Betty wailed at the ceiling, her bladder now emptied on her bedsheets. It was 5.15pm and Betty was begging for divine intervention, that’s how bad things had gotten. Crawling back to God after years of abandonment, only praying to him when she needed something, like her mother always said. She whimpered pathetically, with snot coming out of her nose, as she pleaded to a God she no longer believed in to give up the habit of a lifetime and divinely intervene for once. She was a 27 year old girl who was admittedly possibly a little more screwed up than she realised, but still a 27 year old girl with a successful career and so much more to give. If only God would give her one more chance.
By the time 6pm came around, Betty wasn’t even calling for help any more. She had gone through the gruelling grinding gamut of ghastly emotions and come out the otherend, resigned to her humiliating demise. Maybe Leona would discover her body, since she’d notice she wasn’t at work, realise she wasn’t answering her calls and then maybe try the door. As her worry would grow after repeated days of absence, she might call the police out of worry. Yes, that’s how Betty’s body would be found. Like this.
The most embarrassing thing though, the thing that far exceeded the position she found herself in, was her hunger. She was lying in her bed with her limbs apart in a star jump position and she was in excruciating pain from a lack of consumption. It felt like it was eating her stomach from the inside, causing it to collapse in on itself. And this immense pain was simply from not eating an immense for four hours to her immense embarrassment. She’d already eaten 6000 calories today, mainly thanks to the Skinny meal for breakfast that she could no longer remember the taste of, and she was writhing in the agony of hunger. She’d eaten four times more calories than a woman is supposed to, to maintain a healthy weight, and she was crying because her hunger was so bad. This was terrifying news, it was like what Leona had said to her earlier in the week. That getting back to her healthy eating ways wouldn’t be like flicking a switch. She was already struggling to only eat quadruple what she should. She was never going to get thin, even if she got out of this. She was fat forever, and falling fast. Betty’s future was either starvation or obesity, she reckoned, and both futures horrified her.
That was when Minnie walked through the door.
“Where have you been? I’ve been so scared?” Betty wailed with tears in her eyes.
“Mainly just outside your bedroom, hearing your screams” Minnie shrugged nonchalantly. “But I did do some shopping while I was here too, you seemed short of supplies for what I have planned.”
“You just left me here! I thought I was going to die! I wet myself and everything!” Betty squeaked in shock.
“Yeah, I heard. My bad.” Minnie said, as if that was no big deal. “So, who’s hungry? I have jam roly-poly”
 
Minnie had spent most of the time sitting down in silence just outside the door with her ear to the wall, listening to Betty’s cries. She sat there as Betty begged and pleaded and promised everything with a quiet enjoyment, hearing the helpless heroine howl in hysterics thanks to her situation. She heard when she shouted for the neighbour with idle curiosity and she heard when she begged to be let out to go to the loo. She heard when she pissed herself as well, an explosion of urine presumably covering the bottom half of the bed and sinking deep into the mattress, and she heard when the born-again Atheist rediscovered God as a final Hail Mary. She felt like God.
Minnie then brought the food in two by two. The cakes and desserts and then the McDonald’s and a pizza, then lastly the Skinny meal and the milkshakes. She put them in a line, like an unmoving conveyor belt of nourishment, by the sodden bed that Betty was trapped on. She then took off her jeans and t-shirt, and pants and bra so she was every bit as naked as the girl trapped in cufflinks and tied to the bed. She grabbed the first thing, the McDonald’s and took it with her as she climbed onto the bed and mounted Betty, resting her fatty arse on Betty’s chubby legs and with her brutish stomach slapping down over Betty’s vagina. Then, one food item at a time, she fed Betty. The Big Macs disappointed pronto, Betty’s hunger made light work of them as Minnie smilingly shoved huge portions of each one down Betty’s facial abyss. The fries were the same, vanishing like they were in a magic act. The McFlurry and the milkshake also made themselves scarce in record time, tumbling down Betty’s throat to fill the expanse that seemed to have made itself violently known to Betty.
The cream cakes came next, each one pushed into Betty’s mouth by Minnie all the way in. Betty looked up to the heavens again, but this time in satisfaction, determined to prove her worth to her dominant captor by not wilting, while Minnie licked the spilt cream off Betty’s tummy. Then came cinnamon whirls, with their awkward size and shape making the eating experience messy for the girl being handlessly fed. Minnie had to wipe her hands down Betty’s midriff to get the gooeyness off them, smearing yet more detritus down her. Then it was another milkshake for Betty, replenishing her depleted bladder and also providing shocking brainfreeze that invoked zero sympathy from Minnie who wasn’t saying a word because her mouth was biting into Betty’s shoulder. After that, in this march of the foodstuffs, came something a bit different. She’d been knocking the food down like they were dominoes so, fittingly, it was Dominos that Minnie had lined up for Betty. Betty just shook her head at this, her mouth still full from the cinnamon whirls, this wasn’t part of the Betty plan or rota. Her eating was systemised and it was three meals, two of which were Skinny meals and one that was a McDonald’s. She’d had one Skinny meal, and the one McDonald’s, and she saw that Minnie had another Skinny meal lined up, so this meal was unregistered and not part of the plan.
But Minnie wasn’t the take-no-for-an-answer type of girl. She scratched Betty’s exposed stomach with her sharp nails and whispered into her ear “remember your training love. One piece at a time and think of Lionel.” That sharp nail of hers slowly clawed down towards Betty’s vagina, where she began circling round the tangled web of hair seductively. And with the other hand, she began feeding. After slice 3 was when Betty noticed that the feeling of hunger that had wrought such pain earlier had now completely gone, and by slice 9 she was feeling quite full again. By the time she finished the 14inch deep pan pepperoni pizza and the accompanying McDonald’s milkshake, she was drawing towards maximum capacity. The six pack of British style doughnuts took her to that point. It was now 11pm and Betty should really have been thinking about calling it a night and getting a good night’s sleep ready for the start of term tomorrow. As it happens, that was the thing furthest from her mind. Especially now Minnie was going down on her.
She convulsed against the restraints as Minnie hit every note like a first-chair violinist. She writhed and grimaced and arched her knees and back as Minnie’s tongue conjured shards of explosive sexual energy across her body. After all that gluttony, after all that panic, after all that shame, Betty was a powder keg of sexually charged explosivity and it wasn’t long until she erupted. She then gasped deeply to catch her breath and orientate herself.
“That was your breather, now we’re back at it, bucko” Minnie laughed as she leant over and grabbed the Skinny meal. It seemed that Minnie was happy to give cunnilingus to Betty, but never asked for anything sexual in return. From Minnie’s perspective, this was intentional. This was her trying to remain a form of faithful in her distorted mind. If she didn’t get off, she didn’t cheat. That was the lie that she could tell herself to keep the dark thoughts at bay.
Betty was struggling with this meal. She had never eaten so much, and never with such little respite either. She felt like John Hurt in Alien, bloated, in agony and ready to burst. And now she was confronted with the big one, the Skinny meal, the 5500 calorie behemoth that once, in isolation, seemed so far beyond her capacity. And now it was just the final mile in this marathon of food. She just had to treat it like it was the final mile in a marathon and push until she had nothing left to give.
She closed her eyes as she ate. She closed her eyes and thought of Lionel and what he’d think of her now if he could see her.
She closed her eyes and thought of Minnie, and how important it felt not to let her down. To prove herself worthy as a submissive partner.
She closed her eyes and thought of Leona, of her magnificent size that dwarfed Betty, and how envious Betty had been of it.
She closed her eyes and she ate every last crumb of the damn thing.
“We’re done Minnie. I can’t believe we made it!” Betty sighed in joy. “What time is it?”
“2.30am and no we’re not done. Did you not listen, I said we had jam roly-poly.”
And she wasn’t kidding. She’d put slices of jam roly poly in individual bowls and smothered each one in custard. They each had there own bespoke spoon and Minnie had every intention of feeding Betty these one by one until all eight bowls were gone. Minnie admired her handiwork as Betty ate herself into tears, the sweet delicious dessert taking up room in her stomach that simply didn’t exist. Minnie looked at the mess that she had helped create. The wincing expression on Betty’s pained face as tackles one mouthful after another, the state of her body, almost marinaded in the food that she had eaten. Her stomach, dotted with food she’d failed to get in her mouth and straining at the leash to expand against her taut skin. The bed, littered with litter and caked with cake, and a pungent dampness across the bedsheets. This was her doing, all her doing. She had caused this calamity by her own fair hand. At this point, Minnie was feeding Betty the last few bowls faster and faster, with Betty having to hamster cheek some of it because she couldn’t get through it fast enough. But Betty rammed it down her as hastily as she could, her intentions twisting. Betty was just swallowing the last bit, gasping fraughtly for oxygen, while Minnie stood up on the bed, causing it to creak and strain. Standing over Betty, she lowered herself down through the squat position over Betty’s head.
“Eat. Me. Out” Minnie said, not even looking at Betty but leaning back and looking up with her mouth agape. Betty took a deep breath, to prepare herself for her first time licking out another girl when a wave of impetuousness burst from Minnie. “NOW BITCH!”
And Betty didn’t have to work very hard, Minnie was practically there already. She then curled up next to the battered and beaten and fully over-eaten girl and cuddled her, with the pair drifting quickly to sleep.
 
“Miss, you wanna get up love. You’ve got to shower and go to work?” Minnie whispered whilst stroking her hair.
“Why are you being responsible Minnie, you’re so good at being not.” Betty smiled as she saw what she had woken next to, with Minnie’s straight black hair falling onto her face. She felt another surge of kinky lust with the student lying next to her. Last night had been an experience like no other. The fear, panic and hunger that preceded it just made her enjoy it all the more.
“I know but I’m trying to change, and I know how blurred the lines between on top of the world and rock bottom can be.” Minnie tried to empathise.
“Oh, don’t worry, we can be naughty for one more day, it’s only first day of term.” Betty interrupted, still feeling the urge for something more kinky. She was, after all, still tied up, though her arms and her feet were currently numb.
“No love, you’ve got to get up. It’s important and besides, I shouldn’t be doing this Miss, I’m not good for you. And you deserve someone good for you.” Minnie’s frosted face melted a little and a little sadness poured out. She couldn’t even lie to herself and pretend that she hadn’t ‘cheated’, because of that overwhelming urge that lead her to practically sit on Betty’s face.
“No, I want someone bad for me. You know who, according to my parents, was ‘good for me’? My abusive ex, that’s who. No, I want this. I’m not scared of not being who I was, I want to not be who I was. I hated that girl.” Betty was getting slightly wound up with the mish-mash of emotions that were clogging up her brain. Emotions of lust and yearning and self-destruction and rebellion and responsibility and kindness and fear and anger.
“If you’re sure love, then I believe you. But then know it can’t be me Miss. You need someone else, but I love Rutherford. I actually do. I know it seems silly, because I fuck other people. But it’s her I love. It’s not even because of her size. It’s fun and sexy but its not why I love her. I love her because I love her. It’s true, - I love her because I love her. I’m sure you’ll find someone else Miss, but I’m afraid it can’t be me. Now shower, put on your spanx, your best clothes, and smarten yourself up. And maybe there’s another student out there for you. But, either way, be at your best today. You’ve had a weekend of being at your worst, now be at your best.” she leant over and kissed her. Not sexually but sensually. It felt like a parting kiss. Betty just lay there, upset, as Minnie untied the teacher from her handcuffs.
“Are we over then?” Betty said, trying not to cry over something that she had told herself was just a bit of fun and exploration.
“Oh love, we were never together” Minnie said, trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.
Betty pulled herself up and flapped about a bit to try to get feeling into her limbs before getting off the bed.
“How many calories do you think we did? Sorry, I did?” Betty asked tenderly holding her still pained stomach. The spanx was going to hurt when she put it on. She shuffled first over to the shower and switched it on.
“Fuck knows, but a lot. You know, you could probably do stage 3 now, if you wanted to, love. You’ve got the appetite for it now, I think you’re there. You could get off now if you wanted to”
“Is it bad that I don’t want to? Not yet. Because when I do it, I have to stop and I’m not ready to stop yet. I don’t want to get healthy again, I want to live like this just a little bit more, a little bit longer. Is that bad?” Betty admitted, standing outside the en suite naked while the shower ran
“Of course it’s bad, love. Of course it is. It sounds like you’re off the deep-end and making excuses. But maybe bad is where you’re at these days. Maybe Betty Bollingbrooke is a bad girl.”
Maybe she was.
Betty stepped into the shower to get herself clean, Minnie decided to pack up her stuff and go back to Rutherford. She didn’t feel clean either.
 
Minnie got back at 8am, and walked up the stairs heavily. She’d had a lot to digest, and, for once, it wasn’t food. She was going to have to walk into Rutherford’s room and look her in the eyes and pretend that nothing happened. Like it was just another day in the office. Yesterday would have to exist in a zip file in the back of her mind out of the way. She just had to pretend that nothing had happened. She was a good girl now, a loyal girlfriend to a wonderful woman that wasn’t so much ballooning as Zeppelining under her watchful eye and Ratched-esque nursing. She had everything she wanted right here, the only thing wrong was herself. In some ways, she had a larger appetite than Rutherford. But it wasn’t so much an appetite for food these days, but an appetite for the pitch black aspects of her personality that she tried to keep under lock and key.
“Hey love, how are you holding up?” she smiled at her huge manatee with humanity.
“Alright, good. Had a nice day with Shay involving lots of whipped cream and butterscotch, y’know, nothing fancy. What about you?” Rutherford was grunting as she stretched in her bed.
“Yeah, nothing fancy either” Minnie lied, trying not to flinch as she did so.
“Wait, where’s my roly-poly thing?” Rutherford asked quizzically.
“Shit, fuck, I… I forgot. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to go get some for you? I can go right now if you like...” Minnie panicked, guilty hammering away at her MacBethian guilt.
“Hey, at ease soldier. Shay’s out getting salted caramel flapjack for me. Like, a shit-ton. I’ve got a craving, what can I say?” Rutherford smiled loosely as she scratched an itch on her belly. “When she gets back, do you wanna feed me or eat me out? Though Shay should really get first dibs given she didn’t forget the roly-poly thing. But, since she’s not here, pick one. You can’t have both.”
“No, I can’t have both.” Minnie agreed, but the words meant something else. “I’ll eat you out love, that way I can get started now”
“Y’know Minnie, you’re always there for me… oh boy. Oh, you’re keen, oh… yeah”
Minnie’s tongue attacked Rutherford with the vigour of a girl who wanted to be with the American for the rest of her life, and nothing was going to stop her.

So we have the full Minnie experience, the new kinder Leona experience and that the grotty Lionel experience, all exerting themselves on our poor heroine in different ways
Chapter 9
 
This time last year, Betty was long in bed. She’d baled nice and early to get a good night’s kip before the big start. Her skin hugged her skeleton brutally, but her hair had its dark sheen and her eyebrows were plucked and her tiny hips were so dainty and cute. She looked like an angel as she slept. Then, the following morning, she got up at 6am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a sprightly 10k to get that adrenal rush that comes from the rapid breathing of cold air in aerobic conditions. She loved to push herself beyond her limits with a seemingly unsustainable pace, and then trapped herself into maintaining it by not allowing herself the opportunity to slow down. If you remove the possibility from your mind that it’s even an option, then you give yourself no choice but to succeed. By clocking in below the 7 minute mile, 42 minute total threshold, she’d visually pictured her goal and thus she attained it. This hurtling pace also gave her time to have a shower to get that glistening body clean, and then dry her slender shell down before exalting her spectacular facial features with a smattering of make-up. She ran her hair through her hair-straighteners and she got her crease-free uniform of blouse, suit jacket, tights and a pencil skirt. She brushed her teeth, smiled at herself in the mirror and that strolled to work with a spring in her step, nice and early and ready to attack the day.
But Betty was still awake this time this year, drunk, just in her bra and knickers, and having a food party with Minnie at 1am. She’d been buoyed by the vodka shots that Minnie had sportingly provided for her, which muffled any nagging concerns about right and wrong. She was greedily wolfing down a 6 pack of British-style jammy doughnuts, covering her fingers with sugar and her mouth with jam. And then Minnie reached into the cupboard and pulled out a salted caramel chocolate cake, like a magician might a rabbit out of a hat. There was always one of these lying around in the household of the Musketeers, they were considered a staple food and a firm favourite of the gastronomic juggernaut from the US that was sleeping upstairs.
Putting the last doughnut in her mouth and then wiping her sugar-coated hands on her bare stomach, Betty spotted Minnie as she brought over the Bunyanesque baked showstopper and protested with her finger since her mouth was already full.
“Hey, hey, don’t argue. You promised me” Minnie said, talking down to the teacher with a patronising infliction usually reserved for people in their first or second childhood. “You want to disobey me and wear size 10, you’ve got to fill it. It’s workwear, not curtains so they need to fit properly, so in order to fill your clothes, you need to fill your face”
She sat facing forward on the young teacher’s knee and fed her the first slice, barely giving her time to breathe as she pushed more morsels before Betty had bested the last. She eventually gasped for air as the second one was pushed at her mouth for her to eat, and she relented and fed her this one too. Betty pulled her head away in objection after the second and begged for Minnie to stop.
“Hey, we’re not stopping. You can just take that thought out of your mind. Stopping is not on the table, love. We’re going to continue eating until there is nowt left of this cake and pretending that you have the opportunity to stop will just make it harder for yourself. Okay?” Minnie asked rhetorically, before grabbing slice number three.
Slice number four took her to only a third of the way through and Betty was struggling. Minnie was relentless though, the bit was between her teeth to ensure that cake was between Betty’s teeth, and she pushed this calorie bomb at her with vindictive abandon. Chocolate and caramel and cream were smeared across her face and dripping down down her measly chest and across to her engorged stomach.
“Don’t slow down now love. You’re doing reet well. Just keep it up” Minnie encouraged and Betty, drunk on both food and drink now, just nodded.
Slice five was hard work for Betty though, she kept chewing the cake but she just couldn’t seem to swallow it. It just stayed stuck in her mouth, spinning round like clothes in a washing machine. For some reason she couldn’t get in down past her uvula to swallow. And while she got there eventually, Minnie realised that Betty was reaching the limits of her capacity. But Minnie was an an expert feeder these days and thought of limits as something to be overcome. She was like a personal trainer always insisting on one further set of reps beyond your uppermost limit. Betty was going to need some of her feeder experience and motivation.
“When I feed you this next slice, slice number 6 by the way so that will take us halfway, when I feed you this slice of cake, I want you to think of Lionel. Yeah love, I know about Lionel. Leona told me all about that bastard. I want you to think of him, right? What he’d think of you if he saw this…” Minnie said, dragging her sharp and shockingly cold nail down Betty’s swollen abdomen. “I want you to picture his disgust, his revulsion at how far you’ve let yourself go, how much you’ve grown beyond him. Picture that and this slice will go down a lot easier than the last”
And it did go easier than the last. Betty had the idea fixed in her sloshy mind of growing beyond him and dug deeper as she dug in. Her methodology became more mechanical as she adopted the Skinny meal technique of steady but relentless pacing. Chew, chew, chew and swallow. Over and over again, the metronomic regularity propelling her forward like wind in her sails. Six went down quickly, and seven followed suit at the same pace. Her eyes became fixed, staring but not seeing as she diverted all of her resources to consuming the cake before her.
Next went slice eight, the sticky and messy treat falling like the Marie Rose as she ploughed with fading force. Her head started tilting now as her surpassed limits were taking their toll. Minnie wasn’t sure if Betty was going to make it or not as she gently turned the ninth slice towards her tiring mouth. After this, she would only have a quarter left, but her pace was tailing off now and Minnie needed to do something. One more pep talk, one more burst of motivation. Minnie had one more card to play.
“You feed yourself now, my love, I’ve got some feeding of my own to do. You’ve earned this” and Betty took herself off Betty’s knee and used those cold hands of hers to reach towards Betty’s knickers, she dragged them down to her knees and took her face down to where the knickers were. And then, despite the dense foliage that surrounded it, she face-first nosedived towards Betty’s vagina to lick her out.
Her tongue stroked her with the same rigorous pace that Betty was now eating at, only stopping occasionally to throw her head back in pleasure. Slice nine was done and now Betty was squirming. Picking up the slices herself meant her hands were now getting as caked in cake as her over-bloated stomach, but she gritted and grunted as slice ten was dealt with.
With her head still between Betty’s legs, she reached out with her right hand started scratching down the side of Betty’s aching stomach, her nails cutting into her ghostly skin. Slice eleven was eaten and Betty was practically rocking in her seat as she approached her climax. She was racing to that point to quickly and she was never going to finish upstairs before she finished downstairs so she grabbed the final hefty slice and just crammed the entire thing in her mouth, with crumbly scree and dollops of chocolate and cream tumbling as she crammed crumbs of cake into her cakehole, barely able to chew with her mouth so full but grunting and gasping as she finally erupted in pleasure.
Minnie walked out the room to leave the stuffed manatee of a teacher sighing whilst craning her neck back in relief and swallowing the last remnants of that 4000 calorie dessert while her knickers were still round her knees, knowing that was a job well done. It was 5am, and Betty pretty much fell straight asleep there and then, in that same undignified pose.
 
And Leona walked in on the sleeping Betty in that same undignified pose just one hour later. She didn’t know where to avert her eyes, with Betty spread-eagled and naked and doused in decadent deliciousness. She kept her eyes away from Betty’s prize as best she could and just threw the size 10 clothes that were on a pile on the floor over her friend. Betty was completely out cold and didn’t even stir as they hit her, so Leona decided to let her catch up on a little more sleep. Minnie can have that effect on people.
She wouldn’t be able to have long though, they would have to be at work in several hours, and Betty had four months of self-neglect to remedy, to restore the girl to her pulchritudinous best. But she would, like Leona herself, also need breakfast. So, breakfast was what Leona would have knocked up for the duo while Betty continued with her forty wink catching.
Breakfast was typically a hearty affair in the Musketeer’s household, since it was practically a hotel for the morbidly obese these days, and Leona had no intention of bucking this trend for her first day back at the university. And she thought some breakfast up should be rustled up for her friend and colleague, who was clearly in a bad place. And what a breakfast it would be.
See, she had an ongoing joke with Wiktoria about whether a cooked breakfast fry-up was “a Full English” or a “Continental breakfast” since these things seemed so diametrically opposed. So the conclusion that they came to while on their holibobs during their time in the South of France, was that it should only be called a continental breakfast if it was a Full English and also if it was served alongisde croissants and pains au chocolat. That way it was English and Continental. And that was exactly what breakfast was going to be.
Except, and here’s the thing, Leona can’t cook. Not really, never could. Sure, she could microwave and she could order takeout. Hell, pasta dishes were usually fine and heating curry sauces with rice was usually fine, but anything that ran the risk of being burnt or underdone, and Leona left it to the experts. And they don’t come more expert than her paramour, Wiktoria.
And this isn’t simply because she is ex-pert, though her ass has made the journey from pert and tight and downright Lilliputian through relentless exercise and healthy living, to the Brobdingnagian bulges they were now. She was also a spectacular cook who was at her second happiest in the kitchen (she was at her happiest in her bed, with her lover and her dinner), and Leona had summoned her to help prepare the pre-work breakfast. Leona really needed the excuse to not be left alone with Betty. No matter how slobby she seemed, she kept quietly clawing at Leona’s conflicted heart. So she asked Wiktoria if she could come down and make breakfast for the two of them, to safeguard herself from untoward behaviour by keeping her actual girlfriend nearby.
Wiktoria was down five minutes later, huffing and puffing as she navigated the stairs. She, like Leona, had not slimmed down over the long summer holiday but rather she ended up throwing caution to the wind and portions down her stomach to continue barrelling beyond barrel shaped. She walked into the kitchen where Leona met her with a generous kiss.
“That was very nice, this is why I like making breakfast for you” Wiktoria she said with a smile, before noticing the lightly snoring teacher on the couch. It would have shocked the average person to recognise their delicately dainty teacher all mushed out and with her only clothing wrapped around her knees. But Wiktoria was familiar with what rapid weight gain looked like, first and second-hand, and she was familiar with what Minnie was capable of doing to a person, though thankfully only second-hand. She also had no idea that her and Leona had ever shagged one another and it didn’t cross her mind to be jealous or suspicious about Leona’s feelings.
“Thanks babe for this, I’ll have to make this up to you” Leona said with a friendly smirk.
“Sex?”
“Speedway, it’s on Eurosport tonight”
“Wow, really!” Wiktoria said with a big smile. At an earlier weight, she would have jumped up and down giddily at the offer, but these days a simple girly clap of excitement would do. “And then sex?”
“You have yourself a deal, Ms. Radwanska” and she sealed the deal with another kiss.
Leona stood in front of a mirror fixing her hair while Wiktoria got to work, getting food sizzling and the oven warming up as she multi-tasked magnificently in the warmth of the kitchen. She wasn’t as quick to get about the kitchen these days, her stupendous size causing her to find even slow movement a labour. But with the incentive of cooking up a storm, she didn’t mind the physical exertion of getting about.
By the time Wiktoria had done her three breakfasts, one for each of the downstairs girls, Leona had fully readied herself for the day ahead. Her make-up was applied to bring shapes, colours and contrasts to her already beautiful face and her hair had rarely looked more lustrous. She couldn’t do much about her size however, she was an absolute unit and there were very few fashion choices that could draw attention from that, but her trousers and florid blouse combination was at least colour coordinated and smart.
Wiktoria hadn’t put that same amount of effort into her appearance yet, but she was still a pretty girl. The elfin cut that she started last year with was now hair that poured gently beyond her shoulders and down her back. Her face wasn’t made up but it had a natural radiance to it, even if it was sweating a bit due to the 30 minutes in the kitchen meaning 30 minutes of standing and walking, far more than she would ever do these days. And her nightie, while obviously informal and comfortable, was pretty with its pink and white frilly design. It needed to be a large nightie, however, as Wiktoria was an immense lady these days. Every part of her body was an outward swell, mottled and stretched taut. She didn’t notice herself getting bigger these days, the only evidence that she ever spotted of her ever-expansion was the appearance of new creases and folds on her body where there weren’t previously. A waddle of fat between her bra and her armpit or the slight overhang of fat sheltering her knee. At a glance, she looked over 450lbs, and it was a glance at her immensity that Betty woke up to, upon smelling salty food.
“Oh god, what time is it? Wait, where are my...” and Betty realised her knickers were around her ankles, though she couldn’t remember why. She tried to surreptitiously sneak them up, but both Leona and Wiktoria were looking at her as she woke up.
“From the looks of it, you had a good time with Minnie last night. But playtime’s over Bollingbrooke, we’ve got to get you ready for work” Leona said with typical confidence.
“But… I’m not sure… I’m so ugly and...” Betty whimpered as all the insecurity that had been swilling around her head yesterday came crawling back up.
“Hey, my very sexy beautiful friend. You have face like an angel. We will make you clean and pretty and you will look like the Hollywood movie star, very sexy” Wiktoria said reassuringly, before going in for Wiktoria-special hug. It felt awkward for Betty to hug Wicky whilst just in her underwear, especially with her girlfriend sitting nearby too, but Wicky was a hugger and so Betty good a-hugged, wrapping her branch-like arms around the slightly stumpy Betty. “But first we have very brilliant breakfast for you”
It was a very brilliant breakfast for them and all. Wiktoria didn’t serve up on a simple plate, that was insufficient to satiate a Musketeer. No, it was served on a platter bowl for each, and the platter bowl was loaded enough that it couldn’t be seen through all the food piled atop it. It was a mish-mash of breakfast goodies, from the fry-up foods of eggs, bacon, sausages, hash browns, blood pudding, beans, omelettes, mushrooms, fried tomato (though not for Betty, she famously couldn’t stand tomatoes), spam, blocks of cheese, ham, fried potatos and chips. Then there was slices of toast, heavily buttered and then further topped with peanut butter for that cholesterol finish. Then came the French inspired triumvirate of two pains au chocolat, two pains au raisin and two croissants, along with three slices of brioche to mop some of the fried stuff up. And finally, in the corner of the platter bowl, two muffins, two cream cakes and two US style donuts for a sweet finish. It was essentially the Skinny meal of breakfasts.
It took them over an hour to eat, and Betty over an hour and a half given that she still could feel the cake from yesterday in her stomach. After the other two girls finished their respective colossal servings, they chipped in with Betty’s to help her out. She didn’t have the appetite of these two and they needed to chivvy her along since it was going to take more than twenty minutes for her to shower herself clean, sort her hair and make-up and then make sure her clothes suited her. They rifled through the remains of her dinner while she took her bloated self up to use their shower and see if should rescue her appearance.
The hot water hit her like a tidal wave of warm relief. The plumbing was better in this property and the boiler didn’t take as long to warm up the water, a feature of her own that had contributed to her avoiding hygiene so severely. She spent an age on her hair, trying to shower and condition all the bedded in grease that she had allowed to fester. Washing the rest of herself was difficult also, but for a very different reason. It meant confronting her weight gain. She had to wash bits of her body that she didn’t previously have. Actual breasts, an actual tummy, actual thighs, an actual arse. Her stomach packed like a tin of sardines and hurt to touch, but her arse wasn’t nearly so packed. It seemed to be bigger than it needed to be, over-accommodating the density of it, giving it a soft and slightly saggy feel.
Once washed, it was her face that she had to deal with. Her eyebrows had merged into a caterpillar across the top of her eyes, with monobrows not uncommon on dark haired girls. The slight dark hair on her top lip also needed ridding, and then she could start with the make-up.
She was never normally a heavy applier of the stuff. She felt more comfortable without it but didn’t have the confidence to follow that comfort through. However, she needed a fair bit of it today. Firstly, a wodge of it was required just to downplay the raging storm of spots that had become a fixture on her milky face. Then, contouring to underplay the new softness of her cheeks and allude to the angular cheekbones that had previously defined her look. Also, a stronger shade of red for lip stick and a lot of work done around the eyes to misdirect from the tiredness that encompassed them. And finally that was done. She looked in the mirror again and felt her heart bounce a little. She looked pretty again and a little more like her old self.
She walked back downstairs with a towel around her to grab her clothes as Wiktoria and Leona continued ploughing through Betty’s serving of breakfast. My word were they troopers when it came to eating. Betty just hoped that this breakfast was exceptional and not some sort of morning norm. They were seriously large girls now and surely their habits were not sustainable. Betty of course didn’t pry, out of courtesy and respect, but a shard of worry plunged sharply into her heart as she saw the girls continue to rip through the food like it was the end of Ramadan.
“Betz, just a thought, maybe wear the Spanx too” Leona said with a mouth full of beans and brioche.
“But I want to look big, don’t I? To put off Lionel?” Betty asked unsurely.
“Yes, but try it with the Spanx first. If he makes a pass at you, next time, try it without. You might have already reached his cut-off point” Leona said, scarfing sausage and egg now.
Betty wasn’t sure about this. She might be big enough already, even with the Spanx? Had she managed to over-shoot? In all honesty, nobody knew, so it stood to reason to try the slimline look first in case that is still too much for him, and then upsize if it fails. But, while logical, it did seem slightly insulting to Betty, suggesting that she might already be too fat. Surely she was only curvy now? Or had she missed curvy earlier, and gone sailing past it without taking the time to truly appreciate it? Or was her build, and her flat-chestedness, preventing her from ever being curvy and it was inevitable that not being thin would mean she was fat? Either way, Spanx and the size 10 clothing that she looked at yesterday. She grabbed the clothes and went into an empty room to put it on. The Spanx was a new experience, and a deeply unpleasant one. With her stomach over-capacity already, it seemed brutishly painful where she was most tender. But when she put on the rest of her clothes, she saw its benefits.
First benefit was that her blouse buttoned without much difficulty. Which shouldn’t have been a benefit except it seemed that there would have been difficulty otherwise. Maybe it was just the bloating, but it shocked Betty to discover that the size 10 blouse was far from loose even with the shapewear underneath. The other benefit became apparent once the tights and skirt went on, because she looked drop-dead gorgeous all made up, dressed up and trussed up. The squashing of her waist made it look like her hips flared out, giving her the shape she craved. And the total look was one of a bombshell. She walked back into the living room to show the two girls, who were still at breakfast. Beaming and bright, her face was a lighthouse as she twizzled to demonstrate her form to the other two, who just stared agog. Their mouths were agape and, for the time being, not because they were eating.
“Fuck me, Betz, you look stunning!” Leona exclaimed in wonder. Wicky gave Leona a little side-eye at the sheer volume of admiration and appreciation for Betty’s appearance from her lover.
“Yes, I told you Betty, you look very stunning. You look like a painting of a very pretty lady” Wiktoria said, before aiming the next compliment to rile her girlfriend after her lustful stares at Betty. “You are much prettier than Leona”
And all the girls laughed in shock and amusement as Betty blushed at the compliments that were being hurled their way. And in such good spirits, Betty sat down next to her friends and went back at her breakfast, taking the muffins, the cream cakes and the donuts off of them in assistance.
They took a taxi to the university, and discussed the day ahead while it took them there. And after extolling the virtues of that virtuoso breakfast that Wiktoria created out of thin air, Betty made a really good point about the Skinny meal diet she was on.
“How can I have two Skinny meals a day while I’m working? I can’t have one during my lunch hour, they take more than an hour to eat!”
“Easy, have one for breakfast and one in the evening. Maybe just have a McDonald’s for lunch to tide you over. Order two in the evenings and just have one of them in the morning instead. No problem Betz, stop making excuses” Leona teased.
Two Skinny meals and a McDonald’s in one day though. That sounded like Stage 2.5, a halfway house between where she was and where she wanted to be. Honestly, given the amount of snacking she’d been doing between the two Skinny meals already, she was probably at this Stage 2.5 anyway. But if she was ever to manage three of them in one day, this seemed like a sensible basecamp upon which to mount an assault. So she could start the new term with a plan of action going forward and Betty had never felt so positive about the future.
 
