vigilante

(Based on the original story ‘You’re Going To Get Fat’ by MaverickTheWriter, borrowing characters, themes, and text in some of the early chapters. Used with permission and thanks) -------- “You’re going to get fat!”. That’s what my plump sister would tell me over and over when we were growing up. We were fraternal twins, born just a few minutes apart. You wouldn’t have known it though - as kids, we couldn’t have been any more different. I felt sorry for her really. I had taken after our father - tall, lean, and athletic - while she had taken after our mother - short, fat, and deathly allergic to exercise. It didn't matter how hard we tried to alter our physiques, we seemed to be destined to grow into these predetermined physical moulds. A spin of the genetic wheel. It was hardly my fault that I came out on top. The differences first presented themselves during puberty. It wasn’t long before I was the tallest of my friends, a ranked junior tennis player competing at the state level. Meanwhile, my poor sister developed curves in all the wrong places as she gathered mass onto her stumpy body. This was despite our varied eating habits - her hyper-awareness of what she put into her mouth and my adherence to the Epicurean mantra of ‘if it feels good, do it’. I would puff my cheeks at her cajoling and make a spectacle of the brownies, cookies, French Fries, cupcakes, or whatever else I was enjoying at the time. She would smirk and shake her head. It had to be hard watching me devour doughnuts while she grew fatter eating apples - but at the end of the day, what’s sisterhood without some good-natured teasing? Nevertheless, she continued to heckle my eating habits, which only worsened the more time that I spent away from home. Whenever I returned with a post-tennis burger, she would greet me with the same refrain-- “You’re going to get fat!”. My mom - born and raised in the mountains of Hakone – and my dad – an American with a work visa and more confidence than he knew what to do with – had met and fallen in love during Japan’s Lost Decade. A match made in heaven, apparently. They’d moved back to Dad’s US hometown in the late ‘90s when we were still in diapers. Our upbringing had been a clash of these two opposing cultures. Deference on the one hand, egocentrism on the other. Our diet was no exception. At home, mom cooked the healthy meals of her childhood – fish, rice, noodles, and the like, but at school and in town I could eat whatever I wanted – and I did… liberally. Where my sister would dutifully eat the modest bento box lovingly prepared by mom the night before, I would ditch mine on the way to school and queue with my friends for the standard greasy cafeteria fare of pizza, fries, or whatever other quintessentially American fast food was on offer. During summer break, we would sneak ice cream from vans that served us through the school fence, and in winter, I was on first-name terms with the vending machine. But despite the indulgence of pizza-party sleepovers with my girlfriends and Olive Garden dinners with my boyfriends, my body remained as lean as ever. The same could not be said for my dear sister. By Sophomore year her poor hips were so wide that she had to get her clothes on special order – the normal stores simply didn’t stock them. The fat little thing just couldn’t catch a break. Still, whenever I’d get home late from a restaurant date she’d creep downstairs in her PJs, spy the leftovers from whichever late-night snack I’d been enjoying, and then, as she rubbed her eyes and doddered back to bed, she would call out-- “You’re going to get fat!”. I’d just chuckle and polish off the remains before heading to bed. And why wouldn’t I laugh? The whole thing was amusing. Me? Fat? Not with Dad’s genetics thank you very much. But perhaps if I’d been a little less complacent then I might have noticed the newfound jiggle in my step. It was about this time that Mom accidentally shrank my clothes. She said she didn’t think that she’d done it, but I knew better – everything was just a little… off. Still, there’s a reason they invented the elasticated waistband. And I couldn’t stay mad at Mom after all – I loved her, and, of course, there was a lot to love—all 400 pounds of her. She waddled and wheezed around the house, her vast buttocks wobbling with every laboured step. An impressionable and unprepared foreigner corrupted by America’s sugar fetish and super-sized fast food. A story as old as time. By Junior year students were trusted to leave the school campus during free periods, a privilege that I abused at every opportunity. I would head to the outlet mall a few blocks over and order my favourite – a chocolate shake and blueberry muffin. The fact that these were the most calorific items on their entire menu had, at the time, passed me by entirely. Sometimes as I left the school gate I would cross my sister and her nerdy friends on their way to play board games in the library. “MacDonalds here I come”, I’d brag, “shall I bring you back anything sis? You know you want me to…”. She’d simply squirm, always having denied herself the pleasures of fast food, and look what good it had done her. A wasted effort - larger now than she’d ever been. A short little pudding waddling down the hall, squirming uncomfortably at the sight of her thin, pretty twin sister. She never did accept my offers, leaving me only with the same parting thought-- “You’re going to get fat!”. Then I discovered alcohol. If Mom and Dad knew quite how much I could down of an evening they’d have lost their minds, but I was subtle enough that I just about got away with it. ‘Sleepovers’ became house parties, ‘tennis practice’ became beach bonfires – I’d skip out on my training and use the time to hang out with friends and enjoy the adrenaline-pumping thrill of secretive adolescent drinking. I tried wine first (too sour) then spirits (too messy) before finally settling on beer as my beverage of choice. The comforting ‘tssst’ of the can popping open signified the start of an entertaining, if hazy, night. That said, fun as it was, I was starting to think that it was more than just the washing machine to blame for my ill-fitting wardrobe. I noticed that my once-flat belly had developed a gentle curve, and the sore feeling between my thighs was a sign of my legs starting to chafe as I walked – a worrying new phenomenon. I remember asking Mom, but she’d said it was probably just my hormones kicking off. Period bloat – god’s gift to women. I felt a lot better after that – after all, if I was getting fat I’d expect my porky mother to be able to tell. She was somewhat of an expert on the topic. I did nothing to temper my diet of junk food and beer - satisfied it was simply a passing concern. Just whispers on the wind. Once, on a cold winter night following a particularly raucous party, I bumped into my sister on my way to bed. 1 am – I’d been out drinking and she’d been up late studying. A box of cheesy fries still in hand I remember stumbling over my words. “Shhhhhh, don’t mom and wake dad *hic*”. Her wide smirk had been clear as day despite my drink-induced double-vision. She promised not to tell on me, but couldn’t resist a little nod to the greasy Styrofoam container in my hand and a snide parting comment as she left-- “You’re going to get fat!”. At the start of our Senior year, my sister and I celebrated our 18th birthday. As early September b**s we were used to being the oldest among our peers, and this final year of high school was going to be no different. The party had been characteristically lame – a few of Dad’s extended family for drinks, a video call with Mom’s parents who were still living back in Japan, and that time honoured tradition of droning out ‘happy birthday’ whilst my sister and I blew out a ** birthday cake. To be honest I was glad to get it over with. The following week we were sat around the dining table once again. “Would you like dessert today dear?” Mom asked my sister kindly as she cleared away her dinner plate. It was Summer’s end – the cool Autumn winds had started blowing in, so naturally, Dad had insisted on dusting off his barbeque one last time and cooking up a selection of the local butcher’s finest cuts. Say what you want about the man, but he knew his way around a grill. A bacon cheeseburger, 8oz ribeye steak, and a healthy portion of fries later and I was about fit to burst. The buttons on my grey linen shorts pressed painfully into my distended gut, struggling to contain it. My sister had been remarkably restrained around such culinary delights, opting instead for a solitary marinated chicken breast and a modest side salad. She’d always denied herself the pleasures of a hearty meal but recently she’d turned the dial up to eleven, insisting on a strict calorie-controlled diet that left her eating an entirely different meal to the rest of the family more often than not. This, of course, offered an even greater opportunity than usual to showcase my impeccable metabolism and gorge myself silly in her presence. “No thanks mom”, she’d replied meekly, eyes downcast. It was desperately obvious that she, in fact, did want dessert. I could practically hear her stomach rumbling from across the table. Her fingers fidgeted with a paper napkin as she tried to resist the urge to reach for a dessert. “Oh, go on then Mom, you’ve twisted my arm”, I followed up with a sarcastic sigh and cheeky wink at my sister. She screwed up her face and stuck out her tongue in reply. Mom left the room carrying a stack of dirty dishes and returned a minute or so later with a steaming tray of gooey salted caramel brownies in one hand and an extra-large tub of clotted cream in the other. The brownies wafted a warm, comforting scent of chocolate and caramel around the room which made my mouth water. She served herself and Dad a modest portion and passed the tray, which was still well over half full, to me. I disregarded Mom’s offer of a bowl with a dismissive handwave and simply pulled the entire aluminium tray onto my place-setting and began eating directly from it. The brownies had been, in a word, orgasmic. Though my stomach was already fit to burst from the barbeque I couldn’t help but shovel in spoonful after spoonful. I’d unintentionally developed a rather worrying sweet tooth over the last couple of years. What had started as light-hearted teasing at my sister’s expense had developed into an ingrained habit that I couldn’t shake even when she wasn’t around to witness me eating. A guilty and fattening pleasure that lingered even in the absence of judgmental eyes. Today though, conscious of her longing eyes boring into me, I’d played up to the spectacle. A moan here, a smacking of the lips there. Anything to prompt a reaction. I recall being well past the point of ‘comfortably full’ and pushing dangerously close to ‘one more bite and I might just barf’ territory when my spoon mercifully scraped against the bottom of the empty tray. As a bead of sweat trickled down my brow I lazily pushed it aside and snatched up the clotted cream instead. Rich and indulgent, I embraced my inner glutton and gulped it down, allowing myself to fully experience the sinful delight. In that moment, nothing else existed except for the pure indulgence and satisfaction of this guilty pleasure. “Sure you… *uurrp*… don’t want… *uuuuurp*… any sis?”, I belched breathlessly as I held the final heaped spoonful of cream aloft. “Don’t tease your sister”, Mom snapped disapprovingly, “it’s good that she’s taking care of her diet. Which is more than I can say for you young lady. I thought we’d get at least two nights out of those brownies – the box said it was enough for 6 portions!”. Wilfully ignoring Mom I placed the cream-laden spoon in my mouth, turned it over, and licked it clean without breaking eye contact with my sullen-faced twin. I discarded it in the now empty tub and cradled my heavy, aching gut in both hands, massaging it tenderly. Mom shook her head with a thinly veiled ‘what am I going to do with you?’ expression fixed on her face and began clearing away the last of the meal. She then waddled into the kitchen with Dad in tow, leaving my sister and me alone in the room. “You know that clotted cream’s like 60% fat right?”, my sister had piped up with a sly grin, breaking her first smile of the meal so far. “Powerlifters chug it down when they’re trying to bulk up. I saw it in a documentary once. They gain all this weight and then work their butts off to lose it. They get big sis – like, really big. And you’ve been drinking down two tubs a week for… well, months. If you don’t do something quickly and start to work it all off yourself then…”. She’d been about to say her normal, infuriating phrase when I felt a sudden, unexpected release of pressure around my midriff. The top button had pinged off my shorts – hitting my water glass with a loud ‘ting!’ – and a generous ** belly spilt out onto my lap. “Oooof”, I panted, equal parts embarrassed and relieved. My hands cradled my gut tenderly. I’d expected it to be rock hard, but recall being surprised at just how soft and squishy it had felt despite my overfullness. It oozed through my fingers, spreading a distance across my upper thighs. Eyes closed I sat in my chair, spent, as my sister stood from the table and plodded towards me. She bent down, gave my rounded belly a patronising pat, and whispered the conclusion to her previously interrupted thought-- “You’re going to get fat!”. A couple of weeks later Mom and Dad had jetted off for a ‘parents-only’ fortnight of sun, sand, and sea in the Caribbean, hopeful that we weren’t going to burn the house down in their absence. This meant I’d effectively been gifted a carte blanche to re-do my, albeit now slightly late, 18th birthday properly and play hostess to that most American of high-school traditions – pool parties. Well, mostly free. My sister had skulked around the place, muttering to herself about the noise, the mess - something like that. Just being her normal annoying self. She was still on the heavier side, but if I'm being truthful, maybe... not as much. She’d been taken under the wing of one of the new sports coaches at school the previous year. Something about having a ‘good strong build that’s perfect for women’s football’. I remember the morning of the party. I’d prepared everything. Kegs cooled and chips bowled. Just enough time to crack a couple of pre-party beers and slip into my bikini before my friends arrived. I’d been sitting on the edge of my bed in my underwear and, as I bent to pull them down, a thick roll of flesh spilled over the band. As I’d hunched further, a smaller roll formed above the first. I’d sprung upright like I’d seen a snake beneath my bed and spent the next couple of minutes gingerly poking and prodding at my body. Pudge where there had once been muscle, cellulite where there had once been smooth skin. When had this happened?! I had been aware that my clothes were fitting tighter lately - but between washing machine mishaps, hormones, and humidity I thought I’d had it accounted for. Evidentially not. Slipping out of my now uncomfortably tight underwear, I reluctantly pulled on my bikini – taking a generous swig of beer in between to calm my nerves. And yet, even with the alcohol coursing through my veins, the bikini was plainly too small. Far too small. My breasts bulged out of the fabric, giving a generous flash of ‘side’- and ‘under’-boob, like two ripe fruits bursting from their delicate skin. The bottoms pinched in at my hips, accentuating their flab and barely managing to cover my wide backside. Despite my best efforts to squeeze into a size 6, my body had sagged and spread beyond its limitations. It was time to acknowledge the truth… I WAS getting fat. The anxiety I had been suppressing for weeks bubbled to the surface. Was I eating too much junk food? Should I really have just gone cold turkey on tennis practice? Was my metabolism starting to slow down? I resolved that I would simply cut back a little and the pudge would be gone before the end of the year. I had the willpower. Or at least, at the time I thought I did. Despite this party was still good fun. Booze quickly eased my nerves and a ferocious game of pool volleyball, a light sunburn, a greasy pizza, a game of truth or dare, and a sloppy kiss with the class heartthrob Josh O’Callahan later and I shut the door, breathing a sigh of relief that I could shortly hit my mattress and enjoy some well-earned rest. On the way, I’d bumped into my sister. She burst out of the kitchen and nearly crashed into me. Her lips were thin with annoyance as she shouted, "Josh O'Callahan? Seriously? Josh? You do realize I've been crushing on him since like, third grade, right?" I tried to recall if she had ever mentioned this before – perhaps, long forgotten though – and was it my fault Josh fancied me and not her? The beer had certainly taken its toll on my sluggish body – I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. Before I could muster a response she continued, “there’s a whole tray of brownies in the fridge. Just like Mom makes them. I baked them earlier for everyone to enjoy as dessert - a surprise for our Birthday - but I didn’t fancy offering them after I saw you and Josh…”. She trailed off as her gaze shifted down to my bloated belly, and a mischievous smirk crossed her face. "But look, you've saved room for dessert”, she said, poking my stomach with her plump finger. It bullseyed my navel and was engulfed by my soft belly blubber, disappearing into the cavernous depths of my belly button. Full to the brim with pizza and beer I belched loudly. "They're all yours now," she smiled, "do whatever you want with them”. She then retrieved her buried finger, setting my belly jiggling, and added in a sarcastic tone, “but be careful about eating too many or—" “You’re going to get fat!”. I’d like to say that I went straight to bed after this – once my sister had huffed past and up the stairs. But instead, I’d turned into the kitchen and gorged until I fell asleep at the kitchen table. Over the next few months, I tried and failed to shift the weight. I picked up my racquet for the first time in years, challenging an old club rival that I’d once beaten in the state final to a re-match. But as I lumbered around the court– wheezing and drenched in sweat – it was clear that I had become far too large to complete at my best. My heavy chest heaved as I rushed around the court, leapt into shots, and missed them by several feet each time. After only a few games, it became obvious that she wasn’t even trying. She feinted and lunged and volleyed with ease, barely breaking a sweat. Down 8 straight games, I conceded defeat and retired the racquet to the back of my wardrobe where it belonged. My diet wasn’t much better. I wanted to eat well – to snack on celery sticks and fill up on vegetables – but my body craved the fats, carbs and sugars I had trained it to expect. All those times I’d teased my sister by gobbling down unhealthy treats in front of her were coming back to bite me – hard – and I was powerless to stop it. My sister was always watching and smiling. I made a point to suck in my stomach and mind what I ate when she was around, but too often she’d catch me with my belly in full bloated pooch whilst sucking Cheeto dust off my fingers. At least she’d temporarily stopped with the “you’re going to get fat” shit, but her sideway smirks at my unhealthy eating were almost as bad. To make matters worse, she looked like she had dropped a good 40 pounds since the football season had begun. She was still big, in a manner of speaking, but where once she’d just been a short, blubbery little pudding she now looked taller and stronger. A late teen growth spurt – where for so long I’d looked down on her it was quickly becoming the other way around. On the final day of Senior year’s Spring semester, a heatwave had struck our little corner of the country. It was so hot that the school relaxed its dress code, allowing us to be comfortable in our home clothes while the A/C struggled to keep up. I donned a forgiving pair of three-quarter-length linen shorts and paired them with a thin t-shirt tucked into the waistband. Beneath was a secret I had been hiding for some time from my girlfriends at school – the heavy-duty Spanx doing their best to keep my blubber at bay. I was miserably uncomfortable as I sat in Mrs. Johnson’s third-period Algebra class (by far my worst subject) and began taking my final. The thick shapewear had thoroughly insulated my body and left it no room to breathe. Heat and anxiety-fuelled sweat beads erupted across my brow as I tried desperately to answer the first question. As I nibbled my pencil’s eraser, my free hand moved unconsciously to the security blanket of flab covering my waist. My heart raced faster still. Despite weeks of watching my diet even through the Spanx, I could tell the roll was bigger than ever! I started to pant – quietly at first, but then in increasingly deep and laboured breaths. A heavy drop of perspiration plopped atop what few notes I’d managed to scribble. I wiped it away, blurring my scribblings in a soggy graphite smear. Jennifer, my friend and former tennis doubles companion, caught my eye, her eyebrows furrowed with concern. She mouthed the words silently - “Are you okay?” - I nodded to reassure her, sending even more droplets of sweat down onto my paper. My head pounded painfully. I was flush. I was dizzy. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe… I’d woken up in the nurse’s office 10 minutes later. Josh and Jenifer had helped the teacher carry me across the hall and were now standing over me along with the matronly school nurse, with concerned looks on all their faces. “Now dear”, nurse Smith started, her tone treading a careful line between strict and sympathetic, “I understand there’s a lot of pressure to look a certain way as a young woman, but really, was the shapewear a good idea on a day like this?”. I had the sudden realisation of a light breeze blowing across my upper thighs. I looked down in horror to see that my Spanx and shorts were hanging limply on a chair in the corner of the room beside two free-standing fans pointed in my direction. As my eyes fell to my body I saw that my tightly fitting lace panties were entirely obscured by the bulging belly that blocked them from view – a pale gelatinous crest that rippled as I strained to see over it, to no avail. I could feel my thick thighs pressed up against one another on the thin medical bed I was lying on, and, with nowhere left to spread, they oozed over the bed’s outer edges in an adipose avalanche. No longer contained, my cellulite-ridden buttocks spread like warm melted butter over hot toast – evidence of my uncontrolled gluttony over the last few years. I grabbed two handfuls of belly flab and realised, with increasing horror, that I could have grabbed plenty more if only my hands were larger. I looked up, mortified, and caught Josh’s eye just before his cheeks flushed red and he looked away in embarrassment. Jennifer maintained eye contact at least, but her face was half pity and half pleasure. A touch of schadenfreude at my unbridled fattened form. I’d been allowed home early that day. Mom collected me from school about 30 minutes later – wearing a spare pair of school shorts, Spanx resigned to the bottom of my handbag. The car’s suspension groaned as it took on our combined weight. Mom’s deep brown eyes were kind and sympathetic as she tried to console me, but it was no good. There was an empty pit in my stomach that her words were doing nothing to satiate. My belly rumbled ominously – my body reminding me that I could make the hurt and the pain go away, if only temporarily, with one simple act. “Can we pull in here?”, I asked, nodding to the KFC drive-through just off the freeway up ahead. Mom looked unsure - but pulled down on the wheel nonetheless. We drifted up to the first station, and a disembodied voice crackled into life through a rusting speaker grill. “Can I take your order please?”. Mom glanced at me, hesitant. “I want…”, I replied – pausing almost as soon as the words began forming on my lips – “I want… I want the 10-piece Bargain Bucket meal and two of the Fried Apple Pies”. I blurted out the request in one hurried breath – almost stumbling over the words in my excitement. It felt liberating just to utter them aloud. To be honest about what my stomach demanded, and my inability to tell it ‘no’. Mom brushed her jet-black hair from her cherubic face and sighed. I remember watching her lick her lips nervously as she considered her next words carefully – “are you sure sweetheart? It’s just… if you keep eating like this… well--”. “You’re going to get fat!”