“Looking good, Bollingbrooke” Lionel smirked in his oily way as she walked into the office for the meeting, immediately neutralising all that positivity and whiplashing Betty’s confidence back down. Leona could see her shoulders shrink back as the fetid, foul fumes of lust poured from each pore of the unkempt pervert leading the meeting.
His eye had been drawn to her as soon as she stepped into the room. She had been his favourite piece of totty for a while now, to lick his lips lasciviously over, ever since the previously divine looking Leona had swollen into a goddamn blob. He hated her for that, the stinking whore, for taking away all of her beauty so spitefully because she couldn’t help keep herself away from second servings, the lardy cow.
It was this contrast that was the catalyst of lust for him. When Leona waddled into the room, you could see the disgust on Lionel’s face, every wrinkle of his leathery expression souring with arrogant disappointment. And the comparison between better-than-ever Betty and larger-than-ever Leona made him drool after the younger teacher all the more. Her hips swayed like they were from the 1950’s and her eyes sparkled with a newfound confidence. She was almost a caricature of beauty, and Lionel couldn’t help himself and mention this fact. It deflated her immediately.
Not in terms of size though, Lionel couldn’t help but notice. She had been eating well over the holidays too, her thighs looked more substantial and her hips had more to hang onto. It suited her, he thought, she was always pretty but she was so thin before that it did her no harm. As long as this was the end of it, and not the start of a trend like last time with Leona. Fucking bitch, getting fat, the lazy fucker.
Betty was dazed after that comment from him. That was all it took to knock her off-kilter for the rest of the meeting. Every glance from him in her direction triggered her, the PTSD of abusive or harassing men in her life meant it didn’t take much to put her back in those dark places, vividly remembering those dark traumas. She tried to hide it the usual way, behind glowy charm and happy-go-lucky friendliness, but another crack had ruptured across her soul when he said that simple turn of phrase.
“Ms. Bollingbrooke? Have you uploaded your slides onto the University intranet yet?” Lionel sleazed. Betty hadn’t even done most of the slides, she’d been putting it off all summer and never gotten around to it. She was months behind in the work that she was supposed to be doing to get her classes ready for the coming year. She’d clean forgot, after all that had been going on in her life, in her stomach and in her emotional state, that she should have been panicking about this. It had been put on the back-burner, what with her clothing crisis, and she had walked to the meeting forgetting to be terrified of recriminations for essentially not doing her job. But, because she had forgotten about this until he mentioned it, and because her mind wasn’t in a good place all of a sudden, she didn’t care about the answer she threw back at him.
“Yeah, all done” she lied, with a poker face so straight that it can only come from apathy. She didn’t care if he’d find out and check, she just wanted to leave the room right now and couldn’t think about anything else. As it happened, he had no intention of checking, he was terrible at that sort of administrative aspect of his job. He thought that a job was only worth doing if it couldn’t be blagged and figured that simply by asking the question, he had fulfilled his role. And that was fine with Betty too, who asked to excuse herself from the room for a minute, before walking out to catch her breath. She sat down on the sofa in the corridor and tried to regain her composure, but her head kept spinning.
Screw it, she thought eventually, I’m not going back in there. So she decided to take Leona’s advice and she took a trip to McDonald’s while the rest of the teachers plotted and cross-referenced for the forthcoming terms. They were discussing plans and going over budgets, and Betty was looking at the menu to work out what to buy. They were wondering where Betty had gotten to and she was ordering two large Big Macs, a large fries, a large chocolate milkshake and a large McFlurry. Leona was defending her by suggesting maybe ‘lady troubles’ and Betty was gorging on fast food and accidentally spilling ketchup on her dress. She wiped it off with her finger and hoped nobody would notice.
By the time she’d finished and returned to the university, they were all filing out the room. Lionel was eagle-eyed and searching around for her as she came round the corner looking and feeling better. Before Lionel could ask where she was, Leona intervened.
“Don’t worry Betz, I told them you were having ‘lady troubles’” Leona hollered at her friend.
“Thanks Leona!” she shouted and smiled back, glad that Leona had her back. Leona then waddled to her and grabbed her by the arm and took her away from the rest of the department.
“What the fuck happened Betz? Are you okay?” Leona said, her eyes angled with concern. Betty just nodded, her throat suddenly dry as she came to explain the rush of emotions that his throwaway line had prompted in her.
“Wait, can I smell ketchup… did you ditch the meeting to have McDonald’s?” Leona asked with a smile, loving the normally whiter-than-white Betty’s derring-do to just walk off and eat while she should have been working. “Oh, I love it, Betz! You badass!”
Betty smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear, cat-like. Words still weren’t coming forth but at least the dread was easing.
“Don’t think where not going back to Maccy D’s though. You might have had your lunch, but I’ve not had mine yet. And the two girls turned back and wandered across the road to the McDonald’s there. And as Leona ordered a typically extravagant meal for her insatiable and unending appetite, Betty decided to order another McFlurry, and actually a large Big Mac and large fries. This was all prep for three Skinny meals for one day, and besides, she could stand to gain a few pounds if Lionel was still leering like he was. And the pattern was formally established, two Skinny meals a day – one for breakfast, one in the evening – and a large McDonald’s meal for lunch. Yes, this sounded like a plan. She would grow past Lionel’s desires in no time at this rate.
It helped that it broke up the mundanity having been eating only the same meal for the past three months, but the thin fries stood in pleasantly moreish contrast to their chunkier Kebabland counterpart and the sugar fix of the McFlurry scratched a sucrose itch that Betty didn’t know she had. It culminated in a relentless day of consumption that left her winded and dizzyingly bloated, but Betty resolved to establish this as her new routine, stuffing herself to and beyond the gills. And soon a new 13000-calorie a day pattern emerged, where three meals were being eaten and two of them were Skinny Meals, just in time for the kids to attend class.
 

On the original version of this story, this was where my second chapter started pretty much. I worry I've gone overboard in expanding the story to cover the cracks of it. Hope you don't mind.
Chapter 10
 
Betty kept a low profile for the rest of the week, afraid of the prowling prat that was Lionel. Walking around the corridor halls with him about felt like being trapped in a labyrinth with a minotaur roaming. She felt sheepish about lying to him – about why she walked out on Monday, about whether she had done any work over the Summer – but she mainly felt intimidated by a man who thought women were buffet items. She had buffered herself, she’d hoped, by eschewing the shapewear that tucked her in where she had begun to pooch out so if he didn’t crawl up to her, he might not be so keen. But thankfully it hadn’t yet come to that.
And hiding from Lionel wasn’t the only healthy choice that Betty had been making, mainly thanks to the close monitoring and support of her deeply concerned friend Leona. Betty had been on the precipice of a complete meltdown for a while and it culminated on that Sunday night when she cried over the phone to her colleague about having no clothes. After this point, Leona made an effort to cajole her into being the better version of herself. She didn’t want another drunken phone call about Betty having no clothes.
So clothes were the first thing on the agenda, and the two girls went clothes shopping. This was much to the chagrin of Minnie who wanted this role, having enjoyed playing with Betty like a cat would a mouse earlier, but Leona figured Betty needed a friend, not a fiend. So they decided to hit up the Churchill Square shopping centre to sack it of its most stylish formal clothing choices.
Betty wasn’t really a subscriber to the philosophy of retail therapy like Leona was, though Leona’s enthusiasm for it had dimmed as clothes became less and less likely to fit her magnificent magnitude, so it wasn’t so much a joy as a chore. She hoped to be in and out quickly, and come aware with uninteresting work skirt and shirt combinations so as not to provoke comment from her keen-eyed colleagues. Anyone who says ‘is that new?’ about the clothing that Betty had purchased might be prompted to take in her figure and draw negative conclusion. She wanted to dim the desires of the dastardly department head, but she didn’t want to be a laughing stock amongst faculty members for ballooning bigly.
As such, she opted straight for the safe option of Debenhams and worked her way through the clothing racks, picking things out that might be suitable.
“What size should I get?” Betty asked, unsure of herself and her size.
“Well, not 10s, that’s for sure. You’re current ones are already overworked” Leona replied, as Betty sheepishly put back the size 10s that she had picked out for herself. “Definitely some 12s, probably some 14s too, just to be safe. I mean, you can help yourself to my old clothes whenever you fancy Betz, but I’d grab some 14s just in case.”
Betty paused at that comment. It came from a kind and thoughtful place, but Leona’s comment about buying size 14 seemed to ram home how much Betty had butterballed. It was an inevitability of her tactic to divert Lionel’s attention elsewhere, but that seemed a world away from where she saw herself. Was she really going to be the kind of woman that wore a size 14? And it begged a further question, one that Betty had given surprisingly little thought thus far. How far was she going to go with this?
The obvious answer was until she completed Stage 3 of the Skinny meal challenge. She was rarely one to back away from a challenge and it was the success of every forward step made towards this goal that put a smile on her face more than anything else. It also wasn’t a million miles away, she felt like now she was up to 2 Skinny meals and a McDonalds every day without to much difficulty, the next step up to having a Skinny meal was no longer such a great stride. Surely Lionel’s libido would subside soon, she could experience the rush of task completion, and then she could finally return to normal, whatever that meant. For a woman so emotionally scarred and tortured, the allure of normality was fainter than for most.
“Do you think I’ll get up to 14?” Betty said, trying to normalise that number that currently felt like an anchor had tied itself to her stomach and been dropped.
“Well get it just to be safe, you’re on good money these days so why not? But, to answer your question, yeah I do. At least.” Leona replied with typical frank honesty.
“At least? But I’m practically at the finishing line. I’ll be able to draw a line under all this soon, and get back to being healthy again.” Betty said sweetly, trying to stifle the minor irritation from Leona’s insinuation. But Leona laughed heartily and sighed deeply.
“Oh Betz, I love you but you do say the funniest things. You’re eating about 15000 calories a day, which is ten times your RDA by the way, you haven’t touched a vegetable in a third of a year and you’d lie in bed all day if it wasn’t for work, when you used to exercise like a Duracell bunny. You won’t be able to just flick a switch and be healthy my dear. You can slam on the brakes, but travelling at your speed and it will still take a while to slow down.” Leona rested her arm on Betty’s shoulder as she delivered the cold hard truth. Betty had been kidding herself in thinking that she could just drop 13500 calories from her diet just like that, and she needed the wake-up call.
“Oh god Leona, I think you’re right” she said, her eyes wide with worry and her bottom lip quivering again as the waterworks seeped from her tear ducts again. Between sniffles she asked “Do you think I should maybe get some size 16s too, just in case?”
“Probably better had, Betz.” she said as kindly as she could to the upset teacher. “Probably better had”
Betty put the clothes back for a second and decided to sit down for a second to collect her thoughts. Her mood these days felt precarious, like it could topple in an instant. She would be going about her day genuinely believing that she’s quite happy, and the slightest touch could crush her spirit. She felt constantly deflated, and every time she tried to pump herself back up, a slow puncture would whittle her back down again. She was getting sick and tired of feeling sick and tired, she just wanted these self-doubts to go away and leave her alone. But this quiet contemplation was rudely interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Ay up, if it isn’t my two favourite women?” Minnie bounced into the shop with tiggerish verve.
“Firstly, how can we be your two favourite women Minnie, when you’re in a relationship with two other women? And secondly, what the actual fuck are you doing her?” Leona bristled.
“Well, it’s a funny story actually, but you see, the thing is, I wanted to.” Minnie said and then smiled. “You said I shouldn’t come, and I disagreed. I thought I should come. The thought of you two made me come.”
“Please rephrase that” Leona said, unamused.
“Sorry, I’ll rephrase that. I should have said, I came whilst thinking about you two.” Minnie let out a feminine cackle that broke Betty’s sullen mood a little. “So we trying these clothes on or what? Come on you two, we’ll go in together”
Leona didn’t want to be trapped in a changing booth with two women she had previously had sex with, but Minnie was insistent and Betty’s mood was slowly perking up. So the three walked into an empty booth and closed the door behind them.
It was, perhaps predictably, a tight fit for the troika, all crammed into one booth. Leona took up most of it with her width, though her respectable gut pushed forward and took up valuable depth. The other two girls were mushed together in the other half, though Minnie was not as mini as her name suggested and the two girls struggled for their part too. Even Betty these days was taking up some room.
“So, what sizes you got love?” Minnie asked mischievously.
“Some 12s, 14s and some 16s. I hope I never have to wear those though.” Betty sighed, self-doubt whirring up in the background of her mind once more.
“Oooo, you’re planning on going up to size 16, they’re the plus sizes. Oh, you’ll look good at them sizes Miss. Can’t wait to see you grow” Minnie purred fiendishly. “But, in the meantime, let’s get you naked so we can try on the underwear, shall we?”
Leona twitched as Minnie said that, trapped in the back of the booth and squashed in by her two former lovers, one of whom was stripping. It was fairly uncomfortable for Betty also, who desperately fancied Leona and didn’t want to show her the chubbiness that had made itself known on her body. But Minnie was comfortable. She was in her element. Two fat women and all the power.
Once Betty had taken off her clothes and down to her underwear, she just stood there awkwardly. She could feel the two other girls on her skin in the cramped conditions and she was loath to pull down her knickers with such a tactile audience to present her untended garden for their judgement.
“If you’re feeling awkward, love, I can help with that” Minnie said. She then pulled the nice black dress she was wearing over her head to reveal her own naked body. Only she wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath to begin with. Poor Leona didn’t know where to look. “See, isn’t that better? Not all eyes are on you now”
Betty tentatively took off her knickers, and tried on a pair that she had brought in with her. They weren’t silky or frilly knickers, they were plain Jane granny pants designed to cover skin and not reveal skin. Fortunately, they fit like a dream and seemed to compact her softness flatteringly.
“She looks good, doesn’t she Leona?” Minnie asked, turning the screw merrily. Leona just gulped and nodded, having only briefly glanced in Betty’s direction. Betty then reached down to take them off, having confirmed that they fit, only for Minnie to stop her.
“Hey, you know what would be fun, love? If you leave them on. We’ll not pay for them, and instead just walk out with them on. Nobody will look, will they? I’ll just put your old knickers down here” Betty thrust her poorly circulated cold hand down Betty’s knickers to deposit the old ones there, and ran her nail along Betty’s skin on the way up.
“But… that’s shoplifting!” Betty whispered sharply.
“I know, love. You’re first ever crime. Oh, they grow up so fast don’t they?” Minnie snickered.
“Seriously Minnie, cut it out” Leona chimed in, but neither of the other two girls felt like they had much autonomy in Minnie’s presence, and Minnie knew it. She leant in and kissed Betty seductively to stop any further protestations, while grabbing her hair tightly. Leona winced as she felt Minnie’s chubby legs run along Betty’s. “Come on then, let’s try that size 12 blouse and skirt shall we?”
Betty was hoping for bags of bagginess when she put the size 12s on, but they fit alarming well. Her tummy rested delicately on the upper rim of the skirt, and the white blouse wasn’t so loose as to flow over her love handles in concealment. She pulled up the size 12 tights for underneath the skirt, finding it difficult without much room to lean or pivot, but she got them up to find that they fit her bum disappointingly well. Size 12 wasn’t Betty’s future, it was her present.
“Now the size 16s” Minnie cooed, fully enjoying the moment.
“But we know they won’t fit...” Betty weakly protested.
“I wasn’t asking. Now put on the size 16s” and Minnie leaned over again and put her tongue in her ear, while Leona continued to squirm.
Betty dutifully obliged and saw the funny side of it once they were on. The arms of the blouse were so loose and there was so much room around her waist also. The skirt only stayed up by Betty grabbing a huge chunk of the fabric and continuously yanking it. Betty looked ridiculous, Leona looked perplexed and Minnie looked at her prey.
“At some point, you’re going to have put on so much weight that you’re going to fill these clothes. You stomach is going to press against the fabric at the front, your arse is gonna expand enough to keep the skirt up. You’re gonna get so fucking fat, and it’s gonna be so fucking hot” Minnie rolled the words out of her mouth filthily.
A weird shiver went down Betty’s spine as she said it, a strange convulsion that Minnie could feel as she pressed her hands against Betty’s thighs. The skirt slipped down and Minnie pulled the blouse back off, and she began to press further and further into Betty, pushing her blooming belly against her, and then she slipped her hand up Betty’s thigh and worked her. Poor Leona just stood, squashed at the back. And it got worse as Minnie pushed Betty onto Leona’s front and attacked her there, sandwiching Betty between the two girls. If it hadn’t been for the knock on the door from a staff member of the place, Betty wouldn’t have been able to resist long.
They quickly got clothed and grabbed their stuff and walked out the shop, paying for all they had bought. Well, nearly all. And a charge ran along Betty’s spine as she felt her old knickers snug in her new knickers as she walked out the shop without paying for this particular item.
 
Betty resolved to keep Minnie away from her if possible after her second encounter with the minx. And Leona felt awkward about being near her two, even though she was only indirectly involved with the changing room escapade, she’d seen to much and felt to much to face Betty in a social situation again. She just wouldn’t know what to say or where to look with her if she did. It wasn’t so bad at work where they could keep focused on the day-to-day stuff, but hanging out with her just felt so awkward.
And this left Betty alone again at the weekend. She’d been so productive over the course of the week, almost back to her self-caring self. She had cleaned her house a little, clearing out the rubbish and recycling her old and stained clothes. She left the underwear on the light fitting as a reminder but at least the floor was clear now. She even hoovered the carpet. She found, during this tidy up, her missing sharp needle, and put it back in her bedside drawer. You never know when you might next need it.
Also, productively, she had curbed her drinking across the week. It was a challenge after the Monday incident with Lionel, but she had managed to keep her wine consumption to a moderate level. Not being able to drink during the day helped, but even still, she felt proud that this wasn’t a problem that was spiralling out of control now.
Of course that was before she felt abandoned thanks to Minnie’s sexual provocation. The weekend before the first lectures of the academic year and her bosom buddies had baled for one reason or another. Minnie was barred from ever seeing her again, and neither Betty nor Leona could face one another after the mid-week shopping incident. Now, without the stability of Leona to prop Betty up, the rush of wanton temptation sparked again. Of bingeing and boozing and generally letting loose while her clothes got tight. She was also wrestling with that strange sexual bolt of energy that Minnie prompted after she told Betty that she was going to be so fat. Something about that suggested slippery slope that punctured Betty’s inhibitions. So Betty made a vow to herself. During the week, she would be a bastion of responsibility, training her appetite but otherwise behaving maturely and demurely. And then at the weekends she would raise hell. Starting from this weekend. Booze, biscuits and any other vice she could think of. She would live a double life, between the working week and the workless weekend, and she would start living it now.
This was why she didn’t wake up until 1pm. This time last year, she would have gotten up six or seven hours earlier, but she was not that girl any more. She was on her way to being size sixteen, after all. This did mean she had a narrowed window to consume all the calories she expected of herself, but she didn’t care. Oh no. She was going to eat them anyway, and any more she could while she was at it.
But before she could start all of that good fun, she had to make a decision about what to wear. Too small and embarrass herself that way, or too big and mirror the Minnie humiliation from earlier. Either way, she was making a mockery of herself and that was what the weekend was all about. Well, for the sake of variety she opted for the too small option. She found some of her unbinned but unwashed size 6 polo shirts, and picked out a light blue one to wear.
Finding something for her bottom half was harder. She was hoping for some old jeans maybe that she could pull up but not button, and walk around with the indignity of her flies splayed. But she couldn’t even find clothes that did that, none of her size 6s got over her thickened thighs, she could pull and pull and pull, but they didn’t even approach the second obstacle that was her bum. After size 6, she only had size 12s and up, with one size 10 work skirt that she didn’t fancy anyway. So maybe just underwear then? She didn’t actually possess any thongs, she was too much of a former Christian goody-two-shoes, but she had some nice frilly underwear that she presumably had outgrown. Pulling them up her leg was a funny experience, the weird sensation of pushing her thigh through like mince through a sausage maker, but it was getting them over her bum was the real hurdle to be overcome. They cut into her sides so much she thought she might bleed, and she couldn’t get it high enough over her bum to cover her crack. And after a very little time, the knickers fell down this cavernous crevice, wedgying herself. So, maybe she did have a thong after all.
She looked at herself in the mirror and laughed at what she saw. But before she could fully investigate up close what she looked like, she wanted to look at an old picture for comparison. An in-progress report of deterioration. She found an official photo from that marathon she ran, of her celebrating her time after the finishing line with a flirty hands-on-hip posture and that gregarious grin of hers. The thin lines of her legs, marked by harsh sinews going up to her running shorts. Her hips, no wider than the skeleton beneath them, pushed to one side in victory. The convex stomach, like stretched skin over a vacuum beneath her ribs. Her arms, spindly like a spider’s legs. Her face, illuminated with joy and pride, with glistening eyes, a wide and welcoming mouth, and cheekbones that cut out from the side of her face. It was a BBC cameraman who took this photo as part of their “get up and run” campaign and coverage of the London Marathon, and they had probably chosen her as lightening bolt of electric beauty.
Now, she got close to the mirror to compensate for her untreated close-sightedness and compared. No electric beauty but dulled charm. Her eyes didn’t glisten but haunt with rings of melancholy around them and a listlessness in the pupil. Her mouth, so easily grinning but knitted close in solemn fashion. Her cheekbones that were once jagged cliffs on the side of her face, now struggling to keep up against the rising water levels of her softened cheeks. Her concave stomach, heaving out 3 inches with heavy heft and resting above her her hips. It could be seen underneath the red polo shirt that didn’t cover further than the belly-button that was pointed at by raw crimson stretchmarks. Her arms sticking out the arm hole of her shirt with difficulty, limiting the movement with their rounding shape. The hips themselves, lost under undercoats of fat and a gloss of blanched skin that were pulled at so harshly by the thin frills at the sides of her knickers that they nearly swelled around the material. The chunky legs, frosty pale and thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. Now flirty hands-on-hip pose, just her arms flat by her side as she gawped at this worn-out and grown-out version of her formerly model-like beauty. A hushed smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
She leant down to grab the scales, that caused her stomach to squish into baby rolls, and placed it in front of her. With calmness and composure, she set it to zero before putting both feet where advised. The digital display twitched and flickered before settling on 149lbs. She now weighed more than the maximum break in snooker. She grabbed her phone and looked at her BMI app to see where that left her. She was 5ft6, though people often mistook her for shorter with her dainty and curled up manner, Her weight in stone and pounds? Well, there was 14lbs in a stone, so 140lbs was 10 stone so she weight 10st 9lbs. Her age was 27 now, but those flourishes of grey that she’d noticed had been popping up suggested that her days of looking younger than her age were behind her. She used to get mistaken for a student outside of work, she essentially passed for 18, but that wouldn’t happen now. Her sex? Kinky but infrequent wasn’t an option, so the selected female. Her ethnic group (optional), she’ll ignore that one. Activity levels, well that was comfortably “Inactive – Less than 30 minutes a week”. And Enter.
Betty had a BMI of 23.9, which put her at a healthy weight still, which felt perhaps a little disappointing. The green colour that represented healthy turned ominously orange at 25, so she was closing in on no longer being healthy apparently. She remembered being told off for being underweight and red on the graph, and the rush of pride she felt for such malnourishment under the pretence of peer-pressured beauty standards. The website left comments about not to use if you are suffering from an eating disorder, rather insinuatingly back then. It didn’t make such a comment now. Now she had two more days to do as much damage as she could to this already damaged carcass, before sprucing herself up ready for Monday. Best call Ahmed then.
While she awaited her delivery, Betty poured herself a rum and coke and got the party started. She had spent five days trying to minimise her thirst but for two days she could let rip, and let rip she did. The Skinny meal was ceremonially and unceremoniously devoured as she maintained her gluttonous breakfast routine, with rum and cokes, and wine, and ciders all flowing to hurry her along to that mid-afternoon fuzzy buzz.
Once she had gotten through one meal, her concentration shifted to the next one. It was 2pm and she had only just had what you could loosely describe as breakfast. She needed to up her game and she decided a great start would be to get the deep-fat fryer up to temperate. It was probably for the best that she chose to operate this now, while she was still sober enough to use it safely, and she merrily deep-fat fried her customary Mars bars to dip into 1 pint carton of ice cream as was the post-Skinny meal tradition. She shoved as many as she could muster into her mouth, and ate not for pleasure but for purpose. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to do worse to herself, she needed more.
McDelivery was next for lunch. 3pm was a strange time for lunch but Betty was behaving like a strange girl. She ordered her usual (two large big macs, two large fries, chocolate milkshake and a McFlurry) and sat down to eat this too. She surprised herself by struggling with it, eating so soon after her previous gorging session, but she was attacking herself with vindictive pleasure through her calorific outburst, in a bid to burst out of her clothes. The chips were lean and went down quick and the big macs seemed lightweight compared to the heavyweight gorging that Kebabland provided. The milkshake was a sweet relief betwixt all that oleaginous goodness, though its sharp chill prompted sharp brainfreeze. And the McFlurry was a fitting finale with all the heaviness of the former and the sugariness of the latter. By 4pm, Betty was back on schedule food-wise and could redirect power to thrusting drinks down her neck.
She teetered and tottered as she picked herself off the coach and walked back to the fridge to pull out another cider. She had been diligent and systemised in her drinking as she had been in her eating, rotating religiously between rum and coke, wine and then cider in a Fordist fashion. And the net result had been a ravaging on her coordination and cohesion as she sat back down on her settee with all the caution of a person who couldn’t guarantee she wasn’t going to miss. Another swig and then she lay down to scratch another hedonistic itch that had been forming downstairs. So, she picked her phone off the floor and logged onto Facebook, to collect images for her own mental wank bank.
She scrolled through her friends on the app first. Leona was normally the point person for Betty in this sort of mood, but it felt awkward given the whole having-sex-with-Minnie-while-Leona-was-trapped-in-the-same-cubicle thing. Maybe Minnie, with those emerald eyes that burrowed and that obsidian black hair, would be just the ticket. After all, she enjoyed what Minnie did to her and the way that she did it, and Betty craved that rush of sensation again. But it wasn’t the same just looking at a photo of her, she needed to feel the sharpness of her nails and the dominance in her voice to get the kick that she craved. So, Betty just scrolled through various students that she taught, before settling on a Swedish girl called Ebba who she found on Facebook as a common friend of Minnie’s. She was clearly a vain student with stereotypically blonde hair and a Cali girl smile. She had legs longer than Wiktoria’s and as thin as Betty’s had ever been. It made sense, going through her photos, that she had done some part-time modelling. But still Betty couldn’t get off from it, a high resolution pixelated image serving as no substitute for a breathing human being.
Lastly, in a final throw of the dice, she tried to masturbate whilst looking at herself in the mirror. She put her hand in her knickers as she watched the way her tummy pooched over them. She ran her other hand down her side, feeling how the texture of her skin had changed from glacially smooth to feeling more like over-worked dough. She ran her hand down the inside of her thigh and felt how lunar they’d become from cellulite, and how close they were to converging on one another. She squeezed her plump rump to feel how it was so much more than a handful now, and how much give it had. It was all so sensual… but not sexual. She couldn’t marvel at her demise yet, she just felt too pretty to taste her own distaste.
Without her orgasmic fix, she switched her energies to a fattier direction and decided to order another Skinny meal. Now, this was mixing things up from her normal routine. She had always been a fast believer in only asking for a Skinny meal delivery once a day, and walking there the other time. She figured the exercise would be useful given her deteriorating physical condition and, more importantly, what if it was the same courier? She couldn’t ever take that chance and always picked up the food manually. But not today, not given Betty’s hunger for self-destruction.
And much to her perverse pleasure, it was the same hunky courier that gave her the meal earlier in the day. Last time, she hid her lower half behind the door and just bent her body around to collect the meal. This time he got the full Betty visual experience, as she swung the door open to show herself in a blue polo shirt with ice cream on it and some overly tight knickers. The rest of her was pudgy alabaster skin and he could see it all. Every inch of her decline as his all-time favourite drop-off and one-time favourite crush mushed her plush tush and padded out in every direction. Her face, once of angelic purity, now a holiday resort for zits and spots and rashes, and that sweet cute figure of hers thickened like porridge.
She jumped on him, irrespective of his disappointment in her appearance, with a vicious hug, wrapping her arms around him before forcibly locking lips.
“You’re my favourite delivery man” she said to the dumbstruck Deliveroo deliverer. “I’m having a one-woman party, do you want to join me?”
“Do you have a lot of one-woman parties” he wryly commented, trying to deflect from the invitation. He knew, of course from his deliveries, that she did. And he knew, from her size, that she did.
“Yes! Yes I do!” she beamed with that famous smile of hers. She hugged firmly and conspicuously grinded against his cycling shorts. “Now, do you want to have sex with me?”
“Um, I can’t… I’ve got deliveries ma’am” he said, shocked at how forward the typically sweet and innocent girl was being. He tried to stop the rush of blood heading downwards.
“Ma’am, how old do you think I am?”
“Dunno, late twenties I guess?” he said, hoping he’d dodged the tricky question by underestimating. 5 months ago and he’d have guessed she was a student, now he’d be tempted to guess she was a student’s mum.
“Close enough. Anyway, is the reason you don’t want me because I’m fat?” she teased, wrapping his hand round to her bigger bum.
“Umm”
“You remember what I used to look like, and now look at me. Do you think I’m too fat?” Her face and eyes glistered as she ran her hand through his tousled hair.
“No, um, no? I mean, you’re y’know still quite pretty” he tried to protect her feelings while letting her down gently, but she was missing the hint. It was hard for him to come to terms with this, he had fancied her for so long. But he couldn’t fancy her now, not looking like this. Even if it was the same woman.
“I’m really drunk by the way”
“I can tell”
“And I’ve put on a few”
“I can also tell”
“You don’t seem to think I’m too far gone yet” she said, with her hands down his trousers. He tried to recoil but old habits died as hard as he was, and he still wanted her, even now. “Now, are you gonna come in or are we gonna screw in my front garden?”
And the bewildered courier came inside. So to speak.
Betty was never much of a screamer typically, she was far too demure and ladylike for such vocal histrionics, but she bucked the trend as the courier bucked the teacher. Something about having tried to get herself there literally single-handedly, and how that had already taken her to the precipice, meant that every thrust ran so much deeper and sweeter. He pushed her against the wall and grabbed her bum to lift her while she wrapped her legs around his waist, and then he plundered. Her gasps became groans became grunts, and before long she was shrieking in over-the-top fashion. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder and neck, and scratched the side of his face deeply while he rode his lucky customer. And despite not being a fan of her appearance, he revelled in her feisty manner and took very little time to get what he came for.
He eased her down and pulled up his trousers and boxers hurriedly, wanting to make his exit. She tried to pin him against the wall for a second serving, but he gently guided her away and then walked out without saying a word. But Betty didn’t mind, she got what she wanted. Fucked and food.
The food coma came not long after.
 
Sunday afternoon had a familiar feel to it. Waking up to a pounding headache in the early afternoon was not an unusual experience these days. And treated the hangover with drink was not an unusual experience either. She saw that she had finished the coke and just swigged the half-empty rum that was on the living room floor. She sighed and tried to work out what to do for today.
She felt like she exhausted all of her debauched options with that wild Saturday, and didn’t know how to quell the desire to one-up yesterday’s craziness. While she pondered her choices, she figured she better order. And as she looked down her contact’s list, she saw Minnie’s name and worked out how she was going to spend her Sunday. But, first she had to get her Skinny meal in.
The courier that delivered it was a familiar one, since he’d been inside her just the day previous. And the girl that answered the door was a familiar one, since she’d not changed since yesterday, and had gotten up in the same get-up. He smiled awkwardly as her passed the meal over to her..
“About yesterday...” he said, struggling to make eye-contact.
“Did we screw?” Betty said, only vaguely recollecting bits and pieces at that point of her frenzied feasting.
“Ha, yes, um, yes we did” he looked around, this was worse than he thought it would be. “Look, it was… oh god, how do I say this?”
“A one-off? Because you don’t find me attractive? No, don’t worry, that’s fine. You’re a really good-looking boy and you deserve better than this” she looked down at her dishevelled appearance. “I’m sorry for doing that to you”
“No, don’t apologise, it was actually really fun. I’m just not looking for a girlfriend was what I was trying to say” he still couldn’t meet her gaze but at least her was looking at the floor a little less after he got this off his chiselled chest.
“It was fun?” Betty smiled, typically endearingly. “I’ll take that. But, seriously, find yourself a pretty young girl, one who’ll look after herself better than I am, you deserve it.”
“Thanks but you miss my point. I liked the sex. A lot. You’re not my usual… type, but I can spare thirty minutes if you like?” he said, hopefully glancing up her at last. She ran her hand through his hair again, this time with care.
“Aww, that’s so sweet and really flattering. But I shouldn’t have done that to you.” she saw his facial expression droop. “Oh, I dunno, maybe some other time, when I’ve got a bit more liquid courage down my neck okay? Not today, I’ve got plans, but some other night maybe.”
“Really? That’ll be cool. No strings still?” his face lit up.
“No strings, you can still play the field with your pretty young girls. But every now and then we could, I guess, have sex.” She said, with a big smile. This could be fun, she thought. But she was sober, so she also wanted to make sure she didn’t play with his heart.
“Sure, that’s… that’s great. Just, please don’t wait too long. Please. I think you’re really cute but… I don’t mean to be mean but…” he couldn’t find the words that filled the heart of his Venn diagram of protecting Betty’s feelings and admitting how he felt.
“I know, I’m getting progressively less cute. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt my feelings, I am well aware of the change. I was only thinking like, maybe in a week or two though. I won’t be much worse than now”
“I dunno, I’ve seen what you can do in two weeks...” he cheekily joked, feeling a little more confident given that he didn’t have to treat Betty’s feelings with an archaeologist’s caution.
“Hey!” she laughed, and pushed against his chest lightly. “What’s your name by the way?”
“Remus” he answered.
“What? What kind of name’s that?” she guffawed.
“An embarrassing one. What about yours?”
“Technically it’s Belinda, but everyone knows me as Betty” she said, telling him something about herself that not a lot of people knew. “Betty Bollingbrooke”
“Okay, Betty Bollingbrooke. If I deliver one of these to you, and you’re drunk and have no company, then I might just have sex with you again. Just try not to gain too much in the coming weeks?” He asked, only half-joking.
“I can’t guarantee that Remus. Think of me as a Skinny meal. You best eat me while I’m still hot.”
“Well, I’ll come back two months ago then” he smiled and Betty laughed again. This must be what loving life felt like. Free sex and fast food and funny jokes. She was loving life indeed.
Talking of loving life, when he left, she grabbed her phone and messaged Minnie to come over. This, she hoped, would be fun.

Into the plot, you wish to peek,
More Easter Eggs, you must seek 😝
Haha Sorry about the weird rhyme; I just watched the Leprechaun movie 🍿 

Wowzers, that was a heavy episode. But it doesn't look good for Jason.
My theory... that half of this is in his head. He plays too many computer games, he imagines conversations in his head, the dean has sent him to a psychiatrist and everyone thinks he's a creep. He's just a crazy incel pervert loner and he's half-hallucinating the entire thing. Like if Travis Bickles was the lead character in Shutter Island sort of thing.
The fact that we can all form our theories and opinions is such a cool part of what makes your story great. Every chapter is a treat

I'm starting a "Hate Socrates" fan-club if anyone is interested  No? I'll just sit over here then...
Chapter Twelve

               Slowly, with a pounding heart, I made my way to Central Hall, the oldest, tallest building on campus. It was apparently built in 1871 by British architects, and funded by the glut of gold trading that companies made selling to gold miners to the south. I remembered when I first arrived on campus how I marvelled at the impressive wooden carvings on the walls and the spires thrusting skyward from the roof. It was hard to say if it was Victorian or Gothic, but now it didn’t help my mounting sense of dread as I climbed the steps and entered the creaking, oaken, double-doors.

               The part-time, student receptionist at the front desk glanced quickly in my direction as she adjusted her glasses (no doubt noting that the male on campus had dared enter sacred grounds) before returning to typing away on her computer.

               I approached her counter awkwardly tapped my fingers over it. “Good morning.”

               “Good morning… Jason,” she glanced at me again.

               “Um… I’m here to see the Dean… again.”

               “Go ahead,” she continued typing. “She’s still in her office on the top floor now. But you should hurry before her meeting starts.”

               “Thanks,” I pushed off the counter and headed for the narrow, creaking stairway.

               “Take it easy,” I whispered between breaths. “She doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t have anything. I didn’t do anything.”

               I had a strange habit of daydreaming bad conversations. Any social interaction I dreaded would be rehearsed and played-out in my head endlessly, until every possibility was accounted for. For every possible question and accusation the Dean might throw at me, I had a counter primed and ready. I would be fine. Probably.

               I reached the top floor and entered the waiting room. The Dean’s secretary sat behind a counter and waved in my direction. “Hello Jason, how are you?”

               “Hello ma’am,” I frowned to myself, acutely aware that it was not good that the secretary knew me so well. What was her name? Martha? The name placard on the counter was angled away from me. Right behind it was a bowl of peppermints. Maybe if I took one, I could check her name placard. Yes, that sounded like a plan. “So you emailed me to come over ASAP?”

               “Yes,” the secretary was smiling as I took a peppermint (aha! Her name was Lara). “The Dean wanted a quick word with you.”

               “What do you think? Is it a good thing that I don’t know why she wants to see me?”

               “I wouldn’t know,” Lara shrugged. “But she’s waiting for you in there.”

               My eyes followed her pointed finger towards the Dean’s door, and was immediately overwhelmed by a sense of fear and foreboding. My heartbeat pounded against the sides of my neck, and my forehead chilled. “I guess I’ll figure it out then.”

               With mounting dread, I knocked on the Dean’s door. “Good morning ma’am, Jason Alban requests permission to enter.”

               A brief moment of silence before I heard her stern voice on the other side. “Try again.”

               I looked back at Lara, who whispered “three knocks.” Ah. Three knocks. “Good morning ma’am, Jason Alban requests permission to enter.”

               “Come in.”

               In I went. Her office was very organized and clean, decorated by an assortment of old college relics, including several paintings from arts graduates, walls of books, a bust of Winston Churchill, and an intricate Persian rug. Dominating the centre of the room was a massive mahogany desk, adorned with a Spartan arrangement of one monitor screen and a small stack of papers. The Dean sat in a leather chair, smartly-dressed in her black suit and white blouse combo, eyes wincing at her work through thin glasses.

               I stood before her desk.

               “Try again,” she didn’t even look at me.

               Damn. What did I forget? I left the room and started from the top. Three knocks. “Good morning ma’am, Jason Alban requests permission to enter.”

               “Come in.”

               I walked in again, teeth gritting against each other. Now I was irritated. Would I even be able to speak without masking my own anger – hang on! My fear was gone! Maybe this anger was good for something after all.

               “Good morning, ma’am.”

               “Why did I call you in here?” she didn’t even look at me.

               “I don’t know, ma’am,” I was secretly thrilled that I’d finally entered her office properly.

               “Why do you think I called you in?”

               “I guess something happened, but I don’t know what it could be.”

               “Do you know someone named Mary?”

               “I think so.”

               The Dean raised an eyebrow and finally began looking at me. “Look at me Jason,” she leaned into her desk, fingers lacing together. “Do you know her or not?”

               “I probably do… I don’t remember names very well.”

               “Mary’s emailed me a letter that says you’ve been bothering her and her friends.”

               Shit. This had nothing to do with Emily. All the rehearsals in my head had been for naught. Then again, I suddenly remembered who Mary was, of all things.

               “Is Mary one of the girls from the Equine Club?”

               Now the Dean looked as irritated as I had felt a moment ago. “Let me read you what she sent to me: Dear Ms. Kern, the male student has been stalking around our barn. Without permission, he has wandered alone through our yard and fed our horses with food belonging to the Biology classes. He has also followed me to cheerleading practice and stared at my squad as we trained for the upcoming game for several minutes…” she looked at me again. “Do you know what this looks like?”

               “Creepy stuff?” I offered. “But it’s not what –”

               “Perception is reality,” the Dean interrupted. “That’s how the world works.”

               “That sounds a lot like guilty until proven innocent,” I flinched, immediately regretting what I said.

               “Did you do these things?”

               “I mean, technically, but I was trying to get into the Equine Club and they told me –”

               “Did you do these things or not? Yes or no?”

               There it was! The fucking Socratic Method! Taking the entire universe and all its complexity and cramming it into your little binary yes/no questions so that everything was on your terms. Socrates invented it thousands of years ago, and he was sentenced to death for harassing the whole city of Athens with his juvenile questioning. Thousands of years later, and people still thought they were smart when they used that dead “philosopher’s” method.

               “Yes, but they told me to help them clean the –”

               “You only need to answer with yes or no.”

               “I need to tell you what they’re doing, ma’am.”

               “Did I tell you to speak out?”

               “No,” No ma’am. I didn’t realize this was a talking-down conversation.

               “Jason Alban,” the Dean glared at me. “I have concerns. This email matches a trend.”

               “A trend?”

               Her eyes burned into my soul, waiting for it to break for daring to speak. I caught myself from saying “sorry;” I wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. But I still shook like a leaf.

               “Mary’s not the only student who’s complained about your actions. Others have come in here, worried about how you walk through the woods around their sorority houses. In fact, I have another email about how you were sneaking behind the bushes of Sigma Omega’s backyard. Would you mind explaining to me what you were doing there?”

               Shit. Shit! That was the night I had woken up hungover after I’d downloaded the fattening app! I had no clue how I’d gotten there, but I couldn’t tell her I was hungover because I wasn’t legally old enough to drink yet! I had no cover story!

               “I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong, ma’am,” I felt my voice fraying. “That was… I had a rough night.”

               “It looks to me like you were peeking into the windows.”

               “N-no ma’am. I was… I fell asleep wandering outside. A girl had explained to me that night that she would never love me. It… it really hurts trying to explain it, but I was so devastated that I wandered through the woods all night long… I could see everyone enjoying each other’s company, but I didn’t know how to ask them how to… if I could hang out with them, and I ended up lying against the building because I wasn’t brave enough to go inside… and it was too late at night to go in anyway.”

               The Dean’s malice ebbed slightly, leaving behind an emotionless professional calculating my fate. “Jason, I need you to listen to me. As the Dean, my job is to sense problems before they start. Right now, I can tell that you’re not telling me everything. So let me ask you one more time: what’s going on with you? If you were me, what would you do?”

               “I don’t know about that,” I shied from her deep prodding. “I’ve never been a Dean before.”

               “I asked what’s wrong with you. Tell me.”

               There was a lot wrong with me, wasn’t there? But I couldn’t admit that; that would cause problems. This whole conversation had gone south real quick.

               “I personally think I’m fine, but this whole college situation is stressing me out. I don’t have any friends here – or a relationship. It’s depressing… it’s very depressing.”

               The Dean waited a second for me to continue, but faced with my silence, she straightened in her chair and turned to her computer. “There are twelve hundred students enrolled here. Do you realize how much of my time you waste when I have to deal with you? I have a meeting in five minutes, but I have to finish with you first,” she clicked her mouse a few times. “I’m setting you up with an appointment with the college psychiatrist.”

               “But I said I wasn’t… I’m just depressed.”

               “Who knows? I don’t. I’m not qualified to say, especially if you insist on not telling me anything. So psychiatrist it is. Any questions?”

               If I didn’t have questions, would I be allowed to go? “No ma’am.”

               “Get out.”

               “Thank you ma’am,” I turned and made a beeline for the door.

               “Jason.”

               Of course; a last minute word. I turned to look at her again.

               “Stay away from Mary. She obviously doesn’t appreciate you being around her, so your best option’s to not aggravate her further, you understand me?”

               “Yes ma’am. Good morning.”

               “Just go.”

               I left her office and closed the door with a deep, exasperated breath. That felt far worse than I thought it would, and yet she hadn’t mentioned Emily once. Could it be that Emily had not said anything? That was both a relief and a burden at the same time. She could tell anyone about our incident at any time, and in my position, I’d be doomed. Speaking of doomed, I was being told to see a psychiatrist! A psychiatrist! Did the Dean tell me to see one because she thought I was crazy, or did she have a more sinister intent? What if she meant for me to confess all my feelings to this individual all for the purpose of having written, documented evidence that I was emotionally unstable and deserving of academic probation, suspension, or even expulsion?

               My blood throbbed through my body, intoxicated with equal doses of fear and anger. What was I even supposed to do at this point? No friends, no love, a stalker’s reputation, suspicions of insanity, and the looming threat of expulsion? The only thing I had going for me was the fattening app; it was the only thing I had to fight back with.

               I looked down at my Feasting Ring and traced it with my fingers. I needed to figure out the best way to use it. The Dean’s Secretary, Lara, had left the waiting room, no doubt to eat lunch. The bowl of peppermints immediately grabbed my attention, sitting invitingly on her abandoned countertop, available to anyone with a yearning for a casual bite – a perfect target for my new power.

               Acutely aware that someone could walk-in at any moment, I straightened my ringed-index finger and probed the peppermints, willing new ones to take form, each filled with a subtle pound of weight. I felt them materialize from the bottom of the bowl, and watched with detached fascination as the mound of peppermints rose over the lip of the bowl…

               The Dean opened her office door. “Jason,” she snapped. “Why are you here?”

               I stared at her, dumbfounded. “I… am I allowed to have one? One of these, I mean,” my finger was still buried inside.

               “Take one,” the Dean glowered.

               “Ah, yes. I wasn’t sure if they were just for the staff or –”

               “Go Jason! I’m locking the door.”

               “Yes ma’am,” I hastily withdrew my hand and skittered out of the waiting room. I didn’t grab a peppermint after all.

Sorry this has taken so long, as you can see it's a long one. So long that I had to split it into two chapters on DA, but curvage is more accommodating and you can have the chapter as it was intended. Sorry if this story is getting confusing, I'll try to tame it better in the future
 