. I hadn’t stepped on the scales in… too long to remember. It hadn’t felt necessary when I was younger. I was thin, my sister was fat. The natural order of things – unquestioned, like grass being green. But the balance of power had shifted, and I hadn’t noticed until it was far too late. That Easter break was not like those that came before. No pool parties, no beach BBQs, and not even any trips to the local mall for a spot of retail therapy. After the unimaginable embarrassment that was my algebra final, my social status had taken a severe beating. The mockery on social media had been too much to handle, so I’d simply deleted the apps and folded inwards, spending 4 weeks safely tucked away in my room – extending the normal holidays by a fortnight by claiming I was ‘too sick’ to go to school. And I ate—a lot. My bedroom became a conveyor belt of food – fast and junk. I would sit on my bed from dawn till dusk, watching TV on my laptop as I gorged myself. My stomach capacity – already fairly impressive compared to the average girl – increased enormously as I forced myself to eat past the point of feeling full. It was easier to continue eating than it was to face the world outside. Compared to my younger self I’d ballooned – every part of me filled out, stretching my skin like an overstuffed sausage about to burst its casing. My once-toned arms were now wide and sagging, a teardrop of flesh forming at my elbow every time I straightened my arm. My tits had lost any semblance of their former ‘pertness’ and sat like too engorged water balloons on my chest, supported only by the vast gut which hung deep and gelatinous over my pussy – obscuring it from view. Around the back, my hips, ass and thighs had taken the brunt of my recent weight gain. Great globular moons cratered with cellulite supported by two giant tree trunks of blubber - fertility goddesses eat your heart out. To make matters worse, my sister spent her last couple of years of high school dropping every pound that I gained. Her aggressive football training regime saw her on the pitch or at the gym every single day – a workout schedule so rigorous you’d have thought she was auditioning for an all-female remake of the film ‘300’. She’d grown another few inches too – edging ever closer to Dad’s impressive 6’3” and leaving me a full head shorter at only 5’5” – the same as Mom. She looked the pillar of strength. A far cry from the fat little waddler she’d been growing up. The night before I was due to go back for my final semester of Senior year – having been unable to continue the ruse of my mystery bedridden illness for any longer – I made the fatal mistake of spotting the weighing scales poking out from underneath the bathroom sink. I’d known, naturally, that absolutely no good could come from finally seeing the extent of my weight gain laid bare. Still, the morbidly curious part of me that revelled in my self-hatred stepped on the scale nonetheless and peered over my belly at the damage. ‘236 lbs’, its response. I knew I was fat, but… that fat? It was a good few seconds before I could compose myself enough to get dressed. I didn’t enjoy being obese. On a miserable plod back to my room I paused outside my sister’s open door. She was on her back in the centre of the room – grunting, teeth bared – in the middle of her nightly exercise routine. Damn if it didn’t look like she’d dropped a few more pounds since I’d seen her that very morning. Regardless, there was definitely more ‘ab’ than ‘flab’ in her midriff nowadays. I instinctively sucked in my hanging paunch, for all the good it had done. As I was about to turn away I spotted something that caught my eye. On her desk was a picture of me holding a tennis racquet. “Why do you have my picture on your desk?” I asked from the doorway, confused. “That’s not you,” she replied without breaking form. “That’s mom.” I hurried forward and snatched up the photo. Mom once mentioned to me she used to play tennis, but I had dismissed it. I just couldn’t envision her weeble-wobble form plodding around the court. Yet here she was. Beautiful. Tanned. Fit. Had it not been for the Duran Duran T-shirt and 1986 verso timestamp I still might have argued it was a picture of me from a few years ago. “I keep it for inspiration,” she said as she completed a final rep. Her disposition was as rosy as her cheeks. “Want to see a picture of Dad as a kid?” I didn’t answer, but that didn’t stop her from standing and pushing past me like I was taking up the entire room. She opened the drawer in her desk and, as she rummaged through, jutting out her ass. It was thick, but no longer the wide and flabby mess it had once been. She looked… hot. She then spun around wearing a broad grin. “Here.” Extended in her hand was a Polaroid picture of a fat, acne-riddled boy with a bowl haircut. His belly hung over his belt so much a sliver of flesh was visible beneath his untucked blue IZOD. I took the photo from my Sister and flipped it over. 1986. She looked over my shoulder as I gawked. How had she gotten so tall? “Mom gave these to me a few years ago when I was feeling down,” she said. “She told me—‘just because things are a certain way now, doesn’t mean that’s how they’ll always be.’” I turned, dumbfounded, and flipped back to the picture of Mom. Thin, like I had used to be, but now… My sister clapped me on the shoulder jovially. “Now you get it sis. You were right all along – we are just like our parents”. She patted me on the soft underside of my belly with her free hand. The movement sent my middle jiggling ferociously, her finger tickling gently at my adipose as if to highlight the extent of my obesity with the movement of every digit. “It’s just… you’ve always been more like Mom than Dad”. The realisation hit like a truck. My slow descent into morbid obesity – a mirror of mom’s when she’d been my age, and a warning of what was still yet to come. I passed her back the photos and hurried out of the room, hyper-aware of my large globular ass-cheeks slapping together as I did. “I tried to warn you, remember?” she called after me with a giggle- “You’re going to get fat!”. The final semester of high school had been, without question, the worst of my academic life to date. Sure enough, the tale of my embarrassing fainting episode had done the rounds of the school by the time we’d returned. When combined with my significant weight gain it had been enough for my old friends to finally turn their backs on me, lest they be tainted by my newfound ‘uncoolness’. I didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone anyway - school had become a daily punishment to be suffered through, and suffering in silence seemed to make the day pass just that little bit faster. Even so, I recall being conscious of my size every second of the day. The way my ass filled out the entirety of the chairs in lessons and the excess adipose that bulged between the arms. The way my body wobbled as I lumbered down the hall towards my locker. The way that beads of sweat would adorn my brow as I arrived late to the next class, struggling to catch my breath. The way the dinner ladies would give me disapproving or pitiful looks as I asked for larger portions of whatever junk food graced my plate each lunchtime. The way that haunting pictures of ‘fit’ me winning tennis trophies from years ago still adorned the hall leading up to the gymnasium, or the time that someone had scrawled ‘fatass’ underneath one of them that was still visible despite the school’s best efforts to remove. I could go on. Most galling, however, had been the fact that my sister’s social status had breached the lower atmosphere and would shortly break its earthly bindings and blast out into space. She’d helped the girl’s football team reach the state finals that year. They’d have lost were it not for her one-woman rampage in the dying breaths of the game that scored the winning touchdown. Half the school had been there, chanting her name as the final whistle blew. A body-snatcher, she’d somehow usurped my life and was proudly wearing my skin as she strutted the school’s ageing halls. Her shiny new sporting accomplishments had forced my dusty old ones to the back of the school’s trophy cabinet. She made friends with my old friends and was invited to their parties, shared their booze, and laughed at their jokes. The results of Spring finals showed that her grades were as good as mine used to be, and mine as bad as hers. She’d stolen my crown and had somehow become the school’s new queen bee. Only… she hadn’t really stolen anything. My hubris had caught up with me, and her willpower had propelled her. I knew this deep down, though at the time wasn’t willing to admit it. The nail in the coffin of my Senior Year had occurred at the end of the final term. After a weekend of pure unadulterated gluttony, I’d waddled into school stretching the seams of my sweatpants to limits as yet unseen. The week prior I had finally broken past the 260 pound milestone and to commiserate I had drowned myself in a sea of desserts from the local bakery. It was drug addiction awareness day and the school had organised a speaker to come in during the last period to give a talk about, well, not doing drugs. I hadn’t been listening if truth be told - too busy sat at the very back of the hall munching on a jumbo bag of Reese’s Pieces that I had snuck in under my jumper. It was a surprise when the applause started and everyone began to get up to leave. I recall pushing down on the arms of the chair and expecting to heave my bloated body to a standing position, but instead, I found myself still plopped on the seat, unmoved. I tried again, then again, and again, but to no avail. “Oh my god, she’s stuck”, one of the girls nearby giggled after a minute or so of failed attempts. Dread washed over me like a cold shower. More people turned and gawped, as I tried and failed once again to extricate my gargantuan asscheeks from their fleshy prison. “Nice job fatty”, a disembodied voice called from somewhere behind me, “maybe lay off the triple cheeseburgers next time”. The room erupted in laughter - loud and cruel. One of the teachers recognised my plight and tried to assist, but it was no good - I was well and truly stuck. By now the crowd had swelled to what felt like more people than had been there for the presentation in the first place. Come to gawp at the former fit girl’s humiliation for letting herself go so spectacularly. I caught the eye of my old friend Jen in the crowd, hanging on Josh’s arm - the pair having recently announced they were ‘going steady’. I tried to signal her to come to my aid, but she hadn’t moved, instead simply turning to her man candy and drawling “can you believe we used to hang out with that pig?”. Just as tears of embarrassment and frustration started to form I spotted a hulking figure making their way through the throng. My sister had pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Dressed in her football kit and caked in a mixture of mud and sweat. She took a few more steps forward until I was craning my neck to stare up at her strong jaw. “What are we going to do with you sis?”, she asked, shaking her head, “I’ll be honest, at first I was quite enjoying your well-deserved weight gain, but this… this is just sad”. A curt nod to the empty packet of Reese’s Pieces on the floor - I winced, feeling the sting of the jibe. “Well… are you going to help me or not?”, I snapped back more harshly than I’d intended. The stress of my gawping peers not helping. She smiled, “as you wish”, and before I could react she’d braced a foot against the chair’s seat, grabbed my wrists, and kicked off hard. The force was enough to push my bulging love handles past the chair’s arms and free me from my plight, but not before the chair had its last laugh. I heard the sound of tearing fabric just before I felt the cool breeze across my ass. The sound of the chair clattering to the floor was drowned out by the gasps, whoops, and laughter that had erupted across the room. I remember groping desperately at my behind and feeling the cool touch of skin on skin. The bumpy cellulite-ridden globes that were my buttocks bare for all the world to see - burst out of the sweatpants that had grown too small to contain them. I started to cry and turned to waddle off to the bathroom when a strong hand gripped my thick wrist. My sister pulled me in effortlessly - her strength equal parts concerning and impressive. Then she grabbed a handful of my bare booty flesh and squeezed hard - the fat oozing between her fingers. She let it fall with a wobble and then gave it a light slap, setting my wide, sagging ass jiggling ferociously. “You’ve really let yourself go, haven’t you piggy?… I warned you what would happen if you kept eating like a hog--“. “You’re going to get fat!”. A quick call to Mom later and for the second time I was being driven home in a spare pair of school shorts. She had tried to console me, but it was no use - I’d phoned in sick and seen out the rest of term in my bedroom, buried under the weight of my shame… and blubber. Still, at least high school was finally over. Though my dreams of attending a prestigious Ivy League college had died when my grades started to turn south a couple of years ago, I’d nevertheless scraped together the SAT Score necessary to attend a little-known college out of state. Frankly, I’d have left to join the circus if it meant getting away from all the prying eyes around my small suburban town, where everyone knew everyone. My sister, of course, was looking forward to a highly coveted sports scholarship at Princeton—every overbearing Asian parent’s wet dream. At least Mom was now Americanised enough not to completely fetishise it as the rest of her family had done upon hearing the news. By summer’s end, I’d stress-eaten my way into the next dress size up, so sporting the only pair of shorts that (just about) still fit, I stuffed dad’s car to the brim with my luggage and the two of us made our way across state lines for the next step of my academic career. The journey was nice. I’d never really had that much one-on-one time with Dad - my sister and I always shared his attention- so it had been a pleasant change to have him all to myself. We talked, sang, attempted to recall all 50 states from memory in alphabetical order, and generally drank in each other’s company. After a long day’s driving, we booked a stopover in some backwater town, and after checking in, we hit the only restaurant within walking distance. ‘Big Joe’s Grill’ wouldn’t be winning a Michelin star anytime soon, but ‘beggars, choosers’ as the saying goes. I felt slightly sheepish ordering a second helping of baby back ribs, but Dad had just smiled warmly in a way that said ‘go ahead’, so I did it anyway. He’d always been kind like that. A starter, two mains, a large dessert, and four beers later and the pressure of my bloated belly pressing against the waistband of my too-small shorts had reached a point of no return. “I’m sorry Dad”, I’d whimpered, before reaching down and flicking the top button open. Instant relief - a tsunami of belly butter poured out onto my lap and forced open each of the smaller buttons below with a satisfying ‘ping’. “Uugghh”, I’d groaned, practically orgasmic from the release of pressure, hands gently massaging my enormous gut whilst simultaneously dying of embarrassment at my public display of gluttony. “Oh honey, what are we going to do with you?”, dad smiled kindly. He then paused, thoughtful. “You know sometimes you remind me a great deal of your mother”. “Because I’m hopelessly fat?”, I frowned. “No… well, yes, maybe a little, but that’s not what I meant. Your mom also struggled with her self-confidence. Not as comfortable in her own skin when… well, when she started putting on a few pounds. But I think she’s as beautiful now as the day we met. She’s perfect just the way she is. Same as you are honey”. Dad stumbled over the words a little - as he was known to - but the sentiment had hit home hard enough. I welled up - touched by Dad’s surprisingly tender words. He wasn’t known for his Churchillian oration, but on this occasion, he outdid himself. He took my pudgy hand and squeezed it tight. For a brief moment the spectacle of my bulging belly spilling out of my shorts - my morbid obesity exposed for the rest of the diners to gawp at - was but a distant memory. Dad chuckled to himself and continued, “it’s like I told your mother when she moved here all those years ago. Everything’s bigger over here. You just have to accept—“. “You’re going to get fat!”. I’d settled into college life quickly enough. With the horrors of high school firmly in the rearview mirror and my sister at the end of the phone rather than the end of the upstairs hall, everything seemed a lot less intense than it once had. The non-stop drinking and partying had certainly helped of course - I barely had a dry day in my first couple of months. Attending classes had been… an ancillary concern if truth be told. I would later find out my attendance record was dangerously close to single digits in that first semester. Of greatest relief was the fresh start I had been gifted to carve out a new social identity. I was no longer ‘that girl who gained over 150 pounds and got very fat’ and was instead simply ‘that very fat girl’, which though nowhere near the ‘tennis pro, good-looking, queen-bee’ status I had enjoyed a few years ago was nevertheless a marked improvement. I made new friends with a crowd I wouldn’t have given a second look at when I was growing up. We were a slightly motley crew of sorority house rejects who all shared a defining physical characteristic… we were the resident big girls on campus. If you’d asked me before I arrived at college I’d have balked at the thought - but in reality, spending my days around similarly plump women had been very liberating. I hadn’t needed to worry about how much I was eating, whether my clothes were looking too tight, or whether I would stand out in the crowd. It’s true what they say - there was indeed safety in numbers. We were six in all - though likely weighed about as much as fifteen of the skinny bitches that strutted around campus with yoga mats under their arms, iced coffee in their hands, and Onlyfans accounts on their phones. Our weights ranged from a positively plump 250 or so all the way up to a portly 350 plus. I was somewhere in the middle of the pack. When we weren’t drinking and dancing late into the night we were enjoying our other favourite pastime. Eating. The in-dorm kitchen had never known such enthusiastic diners, to the extent that it needed to implement a hasty ‘no second helpings’ rule just two weeks into the start of term lest it run out of food early every day. No matter - we simply supplemented the dorm’s meals with an unhealthy selection of takeouts, quickly getting on first-name terms with our local Uber Eats drivers. For breakfast, we would order stacks of syrup-laden waffles, for mid-afternoon snack on a pizza, burger or other greasy fare, after a hearty dinner perhaps snuffle down a doughnut or two, and when we needed a break from the club on a sweaty night out a trusty styrofoam carton of cheesy-fries was never far from hand. Leaning into my gluttony rather than shying away from it had been difficult at first, but soon enough it became second nature. We would trade tips on beating ‘chub-rub’, give each other recommendations on the best local eateries we ‘simply had to try on our next girls' day out’, share clothes we’d outgrown, and regularly affirm one another’s beauty despite our size. For the first time in a long time, I felt pretty. One Friday night towards the end of the first semester we were out in the local town hitting up a strip of cheap and cheerful college bars. Five beers down it was getting hard to think straight, but thankfully one of the girls waddled back to our table after a suspiciously long absence holding two bags laden with fried chicken to help line our stomachs. “Mmmmm, this is better than sex”, Brittany moaned as she licked a drop of grease from her lips. The group giggled - “like you’d know Britt”, Lucy had jibed in return. Brittany gesticulated with her a half-eaten drumstick, “I’ll have you know I’m getting plenty thank you very much. Remember that ‘handsy’ guy who I was dancing with at Roxie’s last Tuesday?”. Lucy nodded eagerly. “Well let’s just say we both got plenty ‘handsy’ that night back at his place…”. More giggles and I’d snorted loud enough to attract the attention of the table. “Speaking of which, when are you going to get some action babe?”, Lucy asked looking at me, her eyes bright and mischievous, “you’re one of those disgustingly beautiful mixed-race people and somehow I still haven’t heard any banging through your bedroom wall”. I blushed, deciding to take another mouthful of fried chicken rather than respond. Sure, I’d had a couple of messy kisses on the dance floor, but a few months into my college career I remained as stubbornly a virgin as I had for the previous 19 years or so. Confidence around fellow beached whales was one thing. Confidence within the shark-infested dating pool was another entirely. Charlotte, the largest at the table, piped up. “Well… I might just know a guy who would be pretty interested in some wall-banging action. He tried to court me for a while before I broke the news that I drive on the other side of the road” - she winked, a lentil-eating lesbian through and through - “but I know if I sent him your picture he’d be up for a date. He’s… ummmmm… well let’s just say he’s into fat girls. Really fat girls”. She held her arms wide, cradling an invisible belly even larger than her own. “Well if anyone’s got the potential it’s you babe”, Lucy grinned playfully, “quite the appetite after all”. She nodded towards the entire bucket of chicken I’d just absentmindedly polished off by myself, a testament to my insatiable appetite. Each of us could eat more than our fair share - but my appetite had always been the most insatiable. Though not the fattest of the group - yet - I was fast on my way to gaining the title. My weight had continued to climb since I stepped foot on campus and pounds crept onto my body with every passing day. Hand greasy and stomach bulging under my shirt, I considered for a moment. “Yeah go on then”, I said finally, pulling another of the buckets towards me and plucking out a greasy drumstick, “you can give him my details”. Charlotte nodded with a smile as Lucy clapped her hands together with barely contained glee. “Good, he was quite hot, to be honest”, Charlotte continued, a mischievous gleam in her eye, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you about his, errr… predilections. This is only going one way, babe”. She leaned over and jiggled my belly playfully. “You’re going to get fat!”. “-ter”, Lucy had finished off to guffaws of laughter, myself included. We drank and ate, then drank some more - well into the early hours of the following morning. The hangover was dire, as expected, though made a little brighter by the fact that Charlotte’s mystery man - Ben - had Snapchatted me early in the morning. He was indeed a good-looking chap - reasonably tall, fit, and with a shock of wavy blonde hair. I awoke to the offer of a date. I graciously accepted and we met the next day for coffee. Coffee became lunch, lunch became dinner, dinner became drinks, and soon enough we’d spent the entire day together and were stumbling home near midnight, arm in arm. He insisted on walking me home ‘the scenic route’, which I soon understood to actually mean ‘the route that passes that dessert shop that’s open late’. He wasn’t particularly pushy about it, but I could tell he was hoping I’d ask to stop in. Maybe if we’d had one less round of beers I’d have held firm - but my inhibitions were dulled by the night’s alcoholic beverages and I decided that given I quite fancied seeing him again I would put on a show, just this once. This was just the fat girl equivalent of flashing your eyelashes, right? “Any chance I could grab something for the road?”, I asked sweetly. A porky finger pointed at the shining beacon of the neon ‘Just Desserts’ sign up ahead. He hadn’t needed convincing. I remember the smell of the place as we’d entered - rich and sweet - and wondering if I was seeing double or whether there were just that many baked goods crowding the shop’s busy countertop. I waddled up to the cash register and (ever so slightly) slurred at the girl standing behind it, “what would you recommend?”. A plump little thing, she certainly looked like she’d sampled a few too many of the store’s treats. “Ummm, well the velvet cake is to die for”, she considered, “but the double fudge brownie is also delicious”. A lick of her lips - she’d definitely been dipping her hand into the company cookie jar recently. “Great, I’ll have both”, I smiled back, taking Ben’s sharp intake of breath as a sign that I’d probably made the correct choice. “And why don’t you serve a couple of portions for yourself as well?”