Chapter 8
 
    “First, you meet the team. Then, you meet the president. Then, we save the world.” Chipo said as we prepared to leave the airport fast-food joint, with that famed grin of hers swooshing across her face
    “Oooo” I cooed with childish glee, while rubbing my hand over my enflamed stomach. The pinching around the trouser button was torturous, strangling my nerve endings around my little tummy. The Mega Box was slowly beginning its winding journey to digestion for maximum discomfort, preventing me from exhaling. Above this poor button clinging on for dear life was this new tummy discovery, tight and taut and pushing away from me. I hoped that the Flayva Wrap Mega Box that I’d just eaten was my only trip to Red Rooster and I hadn’t looped back to retread this path. But my pained midriff was distracted by the mention of the Australian President. “I get to meet that handsome president of yours, with all those sexy tattoos”.
    “Yes, our dictator-in-chief” Chips said with an eye-roll. That’s Australian politics for you. A hot mess. On one hand, they finally stopped chopping and changing political leaders and got a tall handsome one for the long-term. On the other hand, the first thing the handsome Mr Kyle Malcolm did was tear down the precarious political foundations of this former penal colony to ensure that he couldn’t be challenged as leader of the nation for an entire decade ‘to ensure stability’. So, that’s how he got the nickname The Hunky Despot, in case you were wondering.
    Chipo and I both got up with difficulty, though for very different reasons. She toiled against the frustrating limitations of her paraplegic body, and I toiled against bloating that railed against the button on my trousers. But, with a little time and effort, we both got to our feet and began the walk across the rest of the airport terminal to the exit/entrance so we could fully embark on our newly-established three point plan.
    But we didn’t get far because the Thor lookalike from Red Rooster was waiting for us. Or me, rather. He had a big goofy grin on his face, as he spotted us leaving, that gave his eyes the razzle-dazzle that juxtaposed against the rough masculinity of his physique. He strode along to us in his civvies now, shorn of the embarrassing colour-coordinated uniform that we’d seen him in previously and now draped in a clean vest that gave his biceps room to breathe and bright shorts that his tanned legs looked smashing in. He was bucket-list pretty and he seemed to think the same about me. And if there was ever a time to tick something off the old bucket list, 6 weeks before the end of the world is as good as any.
    “Hey, Rippa box girl!” he shouted through a grizzled larynx, whilst lightly jogging towards us. It wasn’t a nickname I was keen on, but I was plenty keen on the person giving me it.
    “Hey, Thor” I said back whilst waving in a dismally girly fashion. Come on Gwen, you can do better than that. If the guy looks like a fucking Norse God, the least you can do is not wilt like a flower in the shade. Come on, he finds you attractive, it’s etched across his granite-carved face. Despite the swollen tummy and the baggy eyes, despite the fact that it had been years since anyone, other than the student I was fucking, had looked at me like he did. This Adonis wanted to get some, and he was inquiring whether or not I had some for him to get. Oh fucking hell did I.
    “Sorry if this sounds weird or whatever, but fuck it, I just think you kinda hot and I thought you should know” he said with scampish delight.
    “It does sound weird, now you come to mention it, but you’re also kinda hot so I’ll let you off this once” I cheekily replied, vaguely grasping of flirting based on dimming memories of the activity.
    “I’ve only got a twenty minute break before my shift starts again, but I was wondering...” he began, blushing through his tanned cheeks as he spoke. Ah, the ol’ 20 minutes before my shift starts so fancy a fuck. Who said romance was dead?
    “Yes...”
    “If you fancied a quick root in the Rooster staff room while nobody else is in it?” he asked. I didn’t know what a ‘root’ was but I hoped it involved some degree of intercouse and so I agreed. I just want to be loved, you know. I like to think I’m pretty when I wake in the morning and see my faded and fatigued features staring back at me, but I too rarely got that confirmed by third-parties. But this hunkmaster had aspirations of having me, and I suddenly felt less flat and less old and less peripheral to the science I had devoted my life, and I suddenly felt fucking wonderful. And is that not too much to ask? I just wanted to feel fucking wonderful for twenty minutes before Thor’s shift re-started, and then get back to saving the world.
    This would, of course, leave Chips on her lonely lonesome, to stew and mill about further in the airport terminal to kill time, before time killed us. Maybe I was mis-prioritising, choosing to fritter the finite time I had fucking and not working with my hero and friend to stop the Apocalypse. But, it was too late, I was making my way to Red Rooster staff space to wriggle and writhe with my ripped Red Rooster ragamuffin.
    I wrestled his vest off and gasped as I took in the muscular undulations of which his lean and torn torso consisted. It was hewn spectacle of Gormley craft and scale, with a pulsating rib-cage and diaphragm that heaved with heavy breathing as we worked my shirt off. My torso, once defined like his, was now straining from the inflated food balloon under its skin. Its outward skyline curved gently like a flattened dome beneath the similarly flattened domes of my breasts, tucked away in a bra designed for function and not fetish.
    “Sorry I’m not as sexy as you might hope?” I said with deflated self-worth over my inflated self.
    “Hey, you know what I say?” he said. “YOLO. It’s an Australian term and it means...”
    “Everyone knows what YOLO means Thor. But thanks. It’s nice to feel appreciated” I said, with my flagging confidence getting a second wind.
    “Yeah, I’ll show you how we appreciate things in my country” he said with that giggly grin still being borne. And I finally unbuttoned my trousers and forced them down towards my knees to give him the room that he needed to work with, as he sheathed his sword in a scabbard for protection when penetrating. And with my hunger seemingly insatiable, I bet into his shoulder blade as Thor aggressively thrust his almighty hammer into me. His biceps tightened as he gripped me and did so, his back arched, his chest widened, and his breathing tensed. Suddenly we were on the staff room sofa by the vending machine, and he leant down with his awesome self draping me in his shadow, and Thor took me across the Bifrost bridge and, with our gasps strengthening and slowing, into Valhalla.
    Once he’d finished what he was doing and achieved all that he had hoped to achieve with me, he hopped up.
    “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He said with a squeakier tone while looking up at the clock in the staff room wall and rushedly bundling his staff uniform back on. I guessed my 20 minutes were up. “Sorry Rippa box girl, but hope you enjoyed that. I am pretty awesome. But I have to go, Janet will kill me if she catches me fucking another customer”
    And, in a flash, he was dressed and leaving.
    “Before you go Thor, do you think I’m pretty?” I said, my eyebrows tilting back and my face opening.
    “Yeah, you’re pretty decent. I don’t fuck ugly women” he said with a smile.
    I got my pretty decent self up and decided I’d have to pull these trousers up once more, and try valiantly to button them up once more. But I was turned around and toying with yanking them up my less lithe thighs when an older woman, presumably Janet, opened the staff room door looking for her hunky staff member with the chunky staff member.
    “You haven’t seen Charl… Oh for fuck sake, not another customer! I swear I’ll kill that kid” she said as she was confronted with my bare bum in its more plush and cushioned shape. I turned around in embarrassment and yanked my trousers up hard, apologising profusely. But Janet had harsh words for me too.
    “Oh you should know better, you must be old enough to be that kid’s mother. A woman of your age screwing an 18 year old like that – disgraceful” she chuntered as she took in my mature face. She then just shook her head and left, closing the door behind her as she wondered off to see to where the scampish Thor had scampered.
    Guiltily, I then put my shirt back on and dragged myself out of the staff room with an air of disgrace. Screwing a teenager like that, even one as sexy as him. I shouldn’t have let that happen, to debase myself in such a humiliating way. But, frankly, I just needed the ego hit and it fixed a lot of the frustrations and insecurities that I had been bottling up for years. I needed the thrill of being desired and the release of being over-powered. I wanted to feel wanted and needed to feel needed and for a twenty minute window, I felt like I was.
    The problem was, I was also needed elsewhere. And when I finally caught back up to Chipo, I could see that perma-smile of hers that normally shone like a lighthouse during stormy weather disintegrate into something sterner. Her eyes slit into a bitter glare as I hurried towards her whilst trying to frizz my hair with my hands to give it a little life and volume. She liked me, Chipo did, but she could be matriarchally firm and unforgiving with me at times too. I was the daughter that she never had just as she was the mother that I barely knew, and no mother/daughter relationship got away without ever descending into condescension. I had left her stranded in the airport to wait for me so she could get back to saving the world from annihilation, while I got my teenage kicks.
    “Gwen. Don’t do that again. OK?” She said with monosyllabic disdain. Short, curt answers as she bristled with discontent. She didn't rant or rave, that wasn't her style. No, cold disapproval, which was worse because it felt like I had let her down. And, I guess I had, but it hurts to have that thought pressed upon you so obviously. Nobody likes to think of themselves as somebody who lets down other people. So Chipo's terseness was an arrow to the heart.
    “Aww… don’t be like that Chips, it wasn’t like that...” I pleaded. Let's be honest about this though, could she really blame me? Really? My self-confidence was starting to fray and this guy, well kid I suppose, was so damn fine. I mean, did she not see him. His pectorals were more pronounced than my breasts and his smile could melt enough ice to restart climate change. “The kid was bucket-list beautiful. I mean, you’re the one who asked him if he thought I was pretty…”
    “No I didn’t. Don’t lie Gwen!” she snapped. I hate being accused of lying. Especially when I'm telling the truth.
    “I’m not lying. You did say… no wait, you didn’t, did you? I could have sworn… oh, it’s this deja vu, it’s fucking with my head.” I back-tracked. Maybe she didn't say that then. I could have sworn she did. We walked up to him to order a Rooster meal, I'd never had one before so she suggested a... no, wait, that didn't happen, did it? I walked up to the counter and knew exactly what to order, like I had eaten here before. Was it these fucking time hiccups, that meant I was losing track of what was what.
    “Don’t you dare lie to me, and then cover it up with another lie. Using the time-loops as an excuse. Shame on you.” she snarled, curling her normally splayed wide lips up into something repulsed, like I was shit on the bottom of her shoe.
    “I’m not lying!” I begged, stomping my feet petulantly against the floor in frustration. I genuinely believed that. It wasn't a lie, it was just a mistake. And if she knew what it was like to be ragdolled across my own timeline, she'd maybe be a bit more sympathetic.
    “I went to such great lengths for you and you just lie Gwen. You screw up and then you lie” Chips said, her eyes still needling in on me.
    I flapped my arms in the air in despair. Letting myself down, that I’m used to. It’s something I’ve done all my life, and by fucking a teenager on his lunch break at Red Rooster is just the latest fuck up in a life littered with them. But I didn’t like being called a liar. No, that stung. I’m not a liar. I genuinely believed that she said that to him. That she asked him to compliment me because I was feeling low. For a brief second or two, it felt so real. It must have been the time hiccups that did it. You guys believe me, right? I’m not a liar. Please don’t think of me as a liar.
    “Whatever, if you’re not going to believe me, then whatever. Let’s go.” I said, full-on sulking with my facial muscles tightening and my eyes rolling as I began walking to the exit. Chips grabbed her crutches and followed me, and we walked towards the car-park in an aggressive silence.

 
    Just before we left the building, and I got to experience some more Australian sun on my glum face, Chipo called out to me. I turned around sharply, ready for Round 2 of our argument.
    “There’ll be press out there. OK? Don’t say anything and I’ll field the questions. And if you do say anything, don’t say anything that will cause panic or worry. All right?” she said, fairly. I couldn’t argue, even though I wanted to. I had only done one interview, and, although people seemed to like it, it wasn’t exactly a clinic in keeping my cards close to my chest. The eyes of the world were watching Chipo with hope and fear, and it was probably for the best that she took charge once more on this one. This was the end of the world after all. It was a begrudging realisation that I had come to but she had been doing these unofficial press conferences non-stop since the discovery of Grendel and I’d only done it once from a hotel in New York. So I nodded without making eye-contact with her.
    We stepped out into the glorious sun once more and the heat bounced off of us since we had acclimatised in the climate controlled airport earlier. And, sure enough, there were throngs of busybody journalists with their camera teams and their microphones and their yabber-yabbering of questions. Chipo was a mini-celebrity across the world, but here she was something approximate to a god. They clamoured and hollered at her for updates on when Grendel would arrive to turn us all into spaghetti.
    “We have been investigating the data with all the intensity and attention to detail you would expect, given the severity of the situation at hand, and would not want to impart inaccurate detail by giving you the answer before it met the scientific threshold for veracity. But the data has now been confirmed by separate scientific teams across the globe and we now feel that we have enough confidence to give the prediction as to when we would expect the arrival of a supermassive black hole into our solar system.” Chipo said, her voice as calm and authoritative as ever, completely detached from our petty bickering earlier. I stood tangential to her and watched in admiration as she exuded the manner and composure of a diplomat or world leader, but with the fierce intelligence of the greatest scientist of her generation. She continued.
    “The data tells us that, without prevention or solution, it will be 30 to 31 days before we start experiencing the first phenomena associated with our comparative proximity to the supermassive black hole. These phenomena would, at first, be seen in minor fluctuations in solar patterns and an increase of solar activity such as solar flares. The effects on this planet would be minimal although their may be some meteorological disturbance such as atypically harsh storms and winds. However, it is not until near day 40 that we will see more considerable effects being exerted on the planet by the supermassive black hole such as destructive tidal patterns and supermassive tsunamis, and possible tectonic effects that may cause earthquakes and disturbances of that nature. It is around this point that we also start to experience temporal inconsistencies across the planet, as time will no longer be consistent for every citizen of Earth. Depending on the rotation of the Earth at the time, areas nearest the supermassive black hole will experience time moving more slowly, a phenomenon that will increase as we move to day 42. At that point, the sun and the Earth will find themselves in the jaws of this supermassive blackhole and will fall over the precipice of its event horizon.”
       

    Fuck.

 
    That sounded serious.

 
    Normally, when a shocking revelation like that is unveiled, there would be a flurry of furious questions and probings. You know the drill, you've seen it on the telly. The quiet while the answer is given, gives way to a tsunami of press despatchees tryng to out-yell one another for a question of their own. But, after this answer, there was just silence. A blanket of silence that fell over the and smothered them. It felt like all of the journalists in question were less concerned with the further ramifications of Chipo's comments and, instead, just wanted to duck and take shelter from the bombshell that Chipo had dropped on their laps. But, untilted and unfazed, she continued.
    “However, we now have a working hypothesis that we will test once back at the lab as to how this supermassive black hole has made its way to our doorstep, and if we succeed in verifying it, then we will have a considerable step towards solving the conundrum with which we are presented. If we can find out the cause of its proximity, we are far better equipped to find a solution to it, and that is what we intend to do now.” Chipo continued, her voice still strident and unwavering as her material got darker and more desperate.
    “So, our message is one of positivity. We believe we are better equipped to find the solution to this problem and ensure that this potential nightmare instead becomes a story we tell our kids about. That one time our planet was nearly swallowed up. Because the intrepid human condition has always thrived off such challenges and risen to each and every obstacle thus far. And this challenge is just the latest that we will conquer, of that I have absolutely no doubt. And have you ever known me to be wrong about anything?”
    A gentle murmur in the shape of a laugh scattered across the press corps at her rhetorical question as Chipo attempted to puncture the tightly wound skittishness of the people in front of her with something light-hearted but also reassuring. Because, let’s face it, she really is never wrong about anything.
    “And as part of this endeavour I am proud to announce that we have Dr. Gwendolyn Hughes of the University of Brighton joining our talented cast of scientific minds as we work towards finding the solutions required. She has over a decade of experience in astro-physics and, in deed, is the scientist who has studied this particular black hole in the most detail over the years. In fact, it is Dr. Gwendolyn Hughes that actually coined the moniker Grendel, a term you lot seem to have taken to quite keenly. It is also her hypothesis we will be testing and, that we hope, holds the key to unlocking the problem before us.”
    I blushed at all the attention and waved the same girly wave that Thor had seen earlier. It was readily clear to me that the eyes of the world were now pinned on me. I was oblivious to it when Chipo conducted the orchestra of journalists with such aplomb, but suddenly I could feel my cheeks heat up with nerves. At least I was still feeling pretty from my… ahem… encounter in the fast food place’s staffroom earlier. The cameras were all glaring at me but at least I felt pretty. Fortunately Chipo didn’t let them linger and opened the floor for questions.
    “How severe might these storms be and should people be stockpiling goods?”
    “Absolutely not, we are talking about weather inconsistency and storm unpredictability, but not about severity.” She answered dismissively at the hack’s hackneyed attempt at whipping up yet more frenzy. They believed her and so did I.
    “What about claims of Black Hole migraines sweeping across the planet? Do your findings explain this?”
    Black hole migraines? Other people were experiencing these too? I mean, I should have seen that coming I suppose. It was a bit narcissistic to assume that I was the only one to suffer the wrath of these headaches, but it was somehow more intimidating to know that the issue was rife. Like our sanity was spilling out and falling over the edge of the world. If other people were jumping across the time hiccups, who knows what the ramifications could be. And what if they realised that was what was happening. Suddenly, these black hole migraines sounded like a serious issue.
    Chips took a beat longer than she had been taking, and for obvious reasons. I had just explained to her why I thought these headaches were occurring for me, time hiccups and all. But, of course, the hypothesis was untested so Chipo couldn’t, in all good conscience, comment on the story even if it would allay some fears.
    “I’m afraid I cannot comment on any medical experiences and must cede to the various world experts in that field. Our focus lies now solely on preventing the supermassive black hole known as Grendel from colliding with our solar system.”
    “If you could put a number on it, how confident are you that you can stop this?”
    “You know full well that I don’t want to hazard haphazard guesses, it is not in my scientific nature, however I, in this case will stick my neck out and say that I have the utmost confidence that we will do this” she said, not breaking a stride or a sweat. The glacial bitch.
    “And you Dr Gwendolyn?”
    Uh, what? The journalist was asking me now? That wasn’t part of the script. What do I say now? I was down from my fight with Chipo, but buoyed with my misadventure with Thor. I had to be reassuring as Chipo had sternly insisted, but I couldn’t lie either. I told you, I don’t lie. Not when it matters and not to my friends.
    “You can faith in us, but it doesn’t do any harm to tick something off the bucket list either” I compromised. Chipo’s face darkened the very moment I let those words tumble out of my mouth.
    “And finally, do you have any view on the imminent release of the serial killer...”
    “We do not and will not discuss anything not pertinent to the task in hand” Chipo said without emotive inflection. “No, if you excuse us, we have plenty to do.”

 
    Chipo seethed once we got in the taxi and her hands began to shake in anger once she sat down and pulled the seat belt across her.
    “Fucking bucket list!” She raged. I had never, in all my years, heard Chipo swear. It was always like she was above the pettiness of expletives. She was always in control, always on top of things and never had to resort to such base expressions when a more composed term would do. But here I was seeing a side of Chipo I had never seen before. A side I’m not sure had ever surfaced before. I was seeing boiling fury. The fussed blows careening from her caldera as she finally erupted.
    “Sorry, I didn’t...”
    “I asked you one thing, just one godammn thing. I just asked you not to say anything that will cause panic and worry, that was all, and the one answer you give is that they should be ticking things off a fucking bucket list!”
    Before I could get a word in edgeways, Chipo’s phone sparked up.
    “Oh, I wonder what this could be about” she said with uncharacteristic malice. “It’s the Australian Prime Minister by the way”
    I put my head in my hands, as Chipo contorted to underplay the devastation and destruction my throw-away line had wreaked upon the press gathering. Somehow I had become the main takeaway from the announcement of the end date of the world. Chipo was begging on the phone to the Australian Prime Minister for me to remain on the team as I could hear him hammer down on her for my loose lips. This Apocalypse was getting too much for me, I wasn’t cut out for the limelight and I just wanted to curl up into the foetal position and wait for the whole thing to blow over. What made me think I was ‘special’. How arrogant of me to think I could save the world. And I’d ruined it the very moment I landed, firstly with Thor and then with the press. I’d fucked up everything and poor Chipo was getting the blame. And the rush of emotions that I felt in my father’s field two days ago when I just sat down in the wet grass and cried, came rushing back again. The same looping thoughts of frustration and guilt and despair and shame and an inability to turn the clock back on past fuck ups. Today should have been a good day and I had ruined it all. And that was when the Hoover Dam over tears burst again.
    Chipo didn’t console me like my father did. She was a mother figure to me, but she wasn’t my mum. She had just been given a royal rollicking from the most important man in the country and also a man who had jailed dissidents before, to the chagrin of the rule of law. So she kept her conversation to a terse bare minimum. I was still on the team. Meet-up tomorrow morning was at 7am. I should take my stuff up to the hotel and sleep off my jetlag. Room 34. See you tomorrow. And that was that.

 
    I stepped into the hotel room with a frown splattered across my face. I had all this anger and rage and nowhere to direct it, since the person I was angry with was myself. This was an issue I had growing up, that my anger didn’t explode, it imploded. When I was 15, I would actually pull my literal hair out as an attempt to make potent my impotent rage with myself. And here I was feeling the same thoughts again.
    I wasn’t pulling my hair out though. And, as I stood before the mirror in front of me, I was glad. I was pretty still. I was still pretty. Thor thought so anyway. My hair looked bouncy and without the scabs and bold patches of my teenage years. My face, while weathered, had softened with a micro-layer of padding that curtailed my pallid pallet and actually made me look younger. I took my shirt off and saw my humble breasts developing a cause for braggadocio by looking less like a splat egg thrown at my chest and more like regular breasts. My waist was soft at the side as its hourglass contained more sand than could be found on my hips, and so puckered out in a slight lovehandled shape. A little shadow appeared below the belly button where my stomach toyed with having a permanent outward bent. My bum had chunked up pleasantly magnificently with cushioned depth to each buttock, and my legs harnessed heft, particularly around the upper thigh. I barely recognised myself, but I recognised a young woman hot enough to pull a Norse God. I pulled out the scales to see how far removed from the girl I remembered taking a phone call from Chipo to tell me that Grendel was coming to get me.
    I stood on it in all my naked glory and read the digits below.
    139lbs.
    I stood off and took a breath. And stepped on again.
    139lbs.
    And one final time, for scientifically rigorous confirmation.
    139lbs still.
    Fuck.
    I mean, I was still closer to slim than I was to fat. I was just curvier than before, softer than before, and maybe even squidgier than before. But I had proven that I was still pretty. A fuck up who hated herself as the world kept getting nigher, but pretty nonetheless. I was a further 18lbs heavier in the past couple of days and I felt so chunky. But I also looked really cute. The world was going to end but at least I was still pretty.
    I squeezed comfortably into my soft nightie and pulled the duvet over my head.
    “Hey Google, lights off”
    And I fell asleep as my room filled with darkness.

 

 
33 days later.

 
    That person again. That name again. She kept popping up more and more in the news and on social media. Repeating, recurring like they were caught in a timeloop. Too much to be a coincidence. No, this was the key. This person was how to stop Grendel.
    No. I needed to get out. I needed to get away. I pulled away from the masses of people that had congregated to hear my speech and headed for the cemetery gates. Yes, it would have seemed utterly disrespectful but I had to get out. I needed to get out.
    Eve tried to cut me off with kind words, warm messages and sincere condolences but her words meant nothing. They just bounced off me like rain on a roof. She tried to tell me how heroic I was being by putting on a brave face but I didn’t care what that whore had to say. And anyway, I knew how to stop Grendel, that was the important thing. I knew that now. I understand that this didn’t matter. The funeral, the storms, the scandal. None of it. Not really. What I was about to do made it all for naught. I was about to be the hero that saved the day, but there would be no headlines to thank me, no awards to acknowledge me and no recognition to celebrate me. However I could at least ensure there was a world waiting for everyone in ten days time. Whatever time meant these days. But I needed to speak to Chipo. She wasn't speaking to me these days but I needed to speak to her desperately. I needed every favour in the world, every string she could pull. I needed to save the world and I needed her help to do it.
    “I know you don’t want to talk to me. I know you think I’m a frivolous waste of space and you don’t even think of a friend any more. But if you can do the following, I think I can stop Grendel” I yelled into the phone over the howling conditions. The wind was whipping my hair and the rain was sideways and bludgeoning me. My hair was now waterlogged and flying like a flag as an ocean of wind battered me.
    “I’m listening”
    “I need certain data. Certain fluctuations. Future ones and past ones. You can calculate that right, with Starmap?” My voice was raised to a bellow now as the wind shrieked and howled like a banshee at all of us at the funeral.
    “Yes”
    “I need the biggest fluctuations. I need marker pens. And I need a private jet with lots of fuel” I listed.
    “I’m not sure I can get you that so quickly, and not without knowing your plan.”
    “And food. I need a fuck-ton of fatty food”

 
    I didn’t wait for an answer from Chipo. I may have fucked up, I may have broken her heart, but she knew I had the potential to crack this. And I had done. I glanced at my phone and prayed for a 5G signal. The storms were causing major communication issues across the planet and it was a difficulty to rely on anything other than landline these days. I walked out of the cemetery entrance with pointed urgency and towards one of the highest hills in the local area to see if I could get a better signal as data intermittently flickered in a bid to download the web searches that I needed.
    I would need numbers and I would need addresses and I would need to trace this person right back to their beginning to see how they tied into all this. I would need to get hold of them back in Scotland, before they were arrested. So, Lord give me a 5G signal and then I could stop this damned thing from ever happening. I climbed up the hill, valiantly fighting against the swirling conditions and trying to keep my feet on the ground as the wind whipped into me with merciless strength. I climbed over a fallen tree that had been uprooted by these fierce conditions and up on to the highest tor in the area and gripped the ground in desperation as the gale forces surged.
    Come on! Download you fucker!
    I looked around as the page refused to load. And that’s when I saw it. Hiding back so far away it was almost behind the horizon, but so tall that it towered above it. It seemed like some bizarre topological feature, like a flat mountain that coated the entire landscape. But it wasn’t anything so benign. It wasn’t anything so safe. I saw before me, towering over the horizon a wall of water as wide as the eye could see and as tall as Everest. It was a supermassive tsunami and it looked like it was about to wipe out an entire continent. The continent that I was on.
    I dropped my phone and just stared at this hellscape of water rising up and surging towards me. This monolithic death knell wrecking ball of ocean that rose and rose as it got closer to me, surging at a physics defying pace. Other people below the hill were noticing now, and frenzying frantically as the water climbed further and further upwards and pushed further and further towards us. The poor people were running away from the direction ofthis hurtling monstrosity of water as if they could outrun it but it was futile. I knew that. This was how my world would end. Not with a whimper but the crushing bang as the Atlantic erected above me, looking as if it was the Greek god Poseidon himself. And rise up it did until it was the backdrop of the sky. Rise and rise as it grew closer to us. Rise and rise until it towered so monumentally high that this wall of ocean blotted out the sun in the sky. I was going to die. I had solved the Grendel conundrum, I had actually cracked the case, only to be crushed by this Goliath of water that blistered towards me. Words and thoughts ran dry as I tried to comprehend the gargantuan size of this sweeping wave of death.
    It was so close now that I could almost feel the spray. The cold flickers of water splashing on my face as the temperature plummeted in the shadow of this beast of water. It was so close to me now that it sheltered me from the wind. My personal apocalypse felt surprisingly calm. This colossus of water was swallowing up the land before me and I just watched in the cold windless spot on top of the hill, counting the diminishing seconds before I ceased to be.

 

 
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 
    And then a firework of pain erupted in my head. An explosion of dynamite that ruptured the insides of my skull. Pain like nothing I had ever experienced before. Howling pain, that rippled through the bones of my skull. A marching band of juggernaut energy crushing my brain as it set fire to my neurons and synapses with pyromaniacal glee. The worst pain I had ever felt, one that made my eyes scream in pain and suffering. I was getting a migraine!
    I hurried for my trusty pen and began sprawling on my arm. I needed to tell myself I had a plan and what the plan was, and I needed to hope that the headache took me back in time before the tsunami took me to my grave. I was in its shadow now, and I could see it if I looked directly upwards. It seemed tall enough to claw out the satellites in our planet's orbit and the shade it cast me in sent the temperatures plummeting and my hand started to shake.
    But I didn’t have time to shake. I needed to write on my arm. But the pulsing surges of caterwauling pain from within my fragile and creaking head was making it difficult to concentrate. And then water, as tall as the eye could see, hit me like a wall of cement and my bones crushed and my breath stifled. And I never finished writing the name of the girl before my world turned to black.

    “First, you meet the team. Then, you meet the president. Then, we save the world.” Chipo said as we prepared to leave the airport fast-food joint, with that famed grin of hers swooshing across her face.

    But that grin turned to shock as she took in the image of me as I gasped for breath in a mad panic. My breath constantly evading me as I sat in my chair before her, hyperventilating and spinning my head around in a mad panic of confusion and bewilderment.. And a rip-roaring headache coarsely abating. “Wait, are you okay Gwen?”
    I couldn’t get my breath back to tell her that I was. Or to tell her that I wasn’t. I didn’t know. Everything seemed so bright in the room suddenly, like when your eyes are having to adjust to the burning light when you open the blackout curtains on a bright summer’s day and your pupils can’t shrivel up in time. Suddenly, I coughed up some water and now the breathing came more easily.
    “Did you… did you do that time loop thing?” she asked with a startled and concerned expression, trying to calculate what had just happened before her very eyes as they intensely glared at me like I was some foreign body.
    Or as if I had some foreign body. Because, in my dazed state, I looked down and took fuzzy glance at the me that she was staring at, and I didn’t recognise it. I didn’t recognise my own body.
    I was naked. Butt naked. Stark naked. Utterly as undressed as the day I was born. My clothes were around me but they were shredded, and my naked self covered them. Shredded by my bigger body as it grew in an instant.
    I was bigger, quite a bit bigger. Big enough for my clothes to rip as it failed to accommodate my expansion. My tummy, my legs, even my chest. All enlarged. Engorged. And it was alien. I looked about 30lbs or 40lbs heavier.
    I ran my hair through my ringletted hair and it was damp, like I had showered and not fully dried it. And the arms that I ran through my hair ached and felt bruised. I felt like I had gone through a car wash. And that was when I noticed pen ink on my arm.

 
You got dis
CHAR

 
    What the actual fuck Gwen? What the fuck does that mean?
    You got dis? Well, that was reassuring me about something. But about what? No fucking clue. And the Char? What did that mean?
    Char can be a cup of tea but why would I need to know that, and besides, I would have just written tea. More likely, char can mean to burn. With all this talk of the Apocalypses, burning felt like a possible message, though a frustratingly abstract and elliptical one. Maybe the message was cut off? Chard? The vegetable. Could that be my vital message? I doubt it. What about a name? That seems more likely. Charlotte probably, but Charlie or Charles possibly. How about Charon? The ferryman of the dead from Greek mythology. That sounded like the sort of thing I would call something, given my love of mythology. I just needed to find out what the dis was that I had got, and who was Charon and why did I need to know that.
    But first I needed clothes.
    “Gwen, Gwen, can you hear me?”
    I looked up at a deeply concerned Chipo grabbing my arm and shaking it.
    “Gwen, are you OK?”
    I wasn’t sure if I was OK or not.
    “Umm… I think so. Errr… where are we? When are we?” I looked around, deeply conscientious of my excessively naked condition to see friendly family faces eating giant cooked chickens. “Is this Red Rooster?”
    Chipo’s eyes welled up as she saw just how dazed I was and just how lost I was. She had seen it before her very eyes, as the slim girl exploded in weight and ripped her clothes right in front of her. But the real damage was to my wherewithal. My eyes kept darting around the place, unable to settle on any one thing. My head hung slightly to the side is a disoriented torpor. I needed to get my bearings.
    “Yes, you’ve just landed in Australia, and we’ve just eaten at Red Rooster” she said with maternal affection.
    “With the sexy Thor man behind the counter?” my glazed over eyes suddenly found themselves and burst into awareness. That was right. I had just flirted with the Thor doppelgänger and, maybe, if I played my cards right, we could fuck.
    Then I remembered what I looked like. Nobody was going to want to fuck this. He flirted with a pretty scientist not someone cosplaying as a beached whale. Oh, I needed to get some clothes, stat.
    “Yes, with the sexy Thor lookalike” Chipo smiled a tender but worried smile, like the type you smile when you visit an unwell aunt at the hospital and she says she’s doing fine, but the doctors say otherwise. That kind of smile.
    Or maybe I did stand a chance with Thor? After all, I did have a message on my arm saying “U got dis”. Maybe this was what I was referring to. My chance to bag myself a hunky Norse deity.
    In fact, he was walking by and taking off his uniform. Presumably off on a break or finished his shift perhaps. But he was leaving the fast-food place and he was going to have to walk by our table. Swaggering and swinging with macho masculinity, he breezed towards us. Remember, I told myself, U got dis.
    As he walked by, I could see angelic face contort into devilish disdain as he spotted ol’ flubber over here without a thread of clothes on her person. He marched past us with a reviled look before redirecting his walk past a table with some blonde bimbo in enough make-up to drown a cat. He whispered into her ear as if it was no big deal and then the two of them wandered into the staff area, presumably for some Norse nooky. I didn’t have dis at all.
    “Haha, that was ambitious Gwen. I’ll put that down to you being dazed” Chipo giggled girlishly as she saw my hopes rise and then fall on the rollercoaster of yearning that I had for the strapping Red Rooster employee. “Now, I think there’s a clothes store just round the corner if you fancy wearing some actual clothes”
    Chipo and I both got up with difficulty, though for very different reasons. She toiled against the frustrating limitations of her paraplegic body, and I toiled against my newfound enormity and the carcrash headache that was tintinnabulating around my skull. But, with a little time and effort, we both got to our feet.
    I gingerly traipsed, without a stitch to wear upon my person and just my hands for dignity, through the airport towards the clothes store that fortunately the airport housed. It was a surprisingly upmarket place with a range of respectable brands in sizes 0 – 16. Which should suffice even my enlarged frame. Surely.
    My cheeks were red as I darted between the clothes racks, red from embarrassment from lugging around all this surfeit without the dignity of clothing and red from being out of breath. I was walking very hastily and very anxiously, but should I really be getting rosy-cheeked with oxygenated blood from just walking? Over a decade of fanatical devotion to the gym and four or five days later I’m repaid with speed-walking feeling like anaerobic exercise. I grabbed some size 10s, some size 12s, and, with dread, some size 14s and 16s for emergency, and hurried in a flurry to the clothing stalls to change.
    Once I closed the curtain behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief. My heart was pounding in my chest from the blatant humiliation of my naked situation. At least, with the curtain closed, I was alone and safe to take my time. So, I looked in the mirror and consumed the image that the reflection presented. It was an inglorious sight. My face looked better, I guess that was nice. Smoother and less jagged, with discernible cheeks and delicate features, I looked less intense and more friendly. As my eyes crawled down the mirror to confront the rest of my image, I encountered my more substantial breasts. This was nice too, another upgrade from the god of fatty deposits. They were a literal handful now, worthy things that deserved a feminine chest, so it was no wonder that my bra snapped. Still going down and now we found the stuff that I wasn’t so keen on. A paunch. A veritable bona fide paunch just chilling below the chest that had been enrobed in fat itself. It wobbled when I jumped up and down, did this paunch. Hell, it wobbled when I didn’t. There was a lip below the belly button that it seemed to have sprouted from, a gelatinous form that a hand could sink into and that reached away from my body as far as my novel breasts. It muffined to the side with infolds and outrolls to give the approximate shape of a bell, and the skin seemed strained thin with the recent expanse. I was clearly an apple, though I looked like I had never eaten an apple in my life.
    Or maybe a pear, though I had clearly never eaten one of those either. But I definitely had stuff going on to the side and behind me. I twirled around to check my own rear out, and was conflictedly impressed with its bulk and sway. My butt no longer had indents, like cheekbones, where the bone on my hips and there was no padding to fill them out. Now, my cheeks seemed so much more… circular, yeah, I guess circular was the word to describe them. And pliable too, more like water-balloons than air-balloons, they seemed bigger and baggier. My legs weren’t baggy, they were stocky. That was the word, stocky and stout. They crossed paths at the uppermost part of my thigh, and my speed walking and seen them graze into a slight rash. I bore the weight fairly well, but there was still a disconnect with my mirror image and my mental image. They just didn’t align. If I had seen this girl, I would have have said that she was pretty. Maybe, if I was being honest to myself, I would have caveated it as “she’s pretty for her size”, but that just felt so callouslyy sizeist now I was that pretty-for-her-size girl. Previous me was such an arsehole.
    So, how big was I? Well, I was 111lbs and a size 2 at the beginning of the week, or a loose size 4. I’d gotten on the plane at 121lbs and a very tight size 4. One lang-haul flight and a Red Rooster meal later and I was how big? Big enough to shred my clothes, big enough change my body shape, big enough to close my thigh gap. Was I maybe 145lbs and size 10? Oh, I hoped so. Anything more, anything over 150lbs, was too much for me to stomach. Which was, it seems, saying something. Well, I couldn’t weigh myself here, but I could at least check my clothing size.
    First, my bra and panties, so I could finally cease being in the buff. The B-cup bra was not even remotely close to caging these recently formed boobs of mine, it just wasn’t fit for purpose. The straps around the back cut into my softer back and my cleavage flooded out of them like the bra was a plaster on a decapitation. The C-cup was a significant improvement, it hugged me rather than strangled me, and my breasts were tightly packed but not vacuum sealed. The underwear was another issue. I had gone for some plain jane navy knickers that were intentionally utilitarian and unglamorous. I just didn’t feel glamorous. I was previously an XX small, but this was not the ass and hips of a girl who was XX small any more. So I tried the medium size and hoped it was loose. Alas, it was far from loose. In fact, it chafed as I dragged it up my thighs, and it squeezed as I brought it to my hips. And then it stopped before it even got there, just crashing against the limitations that my wider and thicker size was inflicting upon the material. I cursed and decided to try the Large instead. Large. Now that sounded terrifying. I had always been particularly small, and now I had surpassed even Medium. Was I even me and more?
    As I pulled the knickers up, I realised that they were pretty unforgivingly tight themselves; they dug vindictively into my fleshy sides and clawed and fidgeted around my thighs. I sat down, despondent at the realisation that I was wearing large underwear and finding it a bit on the small side. Was this who I was now? Would my dad even recognise me? And why was this only happening to me and nobody else? It just didn’t seem fair. I sat down on the bench in the booth and sobbed as my pinched stomach bunched up above the knicker line in dismal fashion.
    Next was the dress that I had bought. It was free-flowing and informal, something that you could rock in a beach or a nice restaurant. It was black, so hopefully thinning and rather dashing. Let’s hope size 10 was the size that fit.
    Of course it didn’t. It didn’t take too long for me to realise, I had barely gotten it over my head and my arms into it when I noticed the limitations of the material. I strained to squeeze my arms in, but the rest of the dress just sat upon my noobie boobies and draped down over the rest of me amorphously. But despairingly was size 12 having the same issue, I couldn’t pull it fully over my breasts so that the tighter bit that’s meant to rest underneath them and give you shape instead wrapped like a band around them. So I readied myself for the grim reality of being a size 14, which meant I was probably over 150lbs. I wasn’t just no longer skinny, I was nearly no longer average either. The size fourteen at least covered my breasts, but it did me no favours. Where it was supposed to be tight, around my midriff, it was tight and showcased my middle bulge rather unsportingly. The bulge used up material reserved for my legs and thus made the dress on the short side, comfortably showing half my thigh when it should be covering my knees. I looked like a fat tramp, but at least I wasn’t a size 16. Size 16 was too big, it was a step too far and even though it would have probably fit perfectly, I needed the denial of not being a size 16 to keep my morale up.

 
    Chipo’s eyes widened at the size of my widened form as I walked down the airport self-consciously. The dress felt short in the cubicle, but walking around with strangers everywhere around me, it felt very short indeed. My chafing stride encouraged to ride even further up and I kept having to tug it back down with unladylike regularity. But, I couldn’t keep my loyal friend waiting any longer, we had a job to do, and so we began the walk across the rest of the airport terminal to the exit/entrance so we could fully embark on our newly-established three point plan:
    First, we meet the team. Then, we meet the president. Then, we save the world.
    And there was a fourth point to our three point plan:
    Who the fuck is Charon?

 
    Just before we left the building, and I got to experience some more Australian sun on my glum face and bared legs, Chipo called out warmly. I turned around sharply, hoping for some friendly support for my expanded body. But Chipo was typically all-business.
    “There’ll be press out there. OK? Don’t say anything and I’ll field the questions. And if you do say anything, don’t say anything that will cause panic or worry. All right?” she said, caringly. It was really considerate of her to take the lead on this one in my underdressed state, and also sparing me from blunders due to my relative inexperience. I had only done one interview, and, although people seemed to like it, it wasn’t exactly a clinic in keeping my cards close to my chest. The eyes of the world were watching Chipo with hope and fear, and it was probably for the best that she took charge once more on this one. It was a content realisation since she had been doing this non-stop since the discovery and I’d only done it once from a hotel in New York, and she could fend the difficult questions and I could just stand to the side of her and keep tugging at my dress. Maybe I should have gone size 16. I nodded in affirmation to her question.
    We stepped out into the glorious sun once more and the heat bounced off of us since we had acclimatised in the climate controlled airport earlier. And, sure enough, there were throngs of busybody journalists with their camera teams and their microphones and their yabber-yabbering of questions. Chipo was a celebrity across the world, but here she was something approximate to a god. They clamoured and hollered at her for updates on when Grendel would arrive to turn us all into spaghetti.
    “We have been investigating the data with all the intensity and attention to detail you would expect, given the severity of the situation at hand, and would not want to impart inaccurate detail by giving you the answer before it met the scientific threshold for veracity. But the data has now been confirmed by separate scientific teams across the globe and we now feel that we have enough confidence to give the prediction as to when we would expect the arrival of a supermassive black hole into our solar system.” Chipo said, her voice as calm and authoritative as ever, completely detached from my humiliation earlier. I stood tangential to her and watched in admiration as she exuded the manner and composure of a diplomat or world leader, but with the fierce intelligence of the greatest scientist of her generation. She continued.
    “The data tells us that, without prevention or solution, it will be 30 to 31 days before we start experiencing the first phenomena associated with our comparative proximity to the supermassive black hole. These phenomena would, at first, be seen in minor fluctuations in solar patterns and an increase of solar activity such as solar flares. The effects on this planet would be minimal although their may be some meteorological disturbance such as atypically harsh storms and winds. However, it is not until near day 40 that we will see more considerable effects being exerted on the planet by the supermassive black hole such as destructive tidal patterns and supermassive tsunamis, and possible tectonic effects that may cause earthquakes and disturbances of that nature. It is around this point that we also start to experience temporal inconsistencies across the planet, as time will no longer be consistent for every citizen of Earth. Depending on the rotation of the Earth at the time, areas nearest the supermassive black hole will experience time moving more slowly, a phenomenon that will increase as we move to day 42. At that point, the sun and the Earth will find themselves in the jaws of this supermassive blackhole and will fall over the precipice of its event horizon.”
    

     Fuck.

 
    That sounded serious.

 
    Normally, when a shocking revelation like that is unveiled, there would be a flurry of furious questions and probings. But, after this, there was just silence. A blanket of silence. It was like the journalists in question were less concerned with further ramifications and just wanted to take shelter from the bombshell that Chipo had dropped on their laps. But, unfazed, she continued.
    “However, we now have a working hypothesis that we are strongly confident with and we will test this to confirm once we are back at the lab as to how this supermassive black hole has made its way to our doorstep, and if we succeed in verifying it, then we will have a considerable step towards solving the conundrum with which we are presented. If we can find out the cause of its proximity, we are far better equipped to find a solution to it, and that is what we intend to do now.” Chipo continued, her voice still strident and unwavering as her material got darker and more desperate.
    “So, our message is one of positivity. We believe we are better equipped to find the solution to this problem and ensure that this potential nightmare instead becomes a story we tell our kids about. That one time our planet was nearly swallowed up. Because the intrepid human condition has always thrived off such challenges and risen to each and every obstacle thus far. And this challenge is just the latest that we will conquer, of that I have absolutely no doubt. And have you ever known me to be wrong about anything?”
    A gentle murmur in the shape of a laugh scattered across the press corps at her rhetorical question as Chipo attempted to puncture the tightly wound skittishness of the people in front of her with something light-hearted but also reassuring. Because, let’s face it, she really is never wrong about anything.
    “And as part of this endeavour I am proud to announce that we have my dear friend and the phenomenally intelligent Dr. Gwendolyn Hughes of the University of Brighton joining our talented cast of scientific minds as we work towards finding the solutions required. She has over a decade of experience in astro-physics and, indeed, is the scientist who has studied this particular black hole in the most detail over the years. In fact, it is Dr. Gwendolyn Hughes that actually coined the moniker Grendel, a term you lot seem to have taken to quite keenly. It is also her hypothesis we will be testing and, that we firmly believe, holds the key to unlocking the problem before us.”
    I blushed at all the attention and waved, hoping the wiggling hand would distract from the larger body and surfeit of leg. It was readily clear to me that the eyes of the world were now pinned on me and my pins. I was oblivious to it when Chipo conducted the orchestra of journalists with such aplomb, but suddenly I could feel my cheeks heat up with nerves. And worst of all, I was still feeling pretty fat from my… ahem… issues in the fast food place’s staffroom earlier. The cameras were all glaring at me and I felt fat and ugly. Fortunately Chipo didn’t let them linger and opened the floor for questions.
    “How severe might these storms be and should people be stockpiling goods?”
    “Absolutely not, we are talking about weather inconsistency and storm unpredictability, but not about severity.” She answered dismissively at the hack’s hackneyed attempt at whipping up yet more frenzy. They all believed her and so did I.
    “What about claims of Black Hole migraines sweeping across the planet? Do your findings explain this?”
    Black hole migraines? Other people were experiencing these too? I mean, I should have seen that coming I suppose. It was a bit narcissistic to assume that I was the only one to suffer the wrath of these headaches, but it was somehow more intimidating to know that the issue was rife. Like our sanity was spilling out and falling over the edge of the world.
    Chips took a beat longer than she had been taking, and for obvious reasons. She had just seen what these migraines could do to a person and it maybe she should be warning people in case it happens to them. But, of course, explaining the terrifying ramifications of jumping across ripples in spacetime would terrify everyone so she had to downplay it.
    “I’m afraid I cannot comment on any medical experiences and must cede to the various world experts in that field. Our focus lies now solely on preventing the black hole from colliding with our solar system.”
“If you could put a number on it, how confident are you that you can stop this?”
    “You know full well that I don’t want to make haphazard guesses, it is not in my scientific nature, however I, in this case will stick my neck out and say that I have the utmost confidence that we will do this” she said, not breaking a stride or a sweat. The glacial genius, oh how I loved her.
    “And you Dr Gwendolyn?”
    Uh, what? The journalist was asking me now? That wasn’t part of the script. What do I say now? I was I wanted to hide from their lights forever in my current state and desperately didn’t want to be interrogated. I had to be reassuring as Chipo had sternly insisted, but I couldn’t lie either. Not that I ever would, of course. I’m a paragon of honesty.
    Then I remembered my arm. I had this. I had this.
    “We are scientists, so we see things through the lens of science. We don’t guess or have hunches or feelings. We deal with cold hard facts to keep things clear and uncompromised. I don’t want to stand in front of you and reassure you if I don’t believe the words that I’m saying. Not just because it would be dishonest, but because it would be unscientific. Facts mean something and sullying them hunches and inclinations muddies the waters that we are trying to swim through. So, the only things I can say here in my capacity as a scientist, an empiricist and a rationalist is things that I believe with certainty and conviction. I would not say anything lightly or just to placate you. I’m not hear to feed you platitudes, I’m here to give you facts. And this is the fact about Grendel...” and I took a deep breath as I got to my long-winded conclusion.
    “We got dis! Believe me when I say this because I say this as a scientist… we got dis”
    It felt triumphant to say that in front of those journalists just then. It felt triumphant because I was telling the truth. I could say what they wanted to hear and I didn’t have to lie to do so. I knew that we would slay Grendel because the ink on my arm said so. I just needed to know who Charon was.
    “And finally, do you have any view on the imminent release of the serial killer Mi...”
    “We do not and will not discuss anything not pertinent to the task in hand” Chipo said with a big grin on her face, I had done her proud. “No, if you excuse us, we have plenty to do.”

 
    When we got in the back of our chauffeured car, Chipo reached over and hugged me. And when she did so, my shoulder got wet.
    She was crying?
    Chipo didn’t cry. She was ruthlessly pragmatic and emotionally disciplined. Tears were weakness, and weakness would prevent her from smashing the glass ceiling above her to become the foremost thinker of her time. But, here, now, in the car on the way to the hotel, Chipo was crying.
    “I knew you wouldn’t let me down” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to restore her facial expression to something more composed and controlled.
    “Of course I wouldn’t. I know how important this is” I said, my eyebrows arching into something more tearful. Oh god, now I was getting emotional. I always cried when someone else cried, I just found the emotion that filled the air contagious and felt compelled to join in.
    “No, you have no idea Gwen” and the tears started flooding again. “Those bastards in government, they are not allowing my parents into this country. If I fuck up, they don’t let them in. If you fuck up, they don’t let them in. They’re holding them in an offshore detention facility in Nauru and they’ve been using them as leverage to get me to work on this project.”
    I stood in shock. Chipo, who was all smiles and warmth to me all day during my mini disaster, who was rising to the occasion with the national press, who was trying to save the world. Chipo’s family was being held hostage by the bastards in the Australian government. And I had no idea. And I was only thinking about myself.
    “Why?” I asked meekly, shell-shocked.
    “Because I refused to do it. I refused to solve the problem” she said, her voice quaking ever so slightly. “I’m tired. I’ve been working nonstop for too long and I’m tired. Someone else, someone younger, someone fresher should have taken over. Someone like you. But they needed to have their ‘famous celebrity scientist’ on the case” her contempt was scribbled all over her face and the way she sneered ‘famous celebrity scientist’ put her bitterness in full view.
    “Oh God, Chips… I had no idea”
    “Of course not. Nobody does. But if you win the public over, if you share the limelight with me, and you did so well earlier, but if you share the limelight with me and I stop being indispensible… they might let me visit my parents.” Chipo welled up again.
    Chipo rarely talked about her parents back in South Africa. I knew she would invite them over periodically for holidays and things, but Australian immigration was so harsh that they weren’t allowed to emigrate to the nation of her daughter. It was a cornerstone of their PM’s, Kyle Malcolm, populist electoral campaign, back when he ran campaigns before they too were outlawed. No immigration, no excuses, no exceptions. Racist wanker. Sexy, hunky, racist wanker.
    “I’ll help any and every way I can” I said with utter sincerity. “There is nothing more important than family”
    “Nothing more important than family” Chipo repeated back to me with a smile.
    We hugged kindly as the car pulled up to my hotel. She took the time to go through the itinerary for tomorrow. We would meet up with the team at 7am, and I would see their data, their progress and get a feel for the place, while they try go through my theory and see if it matches the data they’ve collected. Given the early start, the shock of my time loop and the chronic jetlag, Chipo suggested that I should take my stuff up to the hotel now and grab some much needed kip. I’d earned it, apparently. My room number was Room 34 and the mini bar was fully paid for. She would see me tomorrow, bright and early to get a head start on the day and hopefully save the world. And that was that.

 
    I stepped into the hotel room with such a mix of emotions swirling through my bludgeoned head. Anger at the way that Chipo had been treated by those dickheads in office, guilt for not realising and not being there for her, relief that I had actually helped possibly get Chipo to see them, pride that I had possibly busted the case of the supermassive black hole on our doorstep wide open, and shame at my expanded form. Because, I may have been kind, and I may have been clever. But I was still fat. Size 14 fat.
    It was hard not to feel shame about my appearance as I grunted to squeeze the toothpaste of blubber that was my body out of the over-extended dress. Naked and in the flattering mood lighting of the hotel, in just my bra and knickers, I didn’t recognise the girl in front of me. No wonder Thor didn’t find me attractive, no son of Odin would sully their deified air with my fat arse. The sneer of disgust as he walked past me and thought, I swear she was cute earlier but now like at the hog, I’ll never forget it. I was no longer a young woman hot enough to pull a Norse God. I pulled out the scales to see how far removed from the girl I remembered taking a phone call from Chipo to tell me that Grendel was coming to get me. Which seemed such a long time ago. And, depending on your view of time, maybe it was.
    I stood on the scales in all my naked shame and read the digits below.
    170lbs.
    I stood off and took a breath. And stepped on again.
    170lbs.
    And one final time, for scientifically rigorous confirmation.
    170lbs still.
    Fucking fucking fucking shit. Motherwanking fuckball cuntery. FUCK!!!!
    What had I been doing in the future? Eating apparently.
    59lbs in 5 days.
    Was I fat then? Like, not even on the upper side of regular. Was I now officially fat? What will everyone on social media say when they see me testing a size 14 dress to the limits when they had previously thought I was cute just 4 days before in a size 4? The insults. The mocking. The shame. Will I never be sexy again? Am I going to die alone? Is Grendel going to swallow me and I’ll be fat and alone?
    No, this wasn’t going to happen. Grendel wasn’t going to swallow me at all. I may be fat, but at least I’m going to stop Grendel. I may be fat but at least I got dis. I was no longer pretty, but at least the world wasn’t going to end.
    I didn’t even bother attack the discomfort of squeezing into my nightie, I would just have to sleep naked. So I pulled my duvet over my head and tried to think of positive thoughts.
    “Hey Google, lights off”
    And I fell asleep as my room filled with darkness.
 

Chapter 7
 
“Wow” they both said in unison as the were confronted with the image of the other. But while Leona reeled back to take a better and more complete look at the traditionally immaculate Betty Bollingbrooke, Betty pounced on her colleague with typically ebullient affection and did her damnedest to wrap her arms around the almighty Leona. And while there was however too much Leona to truly encompass her with her arms, Betty hugged her with warmth and purity regardless, resting her head on the bigger girl’s bosom like a child might its mother’s.
“Wow, missed me much Betz?” Leona chuckled as Betty flooded her with affectionate contact.
“Oh my god, I’ve missed you soooo much!” Betty said, finally relinquishing her grip on her colleague and allowing to take a further step back to get a proper look at the changes that Betty had inflicted upon her self over the Summer holidays. And this gave Betty a chance to ogle back what she had previously only been able to ogle on the screen of her phone.
Leona looked at Betty and tried to reconcile the image put in front of her with the one her memory stored of the straight-backed, pencil-thin and flawlessly presented younger teacher. Her bed hair was a work of art, like an Emin installation or a Lynchian nightmare, showing very little acknowledgement of order, shape or indeed gravity. Below the Unmade Bed of hair, was Betty’s unmade face. Leona had never seen Betty without precise eye pencil marks and light foundation, and the contrast with that perfectly attended Before image and the zitty and blotchy After image was startling. Her tatty and tattered old white vest was also unlike anything Leona had ever seen Betty adorn on her dainty body. The two girls mainly hung out at work where Betty dressed sharply in straight lines and sombre colours that gave her tiny body shape and purpose. Contrastingly, the loose at the top and tight round the midriff white vest looked like something Phil Mitchell might wear, and had last night’s Skinny Meal victim staining it. And yes, it was tight around the midriff. The size 6 vest was designed for people without a splodge of pudge below the ribbed rib ridge, whereas this cuddled her contained wobble like Betty had cuddled Leona earlier. It was only a tummy that Betty now sported, absolutely nothing more, but it was also still a tummy and size 6 tops are no friend of a tummy, despite how tightly it hugs them. Further down, the tracksuit bottoms were marked deviation from the angry angles of the pencil skirts that Leona had only ever seen her in. Without their tight wraparound grip, her bottom half looked softer and less shaped, taking her lower-half look from starving starling to chunky chicken. All in all, Leona was losing a battle to hide her mixed feelings in the deterioration of Betty Bollingbrooke’s body.
Though she had plenty of places to hide her feelings, as Betty was able to see herself. Because despite being draped in a really trendy summer dress, and wearing a stylish matching summer hat, the main takeaway from seeing Leona was that she had still loved takeaways, and had thus continued to grow. Her chins could not be hidden, even if she was looking up in her fabled aloof expression you could see the crease folds in her neck that would turn into additional chinage when looking down. It wasn’t just facially that the evolution of Leona’s size could be witnessed, the width of her arms were now like Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson’s but with squish instead of muscle. Her breasts were magnificent beasts that strode out from her chest and pulled down on the dress she was wearing. Beneath that, her stomach was a goliath of globular growth, straining against every direction. But it was her bottom half that took the biscuit – something Leona was prone to doing also. The width of her hips were of mind-boggling jiggling that swept wide like a vista and her jellied arse behind them were a feat of wobbling wonder. Her thighs, clearly seen under the too short dress, had ripples of fat in them now, and even her cow-like calves bulged with an atrocity of adiposity. All in all, Leona looked the almighty 378lbs that she was, though she was wholly oblivious to the number since she hadn’t weighed herself for the past 130lbs.
“Sorry, you can come in” Betty said nervously, gauging the response from Leona and fearing the worst.
“You seem awfully confident about that” Leona laughed, squeezing her magnificent width through the tight and narrow doorframe, with the wood panels from the old terraced house brushing gently on her side.
“You look amazing Leona. Really. Oh, take the sofa, I’ll grab a chair to sit” she unsubtly ogled Leona’s magnificent form, whilst signalling for Leona to sit on the one sofa in the house.
“Thanks” Leona replied, grunting as she lowered herself down on it, making a sterling effort at filling the two-seater with all of her plenty.
“So, how was the continent?” Betty asked politely despite wanting to shift the conversation onto… ahem… weightier matters.
“Oh, beautiful. We had a great time. Wonderful weather, great food, great students. Me and Wicky considered it paradise, I’m sad to be back.” Leona extolled with her eyes shut in fond remembrance, before laughing as she realised how that comment could be taken. “No offense!”
“Sounds delightful.” Betty politely replied, not so impolite as to probe about the great food comment. Betty was a courteous conversational collaborator and would always defer her own interests to appease the people she was talking to. Some would call it sycophantic, others submissive, but her intention was always only to just be a nice person.
“Talking of great food, I see you’ve been busy” Leona was unsure what to make of Betty’s weight gain and general loss of beauty. Betty had dragged a chair in over the messy floor of the living room and sat down, and the deathly tight vest, that was purposed to cover her form, revealed a little pooch as she sat down. It was a foreign intrusion on Betty’s body, like an additional appendage alien to Leona’s perception of her good friend, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
Her first instinct was one of schadenfreude glee. Back before Betty began this journey towards jiggledom, Leona had only encouraged her down this path out of envy for that sticklike figure and cutesy beauty, and this ramshackle ruination was everything her envy desired. She was irritated by Betty’s positivity and perfection, and jealousy had lead her to the selfish suggestion of maybe filling out a bit. Her confidence, which was her pride and joy, had been dented by her own growth and the unenviable comparison between the two women silently upset her. She had gotten to the point where she was so overencumbered with the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meet it feeds on, that she whispered about the Free Hit philosophy Iago-like into Betty’s ears. Leona had caused this, to feel better about herself.
So then the guilt hit her next, like the secondary wave of an earthquake. This was her friend onto whom she had unfurled all of her jealousy and look what Betty had done to herself over the course of just one Summer holiday? It was devastating to see the downward spiral that Betty had managed to latch onto in such a short space of time. She had downsized dramatically in beauty by upsizing so sharply in size, going from practically perfect in every way to looking rougher than a ruffian. From a piece of hot ass to a hot mess. Her advice had been like poison to Betty and now Leona was confronted with consequence of her deeds. Betty had plummeted on her advice, and it devastatingly destructive and painful to see.
Or was it? The third thought that popped into her head was one of “fuck convention” and “fuck beauty standards” and “fuck women being reduced to their appearance”. No, Betty had it right. Why should she shave her armpits for a man, they don’t do it for women? Why shouldn’t she dress down, not every woman every day should dress up? No, Betty was doing great for her gender and Leona should be proud. Not every road’s a catwalk and not every man gets to be a judge. Betty’s body was her own, it belonged to no other knuckle-drugging beer-gutted bloke and why should she shy away from her own appearance to fit engendered gender expectations? Beauty came from within and that’s where Betty was beautiful. It didn’t matter if her exterior was somewhat sullied.
But a fourth thought came forth, and drip-fed itself into Leona’s consciousness from the back of her brain. Was Betty really less pretty? Looking past the lack of effort that Betty was making with herself and was she really physically downgraded? She had the same sharp facial features, the same endearingly bouncy energy that made her like a seductive Tigger, and the same unsheathed radiant smile and unintentionally flirty eyes. Put her in the fitted formal attire that was her workplace norm and put on the make-up she normally wear, and sort out that mop of hair on her head and… she would still look really pretty. If anything, prettier. Because Betty’s beauty had always been girlish and candy-cane sweet. There was the endearing innocence and loveliness that you would associate with a puppy. But, nobody would ever turn around and say that puppies were sexy, would they? But now she looked like a woman, her pre-pubescent prettiness substituted for the teacher’s tantalisingly tasty truss. Yes, her curves would, if anything, make her look hotter than before. Come start of term and Betty would probably be looking at her all time sexiest, and then the poor girl would feel the feeling wrath of Lionel worse than ever before. And it was this final point that Leona shared with Betty.
“You really think he’ll find me even hotter?” The colour would have drained from pallid Betty’s face, had she not been so pale already. The plan could not have back-fired more. Leona’s poor poker face told Betty that she now found her less attractive and Betty wanted her to want her more. Her first objective of wooing the woman owning the coach in front of her had backfired. But worse was the hideous thought that the dinosaur, Lionel Stewart, would prefer her more, when Betty’s intention was to put him off. His blatant comments and tactile touching had pulverised Betty’s emotional state over the past year and it was only going to get worse? She had committed her entire summertime to sacrifice her enviable appearance to appeal to Leona and oppose to Lionel, and the antipodean opposite had instead occurred.
Betty’s bottom lip starting quivering uncontrollably and she tried to stifle whimpering noises, but the ball started rolling downhill and soon Betty was fully crying. Every time Betty looked forward to something, it went wrong. Every time Betty had hoped, it got dashed. Every positive decision that Betty made rotted into something negative, and now she felt like she had thrown away all that she had left.
“Come here you soft pot” Leona gestured with wide open arms for the sniffling teaching to come over to her on the sofa and give her a hug. Betty just nodded since words were too difficult between the involuntary noises that crying brings upon, and walked over to her best friend, favourite colleague and the girl she wanted more than anything in the world. She nestled into Leona’s squidgy embrace and rested her head back on Leona’s fun-sized funbags until the crying stopped. Leona stroked her like a child as Betty closed her eyes. Everything felt better in Leona’s warmth.
 