. The plump girl didn’t need telling twice - ringing up the four slices and already greedily munching away as we turned to find a table, her free hand lazily resting on her protruding gut. Even through the drunken haze, I was able to see Ben’s erection threatening to burst out of his jeans. I wasn’t the only one waddling across the shop that evening. We sat down at an empty table and I made a show of sniffing each dessert in turn before moaning, “mmmmmm, which should I start with?”. Ben gulped - he didn’t mind - so I settled on the velvet cake. It was good, really good, and I was licking my lips clean less than a minute later. “That barely touched the sides”, Ben joked breathlessly. Though my elevated blood alcohol level probably had something to do with it, I was feeling sexy for the first time in a long time. “Oh, too fast? Well I’ll take this one a little slower then…”. The next 5 minutes were what could generously be described as sensual and perhaps more honestly described as soft-core pornography. I nibbled, licked, and groaned my way through the brownie in an extended display of gluttony, making a conscious effort to rub the belly bulging through my dress as I did so. By the end, Ben looked as though his head might explode. If she’d been listening then Lucy would have heard a great deal of headboard banging through my bedroom wall that night. Ben was as greedy in bed as I’d been at the dessert shop. His hands had groped and squeezed and slapped at every pound that jiggled on my elephantine body. Charlotte’s heads up about his ‘predilections’ had been pretty on the mark so far, and though part of me still found it strange that anyone could honestly find my fattened form even remotely attractive, I wasn’t about to turn down the attention. If anything in my drunken fog I played up to it. “Mmmmm, do you like my body? Do you like how big I am? If we keep this up then what’s going to happen to me?”, I whispered in his ear in between thrusts. It was too much for the poor man to handle. As he climaxed - a little early if truth be told - he grabbed two handfuls of my love-handle blubber and cried— “You’re going to get fat!”. We’d been thoroughly red-faced when we realised that the entire corridor had probably heard. Lucy confirmed as much over breakfast the next morning with her sniggering. The remainder of my first academic year had been split broadly between studying, partying, and spending time with Ben. I’d finally pulled my finger out and attended just enough lectures to scrape a pass at the end of the year, the girls and I still drank our weight in beer each week on the strip, and importantly I’d progressed my relationship with Ben from passionate one-night stand to ‘officially dating’. Unsurprisingly the impact on my waistline from these last two activities had been severe. It’s said that the scales don’t lie, in which case their honest response of 339 pounds on the final day of term had been a little difficult to accept at first, but Ben’s encouragement had certainly helped. Our ‘weigh-ins’ were the highlight of his week, and were more often than not followed by a passionate exchange to celebrate the slow ticking up of the numbers on the digital display. Unfortunately, our parents lived on opposite sides of the country, so at the end of the semester when we were finally booted out of halls we said our tearful goodbyes for the summer and then went our separate ways. We resolved to ensure that we ‘met the parents’ at some point next year so we could spend the following summer vacationing at one another’s houses. Once we parted ways I hailed a cab to the local airport to catch a short flight home for Mom’s birthday party that evening. You were only 50 once after all, and she’d invited the great and good of our family and friends to celebrate it with. I could hardly miss it. What I hadn’t factored into my timings was the mad rush of students heading home for summer that had snarled up the freeway. With a bit of luck, I managed to make the flight just before boarding closed. The day was looking up. Until it wasn’t. “We’re sorry ma’am but your suitcase seems to have got on the wrong flight. It appears to be on its way to…”, the fake-tanned passenger assistant said in a drone that did nothing to hide her indifference, “…Venezuela”. A heated debate, formal complaint, $500 compensation, and the promise of my bag couriered to me by tomorrow afternoon later and I was finally in an Uber on the way to Mom’s party. It was just a shame that the comfy pink Juicy Couture tracksuit I’d donned for the plane wasn’t exactly in keeping with the required ‘smart-casual’ dress code. Mom greeted me at the door. Her long dark hair framed an ageing but beautiful face, which remained as full and plump as ever despite the wrinkles beginning to show at the corners of her eyes. She’d squeezed herself into a light floral dress that hugged her enormous body, leaving relatively little to the imagination. Thick pillowy arms bulged and sagged under gravity’s pull, and her rounded gut looked like the Japanese mochi desserts that she so enjoyed of an evening. Her ham-hock legs, thick and sturdy, bulged out from beneath a hemline that seemed to ride a little too high for someone of her age. But then again, with the word ‘JUCY’ stretched dangerously wide across my ample rear end who was I to judge? Our embrace – the first in many months – had been tender. We sank into each other’s wobbling bodies. As I tried and failed to wrap my arms around her vast frame, it struck me that her hands could also no longer fit around my own much larger body as they’d used to. “…So I’ll just head out to the store and grab something to wear before everyone gets here”, I concluded, having spent the last couple of minutes filling the family in on my morning misfortunes. Mom's expression shifted to one of concern as she nervously glanced at her watch. “I’m not sure honey – people will be arriving any minute. Can’t you just make do with some of the dresses you left behind when you went off to college?”. I felt my cheeks glow as I mumbled, "they won’t fit anymore”. “I know”, my sister had chimed in happily, “I think I still have some of my fat – sorry – old clothes knocking around at the back of my wardrobe. Why don’t we go and see what fits?”. Her smirk indicated that the slip of the tongue had been very much intentional. “It’s settled then”, Mom concluded with a clap of her pudgy hands, “but please do try to play nice today girls. For me”. We nodded in silent agreement and made our way up to my sister’s room. I couldn’t help but admire her ass as I followed her up the stairs. Her body was lean and muscular – the baby fat I’d once teased her about having all but melted away, leaving behind a strikingly beautiful woman in its place. My eyes were drawn against my better judgement to the gentle sway of her well-proportioned hips and the generous curve of her bottom which creased in just the right way with every step. It was a temptation I knew I couldn't indulge in, but in that moment my eyes were fixed to her bottom as if pulled by an irresistible force. When we reached the top of the stairs she paused and turned to face me, her dark black hair falling over her shoulders and eyes sparkling with amusement. "What are you staring at?" she asked, a playful smile on her lips. I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment once more and quickly averted my gaze. "Oh come on now, don't be shy," she purred, her voice dripping with amusement, "I know you were admiring my ass. After all, I used to do the same to you when we were younger. How times have changed – eh?”. I pushed past her huffily, not rising to the bait. “And there it is in all its glory”, she called after me as I made my way across the upstairs landing, “but now there’s so much more of it to admire”. The faint scent of sweat hung in the air as I crossed the threshold into my sister’s bedroom. It was clear she had been exercising here earlier in the morning – doubtless part of her rigorous college football training regime, which continued unabated over her summer break. The room was, frankly, a mess, scattered with discarded free weights and soiled Sweaty Betty workout clothes. A copy of 'Strong' female fitness magazine, with its glossy cover displaying an impossibly toned woman, rested on the bedside table, accompanied by an aggressively large tub of protein powder and a used shaker. It was a shrine to physical perfection, a testament to the lengths my sister had gone to lose weight, and a far cry from the discarded pizza boxes and ice cream tubs that had decorated my dorm for the past year. “Now if I remembered correctly then they should be just about… here!”. She spun around triumphantly holding a modest pile of clothes. I vaguely remembered some of them from our school days. Though only a few years it already seemed like a lifetime ago. I accepted them begrudgingly and trailed across the hall into my room, shutting the door behind me. With a growing sense of dread about what might be about to transpire, I began trying on the clothes one by one. The first – a delicate floral dress – clung to my body and refused to edge past my generous bosom. The second – a short bodycon dress with a zipper up the front – strained at the seams as I tried and failed to get it to close around my hanging paunch. The third – a lace-trimmed blouse – was so tight around my upper arms that my fingers were starting to turn purple by the time I finally prised it off. As I gingerly stepped into the final item – a pair of white-washed jeans – a faint glimmer of optimism fluttered in my chest. Though uncomfortably tight and demanding that I suck in my stomach for the remainder of the afternoon, I managed to somehow wrestle the button closed. Just as I was congratulating myself on a job well done, my sister, ignoring the unspoken sanctity of the closed bedroom door, barged into my room. The unexpected intrusion, made worse by the fact that I was still wearing only a sports bra on my top half, was enough to cause me to exhale in surprise. ‘Ping’ – the top button of the jeans ricocheted across the room, hitting the mirror opposite before clattering onto the hardwood floor, and my belly cascaded out the flies in a blubbery tsunami. Quick as a flash my sister moved behind me, her muscular arms wrapping around my overflowing muffin top, and cradled my vast doughy gut in a firm yet tender embrace. She bounced it up and down in her arms, her biceps flexing visibly under the weight. A playful smirk crossed her face. "Maybe it's time you put down that spoon and picked up a dumbbell or two sis", she teased, her words dripping with condescension, “or perhaps just pumping this big old belly up and down a few times a day could do the trick – it’s quite the workout, I must say!". She pretended to pant and released her grip, letting my gut fall with a jiggly thud. "Too big for even my largest clothes," she scolded, "you must have been a greedy piggy at college – gaining the Freshman 50 is no joke”. She regarded me pitifully as I stood in glum and stony silence. “Oh go on then, squeeze those cottage cheese thighs out of my pants. Luckily for you I think I’ve just thought of the perfect solution to your predicament…”. “So you decided to put on one of my dresses then dear?”, Mom asked kindly as I waddled into the living room wearing one of her tent-like garments. My sister shot a side-eyed smirk at me. “Yes Mother”, I choked through gritted teeth, painfully aware that I’d officially gorged myself fatter than my sister had been at her heaviest and was well on my way to catching up Mom too. A hand – my sister’s – unexpectedly plucked at the cotton around my waist and stretched it out, examining it thoughtfully. “You know, I think the two of you could start sharing your wardrobes soon. You’re basically the same size nowadays. It's adorable - a lovely way for a mother and daughter to bond. I’m absolutely green with envy”. “Yes that sounds lovely dear”, Mom absentmindedly agreed as she plumped the sofa cushions in preparation for her guests' imminent arrival. My sister leaned in and whispered out of earshot, “you know what they say, people who share clothes also share waistlines. Just wait until you outgrow Mom too. Because if there's one thing we can count on sis, it's that—" “You’re going to get fat!”. The party itself had been predictably middle-aged and tedious, but the rest of the summer break had been pretty good all things considered. I’d spoken to Ben almost every day – the best we could do given the distance between us. It wasn’t ideal but at least it was only temporary. And the regular video calls kept us connected in more ways than one. Our chats quickly turned steamy – I would sneak food up to my room and stuff myself silly for his viewing pleasure. It may not have been ideal, but it was enough to keep the embers of our relationship burning bright and hot. For the remainder of my time at home, I did what came naturally - lounging around the house and gathering mass. It got so bad that Mom threatened to make me get a part-time job next summer lest I carry out a repeat performance. Towards the end of the holidays, I’d taken a month-long inter-railing vacation around Europe with my college girls. It had certainly been an experience. Six American girls weighing in at around 2 tonnes waddling around quaint Centuries-old villages. We stood out like a sore thumb - but we didn’t care. We were having too much fun. With neither fitness nor culture being our strongest attributes we limited activities to only the truly unmissable sights in each place, instead opting to fully immerse ourselves in the local cuisine. Whether Italian thin-crust pizzas, Spanish paella, or British fish and chips, we gorged our way across the continent - whetting our appetite at a smorgasbord of bars, pubs and clubs in between. “Uggghhhh, too full”, Charlotte moaned on the final day of the trip. She lay flat on the sofa, shorts unbuttoned and gut bulging through her flies. We’d recently returned from a sizeable celebratory / commiseratory lunch to make the end of the trip and she’d looked in need of a good long hibernation to work off the meal. “Come on fatass”, Lucy joked, giving Charlotte’s belly a playful poke, “let’s see what the damage is”. Charlotte moaned louder still but with great effort managed to heave herself up and waddle towards the scales in the centre of the room, around which the other five of us stood expectantly. On the first day of the holiday, we’d had a group weigh-in, intending to check again on the final day to see how impactful the vacation had been on our dress sizes. The other girls weren’t into the sort of weight gain fetish stuff that Ben was, but they also didn’t shy away from the reality of the numbers on the scale. It was more about morbid curiosity than it was anything else. The scales creaked ominously as Charlotte stood on them. She looked quite the spectacle - ass entirely filling out her too-small shorts and a hefty spare tyre bursting out of the front of them. The scales read out her weight in an impassionate computerised voice - “weight - three hundred and fifty-seven pounds”. The group whooped and hollered as Lucy inspected the notes on her phone. “That’s a gain of… 11 pounds”, she grinned, “damn girl you’re going to need a whole new wardrobe when you get home”. Charlotte simply groaned and stumbled off the scales. She roughly forced off her shorts and waddled back towards the comfort of the bed. Her globular cheeks munched greedily on her lace panties with every laboured step until they had utterly devoured them. Her entire body shook violently as she collapsed back onto the mattress with a thud. “So, just you left babe”, Lucy nodded at me and then the scales, “chop chop”. Charlotte’s gain was the most of any of the girls so far, though they’d all put on at least some weight during the trip. Jen’s bust, for example, had ballooned so much that she’d outgrown all of her bras and had decided to take the last few days of the trip ‘au naturel” instead - her ponderous melons wobbling with every step had the eyes of the local teenage boys glued like moths to a flame. I had a sneaking suspicion, however, that my gain was about to steal the gold medal from right underneath Charlotte’s nose. I was right. “Weight - three hundred and sixty-two pounds”, the scale announced. Shocked faces turned to broad grins and finally fits of laughter. “Oh my god” - Lucy scratched her head in disbelief - “that’s 15 pounds. In four weeks! You’re officially the group’s chief fatass now!”. From the bed, Charlotte raised her head slightly, doffed an invisible gap in my direction, and collapsed back onto the mattress with another laboured groan. To be honest I wasn’t surprised. I’d felt the growing tightness of my clothes, the way my ass filled out the train seats entirely and had begun spilling over into the one next door, and how large and heavy I felt when doing even the least strenuous of daily tasks. Lucy pinched my upper arm flab and gave it a playful wobble. “I can’t wait to see Ben’s face when he picks you up. I think he’ll probably just cum in his pants there and then”. Vulgar, but not entirely incorrect. I had to help him hide his throbbing erection as we’d waddled through the airport together, and a brief but sticky handjob when we finally got to the car was necessary to relieve his aching blue balls. “I guess this is a lesson for all the ladies out there”, Britt righty concluded, “if you go on holiday with a bunch of big girls—“. “You’re going to get fat!”. My second year at college had been similar to the first - perhaps a tiny bit more studying and a smidge less drinking, but overall a largely repeat performance. Ben and I were going strong. I’d spent both the Winter and Easter break with him at his family home. At Christmas, his family had been particularly welcoming and I’d appreciated the real effort they’d made to include me in their quirky traditions. For example, I didn’t have my own pair of ‘bright pink Christmas-morning socks’ before I arrived, but I left with a pair that I’d been told were good for re-entry next year should I wish. The only slight dampener on the otherwise pleasant trip had come on Christmas Eve when the men were outside collecting firewood and Ben’s mother and older sister were showing me some of the old family photo albums. I’d enjoyed seeing baby Ben in the bath or dressed as a Christmas elf in the school nativity, but I hadn’t been prepared for the appearance of an old girlfriend from his high school days. She’d hardly been a supermodel to begin with, but with each passing picture, the girl got fatter and fatter - by the final picture she looked to be pushing 500 pounds on a good day. “Oh god - Ruby”, Ben’s sister sighed as she thumbed at the ex-flame, “poor girl - absolutely ballooned in the time that we knew her. Was a big wobbling fatty by the time she and Ben broke up. Even bigger now from what I’ve heard. Not… er… not that there’s anything inherently wrong with that”, she finished awkwardly with an obvious side glance at my vast body, which had only continued to grow this academic year. I brushed it off with a smile but stored the memory of Ben’s enormous ex for safekeeping. Still, it had been a great year, and though the college girls and I hadn’t planned a vacation for the summer break this year – as we were all exceptionally poor at the moment - we’d organised a couple of meet-ups to keep up to date on each other’s gossip. Instead, I packed my luggage into Ben’s car for the long drive back to my family home. He was coming to stay for a couple of weeks at the start of summer break – my parents having been surprisingly relaxed about the idea once I’d finally plucked up the courage to ask. We set off at the crack of dawn and arrived in the early hours of the following day. Exhausted, we didn’t emerge from my bedroom until well after midday. “So this is the man I’ve been hearing so much about”, Mom smiled as we walked into the kitchen. She was standing behind the kitchen island preparing a hearty breakfast of pancakes, muffins, waffles, and fried goodness, looking even fatter than the last time I had seen her. Perhaps food had been filling the void left by her b**s flying the nest? Her hips now bugled out so far that she’d soon have to turn sideways to squeeze through doorframes. Every inch of her wobbled with the slightest movement. Introductions had been made between boyfriend and mother. Ben blushed as Mom went in for a hug - he side-eyed me awkwardly, knowing that I knew he’d find Mom’s body appealing whilst trying his best to show he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. I just giggled and watched him squirm in her soft, blubbery embrace. Dad joined us a few minutes later and we’d tucked in. Mom and I polishing off the lion’s share of the meal as the boys looked on. “You’d better get used to eating the scraps” Dad teased, jabbing Ben in the side with his elbow, “it’s how I’ve managed to stay in such good shape all these years”. An eye roll from Mom and a wink from Dad. Ben just turned purple and focused intently on the piece of waffle speared on his fork. We were sitting by the pool later that afternoon when my sister finally arrived, straight from a gruelling workout. Wearing a bikini that left relatively little to the imagination she ducked out of the back door and wandered over. She was still every part the Amazonian goddess - dark black hair cascading over broad shoulders, bulging muscles, and an impressive 6’3” frame. Her jawline was now so well defined it looked like it could cut glass. She was still a little thick overall - football demanded a bit of weight behind her tackles - so there was no shortage of wiggle in her thighs as she neared our loungers. “I mean, know you said she was big, but I didn’t think you meant…”, Ben whispered as she approached. “Hey there sis”, she smiled, “and you must be Ben?”. Ben gulped, nodded and stood to shake her hand. He was no slouch at 5’11” and reasonably fit, but I’d still fancy my sister in a fight if things kicked off. “I… errr…”, Ben stuttered, but he was saved by Mom calling from the patio doors - “Ben darling your phone is ringing - it looks like it’s your parents. You have told them that you got here safe and sound, haven’t you?”. He smacked his forehead in an exaggerated ’doh’ and hurried off up the garden. My sister and I shared general pleasantries for a few minutes before she glanced up at the house and said “so - he’s cute. A tad shy maybe, but I guess ‘meeting the family’ is always a little stressful”. She then leaned close and gave my meaty hip a wobble, “I see some things haven’t changed though. Unlimited buffet in your dorms I assume?”. “None of your business thanks very much”, I replied grumpily. That hadn’t taken long. The festering resentment at my size-related jokes and jibes when we had been little was clearly still an open wound for her then. “Besides why do you care so much about my weight? No offence sis but you seem a little… obsessed. Living vicariously through my diet as you count the grams of protein in every meal?”. She scoffed - “Hardly. I’m just worried about you sis. You’ve gone from such a skinny little thing to such a big fat porker in only a few years” - a rough jiggle of my gut to emphasise the point - “I just can’t bear the idea that you’re at college and your fat ass is bursting out of more pairs of sweatpants without me there to help”. I remember the words ‘smug bitch’ forming on the tip of my tongue, but just before we descended into a full-blown argument Ben had returned holding three large Magnum ice creams. “Your mom insisted that I bring these down”, he explained on approach. He handed one to me, which I’d accepted, obviously, and attempted to give the other to my sister. “My body is a temple thank you very much”. There was a dull thud as her fist thumped into her abs. “I was a little podgy when we were younger and my dear sister never let me forget it. Of course karma sorted that one out as we got older”. Ben shrugged off the snide remark and passed me a second ice cream instead. I was certain I could see the hint of a bulge in his swim shorts as he did so. The idea that my boyfriend was secretly getting off on my displays of gluttony and my sister’s mean-spirited teasing was too tempting to pass. I began messily chowing down - double dipping between the ice creams in each hand. My sister laughed. “Careful, I’m sure you’ve seen our mom waddling about the house. You know that these things run in the family, right? If you keep feeding my big sister like that then only one thing is going to happen”. She’d looked me in the eye as she poked a finger playfully into my gut— “You’re going to get fat!”