But she couldn’t hide in Leona’s cushion forever, she would have to face the music. She would have to face a conundrum. Option one was to lose the weight that she had worked so hard to pile on, and return to being built like a pylon. Slim down, tone up and get back on the fit and healthy bandwagon. The downside to this was obvious – Lionel would still like her. He would still be drawn to her figure like iron filings to a magnet. It would be a return to a status quo that Betty knew was unsustainable. She didn’t want to go there again. No way, Jose. The upside, however, was that at least Leona would find her attractive again. The vision of quiet disgust on Leona’s face that she was unable to quell, was engrained in Betty’s memory banks. She didn’t want to revisit Lionel, but she didn’t want to leave Leona behind. She felt the insatiable urge to win her over, and Leona got past first base and all the way to a home run when Betty was at her physical prime and pomp. If Betty could get back there, then there would be the hope of some Leona loving.
Or Betty could carry on gaining. This was option two, more of the same as before. To stick at it and plough on ploughing through chow. The downside here was that Leona would like her less and less, physically anyway. While Betty was unopposed to checking out Leona’s lovely lovely lady lumps, it seemed the feeling wasn’t mutual. Leona clearly preferred a bit of Betty to a lot of Betty. This seemed unfair given that Leona’s lover was Wiktoria, a student who had absolutely ballooned over the course of her first year at university. She had begun as a tall and scrawny heptathlete straight from Poland, but that was certainly not the case any more. She had evidently exorcised exercise from her day-to-day life and replaced that void with over-consumption. She had finished her first year 250lbs heavier than she had started it, even heavier than Leona and by a decent chunk too. And while she had uploaded photos onto Facebook a lot more infrequently than Leona, it was blatant that her gain hadn’t reversed, but rather persevered.
Maybe Leona was always a mirage. This idea of being with her colleague seemed like wishful thinking when in her company. She was as happy as she had ever seen her, Wiktoria clearly brought out the best in Leona just as she clear brought out the hungriest in Leona. Betty didn’t want to be a home-wrecker, she didn’t want to break up a perfectly good relationship just to placate her own unwholesome yearnings. That was something she’d associate with Tim 2, who was not abusive as Time 3 but still evil in his own way, through his adultery and his disregard for monogamy and his ignorance of honesty. Betty didn’t want to be that person, it wasn’t fair on Leona.
There was also an upside to option two, finally getting Lionel off her back. Leona was living proof that piling on pounds put off the perverted professor, he had stopped leering quite early onto Leona’s gain despite her being so incredibly staggeringly jaw-droppingly beautiful. Even when she had found herself at 200lbs, she was magnificence personified. Any person would look at her and think to themselves “ahhh, that’s why Shakespeare wrote sonnets, is it?”, because she was comparable to a summer’s day, so lovely and temperate was she. Even now, 178lbs further down the line, Leona turned heads. And not just because people wondered what was causing the tremours of her footsteps.
“Do you think I should stop, and lose the weight?” Betty said vulnerably to her idol. She needed to know what to do. Well, she knew what she had to do, but she needed to hear Leona say it. She knew she should ditch the dream of getting with Leona and continue to climb in corpulence, but she didn’t want to let go of the dream of being with her. She needed Leona to tell her to move on. She needed Leona to say it.
Leona paused before giving her answer, mulling over the thought in her mind before phrasing it exactly how she wanted to. She drew the words in her minds and rearranged them into the correct order to maximally convey her intended meaning. She finally, after a long pause of contemplation, decide exactly how she wanted to phrase it.
“Absolutely fucking not” was exactly how she wanted to phrase it. “Fuck no Betz. Fuck. No. You’ve got to keep going. You’ve got to keep on keeping on. You were never going to get to big girl status from where you were over the course of just one summer. No, you’ve had to go the long way round. You’ve got to break on through to the other side. You’ve done an amazing job so far, I can’t believe how well you’ve done. I’m so proud of you Betz, I really am. I look at you, and how far you’ve come, and where you’ve come from and I’m so proud of you. You’ve just got to hold your nerve and keep your foot on the gas. That’s all. Just do that and you’ll be in the clear. Keep at it, Betty Bollingbrooke. Keep on keeping on.”
Betty cried again, but this time her tears were happier. The words were exactly the words that Betty needed to hear. “You really think I’ve done well?” she meekly mewed, fishing for praise but also wrestling with her insecurity.
“Fuck yes, girl. I’m… well I can’t believe how well you’ve done. I never thought you’d get to where you are, let alone in one summer. The amount of emotional reprogramming it must have taken you, the habits you must have overcome. Hell, you’ve somehow managed to gain more weight over the summer than me!”
Betty’s mind boggled at that last comment. Sure, Betty had managed to gain 30lbs over the Summer break, a fairly eye-watering number by more regular standards, but Leona had clearly piled on nearer 100lbs. She had gained as much weight over the summer as Betty weighed at the start of it, but hadn’t seemed to realise. Was she really that oblivious to her own gain? Betty wanted to pry to see how deep the denial ran, how far from reality Leona’s self-perception was. But Betty was, as consistent as ever, more courteous than that and avoided prying to protect Leona’s feelings. Instead, she quickly recalibrated her brain to be more focused on all the nice comments beforehand. Her best friend was here, and there was no need to make things awkward.
“Well, in that case, shall we order a Skinny Meal each?” Betty asked sweetly.
“Ooo, best make mine a double” Leona said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. An 11000 calorie lunch explained the 100lb weight gain then.
While they waited for their Kebabland feast to arrive, Betty wandered into the kitchen.
“Red or white?” she called out to Leona in her sing-song voice.
“Wine?” Leona asked, sitting on her sofa and looking around at the messy living area that the sofa was in, in disbelief.
“Well, durrr...” Betty said, popping back into the living room with a big goofy grin on her face. “I wasn’t asking what your favourite colour was on a barbershop pole” she joked, before bursting suddenly into an involuntary and hearty laugh at her own joke.
“It’s midday, that’s way too early to be drinking. And anyways, I didn’t think you drank Betz, apart from special occasions?” Leona asked, surprised at the invitation to tipple.
Betty’s smiley face slipped sourwards. This comment had caught her off-guard. She had been so entrenched and focused on her more obvious bad habit – eating a week’s worth of calories each day – that she had overlooked her slide into daytime drinking. On her own and without anyone around her to impose social norms, she had simply forgotten that it wasn’t especially normal to drink during daytime hours. Leona rightly remembered Betty as a girl of impressive sobriety, and Betty now felt like she’d been caught red-handed.
“But it is a special occasion… you’re back” she said, trying to conceal her shame at how much she had been drinking recently. From tomorrow, she was really going to have to rein that in, as well as clean her house and fix her hair and buy some clothes and catch up on the mountain of pre-term work that she had fallen behind on… no, Betty didn’t want to think about that while Leona was here. Push those grim thoughts from her superego to one side and focus on having a lovely time with her houseguest.
“Oh, I guess you’re right. It’s just funny to think of you as a girl who drinks haha, I’ve only ever seen you drink once or twice...” Leona paused, realising that she had accidentally brought up the evening that they kissed and the evening the fucked. Awkward af. “Yeah… sooo… make mine a white will you?”
Betty’s face flushed at the gaffe, and walked back into the kitchen to hide her reddening cheeks under the convenient pretence of pouring those drinks. She came back into the living area with the wine glasses, and the red and white bottle respectively for if they ever fancied a top-up and they waited for their delivery now with alcoholic lubrication.
“So, you think you can eat a whole Skinny meal now, huh? I remember when you could barely eat a third haha!” Leona chuckled. A lesser girl might have bristled at the implied criticism but breezy Betty smiled and laughed it off.
“Oh, you’ve not seen nothing yet Leona. Stay until evening time and you can watch me eat a second one” Betty cheekily gloated. It never felt like bragging when Betty did it, more like humorous cheekiness, but Betty was rightly proud of how much food she could consume these days. “I’m a two Skinny meals a day girl now”
“Wow, it might just be worth me hanging about to see that.” Leona said, impressed. She liked it when Betty drifted away from her chronic humility and showed a bit of self-confidence. “I’m sure Wiktoria won’t mind. She’s got her classmates to catch up with and besides, I bet she’s sick of the sight of me after four moths uninterrupted”
And that conversational cue lead them to discuss the four months on foreign soil that Leona and Wiktoria spent together, and all the mischief that they got up to over there. Betty listened keenly, revelling in every detail of the story. She was a good listener, was Betty. In fact, the only thing that interrupted her concentration was the doorbell.
“I’ll get it if you like Betz, if you’re dressed like that” Leona said, considering heaving herself off the sofa that she had so comfortably sunk into.
“Don’t be silly Leona, you’re the guest. And they see me looking like this all the time anyway. If you tip them, they don’t seem to mind” she said with a juvenile giggle. She skipped to the door and politely received the three monstrously sized boxes.
“Don’t worry, they’re not all for me” she said with that same cheeky grin. She even winked as she handed over the tip to the cyclist. The courier wouldn’t have been surprised if they were, he had made so many deliveries to this residence over the past four months and had seen such a transformation over that period of time. When he first delivered there, he was confronted with Betty on one of her more presentable days, stylishly dressed and with a cute hair do. She looked absolutely heaven-sent to the adolescent courier with her elfin features and flirtatious smile. It was only the smile that remained as she swelled up 32lbs and dressed like she was auditioning for the part of a street urchin. He’d still bang her, he thought as he looked at her builder’s bum as she turned away with the door still closing. But she’d gone from being a 10/10 dream girl to being someone he’d fuck and then ghost afterwards. It was such a terrible shame, a terrible terrible waste, and a terrible terrible terrible worry how far she’d continue free-falling.
But Betty was no wiser to the courier’s thoughts and sang to herself as she brought the steaming food in to her and her guest.
 
Once Betty finished her meal, she leaned back with a contented sigh and put her hands behind her head in satisfaction at a job well done. As she did so, her top rode up and her food baby poked out. The two girls giggled at the sight of it as Betty sheepishly hurried to rectify it by pulling it down over her wan flesh. Betty wasn’t sure whether she actually liked the taste of the Skinny meal or just the high of knowing that she completed it.
“I can’t believe I actually beat you Leona” she said, proud of herself at eating all that within the hour.
“Well, in my defence, to be fair, I have got twice as much” Leona defended herself, halfway through her second portion and not presenting any outward evidence of wilting.
“Yeah, but there’s twice as much of you” Betty said, jokingly. Betty briefly panicked upon uttering that gentle jibe that she’d overstepped the mark by disparagingly commenting on Leona’s weight, but Leona didn’t mind, she giggled at this occasionally snarky streak of Betty’s. And, if anything, this joke flattered the elder teacher since she was 100lbs heavier than being twice as big as Betty. The two girls giggled as they ate, drank and acted generally quite merry. They were so comfortable in each other’s company that it seemed effortless to spend time with one another. It was buoyed by the massive amount of respect that they had for each other, Betty idolised Leona and everything she stood for in terms of independence, strength and confidence, while Leona admired Betty’s chirpy spirit, ceaseless kindness and the occasional flash of impudence.
Post-meal and fully glutted, they just lounged about and chatted like the good friends that they were, genially discussing anything and everything under the sun. Betty told as much as she could remember about her incident with Sabrina the mid-age bitch, though Sabrina’s bitchy comment about Leona had been long forgotten thanks to the amnesiac that is wine. Leona, in turn, regaled Betty with gossip from her house, with this newcomer called Shay, also from America, who formed a love triangular threesome tryst type thing with Rutherford and Minnie, all kinky and fucked up. Rutherford that is, who was apparently bigger than everyone else in the house still, despite being the shortest.
“I bet she’s over 350lbs!” said Leona as if that was some great revelation, again revealing how grossly she had been underestimating her own weight gain by sounding shocked at 300lbs when she herself was actually 378lbs. So if Rutherford weighed more than Wiktoria, who weighed more than Leona at 378lbs, what did that make Rutherford actually weigh? Betty dreaded to think.
“I’ll go grab us another bottle each” Betty said, wandering back into the kitchen for grape-based reinforcements.
“Jeez, I dunno, we should probably slow down, it’s only 2pm.” Leona said, looking at the time on her phone. But Betty didn’t hear, she was back to humming to herself some merry ditty, before barking back into the living room. “By the way, I’ve got a deep fat fryer now Leona. So, how about battered Mars bars and some Ben & Jerry’s to dip it into for dessert?”
She brought in the new bottles with the deep-fat fryer warming up.
“Wow Betz, are you sure you’ll be able to eat the second Skinny meal if you eat all that?” Leona said, surprised but impressed.
“Yeah, no worries, they go together so well, you’ll love it, trust me”
Oh how easily the hours whiled away in such good company. Several hours, many conversation topics, plenty of wine and thousands of calories later, Betty and Leona were still going strong. Their conversations showed no signs of letting up, they just gabbled and gobbled and giggled and glugged. They talked about the coming term and all the dread of dealing with their balding Head of Department Lionel Stewart. They talked about British weather and US politics and bad TV and worse music. It just flowed with effortless ease between the two girls. They talked and talked and talked until 6pm came around and it was time to stroll down to Kebabland.
“Do we have to walk there? Can’t we just order in again?” Leona whinged at the thought of the quarter mile she would have to cover. Her treadmill days were well and truly behind her. Her walking down a simple road days were looking increasingly short-lived.
“Yes. We can’t order in again in case we get the same courier. Oh my god, can you imagine how embarrassing that would be! And, anyway, don’t you want to see Ahmed? I bet France doesn’t have any Kebablands” Betty said as she grabbed a jacket to cover her messy white vest. Leona rolled her eyes and braced herself for the most exercise she’d done for a year. However, it wasn’t her heft or her abandonment of exercise that prevented Leona from making the small walk into town, it was her balance. It was only when she had successfully plied herself off the sofa and onto her two wide feet standing two feet wide that she realised that she had successfully plied herself with two much alcohol. More than two bottles of wine can do that to a person, even a person at Leona’s considerable size.
“OK, how’s this for an idea, you just wait here and chill on the sofa and I’ll bring them back” said Betty, fairly drunk herself but fast developing a better tolerance for it. “I’ll have them back faster than you can say… I dunno, something that takes about fifteen minutes to say.”
When she returned however in a less than sprightly half an hour, Leona was not waiting attentively as they had planned. No the sleepy effects of all that drinking had convinced Leona to shuffle around on the sofa and drift into a deep slumber, with her feet sticking off the arm of the chair that was also far too shallow for a lady of her size. Betty put down the food and stared in wonder at the whale that was currently beached on her sofa. It was a sight to behold for the lovesick teacher.
Leona’s legs hanging over the sofa arm meant that her dress had fully rolled up and Betty could see Leona’s overstrained underwear surrounded by the packets of fleshy bundles that littered her legs leading up to them. All that warm pliable skin reaching up towards her knickers, and then beyond, where her tight dress contained her tight belly that rose and fell steeply with every inhale and exhale of somnolent breath. Then her face, propped up by a cushion and sinking into her chins with her luscious locks slipping down either side of her face. She was a sleeping angel.
So that was why Betty put her hand down her trousers while she was looking at her best friend asleep on the couch. A more sober Betty would have castigated and chastised this more inebriated version for stepping well beyond her remit and out of bounds. It was unacceptable for her to do this, and downright creepy too, leering and fiddling like Lionel might have at her. But drunk Betty just saw the woman of her dreams asleep and dreamily perfect, and felt the need to masturbate gently whilst staring at her unconscious guest. Gradually, with a eyes widely focused on her love on the lounger, her pace quickened and her thighs tensed and her breath staggered as she continued to work herself to pleasureville, all whilst standing and staring at Leona’s snoring self. Twenty minutes later and Betty was done.
 
Leona woke up to see her friend pouring herself more wine and eating her Skinny meal by herself.
“Sorry, I must have dozed off Betz. Oooo, you’ve brought the food” Leona cooed excitedly at the sight of two more Skinny meals. “I thought you were only going to bring me one, I’m not sure I can eat four in one day Betz.”
Betty felt too sheepish to reply after what she had done, jacking off whilst hovering over her best friend, so she just smiled politely and then downed her glass of wine. She didn’t want to remember her actions next morning and wine can help with that. She didn’t want to remember how far she’d trespassed into the forbidden forest of Lionel-esque lust and leering, she poured herself another and drank some more. Of course, the more she drank, the more difficult her meal became as even the coordination required to sit on a chair and eat food was becoming harder and harder. Leona didn’t think much of it, preoccupied with her mountain of food but Betty was quaffing at an alarming rate, hoping to hide behind a blackout. Even drinking was getting harder as she started swaying, like she was on the deck of a ship with rolling waves, and the red wine flowed down her just as much as it had been flowing in general. And eventually, when Leona had heroically finished her fourth meal of the day, swollen up to gigantic proportions and too full to talk, she looked up to see her friend unconscious on the floor with half of her meal upside down and on top of her. More pissed than an Irish fart on St Patrick’s day, eventually the younger of the two had just passed on the debris covered floor before she had finished the meal that she wanted to prove to Leona. That was when Leona decided to call a taxi to go home. Today had been messy, too messy. And messy in so many ways.

I posted this story on my DA page and wasn't happy with it. I'm going to upload it here though piecemeal, but I'm tinkering as I go to try to fix some of the blunders that I made along the way. Hope you find it OK.
Chapter 1
She walked into Kebabland with steely resolve. This time would be different.
Ahmed didn’t need further instruction, he recognised the girl and knew what her request would be. And as she sat down on the chairs in her black pencil skirt with a black skirt underneath, with a grey cardigan over her top half that suited a schoolgirl more than a fully grown woman, Ahmed readied the Skinny Meal. First there was the base layer of oily chips, sweating in their own grease. Next up was the doughy wrap upon which the many meats lay. And it was five differing form of kebab meat, all spiced and chewy and undoubtedly unhealthy. Upon which lay the fierce rich chilli sauce that was smeared across the top of the meat like it was the materials of a Pollock painting. And finally, a dense layer of grated cheese covering the entire thing like a thick layer of snow on the ground. But this layer of snow melted and seeped into the meaty substances that lay beneath.
It was a meal fit for a king, albeit a king with high cholesterol and low acid reflux.
Once served, Betty took a deep breath and made her first incision, a tentative fork stab at the cheesy meat in the bottom left hand corner. She followed that up with a steadier pace, grinding through the layers of decadence. Spicy meat mouthful after spicy meat mouthful. It wasn’t long until she began to tire. She spent longer chewing the meat than earlier, and her expression, normally so effervescent, sunk in concentration. But she ploughed on with earnest resilience, until she hit her brick wall. She sighed and put the fork to one side, the Skinny Meal had defeated her again. In fact, once again, it was about the halfway mark that saw her stumble.
Ahmed offered her a conciliatory smile as Betty resignedly, and with the hunched posture of a girl who had overeaten, picked up the takeaway box and took it away. The 109lb girl walked woundedly away.
Once she had gotten home, she pulled her dejected self up the stairs and sat on her bed. Her happy-go-lucky exterior demeanour melted away and her face wilted. She felt like such a failure. Not just with the Skinny Meal but with life. She was no longer in contact with her family and her friend was away and she felt so alone. And every time she closed her eyes, she could see her boss maybe lewd comments about her petite build. The lecherous Head of Department, Lionel Stewart, haunted her every waking thought. His wandering eyes trespassing across her body without her permission, leaving her to feel violated. His wandering hand was worse though, it would pinch her bum or pat her a little too affectionately, and the memory of this gross abuse of power made her feel so small and helpless.
Betty began to cry and sniffle on her bed with the light off. She was alone and scared, and Lionel had traumatised her so deeply with his filthy lewd ways that her face ached with fear and discomfort. Her own skin felt like it didn’t belong to her, he had even taken that from her. His idea of an innocent remark or cheeky tactile contact brought Betty to the brink.
Still in the dark, she reached for her bedside cabinet. In it was a thin, sharp needle. She picked it up and played with it in her hands, letting it switch between her fingers. Idly, she then grabbed it properly and lightly traced it along the vein of her arm. She didn’t break the skin, she just wanted to feel the sharp edge scratching her arm above the vein. She pressed a little deeper with an exhale of breath. The skin didn’t quite split, though a white mark showed, but it was perilously close to doing so.
“When he himself might his Quietus make with a bare bodkin” she whispered to herself the line from Hamlet’s famous soliloquy. And in the quiet that followed, she put the needle back in her drawer.
 
It was breakfast time and the cycle had started again. Betty was confronted by the remaining half of the Skinny Meal, and sleep had given her body time to digest her previous meal and the hunger to confront the rest of the dish. The overnight had not been kind to the meal, as it often is with takeaway foods. The chips had stiffened now the grease had cooled, the meat seemed lifeless without the fresh warmth of the Kebabland spit, and the cheese was chewy and plasticky in its unfresh condition. But it was a fair penalty for another failed showing for the previous night. With a face fully not hiding the unappetising nature of the dish set before her, Betty made earnest inroads into the meal. She had gotten up early to tackle these remnants, and was sitting up in her bed, in her nightie, trying to force the residual nourishment down her throat. And despite the early start, it took time to finish, with an hour passing between beginning and end. It was a good job the University that employed her had just broken up for Summer otherwise this sort of delay would have put her behind on her academic duties.
 
The week passed in similar fashion. Betty had little company to call upon in the city of Brighton and Hove, since her best friend had departed for the sunny climes of the South of France with her latest student lover in tow. A flicker of jealousy would rise up from the steamy swamp of insecurity that Betty buried deep beneath her glossy and gleeful exterior. Leona was everything that Betty wanted to be, and those feelings of wanting to be her had gradually evolved into just wanting her. Leona had everything all worked out where Betty felt like a lost puppy in a snowstorm. If only she could be more like her best friend.
And one of the ways she had envisaged doing that was by eschewing her formerly pencil thin physique and adopted a stature more akin to the generously Rubenesque form of Leona. But try as she might, Betty couldn’t make progress. Her weak appetite and powerful metabolism had provided the perfect storm of adding some depth and dimension to her, leaving her stranded in her fashionably model-like shape. And in 110 days, Lionel Stewart, the Head of Department, would be leering over her just as he had done the previous year. She had 110 days to build up a defence shield of weight gain as a preventative measure.
Unfortunately, the past week hadn’t been a great start, and each time she ventured into Kebabland at 10pm for her late tea, she was defeated by the Skinny Meal set before her. She had 110 days to rise from 110lbs and she swore to herself next time it would be different and she would triumph.
 
Another week later and Betty was in Kebabland, but her steely resolve had wilted. The definition of insanity was doing the same thing twice and expecting a different result, and the past fortnight had not seen a different result. As Ahmed placed the steaming pile of food on the table, Betty took her traditional intake of breath before starting on the dish once more. While her initial involvement with Kebabland’s notorious meal had been simply in pursuit of calories and carbs, she had slowly succumbed to its fast food flavours. The sweetness of the chilli sauce had grown more appealing to the young lecturer, and the cheese seemed richer through over-familiarity. And this preference for the taste of the dish she was eating had culminated in a new velocity of consumption. She was shovelling food into her mouth at a less reticent pace now but rather embracing the soggy textures and appreciating the saltiness of the meat. And with this faster pace, more progress came as a consequence. The box of food emptied faster as chips wormed their way into Betty’s grid. And the brick wall of fullness only revealed itself nearly three quarters of the way in this time. Betty leant back in the chair and pushed air into her cheeks with bloated satisfaction. Only the remaining quarter would be her punishment for breakfast. She was finally getting somewhere at last.
With pride and hope, Betty stood on the scales to see if this grown appetite was a symptom of being a grown girl. The figure of 113lbs backed up this theory, showing she had finally begun to put on weight. She stood in front of her bedroom mirror and hoped to see visual consequences to support the numbers, but there was very little to note beyond the bloat of over-indulgence. She would get a better picture of things in the morning.
And once morningtime came around, before she embarked on the farewell leg of her Skinny Meal tour, she stood up in front of the bedroom mirror once more. Her stomach showed itself more when she turned sideways, exaggerating her curved back with a corresponding outward curve of her stomach. Maybe some of it was still undigested food from last night, but maybe some of it were the first pounds of progress.
 
And this bump in confidence saw her attack the week with renewed vigour. She attacked her evening meal with greater zeal than ever before trying to close the gap between the remaining quarter and an empty box. But two things shook her out of her vein of concentration. The first was a zit on the left cheek. It was sharply red and sore to touch. Betty had never had any issues with blemishes or acne even through puberty, and the furious red sight on her cheek gave her pause for thought as to her unhealthy eating habits. The second pause for thought came when she realised her size 0 pencil skirt and matching shirt were getting a bit tight. She could still wrap them around her, but now it was with discomfort. Sure, this was an inevitable part of the weight gain plan, but it made the whole journey take a turn from idle fantasy to very real reality. The financial aspect was not her main source of worry, since her recent promotion had seen her take a proportional salary rise, but the pinching waist reminded her that the difference between casually admiring her colleagues enlarged form and ruining the tiny build she’d possessed for quarter of a century were very different things.
Before the week was out, Betty conceded a trip to buy new clothing. With quiet sobriety, she decided that size 2’s would be a waste of money given her intentions and cast her eye to 4’s and 6’s. Size 6 sounded scary to the drainpipe girl, even if it sounds ideal to the majority of the female population, but she had a plan and she had resolved to stick to it.
And stick to it she did for another week, and soon the size 4’s fit well. Another step on the scales explained why. 117lbs were now on her frame, and she was no longer physically underweight. A strange tinge of guilt sullied Betty’s feelings upon that revelation. ‘Healthy’ sounded terribly unhealthy after a decade of being clinically underweight.
The physical consequences were generous in the dispersion, with no one feature bearing the brunt over the other. She still looked like a pencil, just now no longer one you could snap in half. Her dark bangs still framed a bony face, her shoulders still had that lack of width from being underweight, her stomach was still fairly flat from the side when empty and when from the front, the inswing between the ribcage and the stomach was merely diluted. Her bum was still just pincushions, and she still had ballerina legs. But she was 8lbs to the good and the wind was now in her sails.
She took the needle out from her bedside drawer and held it between her fingers again, but she felt no overwhelming urge to use it this time, and put it back in the drawer.
 
The summer holiday was going slowly without company. She had left her friends in London, her family in Cambridge and her best friend from work was in France. So she had nowhere to be and nothing to do. Of course, there was research she could do for her forthcoming paper, and there was reading she could do of other published papers, but this was not enough to fully engage the young teacher. She yearned for more.
And in the absence of the more that she yearned for, she just lay in bed slothfully. Having nobody to meet up with meant having nobody to get up for meant having nobody to get changed for. She just would spend her day lying in bed without much intention of doing anything, getting up just for her evening Skinny Meal routine. The rest of the day was just on her laptop either working or not working.
And with no company to keep, the normally pristinely presented teacher had taken her eye off the ball with regards to her appearance. Her make-up bag hadn’t been touched since she broke up for the summer holidays though she was still an angel to look at, despite the zit. Also untouched was her shaver, since maintaining her excellence in female grooming had drifted for the short time she had been off. The consequence wasn’t cataclysmic to her appearance but her naturally dark hair meant that it was quite noticeable. But this slide wasn’t a great worry to the pretty and slender girl since she had her natural beauty still and she would be able to rectify it before she went back to work. Being unattractive was never a problem for the poor girl, it was usually the opposite. Lionel had preyed upon her thanks to her cute looks and riddled her with anxiety.
But he was nothing compared to her ex. The third of three Tims that she had dated over the course of her lifetime, he was emotionally abusive and had a knack for stripping away her self-confidence and self-worth through passive aggression. Betty’s naturally sunny disposition masked a hollowed out husk where her heart should be.
So, the idea of gaining a bit of weight, letting herself go a touch and drifting from the standard of beauty that she had set and maintained for so long, was her attempt at wrestling control from vile and vindictive men who think that her beauty somehow makes her their property. She just wanted to be more like her friend Leona. And to do that, she would need to be able to eat an entire Skinny Meal.
 
Betty walked into Kebabland like a cowboy into a watering-hole in a foreign town. With confidence and a determined glint in her eye, she parked herself and waited for her assortment of calories. This time, she had her eyes on the prize. By eating more of the takeaway in the evenings, she had lessened her calorific load in the following mornings when she would have to eat the remainder. And this had meant she had been hungrier by the time the evening meal had come about. This confluence of factors had lead Betty to this point, where she felt she could slay the beast for once and for all. The Skinny Meal would be hers.
A fast start was important, because she wanted to eat the majority of it before her stomach and brain would realise it was full. So she set about it in a furious manner, scarfing the spicy stuff into her mouth and swallowing it as hastily as she could. Around the half way mark was when her pace began to taper off. But she kept pushing and didn’t lose focus of the task in hand. Eventually the meat dissipated like fog in the sunshine and more of the cardboard of the box began to shine through. As she closed in on the finishing line, the effort she was putting in became obvious. It was turning into a grind, as she mechanically mounted food onto her fork and then found room for it in her heavily chewing mouth. But she hung on in and piled her fork with the last few servings and chowed down on them. Eventually she reached her target. Victory. She had conquered the Skinny Meal.
“Well done Betty, you have reached your target. Does this mean we will never see you again?”
“No Ahmed, don’t worry. This is just Stage 1 of a 3 Stage plan. If all goes well, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me” she smiled back innocently. Ahmed smiled back, knowing just how true comments like that often were.
Riding on the success of her victory, Betty unearthed the scales once more to register her furtherment, and the answer was 122lbs. This number saw her have hips for the first time, smidging outwards seductively, and it saw her stomach show hints of softness for the first time. The softness was most noticeable when she sat, where her tautness veiled itself in virginal fat. Everything else was the same really, even her breasts were still under-formed, but these changes made the prospect of progress all the more palpable. The 12lbs she had gained may have been lost on her body, but they weren’t lost on the girl. Those 12lbs felt like hope.

So we have the full Minnie experience, the new kinder Leona experience and that the grotty Lionel experience, all exerting themselves on our poor heroine in different ways
Chapter 9
 
This time last year, Betty was long in bed. She’d baled nice and early to get a good night’s kip before the big start. Her skin hugged her skeleton brutally, but her hair had its dark sheen and her eyebrows were plucked and her tiny hips were so dainty and cute. She looked like an angel as she slept. Then, the following morning, she got up at 6am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a sprightly 10k to get that adrenal rush that comes from the rapid breathing of cold air in aerobic conditions. She loved to push herself beyond her limits with a seemingly unsustainable pace, and then trapped herself into maintaining it by not allowing herself the opportunity to slow down. If you remove the possibility from your mind that it’s even an option, then you give yourself no choice but to succeed. By clocking in below the 7 minute mile, 42 minute total threshold, she’d visually pictured her goal and thus she attained it. This hurtling pace also gave her time to have a shower to get that glistening body clean, and then dry her slender shell down before exalting her spectacular facial features with a smattering of make-up. She ran her hair through her hair-straighteners and she got her crease-free uniform of blouse, suit jacket, tights and a pencil skirt. She brushed her teeth, smiled at herself in the mirror and that strolled to work with a spring in her step, nice and early and ready to attack the day.
But Betty was still awake this time this year, drunk, just in her bra and knickers, and having a food party with Minnie at 1am. She’d been buoyed by the vodka shots that Minnie had sportingly provided for her, which muffled any nagging concerns about right and wrong. She was greedily wolfing down a 6 pack of British-style jammy doughnuts, covering her fingers with sugar and her mouth with jam. And then Minnie reached into the cupboard and pulled out a salted caramel chocolate cake, like a magician might a rabbit out of a hat. There was always one of these lying around in the household of the Musketeers, they were considered a staple food and a firm favourite of the gastronomic juggernaut from the US that was sleeping upstairs.
Putting the last doughnut in her mouth and then wiping her sugar-coated hands on her bare stomach, Betty spotted Minnie as she brought over the Bunyanesque baked showstopper and protested with her finger since her mouth was already full.
“Hey, hey, don’t argue. You promised me” Minnie said, talking down to the teacher with a patronising infliction usually reserved for people in their first or second childhood. “You want to disobey me and wear size 10, you’ve got to fill it. It’s workwear, not curtains so they need to fit properly, so in order to fill your clothes, you need to fill your face”
She sat facing forward on the young teacher’s knee and fed her the first slice, barely giving her time to breathe as she pushed more morsels before Betty had bested the last. She eventually gasped for air as the second one was pushed at her mouth for her to eat, and she relented and fed her this one too. Betty pulled her head away in objection after the second and begged for Minnie to stop.
“Hey, we’re not stopping. You can just take that thought out of your mind. Stopping is not on the table, love. We’re going to continue eating until there is nowt left of this cake and pretending that you have the opportunity to stop will just make it harder for yourself. Okay?” Minnie asked rhetorically, before grabbing slice number three.
Slice number four took her to only a third of the way through and Betty was struggling. Minnie was relentless though, the bit was between her teeth to ensure that cake was between Betty’s teeth, and she pushed this calorie bomb at her with vindictive abandon. Chocolate and caramel and cream were smeared across her face and dripping down down her measly chest and across to her engorged stomach.
“Don’t slow down now love. You’re doing reet well. Just keep it up” Minnie encouraged and Betty, drunk on both food and drink now, just nodded.
Slice five was hard work for Betty though, she kept chewing the cake but she just couldn’t seem to swallow it. It just stayed stuck in her mouth, spinning round like clothes in a washing machine. For some reason she couldn’t get in down past her uvula to swallow. And while she got there eventually, Minnie realised that Betty was reaching the limits of her capacity. But Minnie was an an expert feeder these days and thought of limits as something to be overcome. She was like a personal trainer always insisting on one further set of reps beyond your uppermost limit. Betty was going to need some of her feeder experience and motivation.
“When I feed you this next slice, slice number 6 by the way so that will take us halfway, when I feed you this slice of cake, I want you to think of Lionel. Yeah love, I know about Lionel. Leona told me all about that bastard. I want you to think of him, right? What he’d think of you if he saw this…” Minnie said, dragging her sharp and shockingly cold nail down Betty’s swollen abdomen. “I want you to picture his disgust, his revulsion at how far you’ve let yourself go, how much you’ve grown beyond him. Picture that and this slice will go down a lot easier than the last”
And it did go easier than the last. Betty had the idea fixed in her sloshy mind of growing beyond him and dug deeper as she dug in. Her methodology became more mechanical as she adopted the Skinny meal technique of steady but relentless pacing. Chew, chew, chew and swallow. Over and over again, the metronomic regularity propelling her forward like wind in her sails. Six went down quickly, and seven followed suit at the same pace. Her eyes became fixed, staring but not seeing as she diverted all of her resources to consuming the cake before her.
Next went slice eight, the sticky and messy treat falling like the Marie Rose as she ploughed with fading force. Her head started tilting now as her surpassed limits were taking their toll. Minnie wasn’t sure if Betty was going to make it or not as she gently turned the ninth slice towards her tiring mouth. After this, she would only have a quarter left, but her pace was tailing off now and Minnie needed to do something. One more pep talk, one more burst of motivation. Minnie had one more card to play.
“You feed yourself now, my love, I’ve got some feeding of my own to do. You’ve earned this” and Betty took herself off Betty’s knee and used those cold hands of hers to reach towards Betty’s knickers, she dragged them down to her knees and took her face down to where the knickers were. And then, despite the dense foliage that surrounded it, she face-first nosedived towards Betty’s vagina to lick her out.
Her tongue stroked her with the same rigorous pace that Betty was now eating at, only stopping occasionally to throw her head back in pleasure. Slice nine was done and now Betty was squirming. Picking up the slices herself meant her hands were now getting as caked in cake as her over-bloated stomach, but she gritted and grunted as slice ten was dealt with.
With her head still between Betty’s legs, she reached out with her right hand started scratching down the side of Betty’s aching stomach, her nails cutting into her ghostly skin. Slice eleven was eaten and Betty was practically rocking in her seat as she approached her climax. She was racing to that point to quickly and she was never going to finish upstairs before she finished downstairs so she grabbed the final hefty slice and just crammed the entire thing in her mouth, with crumbly scree and dollops of chocolate and cream tumbling as she crammed crumbs of cake into her cakehole, barely able to chew with her mouth so full but grunting and gasping as she finally erupted in pleasure.
Minnie walked out the room to leave the stuffed manatee of a teacher sighing whilst craning her neck back in relief and swallowing the last remnants of that 4000 calorie dessert while her knickers were still round her knees, knowing that was a job well done. It was 5am, and Betty pretty much fell straight asleep there and then, in that same undignified pose.
 
And Leona walked in on the sleeping Betty in that same undignified pose just one hour later. She didn’t know where to avert her eyes, with Betty spread-eagled and naked and doused in decadent deliciousness. She kept her eyes away from Betty’s prize as best she could and just threw the size 10 clothes that were on a pile on the floor over her friend. Betty was completely out cold and didn’t even stir as they hit her, so Leona decided to let her catch up on a little more sleep. Minnie can have that effect on people.
She wouldn’t be able to have long though, they would have to be at work in several hours, and Betty had four months of self-neglect to remedy, to restore the girl to her pulchritudinous best. But she would, like Leona herself, also need breakfast. So, breakfast was what Leona would have knocked up for the duo while Betty continued with her forty wink catching.
Breakfast was typically a hearty affair in the Musketeer’s household, since it was practically a hotel for the morbidly obese these days, and Leona had no intention of bucking this trend for her first day back at the university. And she thought some breakfast up should be rustled up for her friend and colleague, who was clearly in a bad place. And what a breakfast it would be.
See, she had an ongoing joke with Wiktoria about whether a cooked breakfast fry-up was “a Full English” or a “Continental breakfast” since these things seemed so diametrically opposed. So the conclusion that they came to while on their holibobs during their time in the South of France, was that it should only be called a continental breakfast if it was a Full English and also if it was served alongisde croissants and pains au chocolat. That way it was English and Continental. And that was exactly what breakfast was going to be.
Except, and here’s the thing, Leona can’t cook. Not really, never could. Sure, she could microwave and she could order takeout. Hell, pasta dishes were usually fine and heating curry sauces with rice was usually fine, but anything that ran the risk of being burnt or underdone, and Leona left it to the experts. And they don’t come more expert than her paramour, Wiktoria.
And this isn’t simply because she is ex-pert, though her ass has made the journey from pert and tight and downright Lilliputian through relentless exercise and healthy living, to the Brobdingnagian bulges they were now. She was also a spectacular cook who was at her second happiest in the kitchen (she was at her happiest in her bed, with her lover and her dinner), and Leona had summoned her to help prepare the pre-work breakfast. Leona really needed the excuse to not be left alone with Betty. No matter how slobby she seemed, she kept quietly clawing at Leona’s conflicted heart. So she asked Wiktoria if she could come down and make breakfast for the two of them, to safeguard herself from untoward behaviour by keeping her actual girlfriend nearby.
Wiktoria was down five minutes later, huffing and puffing as she navigated the stairs. She, like Leona, had not slimmed down over the long summer holiday but rather she ended up throwing caution to the wind and portions down her stomach to continue barrelling beyond barrel shaped. She walked into the kitchen where Leona met her with a generous kiss.
“That was very nice, this is why I like making breakfast for you” Wiktoria she said with a smile, before noticing the lightly snoring teacher on the couch. It would have shocked the average person to recognise their delicately dainty teacher all mushed out and with her only clothing wrapped around her knees. But Wiktoria was familiar with what rapid weight gain looked like, first and second-hand, and she was familiar with what Minnie was capable of doing to a person, though thankfully only second-hand. She also had no idea that her and Leona had ever shagged one another and it didn’t cross her mind to be jealous or suspicious about Leona’s feelings.
“Thanks babe for this, I’ll have to make this up to you” Leona said with a friendly smirk.
“Sex?”
“Speedway, it’s on Eurosport tonight”
“Wow, really!” Wiktoria said with a big smile. At an earlier weight, she would have jumped up and down giddily at the offer, but these days a simple girly clap of excitement would do. “And then sex?”
“You have yourself a deal, Ms. Radwanska” and she sealed the deal with another kiss.
Leona stood in front of a mirror fixing her hair while Wiktoria got to work, getting food sizzling and the oven warming up as she multi-tasked magnificently in the warmth of the kitchen. She wasn’t as quick to get about the kitchen these days, her stupendous size causing her to find even slow movement a labour. But with the incentive of cooking up a storm, she didn’t mind the physical exertion of getting about.
By the time Wiktoria had done her three breakfasts, one for each of the downstairs girls, Leona had fully readied herself for the day ahead. Her make-up was applied to bring shapes, colours and contrasts to her already beautiful face and her hair had rarely looked more lustrous. She couldn’t do much about her size however, she was an absolute unit and there were very few fashion choices that could draw attention from that, but her trousers and florid blouse combination was at least colour coordinated and smart.
Wiktoria hadn’t put that same amount of effort into her appearance yet, but she was still a pretty girl. The elfin cut that she started last year with was now hair that poured gently beyond her shoulders and down her back. Her face wasn’t made up but it had a natural radiance to it, even if it was sweating a bit due to the 30 minutes in the kitchen meaning 30 minutes of standing and walking, far more than she would ever do these days. And her nightie, while obviously informal and comfortable, was pretty with its pink and white frilly design. It needed to be a large nightie, however, as Wiktoria was an immense lady these days. Every part of her body was an outward swell, mottled and stretched taut. She didn’t notice herself getting bigger these days, the only evidence that she ever spotted of her ever-expansion was the appearance of new creases and folds on her body where there weren’t previously. A waddle of fat between her bra and her armpit or the slight overhang of fat sheltering her knee. At a glance, she looked over 450lbs, and it was a glance at her immensity that Betty woke up to, upon smelling salty food.
“Oh god, what time is it? Wait, where are my...” and Betty realised her knickers were around her ankles, though she couldn’t remember why. She tried to surreptitiously sneak them up, but both Leona and Wiktoria were looking at her as she woke up.
“From the looks of it, you had a good time with Minnie last night. But playtime’s over Bollingbrooke, we’ve got to get you ready for work” Leona said with typical confidence.
“But… I’m not sure… I’m so ugly and...” Betty whimpered as all the insecurity that had been swilling around her head yesterday came crawling back up.
“Hey, my very sexy beautiful friend. You have face like an angel. We will make you clean and pretty and you will look like the Hollywood movie star, very sexy” Wiktoria said reassuringly, before going in for Wiktoria-special hug. It felt awkward for Betty to hug Wicky whilst just in her underwear, especially with her girlfriend sitting nearby too, but Wicky was a hugger and so Betty good a-hugged, wrapping her branch-like arms around the slightly stumpy Betty. “But first we have very brilliant breakfast for you”
It was a very brilliant breakfast for them and all. Wiktoria didn’t serve up on a simple plate, that was insufficient to satiate a Musketeer. No, it was served on a platter bowl for each, and the platter bowl was loaded enough that it couldn’t be seen through all the food piled atop it. It was a mish-mash of breakfast goodies, from the fry-up foods of eggs, bacon, sausages, hash browns, blood pudding, beans, omelettes, mushrooms, fried tomato (though not for Betty, she famously couldn’t stand tomatoes), spam, blocks of cheese, ham, fried potatos and chips. Then there was slices of toast, heavily buttered and then further topped with peanut butter for that cholesterol finish. Then came the French inspired triumvirate of two pains au chocolat, two pains au raisin and two croissants, along with three slices of brioche to mop some of the fried stuff up. And finally, in the corner of the platter bowl, two muffins, two cream cakes and two US style donuts for a sweet finish. It was essentially the Skinny meal of breakfasts.
It took them over an hour to eat, and Betty over an hour and a half given that she still could feel the cake from yesterday in her stomach. After the other two girls finished their respective colossal servings, they chipped in with Betty’s to help her out. She didn’t have the appetite of these two and they needed to chivvy her along since it was going to take more than twenty minutes for her to shower herself clean, sort her hair and make-up and then make sure her clothes suited her. They rifled through the remains of her dinner while she took her bloated self up to use their shower and see if should rescue her appearance.
The hot water hit her like a tidal wave of warm relief. The plumbing was better in this property and the boiler didn’t take as long to warm up the water, a feature of her own that had contributed to her avoiding hygiene so severely. She spent an age on her hair, trying to shower and condition all the bedded in grease that she had allowed to fester. Washing the rest of herself was difficult also, but for a very different reason. It meant confronting her weight gain. She had to wash bits of her body that she didn’t previously have. Actual breasts, an actual tummy, actual thighs, an actual arse. Her stomach packed like a tin of sardines and hurt to touch, but her arse wasn’t nearly so packed. It seemed to be bigger than it needed to be, over-accommodating the density of it, giving it a soft and slightly saggy feel.
Once washed, it was her face that she had to deal with. Her eyebrows had merged into a caterpillar across the top of her eyes, with monobrows not uncommon on dark haired girls. The slight dark hair on her top lip also needed ridding, and then she could start with the make-up.
She was never normally a heavy applier of the stuff. She felt more comfortable without it but didn’t have the confidence to follow that comfort through. However, she needed a fair bit of it today. Firstly, a wodge of it was required just to downplay the raging storm of spots that had become a fixture on her milky face. Then, contouring to underplay the new softness of her cheeks and allude to the angular cheekbones that had previously defined her look. Also, a stronger shade of red for lip stick and a lot of work done around the eyes to misdirect from the tiredness that encompassed them. And finally that was done. She looked in the mirror again and felt her heart bounce a little. She looked pretty again and a little more like her old self.
She walked back downstairs with a towel around her to grab her clothes as Wiktoria and Leona continued ploughing through Betty’s serving of breakfast. My word were they troopers when it came to eating. Betty just hoped that this breakfast was exceptional and not some sort of morning norm. They were seriously large girls now and surely their habits were not sustainable. Betty of course didn’t pry, out of courtesy and respect, but a shard of worry plunged sharply into her heart as she saw the girls continue to rip through the food like it was the end of Ramadan.
“Betz, just a thought, maybe wear the Spanx too” Leona said with a mouth full of beans and brioche.
“But I want to look big, don’t I? To put off Lionel?” Betty asked unsurely.
“Yes, but try it with the Spanx first. If he makes a pass at you, next time, try it without. You might have already reached his cut-off point” Leona said, scarfing sausage and egg now.
Betty wasn’t sure about this. She might be big enough already, even with the Spanx? Had she managed to over-shoot? In all honesty, nobody knew, so it stood to reason to try the slimline look first in case that is still too much for him, and then upsize if it fails. But, while logical, it did seem slightly insulting to Betty, suggesting that she might already be too fat. Surely she was only curvy now? Or had she missed curvy earlier, and gone sailing past it without taking the time to truly appreciate it? Or was her build, and her flat-chestedness, preventing her from ever being curvy and it was inevitable that not being thin would mean she was fat? Either way, Spanx and the size 10 clothing that she looked at yesterday. She grabbed the clothes and went into an empty room to put it on. The Spanx was a new experience, and a deeply unpleasant one. With her stomach over-capacity already, it seemed brutishly painful where she was most tender. But when she put on the rest of her clothes, she saw its benefits.
First benefit was that her blouse buttoned without much difficulty. Which shouldn’t have been a benefit except it seemed that there would have been difficulty otherwise. Maybe it was just the bloating, but it shocked Betty to discover that the size 10 blouse was far from loose even with the shapewear underneath. The other benefit became apparent once the tights and skirt went on, because she looked drop-dead gorgeous all made up, dressed up and trussed up. The squashing of her waist made it look like her hips flared out, giving her the shape she craved. And the total look was one of a bombshell. She walked back into the living room to show the two girls, who were still at breakfast. Beaming and bright, her face was a lighthouse as she twizzled to demonstrate her form to the other two, who just stared agog. Their mouths were agape and, for the time being, not because they were eating.
“Fuck me, Betz, you look stunning!” Leona exclaimed in wonder. Wicky gave Leona a little side-eye at the sheer volume of admiration and appreciation for Betty’s appearance from her lover.
“Yes, I told you Betty, you look very stunning. You look like a painting of a very pretty lady” Wiktoria said, before aiming the next compliment to rile her girlfriend after her lustful stares at Betty. “You are much prettier than Leona”
And all the girls laughed in shock and amusement as Betty blushed at the compliments that were being hurled their way. And in such good spirits, Betty sat down next to her friends and went back at her breakfast, taking the muffins, the cream cakes and the donuts off of them in assistance.
They took a taxi to the university, and discussed the day ahead while it took them there. And after extolling the virtues of that virtuoso breakfast that Wiktoria created out of thin air, Betty made a really good point about the Skinny meal diet she was on.
“How can I have two Skinny meals a day while I’m working? I can’t have one during my lunch hour, they take more than an hour to eat!”
“Easy, have one for breakfast and one in the evening. Maybe just have a McDonald’s for lunch to tide you over. Order two in the evenings and just have one of them in the morning instead. No problem Betz, stop making excuses” Leona teased.
Two Skinny meals and a McDonald’s in one day though. That sounded like Stage 2.5, a halfway house between where she was and where she wanted to be. Honestly, given the amount of snacking she’d been doing between the two Skinny meals already, she was probably at this Stage 2.5 anyway. But if she was ever to manage three of them in one day, this seemed like a sensible basecamp upon which to mount an assault. So she could start the new term with a plan of action going forward and Betty had never felt so positive about the future.
 
“Looking good, Bollingbrooke” Lionel smirked in his oily way as she walked into the office for the meeting, immediately neutralising all that positivity and whiplashing Betty’s confidence back down. Leona could see her shoulders shrink back as the fetid, foul fumes of lust poured from each pore of the unkempt pervert leading the meeting.
His eye had been drawn to her as soon as she stepped into the room. She had been his favourite piece of totty for a while now, to lick his lips lasciviously over, ever since the previously divine looking Leona had swollen into a goddamn blob. He hated her for that, the stinking whore, for taking away all of her beauty so spitefully because she couldn’t help keep herself away from second servings, the lardy cow.
It was this contrast that was the catalyst of lust for him. When Leona waddled into the room, you could see the disgust on Lionel’s face, every wrinkle of his leathery expression souring with arrogant disappointment. And the comparison between better-than-ever Betty and larger-than-ever Leona made him drool after the younger teacher all the more. Her hips swayed like they were from the 1950’s and her eyes sparkled with a newfound confidence. She was almost a caricature of beauty, and Lionel couldn’t help himself and mention this fact. It deflated her immediately.
Not in terms of size though, Lionel couldn’t help but notice. She had been eating well over the holidays too, her thighs looked more substantial and her hips had more to hang onto. It suited her, he thought, she was always pretty but she was so thin before that it did her no harm. As long as this was the end of it, and not the start of a trend like last time with Leona. Fucking bitch, getting fat, the lazy fucker.
Betty was dazed after that comment from him. That was all it took to knock her off-kilter for the rest of the meeting. Every glance from him in her direction triggered her, the PTSD of abusive or harassing men in her life meant it didn’t take much to put her back in those dark places, vividly remembering those dark traumas. She tried to hide it the usual way, behind glowy charm and happy-go-lucky friendliness, but another crack had ruptured across her soul when he said that simple turn of phrase.
“Ms. Bollingbrooke? Have you uploaded your slides onto the University intranet yet?” Lionel sleazed. Betty hadn’t even done most of the slides, she’d been putting it off all summer and never gotten around to it. She was months behind in the work that she was supposed to be doing to get her classes ready for the coming year. She’d clean forgot, after all that had been going on in her life, in her stomach and in her emotional state, that she should have been panicking about this. It had been put on the back-burner, what with her clothing crisis, and she had walked to the meeting forgetting to be terrified of recriminations for essentially not doing her job. But, because she had forgotten about this until he mentioned it, and because her mind wasn’t in a good place all of a sudden, she didn’t care about the answer she threw back at him.
“Yeah, all done” she lied, with a poker face so straight that it can only come from apathy. She didn’t care if he’d find out and check, she just wanted to leave the room right now and couldn’t think about anything else. As it happened, he had no intention of checking, he was terrible at that sort of administrative aspect of his job. He thought that a job was only worth doing if it couldn’t be blagged and figured that simply by asking the question, he had fulfilled his role. And that was fine with Betty too, who asked to excuse herself from the room for a minute, before walking out to catch her breath. She sat down on the sofa in the corridor and tried to regain her composure, but her head kept spinning.
Screw it, she thought eventually, I’m not going back in there. So she decided to take Leona’s advice and she took a trip to McDonald’s while the rest of the teachers plotted and cross-referenced for the forthcoming terms. They were discussing plans and going over budgets, and Betty was looking at the menu to work out what to buy. They were wondering where Betty had gotten to and she was ordering two large Big Macs, a large fries, a large chocolate milkshake and a large McFlurry. Leona was defending her by suggesting maybe ‘lady troubles’ and Betty was gorging on fast food and accidentally spilling ketchup on her dress. She wiped it off with her finger and hoped nobody would notice.
By the time she’d finished and returned to the university, they were all filing out the room. Lionel was eagle-eyed and searching around for her as she came round the corner looking and feeling better. Before Lionel could ask where she was, Leona intervened.
“Don’t worry Betz, I told them you were having ‘lady troubles’” Leona hollered at her friend.
“Thanks Leona!” she shouted and smiled back, glad that Leona had her back. Leona then waddled to her and grabbed her by the arm and took her away from the rest of the department.
“What the fuck happened Betz? Are you okay?” Leona said, her eyes angled with concern. Betty just nodded, her throat suddenly dry as she came to explain the rush of emotions that his throwaway line had prompted in her.
“Wait, can I smell ketchup… did you ditch the meeting to have McDonald’s?” Leona asked with a smile, loving the normally whiter-than-white Betty’s derring-do to just walk off and eat while she should have been working. “Oh, I love it, Betz! You badass!”
Betty smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear, cat-like. Words still weren’t coming forth but at least the dread was easing.
“Don’t think where not going back to Maccy D’s though. You might have had your lunch, but I’ve not had mine yet. And the two girls turned back and wandered across the road to the McDonald’s there. And as Leona ordered a typically extravagant meal for her insatiable and unending appetite, Betty decided to order another McFlurry, and actually a large Big Mac and large fries. This was all prep for three Skinny meals for one day, and besides, she could stand to gain a few pounds if Lionel was still leering like he was. And the pattern was formally established, two Skinny meals a day – one for breakfast, one in the evening – and a large McDonald’s meal for lunch. Yes, this sounded like a plan. She would grow past Lionel’s desires in no time at this rate.
It helped that it broke up the mundanity having been eating only the same meal for the past three months, but the thin fries stood in pleasantly moreish contrast to their chunkier Kebabland counterpart and the sugar fix of the McFlurry scratched a sucrose itch that Betty didn’t know she had. It culminated in a relentless day of consumption that left her winded and dizzyingly bloated, but Betty resolved to establish this as her new routine, stuffing herself to and beyond the gills. And soon a new 13000-calorie a day pattern emerged, where three meals were being eaten and two of them were Skinny Meals, just in time for the kids to attend class.
 