. Unfortunately, a couple of days later Mom had reminded me of her threat from last year - that I needed to get a job over the holidays. Neither protesting nor procrastinating seemed like it would do much good, so I’d dusted off my CV and fired it around the local mall. One offer came back - I’d accepted. The main benefit of my job at ‘Largesse’ - plus size clothing store - was 85 per cent off all clothing for staff members. My monthly wardrobe budget had skyrocketed since I met Ben. Elasticated waistbands helped a little, but it was nevertheless a massive boost to my personal finances. And I fit right in. The staff were fun and fat. A winning combination in my book. My most memorable shift came one hot August day. I was quietly refolding and reorganising the T-shirt display, praising the lord for his benevolent gift of AC, when I heard a familiar voice approaching. “Excuse me miss, do you have this in a size 14?”. I turned to be greeted by none other than Jennifer, my ex-double partner and ex-friend, clutching a pair of white-washed jeans. We’d not parted on the best of terms - her guffawing cruelly at my misfortune when trapped in a school chair, fawning over my ex-crush Josh. But the sight of her in Largesse that day had been surprisingly welcome. The past couple of years hadn’t been kind to Jen’s figure at all. She’d put on a good 100 pounds, likely more, centred around her lower half. She’d always been a very pretty girl - blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs - and I could still see the beauty in her perfectly symmetrical face. Only now it was surrounded by a ring of chub in the form of a thick double chin. The leggings she’d opted to wear that day were stretched so tight around her meaty thighs that I could see the threads starting to come apart at the seams. Her bulbous ass was packed dangerously into them - like an unstable concoction that could explode at any time. It took Jen a moment to make the connection. As soon as she did her cheeks flushed rogue and she had the good grace to look away with embarrassment. “Oh, hey, I errrrr… wow this is awkward”, she said meekly. “Oh, hey Jen”, I smiled back, “long time no see. How’s life treating you?”. I gave her meaty fupa a patronising pat. “Pretty well from what I can see”. She progressed from rouge to crimson by this point. “I’m good, thanks. I errrr… I guess I dropped out of college in the first semester - stress, you know - and started working in my mom’s bakery here in the mall. Just a stopgap. Until I figure stuff out. Though it has been a couple of years now…”. She trailed off - likely contemplating her sub-optimal life choices. “Oh a bakery - lucky you! God to think if I’d worked in a bakery how big I’d be now!”. I grabbed my hips with two hands and jiggled them for emphasis. “I’m plenty fat enough already - or what was it you once said? A ‘fatass’, wasn’t it? Funny as I think I was about the same size that you are now…”. Jen was looking very uncomfortable now. Her eyes fell awkwardly to her feet. “Oh, you remember that…. Yeah, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I just wanted to impress Josh. He dumped me anyway once I started to gain weight if that makes you feel any better”. It did, but only a little - Jen looked sadder than I’d expected, and the triumphant turning of the tables had felt better in my head than it did in real life. “Oh… well, let’s let bygones be bygones. Anyway, you wanted some help”, I nodded to the jeans clutched in Jen’s hands, “let me see what I can do”. I took her by the hand and led her into the fitting rooms at the other end of the store. On the way, I grabbed a pair of jeans in both 14 and 16. The sight of Jen’s bottom wobbling into the booth made me suspect she was a little in denial about her true clothing size. Still, I gave her the size 14s as requested. The customer was always right after all. It hadn’t come as a great surprise that a couple of minutes later I heard muffled grunts and cries coming from behind the curtain. “This can’t be right”, Jen’s disembodied voice moaned. I took that as an invitation to offer my support. Stepping inside the changing booth I’d been greeted with a close-up of Jen’s large flabby ass - the jeans having made their way up to the crease of her enormous buttocks and no further. She’d opted for a rather racy g-string today, which in hindsight might have been an error given the fabric had been entirely swallowed up by her meaty cheeks so I could now see every bump of the cellulite that ravaged her bulbous bottom. But as she’d looked up in the mirror and seen me it was only frustration and panic that showed in her pretty face. “They’re too small”, she moaned pathetically, jumping up and down in an attempt to brute force them over her ass. Her fat cheeks slapped together audibly, ripping blubber across their wide surface. The resulting tremors from her feet pounding into the floor had caused the mirrored wall to rattle ominously. I’d rather not spend my afternoon sweeping up broken glass thank you very much. I produced the other pair of jeans from behind my back. “Perhaps it’s time to admit defeat and go a bit bigger?”. “But I CAN’T be a size 16”, Jen whined. She tugged hard on the belt loops until her knuckles turned white, but succeeded only in wobbling her gelatinous bottom for my viewing pleasure. I smiled back sweetly - “There’s no shame in it hun. I mean, I can’t even count how many pairs of jeans I’ve outgrown over the years. I’ll just leave these here”. I placed the jeans gently on a hanger and backed out of the stall. Jen bumped into me on her way out of the store a few minutes later, wearing the jeans that I had left for her. The size 16s hugged her curves snugly, accentuating the softness of her body and the generous jiggle in her step. “Thanks again…”, she said sheepishly, “and I meant what I said earlier about being sorry, you know I wasn’t in a good place when…”. She trailed off mid-sentence, her gaze drifting over my shoulder. “Is that your sister?” I turned around to see my twin strolling casually through the mall’s large sunlight atrium in the distance, arm-in-arm with none other than Josh O’Callahan himself. The vibrant green sundress she wore flowed gracefully with every step, drawing eyes from passersby. She did cut an impressive figure, almost as tall as the handsome man confidently striding beside her. Josh, with his sandy blonde hair perfectly tousled, had a hand placed casually on my sister’s perfect ass, squeezing it playfully. I was unable to tear my eyes away from them. My mind raced with a mixture of shock, betrayal, and more than a tinge of jealousy. Thankfully they didn’t see us – a pair of fat voyeurs – as we watched them walk the length of the atrium before turning out of sight. Jen was the first to break the silence. “Want to go eat away the pain at my mom’s bakery?”, she sighed, flat and defeated. I was supposed to be on shift for another hour but nodded wordlessly and followed her out of the store. As we waddled towards the ‘Cakes N Cookies’ opposite, Jen muttered, as much to herself as to me, “I’m going to need therapy after today…”. I was about to agree glumly when the first whiff of cakes and pastries emanating from the open bakery door ahead hit my nostrils. I was already panting slightly from the effort of the short walk, but I gulped in the sweet, inviting scents as if they were a lifeline – keeping me going. Jen, in her naivety, had overlooked a much easier, cheaper, and more satisfying way to soothe the ache in her heart. I replied, “And I…”— “I’m going to get fat!”. - - - - - Choose your preferred ending… - - - - - Ben Ending (note: Male Weight Gain) My final year of college had been quite the culinary exploration. Ben had thrown himself head-first into a new hobby - cooking. It was very evidently a thinly veiled ploy to shovel even more calories down my throat, but I’ll be damned if it hadn’t worked exactly like he’d intended. Not a day went by without another heavy meal plated in front of me and entirely devoured by the time the freshly baked pudding was ready. By the end of the year, he’d become quite the cook. And I’d put on another 25 pounds. I’d also managed to scrape a so-so grade. Enough to bag me a simple office gig in the city – HR at some fancy-pants bank. Sitting on my wide bottom all day and snacking along with the other large ladies in the department. The resulting “HR spread” (my ever-widening ass) was to be expected. Less expected was the fact that Ben had pulled his finger out and surprised everyone – including himself – by securing a rather well-paying job at a super-posh restaurant in the city as an apprentice chef. His gastronomic flair only intensified as he honed his craft over the next couple of years. We soon had enough money to move into our own place. It was modest, homely, and everything we could have hoped for. Not long after I’d left the family home behind Dad had finally retried. He and Mom invested in a Winnebago to travel the length and breadth of the country. Hard to imagine them enjoying the simple life but damned if they weren’t giving it their all. My sister had reluctantly given up her sporting career after a bad injury all but ruled her out of the big leagues and transitioned, after a bit of academic upskilling, into the glamorous world of corporate law. She wasn’t the muscled monstrosity she’d been at her fitness peak but I still wouldn’t want to be sitting the other side of the negotiating table from her. As Ben’s career took off his passion for food had bled into every aspect of our day-to-day lives. When we weren’t eating we were talking about eating, and when we weren’t talking about eating we were thinking about it instead. Fast food was but a distant memory. Now we dined on buttered greens, creamed spinach, triple-cooked truffle chips, thick cuts of filet mignon, creamy lobster linguine, and an ever-growing menu of similar restaurant quality meals. In a sense, it was healthier, though just as calorific. We’d evolved beyond mere mortals and incorporated a fourth main meal into our daily routines – we called it ‘Nibbles’ and it usually consisted of an experimental dish Ben was thinking of offering at the restaurant once perfected, served midafternoon. Everything Ben cooked was drenched in butter, cream, or oil – very rarely was one of these dishes not declared a roaring success. And the sex – spectacular, if a little messier than it had been. We rarely made it to the bedroom without a dessert tray in hand to enjoy during the proceedings. I’d come to associate the breathless highs of orgasm with the taste of chocolates, caramels, and blueberry pie. When I’d pass the bakery in town the wafting smells of brownies fresh out of the oven had me weak at the knees. Pavlov’s hog, perhaps? The effect of this had been predictable on the one hand – my weight continued to steadily climb with every passing meal as it had done since I first met my devilish feeder boyfriend – but on the other hand rather unexpected indeed. At college, Ben had always been content to let me polish off both our plates. He’d graze a little when we ate together, but by and large, subsisted on a meagre diet to maximise the amount that I would eat. As a consequence, he’d never put on so much as a pound the entire time we’d been together, despite the frequency of our fast food tips and familiarity with the cheesecake factory menu. His job had changed things. It made sense when I stopped to think about it. He’d have to try his cooking at work, right? Experimenting with dishes - little tastes here and there. Perhaps a quick snack on some leftovers - would be a shame for them to go to waste. As Ben brought his gastronomic skills home to our kitchen he began eating more and more of his own creations. It wasn’t long before he was the one pinching from my plate, returning for hearty second helpings, or snacking absentmindedly on the desserts that were supposed to be saved for later that evening. As his appetite grew so did his lethargy – he’d return from a hard day at the ‘office’, rustle us up some dinner, and then plop down on the couch to play videogames as I’d ferry him his evening snacks. Which I did. Willingly. Seeing my feeder, the man who’d ravaged my body with blubber, devolve into my helpless feedee had been surprisingly erotic. The effect of all of this had been entirely… as expected. So to today… The restaurant is heaving. A queue of people, so long it snakes around the corner of the building and out of view, look on with envy as I waddle inside flanked by Charlotte and Lucy. We have reservations, of course, courtesy of (boy)friends in high places. We are shown to our table by a pretty young woman. Her little black dress would barely fit over one of my thighs. God I’ve gotten fat. “Well, this is fancy”, Charlotte coos, clearly impressed. She inspects her ornate dessert spoon. “Almost hate to dirty it on one of those souffles you’ve been banging on about”. I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Almost”, Charlotte winks back. Little black dress returns to the table soon enough and we place our order. A minute later we’re chinking three glasses of Champagne in anticipation of a good night to come. We start by catching up on each other’s lives. Charlotte’s girlfriend had proposed a few weeks back so naturally we spent a couple of minutes fawning over the large chunk of diamond now stuffed onto her porky ring finger. The prospect of getting the old college crew out of retirement for the bachelorette party was certainly an enticing one. Only Charlotte and Lucy live within driving distance nowadays. Lucy had just moved house and lit up as she showed us pictures of moving day. Her boyfriend, a rather strapping local fireman, had even attempted to carry her over the threshold. ‘Attempted’ being the keyword in that sentence. The pictures of him resting his injured lower back with an ice pack were a testament that even his tree-trunk arms were no match for her heft. “So what’s new?”, she asks once the proverbial conch has been passed in my direction. “Oh, errr, nothing too much with me to be honest”, I begin, “as for Ben, well you already know he was promoted to head chef here a few months back. It’s been going really well – great reviews, booked up weeks in advance. And the best part is that I get to eat restaurant quality food, for free, pretty much every day!”. I pat the protruding curve of my belly gleefully. “Yes, we can see that”, Charlotte smiles in response, “but to be honest I’d expect nothing less from you babe. Your boyfriend on the other hand” – she nods towards the kitchen – “has been steadily packing on the pounds for the last few years. Come on, spill the beans, what’s the story?”. I blush and lower my voice so only the girls can hear. “He’s become such a greedy pig! He eats all day – at work, at home, in the car, everywhere – and hasn’t so much as walked past a gym let alone been in one since he started working here. To be honest, at first, I wasn’t sure, but you know what, it’s pretty fucking hot”. “Pray tell”, Lucy continues eagerly. “Always so bloody nosy”, I shake my head with a giggle, “well, you know food’s always better when you can enjoy it with someone. And the sex… don’t knock it till you’ve tried it is all I’ll say”. Lucy’s mouth opens wide in Looney-Toon-esque astonishment. “And last month he officially weighed more than me for the first time… ever. He’s over 450 pounds!”. I finish, slightly breathless, and look away with an embarrassed grin. We toast to that just as our mains arrive. Five lip-smacking minutes later the generous portion is already resting heavy in my stomach. As I pause for breath a familiar voice rises above the cacophony of excited diners. “… I think you’ll agree that we’ve been more than fair with regards to PCI, so a little give on the Share Purchase Agreement would go a long way in showing that…”. I follow the voice to a table near the window and the unmistakable sight of my sister sat across from two stern-looking Asian gentlemen. She spears a piece of slow-cooked BBQ pork and eats it without breaking eye contact with her dining companions. Intense to say the least. I wasn’t about to go and interrupt her mid-flow. My friends and I continue drinking and chatting until nature finally calls. As I exit the stall and walk towards the resplendent bathroom’s wide vanity mirror the entrance door swings open. “Fancy seeing you here”, my sister drawls sarcastically, “how did you hear about it?”. “Just some guy I know”, I answer, before giving her a warm embrace. Perhaps it was the wisdom of age, or maybe just no longer living on top of each other, but our relationship had greatly improved over the last few years since college. From frosty to cordial, to something resembling real sisterhood. She’d long ditched that layabout O’Callahan and was presently engaged to a rather dashing investment banker, whom she’d first met across the negotiating table whilst thrashing out a difficult deal before the relationship progressed to the bedroom and thrashing of an entirely different nature. “Well give this mystery man, whoever he is, my compliments”, she continued, “this has become my go-to closing restaurant. I’ve done four deals here in the last month alone, and it’ll be five once Mr Kaneko pulls the stick out of his ass and agrees to our terms”. I chuckle. “If anyone can do it…”. And I meant it too. I’d become accustomed to seeing my sister hammering out the finer details of her contracts over one of Ben’s mouthwatering desserts. No matter how tense the conversation sounded as it wafted over from their table it was always vigorous handshakes and broad smiles by the time the meal was finally over. But success, alas, had come at a cost for my dear sister. A sudden devastating decline in her day-to-day physical activity combined with an equivalent increase in late-night stress eating at expensive restaurants had resulted in a delightful, if not predictable, increase in her dress size. Slowly at first. Barely noticeable unless you were looking out for it (which of course I had been). The smallest of pooches forming over the waistband of her shorts here, a slight softening of her jawline there. But fat begets fat, and now for the first time in years my sister’s hips are wider than her shoulders. No mean feat given she’s still as broad a doorframe, but such was the extent of the spare tyre now permanently hugging her midriff. The tight-fitting satin dress she’d opted for this particular evening was not leaving much to the imagination. Every roll is deliciously accentuated. Her lardy belly spills out onto the countertop as she bends low to fix her make-up. Soft and flowing like the heavy cream she drowns her nightly puddings in. I desperately wanted to comment on it. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one suffering the effects of Ben’s cooking’, I might say, with a patronising little pat on her soft under-gut. I imagined her thick blubber pinched between my fingers as the words form on my lips. Instead, I held my tongue. I’d made a concerted effort not to mention my sister’s obvious weight gain even one since it started over two years ago, lest she agree and do something about it. I quite liked being on a more level playing field with her, and I certainly wasn’t in any position to lose weight myself. “I think I’ll nail it over dessert”, she continued, completely oblivious to the few seconds of silence we had just shared – ever focused on the job at hand. “I’ll order two helpings to maximise the time I’ve got him pinned to the table”. She leant back from the mirror, her belly plopping off the counter and jiggling back into place, and turned about heel, striding purposefully towards the exit. “I’m going to get him to sign”, she said, as much to herself as to me. “You’re going to get fat...”, I muttered under my breath, quietly enough that she wouldn’t hear, as I watch her fat ass jiggle out of the door. Her globular, dimpled cheeks swayed with each step, straining against the fabric of her dress, before brushing the doorframe on both sides as she waddled back to the negotiating table. By the time I returned to my table, the girls had polished off our last bottle of bubbly and ordered another. Three hours later and the place was shutting down around me. Mr Kaneko had signed on the dotted line in the end. My sister, high on adrenaline and food, had long since waved a congenial goodbye with a broad grin and a bloated stomach. Destined for fatter things. Lucy and Charlotte too had waddled out a short while ago, nursing distended but satisfied guts. I was the only table left now. Upturned chairs are decorating my closest neighbours. Little black dress was the last of the staff to leave. She stopped by briefly on her way out the door – “Ben said he’ll be out in a minute with, errrr…”, her eyes momentarily drifted down to the belly spilling out of my jeans, “second dinner”. With that she saunters away, leaving me alone in the impressive high-ceilinged dining room. “Smug bitch”, I mutter to myself once the door has closed behind her. I hear Ben before I see him. With the background buzz of the restaurant now extinguished, the heavy ‘thud, thud, thud’ of his footsteps drawing closer reverberates around the empty room. When he finally lumbers through the kitchen door I watch with a smile as his hips also brush the wide wooden frame on both sides. His vast weeble-wobble body is both fattened and feminine – a good majority of the weight having settled in his cellulite-ridden ass and thighs. As he slips into the room I watch as his grease-stained t-shirt rides further and further up his belly with every plod. His pasty white gut is exposed like the unveiling of a great work of art. The sack of soft subcutaneous fat hangs over the waistband of his trousers and jiggles deliciously as it bumps against his meaty thighs. Balanced on his thick forearms is an industrial-looking cooking tray piled high with barbequed meats – chops, steaks, ribs and others that I can’t make out from this distance. He waddles, slow and laboured, towards the table. As he approaches I see beads of sweat dotting his brow. Was that from the heat of the kitchen or the effort of the short walk to our table? Probably a little of both. Ben reaches the table and drops the tray with a triumphant, if breathless, “et viola”. He pulls up and settles himself into a spare chair, which creaks under his immense weight. The aroma of grilled meats wafts tantalisingly from the table. “After you darling”, I nod towards my boyfriend, “you must be starving – the place was packed this evening”. It appears Ben agrees as he doesn’t need telling twice. Both arms reach forward and return with a chop in hand – he greedily munches on them one after the other. I’m already uncomfortably full and more than a little tipsy, so settle for simply grazing, content to watch my boyfriend gorge himself instead. And gorge he most certainly does. The platter of meats, easily enough to feed a family of four, is gradually worn down over the next 15 or so minutes until only a pool of beef dripping and grease remains. Ben grasps the tray with pudgy hands and lifts it to his lips, drinking this down too – pure fat settling in his expanded tummy. He’s done well tonight. I glance at my watch – 11:10 pm. Just time for a quick treat before we head home. “I think you need to relax babe…”, I coo softly, “let me help you take a load off”. With considerable effort, I push myself to stand and move our dining table to one side. I pop the clutch on my bag and dig around until my hand grasps a familiar plastic bottle. This wasn’t the first time we’d enjoyed each other’s company at the end of a hard day’s work. I’d come prepared. Kneeling gingerly in front of Ben I take a moment to look up at him. He was thrice the man I’d first met – or more, the numbers on the scale were always increasing and it was hard to keep track. From this angle, the generous sag of three chins – each rounder and thicker than the last – gives him a cherubic glow. Gluttony incarnate. Starting at the bottom I hook my finger inside his chef whites and gently pull it open one popper at a time. Each gratefully gives way to reveal more of his morbidly obese body until the last pops open to reveal it in all its glory. A pair of melons larger even than my own sit fat and engorged on his chest. Puffy nipples hard and tender, begging to be suckled. Below a rounded belly cascades out onto his lap. Doughy flesh inches thick and soft to the touch. Ben fumbles at his elasticated waistband, forcing it down underneath his crotch and flopping out his fat pad. And quite the fat pad it was. His manhood had long been swallowed up by his growing body. The glutton’s curse – for men at least. No matter though, we’d long since found other ways to satiate his urges. I upturn the bottle of lube and squeeze a generous dollop onto my palm. Rubbing the cool liquid between my fingers until my hand was greased and ready. Careful not to overexcite him too early I begin by gently massaging his fat pad. I can already feel his cock, hard and throbbing, beneath the couple of inches of blubber enveloping it. When we first met I wouldn’t have been able to so much as pinch that much fat anywhere on his body. How times had changed. After a couple of minutes of warming him up, I delve a tentative finger into the fat pad, searching for my boyfriend’s once-proud cock. It’s not hard to find – buried under an inch of so adipose. He splutters and spreads his legs as wide as his thunderous thighs and the arms of the chair will allow. I circle my finger slowly around the tip of his cock. It’s already dipping in pre-cum as I hear him panting up above. “Yes… yes…” he groans, to which I press slightly harder and angle my finger so the nail tickles the tip ever so slightly. After a short tease, I reach deeper, rubbing my oily fingers gently under the grove between head and shaft. Guttural groans, louder than before. I sense that he isn’t going to last much longer. “You know, Charlotte warned me about you”, I say in a sultry tone, looking up at my behemoth of a boyfriend, “she said if we dated you’d make me fat”. I grasp his manhood tightly and pump my hand up and down in a slow but purposeful rhythm. He shudders with anticipation. “And you did – I mean, just look at me. A big, wobbling, tub of lard and there’s no denying it. But…”. I pump harder and faster, his fat pad slapping audibly against his hanging gut. “In reality, it was Charlotte who should have warned you about me”. Ben grimaces and grips the chair’s arms so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His whole body shakes violently with every one of my greasy pumps – great waves of blubber crashing into one another. “You see, there’s a reason that over half of your body is now pure fat”, I continue, “there’s a reason that you haven’t so much as seen your cock, let alone been able to jerk yourself off, in months”. I quicken my hand and tighten its slippery grip. “There’s a reason that you’re now even fatter than I am”. Ben moans even more desperately than before. “Being a feeder but lacking the willpower to stop her turning you into her feedee... you must have known what was going to happen…”. Unable to contain himself any longer, Ben explodes as I utter the final phrase-- “You’re going to get fat!”. The End - - - - - 2. Sister Ending (note: Incest) My final year of college had been more tumultuous than I’d expected. The unwelcome discovery of my boyfriend balls-deep in his ex had probably topped the list. The image of Ben vigorously pounding the sweaty 500-pound hog from behind had been hard to shake, despite my best efforts. ‘But you weren’t meant to be back until tomorrow’, hadn’t exactly been the most compelling defence on his part. By the end of a rather teary conversation later that day, we’d parted ways. For good. Unfortunately, this couldn’t have happened at a worse time – just before finals. Revision was the last thing on my mind. My textbooks stayed shut and my lecture notes unread, as instead I turned to the fridge and ate to fill the hole in my heart. My girlfriends tried their best to comfort me, setting up a daily support rota that ensured I was never too far from a shoulder to cry on, or a tub of ice cream to drown myself in. Suffice to say, when I waddled up to receive my diploma it was two letter grades lower than it should have been, and I was 20 pounds heavier, pushing me above 400 for the first time in my life. The irony that this fact would have made Ben weak at the knees my certainly not lost on me. With each step back to my seat my body wobbled and jiggled, the weight of these extra pounds straining the fabric of my graduation gown bought a few weeks prior. Judgmental smirks from the sorority sisters I passed on the way didn’t help either. With college completed I’d moved back home and found a modest office job at a local office supply company. The sort of honest work and low pay that was deserving of my below-average academic achievements. I tried not to dwell on my sister’s professional soccer contract, her beauty, body, or the penthouse apartment she’d just started renting in the city. Comparison was indeed the thief of joy. So to today… “I’m sorry girls, we should have left hours ago but all flights have been grounded and they’re saying that the absolute earliest we could leave is tomorrow afternoon”, Mom sighs, the stress in her voice evident despite the cracking of the poor connection. She and Dad had left for Sri Lanka three weeks ago – a bank-busting vacation to mark the start of an early retirement. They were due to fly home early this morning – Thanksgiving – to be greeted by their daughters and a lovingly prepared holiday meal. The turkey was already basting in the oven. Unfortunately, a spot of sudden and violent civil unrest followed by a harsh government crackdown got in the way. “It’s fine Mom”, my sister replies, “just stay in the airport and stay safe. We can manage just fine on our own here. Though…”, she glances fleetingly at the oven, “we might have over catered…”. A few minutes later I pop the cork on a bottle of rather expensive looking Champagne from Dad’s private stockpile, pouring out a pair of generous glasses. “Might as well enjoy ourselves whilst we wait for lunch”, I smile as I hand one to my sister. A bottle and a half later and the freely flowing drinks had washed away any residual tension between us. We were sisters first and rivals second after all, though at times that hadn’t always felt like the case. We’d been so lost reminiscing about Thanksgivings gone by that it had taken a moment for either of us to register the significance of the distant chirping emanating from the kitchen. Groggily we made our way towards it. I went to the fridge for a top-up, and my sister to the oven to serve up the now-finished meal. “You feeling *hic* hungry?”, she hiccups a minute or so later, a mashed potato-laden serving spoon held aloft a plate that was already piled generously high. I consider for a moment. The alcohol might have dulled my senses for a time, but the familiar pangs of hunger were definitely still there. A nod and the spoon is upturned, sending even more food tumbling onto my meal. We take our seats on opposite sides of the dining room table and bask in our triumph. The turkey is moist and tender, its golden skin crackled and crisp. Just the smell is making my mouth water uncontrollably. I adorn my creamy potatoes with a generous slab of butter that slowly melts into an unhealthy pool, into which I dip my greens for a decadent first bite. We’d done well. Very well. As we gorge in silence the clinking of silverware against porcelain echoes through the air - the gentle symphony broken only when we reach for another gulp of Champagne to further dull our senses. Despite plating up about half the serving that she’d given me, my sister was still tucking into the meal with gusto. I suppose her normal healthy eating regime doesn’t allow for such frivolity as ‘tasty meals’. “I’m done…” I moan a little while later, tugging at the waistband of my jeans in vain. Where before I could slip a finger between flab and denim, now there is only taut, quivering flesh pouring over the waistband. A bead of sweat trickles down my temple, the exertion of simply existing whilst this full almost too much to bear. My sister is also looking stuffed. Her normally flat stomach is pronounced with an unmistakable curve, which rises and falls with deep and laboured breaths. “Yep… definitely over catered”, she groans, clutching her bloated belly, “and there’s still so much left… haven’t even touched desert… seems a shame to let it go to waste…”. A large cheesecake sits tantalisingly in the centre of the table. One of my favourites, and my sister’s too before her body became the temple it is today. A devilish thought crosses my mind – perhaps I could tempt her off her diet and have a bit of drunken fun whilst at it. “Well… we could make it interesting?”, I grin mischievously, my words slurring slightly from the champagne, “for every slice we manage the other one of us has to… I don’t know… take off an item of clothing?”. My sister raises an eyebrow, intrigued. The champagne has evidently already gone to both of our heads, awakening a delicious recklessness that I’m keen to explore. “And the first to give in has to do a forfeit?”, she proposes, the innocence in her voice betrayed by the glint in her eye. The deal is done over a curt nod. My sister takes the lead, snatching up a slice and quickly seeing it off in five large bites. Concerning –suddenly she doesn’t seem as full as she had done – am I about to be hustled? I shrug off my jumper, revealing a plain white t beneath, and set to work on my own helping. Tough but doable – I pass the baton back her way as she sheds her blouse and starts on a fresh slice. It’s disappeared in a flash and before I know it I’ve huffed and puffed my way to standing and I’m squeezing myself out of my white-washed jeans. It’s a blessing in disguise really, given how uncomfortably tight they were feeling after the main course. “Looking good sis”, my sister teases from across the table as I turn to discard my clothes behind me, “how many aeroplane seats are you up to now? Three?”. I have the good grace to blush, having just flashed her my bare and barely contained ass, instead resolving to win the bet and exact my pound of flesh in revenge. She stands to remove her pants a minute or so later as I wipe the crumbs from my lips. Annoyingly all I’m greeted with is a pair of impossibly toned legs, thick and muscular with naught but the slightest hint of flab or cellulite. I can’t help but stare. “Like what you see”, she grins mischievously, lifting one onto the table in an effortless lunge that I probably haven’t been able to do for about 200 pounds or so. My eyes trail down to her red lace underwear, now on full display with the movement. The fabric stretches slightly, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her pussy underneath. Against my better judgment, I find myself imagining reaching out and feeling the soft material between my fingertips, being crushed between her powerful thighs... I manage to tear my eyes away as she grabs the next slice. Before I have time to collect my thoughts it’s my turn to disrobe once again. T-shirt now off I’m feeling significantly more vulnerable than I’d expected – despite ever-deepening inebriation. Plopped on my parent’s old dining chair in just my bra and panties, I’m painfully aware of my sister’s eyes boring into my engorged body and the fact that, despite a vast weight advantage, her combo of height and strength could probably overpower me should she so wish. “Oh my god”, she says finally, “I actually cannot believe how fat you’ve gotten”. She takes another generous swig of champagne. Her eyes take a moment to refocus. “Like, I obviously wanted you to get a taste of your own medicine for the way you acted when we were growing up, but even in my wildest dreams I didn’t think you’d actually get this large”, she gestures vaguely at my blubber-ridden body – ass sagging over each side of the chair. “Well, you’d better *hic* believe it sis”, I slur back, grabbing my next slice and shovelling it into my face, cheesecake smearing around my lips and the folds of my nested chins. My sister’s eyes are wide and, oddly, excited. I’m putting on a show, but to what end? With the final mouthful swallowed she accepts her penalty with a resigned sigh. With a subtle twist of her body, she unclasps her bra, allowing it to fall elegantly to the floor. Her chest is like a work of art, sculpted and smooth like marble, with ample curves that defy her otherwise muscular frame. She smiles wryly, clearly proud of maintaining her impressive bust despite her rigorous athletic regime, and inviting me to admire them too. “I’ve shown you mine, now show me yours”, she hums, bending over to take another slice, ample tits swaying ponderously in the open air. A moment later I’m fumbling behind my back to release my heavy chest from its cotton prison. Significantly less gracefully my bra pings off in relief, letting my vast engorged hooters flop onto my rounded gut. I cup them, letting the excess adipose slosh in my palm, spilling between my porky fingers. I watch my sister lick her lips as she gazes, mesmerised, at my cleavage, before refocusing and diving in for her next piece. Sure enough, I’m pulling off my panties a minute later, now naked as the day I was born. I feel a sudden flush of heat as I slap my bare ass back down onto the chair. I reach forwards to seize my final slice but a loud and ominous belch, a hair's breadth from being followed by the contents of my stomach, gives me pause for thought. I am, in every sense of the phrase, ‘at capacity’. “I surrender”, I moan, slumping back into the chair, “if you hadn’t served me such an enormous portion for lunch…”. “If you hadn’t eaten such an enormous portion for lunch you mean”, my sister corrects me, “it’s hardly my fault you can’t control your appetite now is it?”. She stands, clad in nought but a pair of lace underwear that rides high on her hips. Her long legs carry her towards me effortlessly, and I can't help but notice the way her bare breasts bounce with each step, or the slight curve of her distended belly. “Now, I believe I’m owed a forfeit? I’ll take… a weigh-in”. She rushes out the final words, her voice dripping with excitement. “Seriously?”, I groan. “Seriously”, she responds, firm and unwavering. “I want to see just how much of a piggy my twin sister has gorged herself into. Now come on, chop chop”. With a playful yet forceful slap on my hip, she urges me to get up and move. I waddle slowly up the stairs, my sister following close behind. “Admiring my ass this time are we sis?”, I joke breathlessly over my shoulder, the effort of the short trip already causing beads of sweat to bubble on my brow. “Didn’t have you down as a chubby chaser”. To my surprise, I turn to see her blush and avert her gaze. She has one arm placed carefully across her breasts, the other hangs loosely by her side showing the definition of her muscles. I’d not even given my nakedness a second thought, content to let my meaty melons bounce and slap against the curve of my gut as I walked. She looks surprisingly vulnerable, for an Amazonian goddess at least. By the time we finally reach the bathroom, my lungs are begging for a break. She pulls out the scales from underneath the sink and sets them at my feet. I can feel her eyes on me as I step onto their cool glass surface. The air is thick with anticipation as I peer down. As expected my bulbous belly blocks the digital display from view. “445 pounds”, my sister declares with barely masked incredulity, as she reads the results on my behalf. She’s stood just in front of me, her generous breasts directly in my eyeline. “You’re… enormous”. She traces her hands delicately up and over the curve of my lower belly. Her fingers close around two handfuls of hip fat and start to wobble gently, seemingly mesmerised by the bounce and jiggle of my blubber gut. Guided by instinct alone, I mimic her actions and place my hands on her hips as well. A jolt of electricity. Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she wrenches me closer, her breath warm against my cheek as she stretches her hands around my back and snatches two handfuls of my elephantine ass and shakes it roughly. My cheeks slap together in a rhythmic ‘clap’, ‘clap’, ‘clap’ that echoes around the windowless room. I eagerly accept the invitation, raising my own hands to her chest and gently cupping her soft breasts. I feel the warmth of her skin against mine. Looking up I see her beautiful face staring down at me. Eyes closed our lips meet, and suddenly our hands are hungrily exploring each other’s bodies – no longer siblings, just people driven by desire and lust alone. She pulls me to the floor – her considerable strength more than a match for my gym-phobic body. I collapse with a heavy thud, ass spreading wide across the stone tiles. The cabinet on the wall rattles ominously with the force of the impact. The cabinet on the wall… “Cabinet… lube…”, I pant from the floor, gesturing up towards the white lacquered door high above. My sister doesn’t need telling twice, leaping up and returning a moment later with the large bottle that I keep tucked at the back of the cupboard for… extra-curricular pursuits. She roughly pulls down her underwear – the last survivor of our drunken dares. She pops the cap nonchalantly with her thumb and squeezes what looks like half the bottle into her open palm. Fast as a cat she dives at me – pushing me onto my back and painting my belly with the oily liquid. I let out a low moan as her fingers delve into my hip rolls, smother my ham-hock arms, and massage the length and breadth of my thunderous legs. The lube can’t help but rub off on her own skin as she lays on top of me. We spank, pinch, stroke, and grope at each other’s bodies – our fit and fat bodies slap together in a symphony of desire and pleasure. Our movements become more frenzied with each passing moment. The room filled with the echoes of our slapping skin and the wet sounds of our passionate lovemaking. A combination of exhilaration of the situation and the physical exertion of supporting my sister’s considerable, if lean, weight pressing down on me has left me gasping for air. My hands, slick with sweat and lube, fall away from her perfect behind as I struggle to catch my breath. I peer down my torse to see my sister grinning back at me wickedly. She straightens up, pushing herself to standing – my body grateful to be supporting only my own considerable weight once again. I watch her glistening abs ripple as she steps over my belly, turns, and positions herself above me, her gaze locked onto mine. She slowly lowers herself into a deep squat, her pussy hovering just above my face. As her lips hover above mine I can feel my heart race. Her scent is intoxicating. How long had I wanted this… had we wanted this? I grab at her thick thighs and pull, urging her to descend. "Eat up, fatty" she scoffs, and with a slow, deliberate motion, lowers herself. Her pussy is wet and warm when it finally makes contact with my face. My tongue darts out instinctively to taste her. I lick up and down her slit, savouring the moment as her moans grow louder and more desperate. She plays with my chest, squeezing and slapping my large breasts, teasing my nipples and urging me to go faster. I oblige. She moans in pleasure, her hips bucking as my tongue dances around her swollen lips. She starts to pick up the pace, her hips undulating faster, each movement hitting my face with a satisfying ‘slap’. My hands wander, tracing the curve of her taut ass. I feel her orgasm building, trembling against my face. With every lick and suck of my tongue, I work to push her over the edge. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, and she pants in my ear, "fuck yes… eat me… you pig”. As her moans reach a crescendo I feel her muscles tense, and then she loses control. Her pussy floods my face with her juices, as she drops to her knees, hands bracing as she arcs her back and quivers with pleasure. She falls off me and we lay together in a breathless heap on the bathroom floor. Muscle and fat intertwined. I feel her trace a finger delicately around my belly button and look down to see her staring up at me with hungry eyes. “You know we’ve got the place to ourselves for the next 24 hours…”, she plunges the lubed-up finger into my naval, “we could order some takeout”, and begins slowly pumping it in and out, “and maybe some dessert in bed?”. I bite my lip and nod nervously, unsure where exactly this road would take me, but knowing full well I wasn’t about to turn around now. She reaches down and places a hand between my legs, tickling at the flabby mound that is my fat pad. I feel myself getting hotter as the excitement builds and her greasy hands slowly work their way southwards. “Oh sis, you do know what this means don’t you?”, she continues, her fingertips now dancing around my lips, each delicate touch making me wobble uncontrollably. She lifts her head and whispers softly in my ear, as her fingers finally find their plump prize-- “You’re going to get fat!”. The End - - - - - 3. Mom Ending My final year of college had gone smoothly enough. I’d actually pulled my finger out and studied for the final exams, managing a surprisingly good grade when all was said and done. It had been sad saying goodbye to my carefree college lifestyle - but I suppose I had to grow up sooner or later. With college over and both of us lacking the stability of a full-time ‘professional’ job, Ben and I had been forced to move back in with my parents. That was nearly two years ago now. Over this time the forced proximity of my family had put a painful strain on our relationship. We fought more than we used to - silly things like leaving dirty clothes on the floor for a day too long, and not-so-silly things like my unexpected weight loss over those two years. I certainly wasn’t skinny by any stretch of the imagination, but despite a concerted effort to eat unhealthily around Ben to keep him happy, I’d still managed to lose about 75 pounds in that period, dipping below 300 for the first time in a long time. A worrying doctor’s visit filled with phrases like ‘prediabetic’ and ‘time is running out’ had scared me straight, though I hadn’t told Ben this for fear he might up and leave me. The situation in the house was tense, to say the least. My sister had signed off her illustrious college career with the badge of valedictorian and also moved back home last summer. However, unlike myself, her graduate job at a magic circle law firm meant she was already well on her way to saving enough money for a house deposit of her own. She’d kept up her fitness regime as best she could, though had certainly softened a little around the edges since she’d embarked on her gruelling post-college career. Mom and Dad were the same as always - for the most part. Dad’s job had downsized its property footprint post-COVID and closed the local office that he’d used to work at. Now he spent half the week working from home and the other half living out of hotels out of state. He wasn’t that far away from retirement anyway so this had been accepted by all as a necessary evil in the short term. Mom had continued to pile on the weight both in my absence and on return from college and was now pushing dangerously close to 500 pounds of wobbling Japanese woman. Nearly as wide as she was tall, she wheezed and spluttered around the house - the windows shaking in their frames with her every laboured step. Even Dad had tried to have a word with her about the ever-increasing numbers on the scale, though she’d simply brushed it off with a smile and continued gorging. Happy families indeed. So to today… I buckle into the driver’s seat of my recently purchased SUV as my sister clambers into the passenger side. The suspension groans under our combined weight - a mixture of both fat and muscle - but I bought the car specifically for its advertised ‘heavy duty load capacity’, so feel confident all the same. We set off just as the sun is cresting over the horizon. An early start, but needs must when the devil drives. We were off to pick up Dad’s birthday present. In a surprise act of teamwork, my sister and I sought out and purchased a vintage signed sports jersey from Dad’s beloved state baseball team. The collector hadn’t been prepared to post so we’d agreed to go and collect it together today. Dad was out of town with work as usual so we wouldn’t have to worry about him seeing us on return, and Mom and Ben could mooch around the house just fine until we got back. About 15 minutes into the 3-hour drive my sister slaps her hand to her forehead without warning. “Oh shit”, she sighs heavily, “so promise you won’t hate me…”. We pull back into our parent’s driveway a short while later to retrieve my sister’s forgotten purse and with it the wad of cash she’d withdrawn as payment. Annoying, but not the end of the world. As we enter the house we agree to divide and conquer in the search - she will look for it downstairs and I will take the first floor. I trudge upstairs, expecting to see Ben sitting at my desk as I pass our room, intently focused on whatever video game was his flavour of the month, but there’s no sign of him. I am about to head into my sister’s bedroom when I hear muffled cries coming