I don't know if this is a good chapter per se, but it does at least feature my favourite ever character!
Chapter 8
 
Betty woke up with a mountainous headache and to the sight of a Skinny meal staring back at her. This was rarely a good sign.
She took a while to truly come to, and when she did, it took her a while to gather her bearings. For that can be the consequence of waking up somewhere unusual, and on the floor in your living room, underneath a takeaway, constituted as unusual in Betty’s mind. She tried to pull herself up but the movement made the hangover worse, and just made her feel sick, so she just lay there some more, just picking at the Skinny meal that she had thrown over herself like it was a blanket while she tried to summon up the will to live.
She may have dozed off again, though she wasn’t sure, but eventually she pulled herself together enough to pull herself up. She used her chair and the table as leverage for one final heave-ho before ascending to her bipedal station. The brightness of the room thanks to the light oozing in from out yonder ached her dilated pupils a little, but eventually she was righted and ready to rock’n’roll. She looked at her phone to gather then time and had seen messages from Leona.
Ah, that’s right, Leona wasn’t here. Betty knew something was missing, and that something was a 380lb goddess. The messages had been sent at midday, which was a couple of hours ago, and they were broadly positive though perhaps not glowing tributes to a meet-up that descended into a piss-up.
 
Great time yesterday, perhaps too good lol. Got a killer hangover. I told you we shouldn’t have started that second bottle. Or the third lol. Leona x
 
Hope you are okay, you were a little worse for wear when I left, just let me know when you come to so I can stop worrying. Leona x
 
Oh, and I managed my four Skinny meals btw. You’d be proud. But I really need to start cutting back. After today though, I need hangover food lol. Leona x
 
PS Never drinking again lol. Leona x
 
Betty smiled at them and hoped that the x at the end of her texts meant more than she knew they did. She hoped that the four texts were the kind of over-attentive neediness that you get when you fancy someone, but she knew it was just the kind concern of a kind colleague and friend. She had to come to terms that Leona was never going to leave Wiktoria for her, she had to move on and redirect her energies elsewhere. She knew that, but she pretended that she didn’t. She just wanted that sliver of hope, no matter how remote.
 
All good here, but very worse for wear haha. And never drinking again either haha. Betty x
 
She sent that message as she poured herself another glass of wine for that hair of the dog experience. With a headache as pounding as hers, she needed it. She wasn’t lying when she said she wouldn’t drink again, she was just joking, she convinced herself. She had a much needed swig and contemplated what this week would entail. The university year kicked into gear next week and from that point onwards it would be all hands to the deck. It was Monday today, so she had exactly one more week of respite, so she might as well make the most of it by doing nothing.
Except, she had so many things to do. Ease up on the drinking for a start, she thought as she took another gulp, though that would naturally come to an end simply by necessity when term tie started. She would have to tidy her place, it was an absolute shit-tip and she was embarrassed to have invited Leona to it. Though, that wasn’t urgent, not like the other things. She urgently needed to get formal clothing that actually fit her, ready for the academic year, and there was no two ways about that. And she urgently needed to fix herself up to. Her bedraggled bedridden state was not so bad when she was just wasting time until the new school year started, but she couldn’t go to class smelling as bad as she did, it just wasn’t appropriate. These would be the things that she would address ASAP.
Right away.
Immediately.
No excuses.
Tomorrow. She was too hungover to do any of that today.
Today, she would eat Skinny meals and drink wine.
 
Betty woke up with a mountainous headache and to the sight of a Skinny meal staring back at her. This was rarely a good sign.
This was the epiphany that she woke up to on days Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. And each day, she would remember that today would be the day that she would get her shit together. Get the clothes she needed. Take the self-care that she needed.
ASAP
Right away.
Immediately.
No excuses.
Tomorrow. She was too hungover to do any of that today.
Today, she would eat Skinny meals and drink wine.
She didn’t understand herself at times. Her rampant procrastination didn’t feel like a Betty trait, she didn’t understand why she kept putting it off. Was she in denial? Surely the fact that she was asking herself that question meant that she wasn’t. Was she depressed? It was so hard to tell, she didn’t have her sharp blade by her bedside any more, and she couldn’t say she’d missed it, but this behaviour seemed atypically apathetic from her. Was she happy? Maybe this was what happiness felt like, not being so enslaved to worries, anxieties and inhibitions, maybe she was just feeling liberated from the bone-crushing adherence to responsibility. Or was she just a lazy person now?
Surely it took more than one season for her entire personality to change, but she had to admit she was so markedly less active these days. Beds and sofas and nothing in between for the young teacher, with horizontal just feeling so much more comfortable than vertical. So maybe this was her issue, maybe she had eaten her self into a pattern of sedentary living. Maybe it wasn’t a mood thing – when she used to be happy, she was always so energetic and buzzing, and when she was sad, she was always so disciplined and driven by work ethic. So this was a new thing, maybe this was a fat thing. But either way, she knew all the things that she had to do urgently and continued not doing them.
She had taken to wearing just a dressing gown these final days before she had to go to work, throwing it over her otherwise naked carcass to cover her faded vanity. Her clothes were all dirty and all no longer fit, and she had doggedly failed to replace them, This did make the trips to Kebabland a little undignified, in just a dressing gown and crocs. The wind would whip up and she would have to fight to maintain her ever-diminishing dignity to stop herself having a Marilyn Monroe moment, only without any knickers on to conceal her clit. It also hung over her loosely so you could not tell how much she weighed while she wore it. She could be her old 30lbs lighter self or she could be 30lbs heavier and the way it hung off her made it impossible to tell.
In just a dressing gown, Betty was feeling more free and unencumbered. And this was evident in her lifestyle habits of just sleeping, eating and drinking. They say that sloth is a deadly sin, and Betty was behaving exactly as a sloth does. She continued to push the internal narrative that it was all just a final hurrah before duty and term time compelled her to get her life in order, but deep down she knew she was just scrambling for excuses at this point. She knew that she was drinking like a fish, eating like a whale and sleeping like a sloth.
But it was Sunday now, and those excuses couldn’t be made. There wasn’t a tomorrow to which she could put things off. This was it, no room for excuse-making now. She had to get up and go clothes-shopping, there was absolutely to alternative. She had to check that her shower worked and throw herself underneath it. She had to root around in the scrapyard that was her bedroom for her make-up bag and spruce herself up. She had to do these things, there were no two ways about it. She had forced herself into a position where there was no back-up, no plan b, she simply had to do it right away.
ASAP.
Immediately.
No excuses.
Later. She was too hungover to do any of it right now.
For now, she would eat Skinny meals, drink wine and maybe have a nap.
 
Betty came to from her boozy midday slumber and glanced at her phone to check the time. Hopefully it was before 4pm, because the shops would close by then since it was a Sunday. She just hoped she hadn’t overslept and given herself too little time to pick something nice and flattering for tomorrow’s work meeting. She obviously didn’t want to provoke the salacious advances of her superior, but she had a professional reputation to maintain and she couldn’t let her standards slip. Not like they had all summer. So, hopefully her phone would tell her it was before 4pm.
9pm.
Betty, still rubbing sand from her eyes and being forced into a squint by her yawn, tried to refocus on the screen to make sure that she had read that right. No, despite the blurry vision, it was definitely saying 9pm. The shops had closed for the day. They had done so 5 hours ago.
No, no, no, no, no, no! This wasn’t right! This couldn’t be happening. There was always tomorrow, there had always been a tomorrow. She’d had 120 days of having a tomorrow. And all of a sudden she didn’t have a tomorrow onto which she could defer her responsibilities. She had to face the music today, she had no option, and yet she didn’t face it at all. She was screwed. She was royally screwed. She had royally screwed up.
This couldn’t be happening. She must be wrong somehow. It must be Saturday still, or maybe she got the wrong week. Or, or, or… or nothing. There were no excuses, no alternatives, no back-up, no plan b. She had told herself this very thing this very morning. It was ruined, everything was ruined, and she had nobody to blame but herself.
Betty convulsed I distress, letting out a high-pitched shriek of defeatism. Her hands were shaking in panic and frustration. Why hadn’t she gone when she could? She bashed the table with the balls of her hands. Why did she just not do it when she had the chance? She shrieked again, more weakly again. Before curling back up on the sofa to sob.
Since she was screwed, she might as well go down in a blaze of glory. She rang Kebabland and ordered another Skinny meal, and then she challenged herself to see how much she could drink before it got there. She was already fairly tipsy but she was also mentally functioning, and she was in such a state of despair that she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to function.
3 glasses was the answer. Another 3 glasses were drunk in the half hour before her piping hot meal was delivered. It was the same courier, just her luck, as the one who delivered to her in the early afternoon, but the drunken, sniffling mess in just a loosely wrapped dressing gown meant that the fact that this was a repeat visit was the least memorable aspect of his delivery. When she opened the door, the dressing gown came undone and the poor unsuspecting courier was confronted with a full view of the transformation that Betty had undergone over the past four months. She didn’t even care enough to cover her dignity as he saw the tubby teacher reach over to grab the box. Once as skinny as a skeleton, now only as pale as one, he could see the softness of her stomach and the way it slightly pooched even standing up as she was. He saw her breasts, or the minor swells that Betty had for breasts anyway. He saw her vagina, forested with uncare. He saw her legs, malleable and wholesomely grown. Oh how he had spent so long yearning to see that woman naked and when he finally did, this is what she looked like. What the fuck had happened to the gorgeous girl who used to live at this address? She didn’t even leave him a tip.
In between the drinking and feasting that Betty had elected as a resolution to her problems, Betty was trying muster a plan of action. Because while neither of her forms of bingeing were fixing her situation, they were buying her time to think of how to get out of this hole that she had dug herself into. The repetitive cycle of wine, chips, chilli, meat ran on a loop in the background while desperate calculations ran in the foreground. Could she pull a sickie? Could she get clothes tomorrow morning before she was in? Could she wash the biggest clothes she owned and make do with that? All these thoughts being run to the background hum of wine, chips, chilli, meat. Wine, chips, chilli, meat.
But, by the time she had gotten to the end of her Hail Mary feast, she was still not a clue wiser as to what to do next. She was seriously sloshed, fantastically full and utterly out of ideas. It was near midnight as she only had one throw of the dice left. Maybe Leona Clefton-Brown would have a solution?
 
Leona was happily drifting off in the wonderful spooned embrace of her Polish lover when her phone lit up and vibrated to tell her of an incoming call. Wiktoria was snugly tied to her but deep asleep, so Leona quietly peeled herself off and picked up her phone and tip-toed as quietly and delicately out of her room as a woman of her size can. She glanced back at the Pole who sleepily repositioned herself in the bed without coming to, as she closed the door to take the call.
“Betty, what the fuck are you doing calling me at this hour?” She hissed under her breath down the phone to Betty.
“I need your help Leona, I’ve really messed up” bawled Betty back at her, her emotions completely unchecked and unmoderated.
“Are you… are you calling me drunk at midnight on the day before we start at work for the new academic year?” Leona said, startled and a little worried. This wasn’t like Betty. This wasn’t like her at all. Betty was a bastion of virtue, never knowingly reckless or ruinous. Sure, the pair had gotten drunk when the met up last week, but that was a one-off special occasion. So to be drunk-dialled by Betty suggested something worrying was up with the girl.
“Yes. I’m drunk and fat and naked and I don’t know what I’m doing” she said, mangling her verbal dexterity and tripping on her words, but managing to get them out of her mouth.
“For fuck’s sake Betty, I’m… we’ve got to get up early tomorrow, just get some sleep, I’m sure you’ll be fine in the morning.” Leona reasoned, trying to get her off the phone so she could get some sleep. It felt like cheating on Wiktoria, have this covert conversation with a girl she had before fucked, and she wanted to end the call and get back in bed with Wicky and canoodle and sleep until the morning. But Betty had other ideas.
“I can’t. I’ve got no clothes for tomorrow. I’m too fat.” Betty carried on croaking out her words in a voice hoarse from bawling.
“But what about the clothes you were going to buy this week?” Leona asked, before realising the obvious truth. “You did go and buy the clothes that you needed for the new term to start, didn’t you Betz? You’re not ringing me in the middle of the night, crying, because you couldn’t be arsed to go shopping. Tell me that’s not the case here Betz. Tell me I’m way off the mark.”
“I’m sorry Leona. I’m so sorry” Betty sobbed apologetically. Her life felt a ball of string, and somebody was pulling on one strand of it and now the whole thing was falling apart. “I know I should have done it earlier, I know that. And I don’t know why I haven’t. I’m starting to worry myself Leona. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I don’t feel like I’m me any more. I’m so scared.”
Leona calmed down for a second. She was angry, yes. Blindingly pissed off, in fact. She liked her sleep and she had a busy week on the horizon and here she was acting as a surrogate agony aunt. But she heard the hurt in Betty’s voice. The way it flaked when she said she was scared. This wasn’t just the wine talking, Betty really was in a low spot. The girl who always seemed so bubbly seemed to have burst.
“Hey, hey, don’t get worked up Betz. It’s nothing, I’m sure it’s nothing” Leona said, trying to calm her down.
“When you put on weight Leona, did you… change? Like, change how you were. As a person. Because I never used to be like this. I used to be… I don’t know, not like this. I would never be like this and now I am like this” Betty didn’t calm down but in fact carried on in the exact same emotionally raw vein.
Leona sighed. It was a fair question. Betty had, upon herself, undergone a great deal of personal upheaval, and it was all off the back of Leona’s sketchy advice. And Leona had gone through the weight gain crisis herself. She remembered crying on the toilet with her knickers round her ankles for climbing to half the weight she was now. She’d gone through this herself, and owed Betty some empathy.
“It was tough at times, Betz. Like, you have this idea of yourself, and it shakes you when the idea stays the same but you change. But it gets better. It does. You have to own it. But it wasn’t the weight that made me change. It was the people. It was Minnie, for better or for worse, and it was Wicky, who has turned my life around and made me happier than I thought possible. And it was you Betty. I couldn’t have done it without you. You made me feel like a good person, and so I tried to be a better person because of that. Kebab meat won’t change who you are, but your friends might. So I’m here for you Betty, whatever you need.”
Betty sobbed the most sincere thank you she had ever sobbed. From the deepest darkest recesses of the furthest corner on the most distant ventricle of her heart, she thanked Leona for those words. The balm that trickled out Leona’s mouth, down the phone and into Betty’s ear, a catholicon for the ailing girl.
“Whatever I need?” Betty whispered sweetly.
“Whatever you need Betz. Whatever you need.”
“I need clothes.”
 
Betty wrapped the dressing gown round her as tightly as she could as she called the cab to get from hers to Leona’s. She shuffled her crocs onto her feet and waited outside in her front garden for her taxi to arrive.
She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol hammering her coordination and balance, or more prosaic car-sickness, but the car journey was excruciating for a girl in her tender state. The car carelessly careened and careered to the house of The Musketeers, but at least the abandonment of his driving meant that she got there quickly enough. And she clumsily stumbled out of the vehicle, thanked and paid the driver, and doddered to the door. Before she could knock, Leona opened it and gestured for Betty to keep the volume down.
She was guided into the house by Leona and sat disoriented and despondent on one of the four two-seater sofas that their living area now had. Leona felt awfully guilty that she was being deceitful by sneaking a girl who was drunk and dressed in just a gown, that she’d had sex with, while her girlfriend was lying asleep and oblivious upstairs. But she had to be a good friend to Betty, the poor girl deserved that.
“So, I’ve brought you some of my old clothes here. I’ve never thrown them out, it would feel to much like admitting I’m going to be fat forever. I’ve got no idea what size you are, but there are some 8’s, some 10’s, some 12’s and some 14’s. Like I say, I had no idea so I thought I’d bring you a range of options. And Betsy mouthed a weak thank you to Leona as a pile of clothing was dumped in front of her. It was all fashionable stuff, the trendy Greta Garbo garbs with power suits and matching trousers or more flowing drapery depending on if her mood was feminine or feminist.
Betty looked at the pile with an open face, still soggy with tears, at the array of clothing options that she had been generously afforded by her best friend. She picked up a size 10 skirt and blouse combination that loosely mirrored her pencil skirt look. But before she needed knickers, since she didn’t have any of these. So Leona turned around so Betty could put some on. She didn’t want the awkwardness of seeing Betty’s muff in the buff.
Unfortunately, Minnie came down the stairs just as Betty pulled off her dressing gown to reveal herself in just a bra and no panties. Walking down the stairs, she was met with a vision of Betty in all of her inglory, and regardless of the inappropriate dress code, she rushed down the stairs and pushed her lardy body against Betty’s in a hug. The hug lasted awkwardly long as Minnie’s hands dug sharply into Betty’s moonlight skin and her leg slid up and down the inside of Betty’s to create the warm frisson of friction. Betty silently gasped and tried to pull away, and Minnie licked the side of her face as she did so.
This hullabaloo turned Leona around, who had been trying not to stare, and now she was confronted with the nearly fully naked form of the best friend she had once fucked.
“Sorry Minnie, did we wake you?” Betty asked, quickly yanking the knickers up to conceal a portion of her dignity, whilst wobbling with poor balance.
“No Betz, I messaged her to come down. Remember when I told you about that time I cried about my weight while I was on the loo. Well, it was Minnie who came to my rescue, and I thought maybe she’d do the same for you”
Betty’s tears welled up at the kind gesture. Minnie just smiled with menacing glee, before turning to Leona.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got her now. You can go back up with your lover-girl, and I’ll take care of her” Minnie said, before darting in for a snog with her ex. Leona pulled away sharply, with the lip that Minnie was biting pulling away slowly thanks to her dental grip.
“Not cool Minnie!” Leona lambasted with rare fury, before regaining composure and going off to bed. “But thanks for taking care of her Minnie”
 
All alone, Minnie redirected her eyes on the young teacher, who had taken her dressing gown off again and was sorting through the pile of clothes to see what she could wear as a jacket with the skirt and blouse that she had already chosen. Bending over to peruse, Minnie took a keen look at the small slab of roll that tended forwards under the pull of gravity.
“Hey Betz, you look good.”
Betty recoiled, as if knocked out of a daze. Her processes weren’t fully functioning and she had become so absorbed in her clothes hunt that she had forgotten about Minnie already.
“I don’t though, I look fat and ugly” she sulked.
Minnie strolled behind her and pressed herself back against Betty. She reached around in a hug to grab the minor mound of mass that coated her stomach, her cold sharp hands caressing it.
“This isn’t ugly, this...” Minnie gripped her tummy more fiercely, her nails digging into Betty’s flesh. “I like this a lot.”
She felt Betty twitch at this as she breathed heavily on her shoulder, before sinking her teeth into her lower neck.
“Minnie, I… I need to get changed. I have work in...” Betty gasped, her focus wandering towards the synaptic sensations that Minnie was inflicting on the teacher.
“I know, I know, 8 hours” Minnie said breathily. “So, maybe grab a size 8 and see how it fits?”
“I don’t think I’m a size 8 anymore Minnie, I was going to try the 10.” Betty lightly protested.
“Weren’t you a size 0 or 2 a couple of months ago, love? I’m sure it’ll be reet. Put it on and we’ll have us a looksie, what’s the worse that can happen?” Minnie said, her voice as sweet as nectar but her intentions as dark as squid ink.
Betty didn’t realise the sinister intentions of the Machiavellian Minnie and obliged. She grabbed a size 8 pair of pin-stripe work trousers and a blouse to go with them. She shoved her right arm in the matching blouse sleeve and immediately sensed danger at the tightness it imposed on her softened bicep. Putting her other arm in required a grunt of effort, but despite the shirt’s back being unpleased with the demands placed upon it, she got it through. The buttons were going to be the tough bit, and Betty decided enough was enough and to try the larger size without doing them up. Minnie intervened there with a quiet assertiveness, and by running her nail down the bloated stomach of the gasping teacher.
“Don’t worry, love. I’ll do this for you. Just breathe in and I’ll do the rest” and she stretched the material to draw the buttons closer to their respective holes while Betty sucked her stomach inwards, before doing each one up with a bit of difficulty. “There you go love. See? Fits just dandy”
It didn’t fit just dandy at all, it was suffocating on Betty, The buttons being torn against by the finite nature of the blouse’s material, leaving holes of pale skin visible in the curled up bits between the buttons.
“Now the trousers, love. Come on, let’s help you put them on.”
They climbed up her lower leg easily enough, but each thigh felt resistance as the trousers were pulled up to the waist, before Minnie helped Betty squeeze them over her squashable bum. Then, they had to tie the trousers up, and this would prove to be the boss level in terms of difficulty. The button was inches apart and looked cut adrift from the hole in which it is supposed to be tethered. But Minnie fixed on it and was undeterred, even if Betty was finding the whole incident humiliating. She venomously yanked the button and hole together while Betty squealed an intake of breath, sucking in as far as she could while Betty fought against the material’s resistance. Toiling furiously, she hooked the button through the hole just as Betty was about to give up and breath out. When she did breathe out, her stomach’s skin flooded over the waistband like fresh bread, a sandwiched muffintop between the blouse and the trousers.
Minnie took a step back to admire her handiwork, and bit her lip at the sight presented before her. Betty looked like a woman in child’s clothing, oversized and chubby. And as Minnie stepped back, Betty took a good look at the siren before her. She was a big girl alright, her tummy jutting out like the bus at the end of the Italian Job in her slinky nightwear, her arms thick and meaty, her whale thighs blubbery and broad in the men’s boxers that spared the blushes of her lower half. But she was still gorgeous, those mesmeric emerald eyes that hawked into the back of your skull and that black hair surging down her back in a long straightened waterfall of glistening tar. And, despite her impressive size, was the young girl looking slimmer than the massively bloated student she remembered from the end of term last year?
“Hey Minnie, have you lost weight?” Betty said, dizzy from the alcohol and the minor oxygen starvation from the cripplingly tight clothing.
“I think so, but it’s so hard to tell when there’s so much of me, y’know. But I’ve been trying to get my life right on track over the summer. Every time I get that self-destructive itch, Rutherford eats self-destructively for me and I just feed and live vicariously through that. It’s how she’s managed to get so big so quickly.”
Betty dreaded to think how big Minnie meant.
“That said, I’m the only one who can use the scales these days so I guess I must have lost weight. They max out, y’see, at 250lbs and I’m down to 240lbs. I’m the only one here who has a clue how much they weigh” she aggressively giggled. “I know, let’s see if I’ve lost any more, the scales are down here I think”
She pulled the scales out from under one of the settees, and stood on it. The needle wiggled its way to the number 232.
“232lbs Betty! I’ve lost even more! You impressed?” Minnie said, her eyes lighting up as she did a flirtatious swizzle. “What about you, let’s see your progress?”
Betty reluctantly stepped on the machine to see the damage. And the needle told her 145lbs. Betty came again from behind and rested her chin on Betty’s shoulder to have a look.
“Hey girl, well done. Oh my how you’ve grown” Minnie said, her devilish grin not dissipating for one second.
“Am I too big?” Betty asked insecurely.
“Fuck off love, you’re not big enough. Nowhere fucking close. You’ve got so much potential though, you just need to… fill it. I just need to… get my teeth into you”
But Betty blanked this blatant come-on and flusteredly flapping at her fall from grace. She felt a wave of humiliation as she stood there with her midriff bubbling out to the side in the pale white gap between her blouse and trousers. Her stifled breath, her painful chest, all from wearing clothes that were embarrassingly small. She needed to get out of them, she should have just ignored Minnie and stuck to the plan. Just put on the size 10’s.
“Why are you taking it off?” Minnie said quite sharply, as Betty did her best to detach herself from her clothing constraints.
“I’m sorry Minnie, I’m just too fat for it. I need to wear the size 10’s, I can’t wear this, I look ridiculous. I’m so sorry” she said, upset, panicked but still polite.
“Ugh, fine...” Minnie sighed passive-aggressively. “But on one condition”
“Uh, yeah sure, what?” Betty said innocently.
“If you want to wear a larger size, you have to prove to me that you’re a larger girl with a larger appetite. So, before you go…” Minnie said harshly, before softening. “Do you fancy a bite to eat?”
“I’m sorry Minnie, I’d love to. But it’s 1am and Leona’s right, I need to get back, shower, and sort myself out for tomorrow”
“Oh come on...” she said, leaning into her ear and running her sharp finger nails down her neck. “One bite won’t hurt...”

“Err hello?” peeped Claire, unsure at exactly what would happen next. 
“Good morning Miss Connors, how are you feeling today?” replied a polite, if not slightly robotic voice.  
What scared Claire almost out of her chair was the fact that the voice came from inside her own head. 
“Argh! What the fuck?!” screamed Claire as she frantically looked around the room, as if to try and locate the source of the voice. 
Doctor James found the outburst rather comical and had no qualms about openly laughing at Claire’s obvious distress. 
“My apologies Miss Connors, I didn’t intend to startle you, I can see your heart rate has jumped dramatically, perhaps I should remain silent until you call on me again” spoke the voice inside her head. 
“Doctor, what on earth is going on?!” asked Claire, her eyes still darting around the room. 
 
“Oh, relax Connors, you’ve just made first contact with the AI that lives inside your head now, you should be happy, you’re making history as we speak.” 
“AI in my head?! I didn’t agree to that James!” shouted Claire, clearly agitated now 
“Oh contraire Miss Connors, you’ll find this is all above board and in compliance with the informed consent documents that you read and signed.” 
“No-one reads those things!” shrieked Claire in response. 
“That is a shame, but you were asked several times if you had read the documents and agreed every time.” 
 
Claire was annoyed, she felt cheated but she really should have read the documents carefully she thought to herself, after all she had them in her possession for well over a month. 
“Really, Connors. You should have expected some form of AI to be in play here, how did you think the weapons and armour that you’re going to be testing would attach itself to your persona? Fairy dust?” 
Claire could only scowl at the Doctor as he tapped away at his PC. 
“I’ve decided to allow you the rest of the day to get acquainted with Vega-11, Connors” he said without even turning to acknowledge her. “Be sure to get any trepidation out of your system as the initial round of testing will start at 07:00 hours.” 

Yep, exactly. I'm so glad you're following the plot and not lost, it's very reassuring. Also, might borrow your use of the term time-hiccups...

Wow, thanks. This might be my favourite comment ever, that means so much to me. Thank you so much