from my parent’s room at the end of the hall, the door ever so slightly ajar. Odd - was mom okay? I waddle towards it and peer through the crack. Through the sliver of the partially open door, I can just about see Mom’s torso. She’s lying naked on all fours on her bedroom floor. Well, I say ‘all fours’ - her enormous gut is now so large it appears to be supporting her full weight, such that she could lift her hands and feet if she wanted and still be in the same position. The space under her belly is not empty air like it would be for a woman of healthy weight - it is completely filled by her hanging blubber. Her entire body is jiggling rhythmically, sending waves of fat crashing across its surface. The rolls and ripples of her body create a hypnotic wave effect, making it hard to look away despite the absurdity of the situation. A pair of engorged, veiny melons spill out onto the floor in front of her. I hate to think what vast cup size she’s up to now, but I know that she shops online because most stores don’t cater to her generous assets. Her vast ham-hock-like upper arms look about as thick as one of my thighs and are certainly just as cellulite-ridden, and a pair of porky hands gently caress her nipples - thick and puffy. I shift slightly so I can see Mom’s face. It’s presently buried in a large chocolate cake that had been placed on the floor in front of her. I recognise it from the fridge. Mom said she’d bought it as a present for the neighbour’s birthday. Evidently not. Mom raises her head, munching greedily on a mouthful of cake. Her chubby cheeks and triple chins are smeared in chocolate icing. Crumbs fall from her mouth as she chews - gluttonous and greedy. She swallows and moans, “ohhhh, don’t stop… keep… ohhhh… going”, before sinking her face back into the cake like a pig snuffling in its trough. My heart skips a beat. Wordlessly I push the door open. Ben is knelt behind Mom - naked as the day he was born. He has a fistful of her hip fat in each hand and is pounding his crotch into her enormous ass. The force of his body hitting mom’s gelatinous bottom causes a rhythmic ‘slap slap slap’ to echo around the room. “Eat… up… piggy”, Ben pants breathlessly. Eyes closed, he is lost in his world. A raised hand slaps her globular booty hard with an open palm. “Mmmmm, you’ve gotten so FAT. You’re an enormous hog. And I’m going to make you even fatter” – he chokes on the last word as if struggling to hold back the oncoming tide. Mom squeals with pleasure, spluttering crumbs across the white-washed wooden floor of her bedroom, before shoving her face back into the cake, hungry for more. At that very moment, Ben looks up and catches my eye. The colour immediately drains from his face. He splutters something incoherent that might just have been “oh god I’m cuming”, before blowing his load. His face is an odd mixture of immense pleasure and abject horror - the latter of which I was starting to feel myself. He stumbles to his feet, cock still very much at full mast and hands outstretched in a ‘stay calm’ sort of pose. Mom grunts from the floor, her face still buried in the last of its chocolatey remains. It emerges a second or two later - covered in icing - and she too catches my eye. She chokes on her mouthful, spluttering sponge across the cake tray, and attempts to stand. Unfortunately, her weak arms cannot support her immense weight. She struggles against her own morbid obesity and loses the fight. The beached whale isn’t going anywhere without a helping hand. Tears begin welling up and tumbling down my cheeks as the full impact of the betrayal starts to hit home. Before I can find my voice another booms loud and angry from beside me. I hadn’t noticed my sister’s approach - my attention entirely captured by the scene unfolding in front of me - but she was now standing next to me, her broad shoulders filling the part of the hallway not already taken up by my wide hips. “Fucking hell”, she shouts, “really? When Dad’s away and we’re off running errands? You decide to roll around together like pigs?”. Words failed them. Ben simply stands dumbfounded as cum drips pathetically onto the and Mom continues to struggle against her enormous heft to get to her feet, to no avail. Her hand slips in the chocolatey mess and like a prize heifer, all 500 pounds of her slap down onto the cool stone floor. The force of the impact reverberates around the room. “Ughh, pathetic”, my sister spits. A last scathing look at the adulterous pair and she gruffly takes me by the arm and escorts me out. “No need to traumatise you any more than you are already” she mutters as we take the stairs two at a time. My mind is racing. How could Ben do this? How could Mom do this? What would Dad do when he found out? As we closed the front door behind us she places a surprisingly tender hand on my shoulder. “I need a drink. No, a few drinks. And something disgustingly fattening and unhealthy to eat. You in?”. “You’d compromise your diet for me?”, I sniffle, genuinely taken aback at the touching gesture. I wipe a tear from my eye and chuckle against my better judgment. “You know what I’m going to say don’t you?”. She did indeed. We speak the phrase in unison— “You’re going to get fat!”. The End

Epilogue: The Mistress Annabelle was not happy. Angry footsteps echoed around her impressive marble entrance room as she strode towards the door. She’d been rudely awoken from a food-induced coma by a nervous housemaid, who had informed her that Tom hadn’t shown up for that morning’s shift at the clinic. And to add insult to injury, the clients that he’d so rudely stood-up were none other than the daughters of the CEO of the firm her father has recently started working at. Morbidly obese triplets that were so spoilt they made Annabelle look like mother Theresa. Typical. What had she done to deserve this fresh hell on a Tuesday morning? Tom’s mobile went straight to voicemail. “Probably too busy fucking that red-haired glutton in their filthy whore-house…” she muttered to herself spitefully. She should have put her foot down about that greedy pig’s ridiculous fetish club when it first began. It was her, Annabelle, whose money and influence had lifted Tom out of the gutter. When she finally got her hands on him she’d be sure to remind him of that. As she hurriedly rounded the corner to the clinic she was pleasantly surprised to see three identically trim women walking towards a set of colourful Lamborghinis parked out front. So Tom had decided to turn up after all. The piercing voices of the triplets carried across the lot. “… I know right? I still can’t believe it!” … “We look fiiiiine ladies - daddy isn’t going to recognise us when we get home” … “I can’t believe they did all three of us at the same time!” … “and Dr Tom? I guess it must be her last name…”. The conversation was soon drowned out over the roar of engines. Annabelle pushed open the clinic door hortily. She felt her gut jiggle as she did so - she was in need of another slimming, only 6 days after her last. It was the least Tom could do after the stress of the morning. Crossing the reception, which was curiously unstaffed, she headed towards Tom’s office. As she pushed open the door an unwelcome shock of flame-red hair greeted her. Before she could muster a response Annabelle felt a sharp prick in her neck. She recoiled, staggering backwards, spotting the now empty syringe in Jennifer’s hand. “Nighty night…”, Jennifer smiled as Annabelle’s world faded to black… - - - - - - - - “…she’s coming to…” “Eurghhh…”, Annabelle groaned groggily as she woke from a deep and peaceful slumber. It took a few seconds for her bleary eyes to adjust to the brightness. She was staring up at the plain utilitarian ceiling of Tom’s office. She made as to rub her brow, but could not. Her arm tugged against an unseen resistance, and looking to her side she could see a set of medical restraints pinning her limbs to the four corners of the clinics medical bed on which she lay. “What…?”, she groaned, but before she could finish the half-formed thought two women stepped into view. Annabelle recognised the thinner of the pair. Jennifer, Tom’s other business partner and the woman who had just jabbed a syringe into her neck, peered down at her with a wide grin that Annabelle didn’t appreciate one bit. The other woman stood breathlessly at her side, easily one of the fattest people to ever grace the clinic - which was certainly saying something. There was something about the woman’s bloated face that was oddly familiar… “You have no idea who you’re messing with, I’m the daughter of-”, she began, her strength and anger quickly returning to their pre-anaesthesia levels, but Jennifer cut her off. “I know exactly who you are Annabelle”, she spat, emphasising her name as if it was poison on her tongue, “you’re the kind of spoilt little rich girl that thinks it’s okay to play around behind someone’s back because their mummy never told them ‘no’ when they were growing up. To fuck my boyfriend and make me look like a fool”. She paused for an angry breath before continuing. “Well, Penny and I have a little surprise for you…”. “Penny?”, Annabelle croaked, neutrons firing just quickly enough to connect the dots, “you’re… you’re Tom’s sister?”. “The very same”, the enormous woman answered, “and you’re probably wondering what’s going on here. Well, let me fill you in”. She waddled a step closer, the light on the ceiling shaking slightly with each heavy step. “My pervy porky brother used his power to slim down mother and make me balloon into a reality-TV fatso, making himself filthy rich in the process. I mean the fact that he, of all people, managed to bag a couple of hotties obviously meant that some sort of dark art had to have been involved. Anyway, in the end I wised up, paid someone to investigate, and, well, long story short, let’s just say my brother’s power is in better hands now”. Penny waved her pudgy hands at Annabelle, whose face went grey with sudden realisation and fear. “And Jennifer’s”, she continued, “well her power is in better hands too. My mother has such terrible hunger pangs she’s doubled over in pain unless she’s shovelling something greasy into her mouth. At this rate the poor thing is going to gain back she lost, and then some. She’s back living with me now, and I’m making sure that she stays very… well… fed”. She emphasised the final three words, tracing a finger around Annabelle’s stomach with a rueful grin. “Speaking of which…”, she continued, and before Annabelle could protest Penny’s hands her clasped around her arm and began burning red hot. Annabelle whimpered, but it fell on deaf ears. She felt her body swell, expand, straining at the seams of her clothes before bursting free of them and the medical beds restraints altogether. She could feel herself regressing to the weight she had been before she met Tom. A great wheezing whale, and then beyond it, as she took on all of Penny’s pounds and grew fatter than she’d ever been. The woman who let go of her arm a few seconds later was unrecognisable. Toned, tall, and strikingly beautiful, Penny was a true Amazonian beauty. Which was more than could be said for poor Annabelle. Annabelle strained her neck over multiple chins to see the damage to her own body. It was worse than she’d feared. Her body spread wide across the double bed, rolls upon rolls, every inch of her buried deep under a heavy layer of blubber. Fatter than she’d ever been before meeting Tom. She tried to swing her legs off the bed but they didn’t move an inch. Immobile then, pinned to the bed by the overindulgence of the porky pampered triplets. “That’s more like it“, Penny smiled, patting her taught abs and Annabelle’s bloated gut in turn. “I think the extra weight suits you”. She winked at Annabelle, who had the good grace to blush with embarrassment. She moved an arm to cover what she could of her bare sagging breasts, conscious that her fat pussy was also on show, but unfortunately well out of reach given her new size. “Please”, she whined desperately, “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just take the weight back. I have money - is it money you’re after? Just name your price and my daddy will-”. Jennifer snorted, cutting her off. “I don’t think so Miss Piggy. You’re finally back in the body you deserve. A greedy, gluttonous, spoilt pig, who got so enormously porky that she isn’t ever going to be able to fuck her favourite vibrator again, let alone anyone’s boyfriend”. She jiggled Annabelle’s cellulite ridden hips. “Couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to take back these just-desserts”. Annabelle looked desperately from one woman to the other, but it was clear in their rueful expressions she wasn’t going to change their minds. Jennifer’s hand reached for the medical tray beside her. “Toodles!”, she smiled, as the second syringe of the day plunged into Annabelle’s thick neck. She tried to protest but the words came undone in her throat as the world went dark once again… - - - - - - - - “Annabelle…? Annabelle!”, a familiar voice shook her from her slumber. She opened her eyes groggily as the panicked face of her mother loomed over her head. The world was still spinning. “Oh Annabelle! What’s happened? Why are you…? Let me get Tom”, her mother cried frantically, looking around as if expecting to see him there. “Stop… mother…”, Annabelle slurred groggily. She tried to sit up but her weak abs weren’t up to the task. “He’s gone. It’s all gone”. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked down at her morbidly obese body. She took a great armful of belly blubber and shook it miserably, emphasising the point. The colour had all but drained from Lilly’s face as she surveyed her fattened daughter in silent horror. Annabelle wondered if she was more concerned about her daughter’s wellbeing or the prospect of her own impending weight gain with no hope of ever slimming down again. Lilly was already looking on the chunky side since their last session with Tom. Probably a little of both. After a few seconds she managed to stammer, “w… what do you want me to do?”. As if on cue Annabelle’s stomach growled angrily. Hunger pangs worse than she’d ever experienced racked her bloated body. She’d have doubled-up in pain were it not for the 200 pounds of belly butter in the way. “McDonald’s”, she sobbed, “now!”. Lilly hesitated clearly unsure whether this was what her daughter really needed, but her continued moaning was enough to convince her otherwise. She turned about heel and headed for the door. Annabelle’s stomach rumbled loudly again like an oncoming storm. Through floods of tears she called out over her mountainous belly to her mother’s wobbling backside. “And make it supersized!”. The End

Chapter 6: The Power Broker His mother’s wedding had been a joyous affair. Six months after his run in with Penny on that Soho street, Tom had sat in the front row of a quaint chapel and watched with pride as his mother walked down the aisle towards her soon to be husband. Her trim figure was a far cry from the morbidly obese behemoth she had been just a few years prior. Her face said it all - she was finally, truly, happy. That was more than could have been said for his dear sister, whose vast body had filled the three chairs to his right and generously spilled onto his own. He recalled gently kneading her thunderous thighs during the ceremony as she tried, in vain, to stop him. Just after the exchanging of the rings, an almighty crash of snapping wood and flesh smacking stone indicated that the chairs had finally given up the ghost. It had taken the best part of five minutes for the groom and all three ushers to heave the beetroot-faced Penny off her elephantine backside and into a standing position, as the rest of the congregation watched on in morbid fascination. Penny had spent the rest of the afternoon consoling herself with food, which Tom was more than happy to support with the next heaped plate of unhealthy treats. By the day’s end Penny’s dress had gone the same way as the chair, torn asunder, exposing her gluttonous body beneath. She waddled off to bed as Tom danced on into the night. Tom was snapped out of his daydream by the echoes of his front door slamming from somewhere downstairs. Jennifer must have returned from her shift at the club. He glanced outside - dark already, he probably should have started dinner so it was ready when she got home. Hangry Jennifer wasn’t exactly good company. He stood from his portfolio desk and headed downstairs to the kitchen. As he turned the corner into the room he was met by not one, but three, women. Jennifer as expected, garbed in her sultry work attire and sporting a hefty gut brought on by a hard day’s work, but also two of the fattest women he’d ever seen. He recognised their swollen faces - recent hires at his club, brought in to pleasure the most depraved of his patrons. Tom opened his mouth but Jennifer cut him off. “I’m sure you haven’t remembered, but today is the three year anniversary of when I turned up on your doorstep and you took me in”, she began, moving closer and running a hand down his chest. “And what thank you present can you buy the man who has everything? Well…”, she smiles, “we’ve never tried it with two people’s weight before”. Tom’s heart beat faster in his chest. He wondered if Jennifer could feel it through his shirt. Maybe today wasn’t going to be such a pedestrian day after all? Clothes off and weight transferred, Tom was the largest he had ever been. Well over a tonne, he was plopped in the centre of the heavy duty medical bed he’d bought especially for amorous encounters such as these, it’s back raised into a partly seated position. The upper weight limit was going to be put to the test today. The freshly rake thin models had stepped outside shortly after the weight transfer had completed. Whilst Tom marvelled at his size he was vaguely aware of a hushed conversation between the pair and Jennifer through the door, followed by what sounded an awful lot like his front door slamming in the distance. The part of his brain not wired with anticipation at what was about to come next wondered why Jennifer had just allowed his two fat stores to go for a wander, but he didn’t have the energy to focus on it right now. “Mmmmm, hello big boy”, a familiar voice purred from the end of his bed. Tom snapped back to reality and strained his neck to peer down over the mountain of adipose that was now his body. Jennifer had re-entered the room and stripped herself naked. Her pale flesh no longer bloated by the hefty gut, she looked every part the millionaire’s trophy wife that he knew he deserved. She smiled mischievously as she climbed up his body, taking great handfuls of fat to pull herself up and over his wobbling gut. Tom could feel his heart straining under the effort of pumping blood to both his mammoth body and his cock. If he weren’t so aroused his might be worried about his health. Jennifer didn’t give him time to dwell on the idea though, as she’d reached his chest and was passionately suckling at his nipples, giggling like a naughty schoolgirl. “How long do you think you can last fatty”, she teased, a hand reaching down underneath his belly and searching for his cock. “As long as… mmmph… I can”, he panted back, concentrating on not blowing his beans there and then. Jennifer grinned at the challenge and set to work. Just five minutes later Tom could feel himself teetering on the edge, the pleasure somehow amplified by the extra mass clinging to his body. He desperately held back the tide, but every pump of Jennifer’s hands at his fat pad chipped away at his resolve. He was ready to relent, to empty his swollen balls… Jennifer’s hands retracted. His cock throbbed, begging for a few final pumps, as he heard the now familiar sound of his front door slamming from somewhere in the distance. “Tell them… we’re not ready… yet”, he spluttered, annoyed at the models’ return and potential disruption at this climactic point. But before he could muster another word the door to the kitchen opened and two people entered. His bleary eyes struggled to focus, and when they did it was not the models from earlier that greeted him. Penny was looking fatter than ever. If her weight a few months ago had taken out the chair at mother’s wedding, her bulk today was liable to take the floorboards along with them. Garbed in an impossibly large dress so big it could have doubled as a tent, she wheezed loudly with the effort of waddling into the room. Beside her stood a man he’d never seen before. Dark skinned and wearing a smart suit that gave an air of power and wealth much like his own tailored wardrobe. “What? How?”, he gasped, “you can’t be here, you should be here, you…”. Penny interrupted him. “Well, well, well. You’ve certainly let yourself go bro”, she sneered at him with barely contained glee, “guess you’ve been taking a leaf out of my book?”. Penny slapped her gut, causing waves of fat to ripple across her body. “Looks like your fat arse is quite the chair breaker too”, she laughed, nodding at the elephantine ass that spilled across the bed. His arousal subsided as soon as it had arrived, and anger boiled up inside Tom. “Jennifer come over here, give me your hand”, he snapped angrily, reaching five pork sausage fingers out towards his girlfriend. He needed to get a load off so he could deal with this situation. She didn’t move. “I don’t think so”, Penny sneered again, “you see Jennifer and I have been getting acquainted recently. And you know what? I think we’re both about done with you and your ‘special power’”. Tom’s eyes widened, heart racing. “Yes, that’s right, I know all about your little clinic, and the club, and what you did to me”. She placed particular emphasis on the final point, her brow furrowed in anger, eyes baring into his. “Mother didn’t lose that weight - you took it. And you gave it to me”. “I… well… listen…”, he spluttered, trying to find an explanation sufficient to get himself out of his current predicament. None came to mind. “No, you listen”, Penny snapped back harshly, “I knew something wasn’t right the moment I started gaining weight, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then my loser brother is suddenly swanning around with a beauty on his arm and a Manor House to boot? No chance. I hired a private investigator. Took a while, but eventually he discovered your clinic, your power, and a few other things you probably didn’t want anyone finding out about…”. Penny trailed off and sidled a glance at Jennifer. Jennifer’s face soured as she regarded Tom with cold eyes. He was really panicking now. “Look, darling, she means nothing to me, really. Annabelle practically forced herself on me. You have to believe me. You have to…”. Desperation bubbled up in his voice. “So I reach out to Jennifer, we get to talking, sharing stories, you know?”, Penny continues, “and after seeing the photos my PI snapped of you blown up like a whale and being tended to by your business partner and her mother… well, let’s just say it didn’t take much more convincing to put today together. Figuring out the best way to serve some much needed just desserts…”. She turns her vast body towards the well-dressed man and nods once. The dark-skinned stranger steps forwards and took Tom’s hand. Tom tried to use his power, to transfer this stranger his immense excess weight, but nothing happened. “That won’t work on me big man”, the stranger said kindly, “immune, you see? Part of my gift. Can’t be affected by other powers, or use them, but I can act as a bit of a… well, I guess you might call me a power broker”. He smiled kindly again, before gripping Tom tighter and closing his eyes. Tom could feel his ability simply draining away. A moment later the man stepped back, nodding a polite thanks to the dumbstruck Tom. He crossed the room and took Jennifer’s hand this time, repeating the process. Jennifer let out a long guttural moan as the stranger took back his hand. “I… I…” she stuttered in disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes. “The hunger, it’s… it’s gone”. She looked as if an enormous weight had suddenly been lifted off her shoulders. Tom looked as if he was about to throw-up. Penny grinned and nodded at the stranger. He took her hand - the third in as many minutes - and held it for a moment, eyes closed in deep concentration. “It is done”, he announced in a matter-of-fact tone, “and the hunger?”. “Hold onto that for now”, Penny replied, “you two can go - I’ll join you outside in a little while. My brother and I have some catching up to do…”. There was an ominous undertone that made the hair on the back of Tom’s neck stand to attention. With that the smartly dressed stranger and Tom’s former girlfriend stepped out of the room, closing the door behind them. Jennifer gave him a mournful look as she left - the end of their relationship. Tom wanted to call out to her, to beg for forgiveness, for help. All he managed was a pathetic whimper. “So…”, begins Penny as she waddles ponderously towards Tom’s bed, “shall we get this over with?”. “No, Penny, wait”, Tom spluttered, but his waddling sister had already reached his bedside and placed a pudgy hand against one of his overflowing hips. Her hand was at once cool to the touch, and then burned red hot without warning. He winced and strained at his non-existent ab muscles to try and turn away, but couldn’t do anything to extricate his flabby ass cheeks from the sheet below. Tom’s eyes went wide with fear as he realised what was about to happen. He began to grow. A familiar bubbling beneath his already stretched skin and then the unmistakable feeling of his body expanding across the medical bed. Resting against the angled back of the bed he could see his legs splaying outwards slowly, forced wider by encroaching inner thigh blubber. Calves thicker than most men’s torsos that jiggled as they went. His ass and hips were an ocean of fat, pouring out onto the king sized bed and filling up the entire width. Tom’s plump hands could just about reach his flank. He prodded fearfully at his hips and felt his finger sink inches into his flesh without any hint of bone underneath. A vast orb-like belly rounded out his fat ass, giving him the appearance of an overfilled water balloon resting on a surface. His weight was crushing, making it harder to breath with every passing second. He could feel his gut hanging down between his legs, swallow up his cock, and spread further along the top of his thighs. Two meaty man-tits obscured most of his view, veiny and stretch-marked with the sudden impossible growth, thick nipples hard in the cool air-conditioned air. He had to be over one and a half tonnes at this point. He whimpered pathetically. The springs and gimbals of the bed squeaked and groaned under his immense weight, but mercifully held as the final pound slipped onto his body and Penny’s hand pulled away. Tom choked out a groan. It sounded oddly muffled. The sheer weight of his cheeks and fat pressing in on his vocal cords changing the timber of his voice. His gaze shifted to his sister. It was like looking back in time. The tent sized dress in a heap at her feet, her body had returned to its former glory. Long slender legs, a toned middle, a pretty and well-defined jawline, a perfect pair of tits. She was every part the smoking hot sister he had lusted over all those years ago. Penny ran her hands up and down her body, exploring. It was a natural instinct given the circumstances. He’d seen it a hundred times before in his clinic. Tom could see the raw, unadulterated pleasure etched across face as she ran her hands over her waist - now tight and taught like the rest of her body. She let out a long, deep sigh, like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. In many ways it had. “You know I used to dream of this day”, she said, “or, maybe not exactly this day”, putting emphasis on the penultimate word and nodding at his gargantuan body, “but I would fantasise about getting my old body back. What I would do if I was given a chance at being thin and beautiful again. Run off to the nearest beach maybe? Call an old flame?”. Tom drank in her body. She was beauty personified. “And you know what?”, Tom’s sister shrugged, her perky tits rising and falling with the motion, “now I’m here, with you, I’m not so sure…”. She tiled her head slightly, taking him in. “What I should do is go out that door and never see you again. I know that. But what I want to do… what I want to do is leave you with one last memory of me. Something to think about during those long, long days you’ll spend trapped in this bed, unable to even reach your…”. Penny trailed off, turned, and headed for the door. As she reached the kitchen’s threshold she turned back to him. “Bathroom?”. He nodded her in the right direction, lost for words. She returned a minute or so later with a towel in one hand and a bottle in the other. “Didn’t take me long to find your old stash”, she laughed, waving the jumbo bottle of lube at him. Penny upturned the bottle and poured the viscous liquid over her chest, letting it drip over her breasts and cascade down her body. The entire bottle, at least a six month supply, covered her in a greasy sheen. Tom’s cock was already rock hard and pulsating somewhere deep within his folds. Penny centred herself at the end of his medical bed and crawled on. The joints and gimbals groaned under the increased weight, likely more that its designers had in mind, but mercifully held. Tom lost sight of her as she dipped beneath the crest of his titanic belly. He felt her soon enough. An oily hand lifted his lower belly and went delving amongst his folds. His fat amplified the pleasure, each press of her hands setting off a wave of blubber that beat against his buried dick. Tom chocked a moan and balled his fists in pleasure. “Where is your little guy?”, Penny asked playfully, “I can’t find him anywhere”. Her oily hands groped and pawed at his engorged fat pad. Up to her elbow now, he could feel her getting closer. When his sister’s fingers finally brushed against the tip of his cock Tom let out a pig-like sequel of delight. The feeling was euphoric. “There he is!”, Penny laughed, “you’re certainly not going to be doing this yourself anytime soon bro”. She was right. Tom’s days of beating himself off were well and truly behind him. She circled her finger around the tip, just like Jennifer used to do. Tom shuddered, sending ripples of fat down his body. Penny pushed back his foreskin and rubbed gently at the underside of his head. With each rub of his sister’s oily fingers Tom spluttered out a moan, and when she pinched his shaft and began slowly, rhythmically, pumping, Tom thought he might pass out from the pleasure. “You like that, hmmm?”, Penny asked, knowing his answer before the words left her lips, “are you about to blow?”. She sped up her fingers as she said it, willing his cock to release its load. Tom chocked out a “yes”, clenching what few muscles he had left beneath his fatty prison. Just a few more seconds… Penny retracted her hand, retrieving it from his fat pad’s deep folds. Tom teetered just on the edge of orgasm once again, on the precipice, unable to tip himself over. The increased weight of his balls might have just been in his head but he could swear they were heavier with unfulfilled anticipation. He tried in vain to reach his crotch to finish himself off. His hand even couldn’t reach past his upper belly. “Please…”, he whimpered, but his sister didn’t appear to be listening. He felt her place her hands atop his belly - slick palms sank deep into his gut as she pulled herself on top of him. Tom felt her warm thighs and pussy slap against his flesh, the heat of her body pressing against his own as she came into view, straddling his blubber. She heaved herself up to his chest using handholds of fat, aided by the slippery lube covering her naked body. Towering over his head, she came to a stop sat upon his wobbly moobs. “Figured that given this is probably the last time you’re ever going to see any action I might as well make it memorable”, she said with a cheeky glint in her eye, “I remember how much you used to stare at my tits back in the day. You were practically salivating whenever I wore a low-cut top. Sneaking peeks at me in the bathroom”. Tom’s eyes moved to his sister’s breasts instinctively. Her plump double-ds were as perfect as he’d remembered. He could feel his cock throbbing painfully. “Don’t blow too soon”, she continued, leaning forwards placing an arm either side of Tom’s head, tits hanging a foot or so above. A finger brushed against his neck and burned hot. If a third party had been in the room they likely wouldn’t have noticed the 10 or so pounds that suddenly disappeared from Tom, such was the enormity of his body. The change to his sister’s slender form, however, was unmistakable. Tom watched, mouth agape, as Penny’s tits began to engorge. Her already generous bosom bulged and sagged, drooping closer to his face with each passing second. Two soft watermelons with plump nipples, still covered in lube. Tom could barely contain himself. She lowered herself, engulfing Tom’s face in soft titty flesh. He moaned as the weight of her chest pressed into his face. He shook his head side to side and let her hanging water-balloons smack into his cheeks with wet slaps. It was everything he’d ever wanted. “You like that big boy?”, Penny’s voice called out from somewhere up above after a minute or so of breathless fun, “well then you’ll really enjoy this…”. A familiar sensation on his neck was followed by an even greater weight pressing down on his face. His sister’s tits engulfed his head, spreading around his face on all sides. It was all Tom could do to stop himself from cuming there and then. Mustering every ounce of strength in his body he raised his ham-like forearms and cupped her vast tits. He felt her soft blubber between his fingers, and began bouncing them, letting waves of fat ripple across their surface and by extension his face. Tom’s muffled moans barely escaped his fleshy prison. Penny giggled. “Feel good do they bro?”, she asked, reaching forwards and shaking her huge hanging melons for his pleasure. It was all too much. Before he had time to properly register the idea Tom shifted his hands away from his sister’s impossibly large breasts and slapped them against her bare ass cheeks instead. He caressed her toned behind before slipping a finger between her legs. Her pussy was warm and wet. “Oh… oooohhh”, she moaned, shifting her legs to better expose her crotch to his wandering hands, and widening her legs across his chest to fully present herself to him. Tom was happy to accept the invitation. As he began to work at her pussy Penny rocked back and forth, rubbing herself against his hand. This had the pleasant consequence of further jiggling her engorged melons, which slapped against Tom’s cherubic cheeks. His mouth found a plump nipple and latched on, nibbling. Tom could feel the rush building in his crotch now. “Hmmmppf”, he moaned, suckling at his sister’s tits as he rubbed her clitoris furiously. She was groaning too now, bouncing herself on top of his fingers, causing waves of blubber to ripple across his vast body. Tom released the nipple from his lips and choked out a muffled pig-like squeal. They came together, a deluge of cum exploding somewhere within his fat pad as his sister’s pussy drenched his quivering hand. Penny collapsed forwards, the full weight of her water-balloons enveloping Tom’s face. He gasped for air as he came down from an orgasmic high. For a brief moment the reality of his situation had been lost in the intense pleasure, but a post-nut clarity soon washed over him. His heart pounded hard in his flabby chest. “How was that fat boy?”, his sister asked, heaving her tits up whilst still straddling his chest. Her gargantuan milkers hovering just above his face, “everything you dreamed it would be?”. Her face was flushed rouge and her breathing heavy. She slid down his body, aided by the lube, and stepped off, her engorged udders making the dismount less graceful than it would have otherwise been. Penny took her melons in her arms and felt their weight. “Oooof, this would certainly give the boys something to look at. But… I think they suit you better”. She touched Tom’s flank and he felt a familiar warmth from her fingertips. Whilst Penny’s tits shrank back to their normal, more modest, cup-size his weighty moobs ballooned, rounding and spreading further across the crest of his belly. “Nice pair”, she giggled when the fat transaction was complete. She gave the fat tits a gentle wobble. “Don’t think you’re going to be getting the girls was these puppies hanging off your chest. They’d be too jealous, you know?”, she laughed, before reaching for her old fat girl clothes and drying herself off. Tom whimpered as he watched her bend over to dry her feet, pussy flashing into view. Penny removed a small summery dress from her handbag and slipped into it. She then rummaged for her phone and made a call. “Yes, ambulance please”. She turned and smiled at Tom ruefully. “Oh, thank god, it’s my brother he’s… well he’s eaten himself into some trouble. He’s got too fat for me to look after anymore… yes… yes… oh I’d say about one and a half tonnes… yes you’ll need the fire brigade… oh, they’ll most certainly need a crane to assist… yes the address is…”. Tom listened on in silent horror. When she hung up the connection Penny walked over to Tom and leaned in to give him a peck on his weighty cheek. “Goodbye big brother”, she smiled, giving his vast man-tit a jiggle for emphasis, “maybe I’ll come and check in on your weight loss every now and then. Make sure you aren’t slimming down too much, you know? Can’t have you up and out of this bed now can I? No, I think a little extra padding every now and then will keep you right where I want you”. She jiggled his titanic belly playfully, gave him a wink that made his heart plummet, and turned towards the exit. Tom couldn’t help but follow her tight ass out the door, tears in his eyes. The emergency services arrived shortly after, crane and all.

Chapter 5: The BBW Bunny Tom stirred from a deep and peaceful sleep, a nuzzling at his neck. His eyes opened blearily to a familiar shock of flame red hair - Jennifer’s - as she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. Since moving into his expansive mansion two years prior Jennifer had more than made herself at home. Her clothes now dominated his spacious walk-in wardrobe, her hair consistently clogged the Roomba bumping around his plush grey carpet, and no matter how well his housekeeper stocked the fridge it was always cleared out by the day’s end. Their relationship was one of feverish passion, and the day often started as it meant to go on… Panting, Tom rolled off his girlfriend. Only 8:45am and he was already spent. Today was going to be a struggle. Jennifer’s gentle hand caresses his chest as she smiles up at him. “Ready for round two…?”, she giggled mischievously, tracing a finger past his naval and underneath the soft Egyptian covers. “I swear, one day you’ll be the death of me…”, Tom groans, swinging a leg out of bed and stumbling towards the en-suite. His shower was cool but refreshing. By the time he stepped back into the bedroom Jennifer had long since departed - a mess of duvet covers all that was left in her place. Tossed casually over a armchair in the corner of the room is a pair of barely-there lace panties, likely discarded in the rush of flesh and passion when they had made their way to bed last night. Tom recalled the Spanx shape wear Jennifer had sported the first time she’d visited his house. The weight loss had changed her in more ways than one. She was more outgoing, bolder, greedier. Unburdened by the looming threat of immobility, the hunger that plagued her appetite bled through to the rest of her life. Her power had transformed her. She chased an unattainable satisfaction, a physical and metaphorical ‘fullness’- slowed by Tom’s power, but never sated. It was the unspoken undercurrent of their relationship. It hadn’t taken long for a curious side effect of his own powers to emerge. Weight loss achieved through his touch was impactful, miraculous, but not permanent. This was not in and of itself that surprising, however the speed at which the weight returned certainly was. It hadn’t taken long for his early patients to waddle back into his clinic, desperate for his help to trim off their excess pounds once again. Based on rough calculations it appeared that the weight pilled back on somewhere between three to four times as fast as normal. Like their bodies were healing - making themselves whole. For Tom it meant repeat business and a paycheque as fat as his patents. He certainly wasn’t complaining. As he tidied away a pile of dirty clothes a single golden hair nestled under the collar of his shirt gave Tom reason to pause. He freed it carefully and held it up to the light. Long and blonde, its former owner Annabelle none the wiser it had hitched a ride back to his mansion at some point - evidence of their ongoing affair. Tom had never professed to be a good man. His life before the storm had been dull and poor and unremarkable. He’d never had a girlfriend, never had sex, lusted after every pretty girl he met, including his own sweet sister - his short, plump, greasy self had been looked over by them all. But now. Now he had money, and with money came power, and with power came…. The temptation had been too great. He’d been banging Annabelle on and off throughout his relationship with Jennifer, without, to the best of his knowledge, the latter’s suspicion. His secret affair with the buxom blonde added a certain spice to his otherwise pedestrian job at the clinic. And after all, Tom reasoned, it wasn’t like Jennifer really had a choice. She needed him more than he needed her. He left the bedroom behind and made his way through his mansion towards the kitchen. The artwork decorating the hallways was worth more than his old monthly wage. How times had changed… His housemaid, Isabella, was a motherly old woman of Spanish descent. She’d started working for Tom shortly after he’d moved in, living in an annex off the back of his house. He valued her as much for her discretion as the quality of her work. If she’d wanted to make a quick buck selling his story to one of the ‘supe-spotting’ magazines, which delighted in exposing the wired and wonderful powers of those caught in the storm, she’d have done so by now. He made sure to compensate her well for her silence. As he entered the kitchen Isabella was fussing over the stove. A generous helping of sausages, eggs, and bacon spat and sizzled in a large frying pan. “Second helping is ready Miss Jennifer”, she announced in a characteristically thick South American accent. “Mmmmmph, yeassh pleeassh”, Tom’s girlfriend mumbled through a mouthful of helping number one. Jenifer was perched on a tall barstool at the kitchen’s island. Tom approached her from behind, noting the generous sag of her thick ass cheeks, which had become too fat to be contained by the modest leather seat. Dressed in only her underwear Tom could see her dimpled cellulite-covered ass jiggle with every fevered bite. A ‘wide load’ of ever he’d seen one. Tom’s touch had slimmed her down to a beautiful size 2 only a month ago, and judging by the painful pinching of her too small panties she was currently pushing a wobbling size 14. Her weight gain was accelerating, rapidly. Tom placed his hands underneath her flabby saddlebags and gave them a gentle pat. Flesh oozed through his fingers, soft and fat. “Careful darling, a moment of the lips…”. She giggled playfully. “You know that’s not true. You’ll take it all off at the club today, right?”. He nodded in approval. Jennifer smiled and returned to her meal with a renewed gusto, unburdened by her swelling body. The feeder fetish club that she had suggested almost two years ago had opened last summer to a small but loyal clientele. Though a money making opportunity first and foremost, the club did offer some useful subsidiary benefits, not least the ability to palm off his girlfriend’s unsightly lumps and bumps onto the desperate perverts who frequented it. Tom enjoyed the occasional power play session when he was at his largest, however his taste in women certainly hadn’t changed. The soft piglet whose flabby bottom was overflowing his hand certainly wasn’t what he had signed up for. Better to trim her down at the earliest opportunity. After gobbling down a third and final helping the pair dressed for the day and set off into central London. The BBW Bunny was conspicuous. Lacking any signage, from the outside it was a traditional townhouse nestled in the heart of Soho. Behind a nondescript red door and the burley security guard sat in the hallway the club’s interior was world away from the hustle and bustle of the busy streets outside. Tom flashed his key card at the door and made his way into The BBW Bunny’s beating heart - the Feeding Room. All around models thick and thin danced, drank, ate, and entertained a modest collection of patrons. The lighting was soft, private, inviting small intimate conversations across the smattering of comfy sofas. The furniture, as with everything in the building, had been specially designed with the larger body in mind. A circular bar in the centre of the room pumps out a steady stream of food and drink - the latter ferried up a dumb-waiter from the kitchen downstairs. Off the room are a variety of other, more specialised, spaces - a Jacuzzi room, S&M playpen, bedrooms and Tom’s own office. Clients could pay a sizeable extra fee for use of his powers - a daily itinerary of private sessions that Jennifer, acting as his secretary, helped him to manage. “Oh you are such a sweetheart”, a posh English rose by the name of Lucy cooed at a nervous looking young man. She plucks a macaroon from a plate in front of her and nibbles it tantalisingly. Her vast body takes up most of the sofa - excess flesh spills onto the man’s lap. He strokes her thigh blubber nervously, a bulge in his pants. His head waitress, Grace, strides past holding a tray of martini glasses aloft. He sneaks a look at her rear. Her tight ass wiggles underneath a dangerously short pencil skirt. Tom glances at Jennifer’s wobbling backside and feels like cock shrivel in his pants. He needed to offload that extra weight as soon as possible. The BBW Bunny’s models were a range of 120 to 500 pounds. On shift that could change dramatically - private clients could see Grace’s tight ass balloon up to elephantine proportions or take on Lucy’s immense weight for themselves. The larger girls acted as a sort of walking fat store to redistribute as his private appointments required. He always did his best to make sure they were back at their starting weight by the end if their shift though - weight changes experienced at The BBW Bunny were not usually supposed to be permanent. The girls knew what they were signing up for and were perfectly content with their changing bodies whilst on shift. Including tips they were pulling in as much any investment banker or top lawyer in The City. A small price to pay for a bit of light sex work and discretion. Jennifer suddenly peels off and makes a B-line towards a chap sat alone next to a towering dessert trolley. She slides into the booth and takes his hand. “You wouldn’t be interested in buying some dessert for little old me would you?”, she asks sweetly, “I’m awfully hungry…”. His eyes bulged with excitement, stammering eagerly as he served Jennifer up a hearty slice of cake. The desserts were marked-up twenty times their normal price - one of the club’s many money makers. Tom left Jennifer to her fun and made his way towards his office. The day passed quickly enough. Tom’s first private client, a twenty-something with tousled blonde hair, had come to the blubber up his newlywed wife. She was a petite beauty with an angular heart-shaped face and a pretty smile. A quick introductory chat later and Tom had concluded that the pair were the young and adventurous type - keen to explore his fetish in a relatively safe space. For the fee they were paying Tom was more than happy to oblige. A passing visit from one of his resident ssbbws later and the petite young woman wasn’t so petite anymore. Her puffy face now sagged under a set of weighty jowls - two chins obscuring what had previously been a slender neckline. Three hundred and fifty additional pounds distributed evenly across her body had burst her out of her clothes and left the poor girl barely able to stand. She teetered on two trunk legs, swaying ominously as she adjusted to her newly fattened form. Her husband could barely contain himself. Eager hands explored her body, caressing the curve of her bulbous belly, grabbing whole handfuls of ass fat with barely restrained glee. Tom ushered the pair towards one of the clubs many discreet bedrooms, supporting the woman under one arm as she waddled awkwardly, craterous thunder thighs struggling to pass one another. The man’s erection bulged through his pants giving him a shameful gait as he hobbled along beside them. Once safely plopped on the bed Tom made a quiet exit. As he pulled the door closed he saw the woman lay back and spread her legs wide as her husband tore off his clothes. That hog was probably in for quite the ride… His next client was a familiar face. Emily graced the club every Friday afternoon, that week’s wages clutched in desperate hands. The 30-something had a reality-tv worthy backstory that Tom had been regaled with by Jennifer one day over a post-work beer. Having married her childhood sweetheart at the tender age of seventeen Emily had soon realised her new husband suffered from powerful sexual deviances. Her was a feeder, and a devout one at that, who slowly but surely wore down her willpower and began gathering mass on her previously slender body. Emily wanted nothing more than to please him, forcing herself to find sexual pleasure in overeating, and over time even began to enjoy her growing body. By her late 20s she was tipping the scales at 600 pounds, a great waddling whale of a woman, but she had become such a desperate feedee that she couldn’t stop herself from gorging even more. A heart scare, long hospital visit, and forced gastric bypass later she finally began to shed the pounds, much to the disappointment of her husband. By the time her saggy ass could squeeze into a single airplane seat he’d filed for divorce and was already sleeping his way around the larger ladies in town. He left Emily with 20 pounds of excess skin and a feedee fetish that she couldn’t sate. Miserable, unfulfilled, and ever hungry, Emily suffered through the next couple of years before discovering the club through one of Jennifer’s feederism websites. She had been one of their most loyal and frequent patrons ever since. Today was a Friday like any other. As her session drew to a close Emily was a wobbling 400 pound beauty. Her skin had filled out like an inflated balloon, giving her saggy body back it’s plentiful curves. Her rounded face looked healthier - contrary to what her doctors might say on the matter - and a happy glow spread across her cherubic cheeks. Completely naked with a model sat on either side, they caressed her body with oiled up hands. She had already orgasmed twice this session. “Do… you… have to?”, Emily moaned as Crystal, the model sat to her right, slipped a hand between her cavernous thighs. She shuddered with pleasure as her own hands ran up and down her oily body, pinching and groping at overflowing flesh. “Unfortunately we have another appointment starting soon”, Tom said diplomatically, “but we will be here ready and waiting in a week’s time for your next visit”. She pouted but nodded begrudgingly. Tom took her and one of the model’s hands and transferred the weight back to its rightful owner. The blubbery models left the room as Emily collected her things. With the fat drained from Emily’s body so too, it seemed, had her smile. She was one of the few people that actually looked better as a bit of a bloater, he reflected. He wondered whether she’d ever consider having the gastric bypass undone. Tom didn’t finish the thought. At that moment the door opened and Jennifer stepped into the room. She was even larger than she’d been this morning, a full day of gorging adding at least another dress size to her gelatinous body. Her work skirt had burst open at the front, a pasty gut spilling onto her upper thighs. Jennifer waddled towards him, her exposed belly bouncing shamefully with every lumbered step. Tom shuddered. She reached his desk and bent low to whisper in his ear. Her hanging gut pushed against his shoulder, enveloping it. “Your 5pm has cancelled my love. His little son isn’t well. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to make it for another couple of weeks”. Tom cursed under his breath. This particular client was his highest paying and most valuable customer. He was the owner of the fat fetish website that Jennifer had worked for before she’d reconnected with Tom and boasted the largest bbw modelling empire in all of Europe, with dozens of girls spanning 10 countries. Jennifer had pointed him to the club shortly after it opened and he’d been paying top dollar for a unique and off-menu service ever since. He would fly in his models to take on Jennifer’s excess weight permanently, fattening up for their desperate clients faster than any of the competitor websites could match. If he was honest Tom was more disappointed at not being able offload his girlfriend’s excess poundage than the lost revenue. He watched absentmindedly as Emily, now garbed in a formfitting dress than clung to her body like her loose skin, walked towards the exit. Her saggy arse was almost at the door when Tom called out to her. “Wait. I think I might have a proposal that you’d be interested in…”. Three minutes later he watched Emily tread the same path towards his office’s exit, but this time her bottom was fat, jiggling, and bursting the seams of her now overstuffed dress. She had gladly accepted his gift of Jennifer’s excess weight. Tom was pretty sure she came as the final pounds bulged onto her body - cheeks hot and flush with the excitement of it all. Sure it was morally irresponsible - palming off his girl’s weight onto a recovering binge eater - but if he was honest he didn’t really care. Emily’s quivering love handles squeezed through the door and out of sight. No sooner had the door closed than Jennifer’s leg swung across his lap. 110 pounds of woman straddling his crotch, pressing in. Her now beautiful face had a mischievous grin spread across it. She took him there and then amongst his papers. - - - - Tom wiled away the rest of the afternoon in his office before calling it a day at 6pm. He picked up Jennifer on his way out and the pair headed to their regular Friday night haunt - a Michelin stared restaurant in the centre of town, a stone’s throw from the British Museum. Six courses, two bottles of Brut, and a very pleasant date-night later they were strolling through Soho in search of a taxi home. “… look I’m sorry but… you’re just nothing like the pictures in your profile”. A man’s voice carries down the pavement. “Well they’re pictures from a few years ago”, a woman replies bashfully. Tom’s ears pricked up. He’d recognise that voice anywhere… His sister Penny was stood awkwardly outside ‘Aqua Bar’. Her companion was a decent enough looking chap - tall, dark, handsome, fit - which was more than could be said for his dear sibling. Tom hadn’t seen Penny in a good few months - she’d successfully avoided the last three family gatherings, and their relationship had never been particularly warm at the best of times so he wasn’t exactly popping around for a coffee and catch-up of a weekend. The last time they’d parted ways she had been in touching distance of 400 pounds. Today she looked closer to 500. The pronounced pear shape that Tom had gifted her a couple of years ago had swelled to elephantine proportions. She was at least four people wide, two great globular buttocks sagging under their own weight atop craterous cottage cheese thighs. The tight button-down dress she had opted for this evening clung to every roll, including an impressive belly hang. At 6 foot tall she was, in every sense of the word, enormous. “Well you should really update them”, her handsome companion replied after an awkward pause, “you’ve, errr, changed a lot since they were taken”. With that he turned and made his escape down the bustling London street. Tom saw a golden opportunity to twist the knife and couldn’t resist. He quietly sidled behind his sister and placed his hands atop her blubbery muffin-top. His fingers sunk into exposed flab - no hint of her once prominent hip bones anymore - and he padded his hands together, creating ripples of fat across her body. Penny was easily as large and gelatinous as has fattest model, likely larger. “Hmmpff”, Penny grunted, awkwardly manoeuvring her massive body around to face him. Her expression soured further as their eyes met. “Oh, it’s you”. “Hey sis”, he smiled back, as Jenifer caught up and nestled herself into his side. The image of a beautiful woman draped over his arm and his whale of a sister looking on in disbelief - he was disappointed nobody was around to take a picture. “You, errrr, well, have you done something different with your hair?”. Penny’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Very funny”, she spat back, not looking in the slightest bit amused, “still spying on me I see? You know he used to watch me shower when we were younger. Jerk off just outside the door. Sad little perv”. An impressive burn. Tom felt Jennifer give him a sideways glance - ‘really’?’. His face couldn’t help but turn pink with embarrassment. I took him a moment to recompose. “Well back then you were so something worth looking at sis”, he smiled, “130 pounds, double-d. What was a horny young boy to do? Thankfully though, you did me a great service in gorging yourself out of that body and into this one”. Tom gestured vaguely at his sister’s enormous gut. “How fat even are you now? Featuring on the next season of ‘My 600lb Life’?”. It was Penny’s turn to blush. Her plump cheeks creeping pink as she averted Tom’s gaze. Before she could respond a group of drunken lads stumbled past, loud and obnoxious. One was wearing a bright pink tutu, the rest a set of matching t-shirts with creative nicknames emblazoned on the back. “Fuck me, look at the size of this one!”, the one called ‘Shagger’, slurred to the street at large, “must be related to your mam Tommy!”. The group erupted into raucous laughter as Tommy shouted back, “if me mam was as porky as that big fat pig we’d have sold her off to the butcher years ago!”. More laughter, which seamlessly transitioned into a mostly out of tune rendition of Queen’s ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’. The group’s singing grew fainter as they stumbled off into the distance, by which time Penny looked even more embarrassed. Tom’s gaze shifted from her miserable cherubic face and noticed the belly fat straining at the buttons that ran down the front of her dress. Flesh desperately trying to break free from an outfit that must have fit about 30 pounds ago. He couldn’t help himself. Tom snatched at the fabric either side of buttons and pulled apart hard. His sister’s gut did most of the work - clearly thrilled at the prospect of escaping its cotton prison - a tsunami of adipose bursting off each button in turn before slapping against her upper thighs. Milky white gut, cellulite ridden and quivering in the streetlight, exposed for all the world to see. Penny exhaled in disbelief as Tom dove in, his fingers curling around a hearty portion of belly blubber. Penny’s skin was warm to the touch and as soft as silk. Surprisingly, Tom felt himself getting aroused. His cock hardened as his hands feverishly explored his sister’s paunch - dodging her pudgy hands as they tried in vain to swat him away. It wasn’t that he was turned on by the fat itself… more the idea that his big, beautiful sister had been reduced to this waddling monstrosity by his handiwork. In the excitement a hand slipped underneath the front of the now ruined dress and found itself clasped around Penny’s plump pussy. Her fat pad was as thick as most women’s belly’s, and even softer than her hanging gut. His fingers teased at the thick flesh. To so viscerally feel the full extent of his sister’s gluttony was… heavenly. Tom spluttered as he began pumping pre-cum into his boxer shorts. Penny finally managed to wrench herself free. She was shaking with rage - her exposed elephantine hips bouncing gregariously. Angry stretch marks quivered like flags in the wind. She shot a loathing, hateful look at her little brother and then waddled away furiously. Tom watched her jiggling, fat ass all the way down the street before turning back to Jennifer. She had stayed silent throughout this exchange, but regarded him now with a slightly disturbed look. He was too exhilarated to care. As they finally continued their walk Tom felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. A sly glance confirmed that Annabelle wanted to see him. Tonight. He’d already had plenty of fun with Jennifer today - why not spice up the evening with a visit to his buxom blonde? He made his excuses - an emergency patient at the clinic - and put Jennifer into a taxi with a kind word and kiss goodnight… - - - - - By the time he’d been waved through the entrance gates and pulled up at Annabelle’s vast grade 2 listed mansion it was just gone midnight. “Annabelle?”, Tom called out as he pushed open her heavy wooden front door. The impressive space, flanked by a mirrored set of marble staircases snaking up to the second story, was eerily quiet. The only light in the dim space was the glow emanating from beneath a door on his right. Tom strode over and pushed it open... Annabelle and her mother Lilly were sat on the floor with their backs to Tom in front of a wide, open fridge. The mysterious glow could be traced to the harsh white light illuminating from the American-sized appliance. He hadn’t seen either of them in about twelve weeks. They had been cruising around the Mediterranean on one of the family’s many yachts - no doubt waited on hand and foot by a retainer of cabin crew. And it showed. Tom’s mouth opened involuntarily, aghast at the size of the pair. He had noticed Annabelle was already straining the waistline of her size 16s when she’d departed. The bodacious blonde had made a point of declining his offer for a pre-holiday slimming on the basis that ‘she and mummy were going to be spending the entire time at sea getting reacquainted with Italian cuisine’ and that any action on his part in advance of this would have been wasted effort. Seeing her now he had to admit she’d been right. Both mother and daughter were spilled out across the floor, naked as the day they were born. Two puddles of bottom-heavy flesh, their asses were easily as wide as three women stood abreast. Great wobbling oceans of fat that had engulfed the skinny women he’d come to see around his office. Sagging bingo wings jiggled as they shovelled what looked to be rounded scoops of ice cream into their turned-away faces. Heavy guts filled the space between their legs like the aftermath of a blubbery avalanche. They had gained far more weight than should be humanly possible in such a short space of time. Tom’s brain almost couldn’t make sense of it. If thing continued at this rate he’d have to become live-in help or they would be immobile by each day’s end. He put the worrying thought out of mind for now. “I see you’ve been eating well”, Tom said as he stepped into the room and towards the pair. Two cherubic faces turned to greet him, mouths lathered in chocolate icing. “Thomas… uurrrp!”, Annabelle belched as she turned her face to him with a wide grin, “we’ve been eating very well thanks to you - nothing like guilt free gluttony to truly relax on a holiday”. She gulped down another mound of ice-cream. “I think we outgrew all of the ‘fat clothes’ we’d brought by about… week six?”. “Week five”, Lilly, her mother, corrects with a giggle. The normally drop-dead milf strains her thick neck to look at Tom. An engorged breast sways ponderously into view, slapping against the crest of her rounded gut. “You’re not saying we look porky, are you Tom?”, she pouts back, a cheeky glint in her eye. Tom noticed the empty bottles of Bollinger discarded amongst the ice-cream tubs. “You look stunning as always Lilly”, he replied diplomatically, “a full-figured beauty if ever I saw one”. The inebriated 40-something blushed and looked away bashfully, biting her top lip. Annabelle stood up gingerly, leaning on the open fridge door for support as she extricated her wide ass from the floor. Panting, she waddled towards Tom, her thick fupa jiggling with each heavy step. “We’re fat Thomas”, she said matter-of-factly, “greedy beached whales that have been devouring supersized meals and are in desperate need of your magic touch”. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it tight. “Not tonight Annabelle…”, he started to respond, but a plump finger pressed up against his lips. “We’ll make it worth your while…”, she whispered mischievously, reaching her hand between Tom’s legs and rubbing at his cock. “I’ve told mummy all about your little predilection for, *ahem*, power dynamics. Once we’re thin we’ll have all the energy in the world to do whatever you want us too…”. A grunt from up ahead as Lilly rolled onto her front and attempted to stand. Her belly hung so low that it touched the floor even though she was on all fours. Her hips were wider than her daughter’s - child-bearing and wobbling violently with every movement. Lily struggled against gravity, and lost. “Tom… I need… your help…”. ‘Beached whale’ seemed like a particularly apt description given her current circumstances. Tom walked further into the kitchen and took Lilly under her arm. His hands sunk into doughy upper-arm and, with some difficulty, heaved the overstuffed milf into a standing position. “Oooof, I think I may have overdone it on dessert”, she laughed, slapping her rounded belly. “Now, shall we get down to business…”. Mother and daughter each took a hand in their own, staring Tom down with devilish smiles. He knew he should politely refuse and return home to his girlfriend… Less than a minute later and Tom was immobilised on his back, pinned down by several hundreds of pounds of freshly accumulated blubber. Directly above Lilly’s pussy was tantalising him as she gyrated her newly trimmed body against his chest, hands playing with his mountainous belly. Somewhere out of sight Annabelle was teasing at his cock, working it into a frenzy that he hoped would be drawn out for as long as possible. The sight of Lilly’s tight ass was too much - Tom couldn’t help himself. With considerable effort he forced his arms into the air and clasped his hands around Lilly’s petite waist. He pulled her down, engulfing his face in warm, wet pussy. Annabelle, meanwhile, was already holding him on the edge of orgasm with a finger circling agonisingly around his tip. He was completely at her mercy. It was a long and pleasant night.

Chapter 4: The Red-Haired Girl ‘Knock, knock, knock’. Tom swung the large brass handle against the battered old door and waited patiently for an answer. He hadn’t been back to his mother’s house in a good few weeks, but was here today to play the dutiful son and help her pack the removal truck with her belongings. Life had gone from strength to strength for mother in the last year or so. She’d shed a further 120 pounds thanks to a combination of Tom’s sneaky interventions and her own self-determination, and had settled at a curvy size 14. She didn’t seem to want to lose any more, and was happy in her own skin - which was perfectly taught thanks to his powers. Tom thought she looked absolutely beautiful. So, it seemed, did London’s eligible bachelors, as she’d been on a string of dates late last year and then fallen head over heels for a rich 40 year old financier, Sebastian. She was moving into his Soho penthouse this afternoon, leaving Penny the sole remaining resident of their grim council house. Tom had upgraded to a sprawling mansion at the start of the year, the profits from his clinic already reaching levels of wealth he could previously only dream of. He’d spun a line to friends and family about forgotten crypto worth millions that had thankfully gone unchallenged. Mother answers the door. She’s wearing a flowery summer dress and a beaming smile. They embrace on the doorstep. Tom’s hands rest on her womanly hips. Still chunky, but at least now not so fat that he can’t feel the bone beneath. “Oh you’re looking so well darling”, she coos, stepping back to take in his full form, “you’ve been working out I see”. Tom smiles bashfully - he had been hitting the gym recently, in an effort to build up a bit of bulk now that fat had all but disappeared from his body. He was rather pleased with the results so far. “Good, because I’ll need those muscles to load up the truck. It’s just going to be the two of us as your sister isn’t in any fit state… well, you can see for yourself…”. She steps aside and ushers Tom across the threshold of the dingy house, through the hall, and into the lounge. He notices the discarded pizza boxes first - six pilled unevenly by the door. The floor is littered with empty crisp packets and chocolate bar wrappers, a graveyard of unhealthy snacks. Empty plastic takeaway containers obscure most of the glass coffee table, safe for the spot closest to the couch where a space had been haphazardly cleared to make room for a wooden tray laden with the largest fried breakfast Tom had ever seen. Sat directly in front of the mammoth meal is his sister, Penelope. The 6 foot tall beauty had fallen spectacularly from grace over the last couple of years, and Tom was pleased to see that she was looking fatter than ever today. A combination of mother’s blubber plus her own unstoppable gluttony had recently pushed poor Penny into the super morbidly obese category. Tom had targeted his transferred fat towards her bottom-half exclusively, which had given Penny an exaggerated pear shape with her weight centred on her ass and thighs. Penny was plopped in the centre of the couch, surrounded by an ocean of elephantine ass on all sides. Each of her legs looked like it weighed as much as a normal woman - great cellulite-ridden monstrosities that spilled across the couch. Her belly was soft with subcutaneous fat, and hung between her legs. She looked… enormous. Tom was almost speechless at the sight. She also, interestingly, wasn’t wearing any clothes. Two fat sagging tits were on display for the room to see, and though her pussy was well and truly covered by her hanging paunch Tom could see she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Ummmm, hey sis”, he said unsurely. Penny looked up, bored, and replied, “oh, hey bro”, before taking a swig from the large milkshake she was holding in a pudgy hand. Mother took a seat on the couch next to Penny. The springs strained under their combined weight. “Your sister broke her last pair of leggings the other week when she was picking up the milk from the doorstep. Poor Mr Jones across the road was granted a close up of her big old bottom jiggling back inside, wasn’t he poppet?”. Mother patted her daughter on the thigh, sending ripples across its vast surface. “Since then I’ve been so busy seeing Seb and getting ready for the move that I haven’t been able to get out to the store, so Penny’s just been plopped here all day eating whatever I order-in for her. Though I knew I couldn’t leave before making one last cooked breakfast”. So mother was actively enabling Penny’s descent into immobility then, Tom considered - he knew Penny wasn’t getting off her fat ass to cook herself such an elaborate meal. A case of weight related schadenfreude perhaps? Mother continued, “she’s even taken a liking to my old morning milkshakes haven’t you poppet? I guess I’m not the pig of the family any more, hmmm?”. Mother jiggled Penny’s hip, emphasising how much flesh she could pinch between her fingers. “I get it mum, I’m fat. A big hopeless blimp and I shouldn’t have teased you about it back in the day. Can we drop it now?”, Penny snaps grumpily, heaving her belly in her arms and letting it slap back between her legs for emphasis. As she does so Tom catches a flash of her bulging pussy, lips fat and engorged like the rest of her Mother giggles, “oh come on poppet I’m only teasing, you know how much I love you. And there’s so much to love these days! To be honest it’s just nice to see that you’re finally enjoying food as much as I used to. You’ve got your mother’s appetite! Now eat up, your breakfast is getting cold”. Penny finished the final gulp of her shake, belched loudly, and began devouring the unhealthy breakfast mountain. A dribble of bacon grease drips down her chins and into her cleavage. She doesn’t appear to care. Tom steps out of the room as his sister begins to make frenzied snuffling sounds. Mother closes the door behind them. “She is such a greedy piggy isn’t she?”, mother whispers excitedly, “I can’t buy clothes fast enough to keep up with her weight. She’s over 400 pounds now, and with such a big, fat, jiggly bottom! She’s already broken three of our dining chairs - I have to put out two now, one for each cheek!”. Tom couldn’t help but laugh at his mother’s exuberance. She seemed more excited about this than the move. “I’ve already setup a recurring Deliveroo credit for £200 a week so she can keep herself well fed, and I’ll be bringing over a supply of shakes every Saturday so that she doesn’t have to go hungry over breakfast”, she continued, “I can’t bear the thought of her going hungry”. “Sure mother”, Tom rolled his eyes, “that’s why you’re doing all this. It wouldn’t have anything to do with getting you just-desserts now would it?”. Mother blushed sheepishly and batted his question away with her hand. Mother and son laughed all the way down the hall, towards the first of the moving boxes. - - - - Tom helped his mother load the last of her things into the moving truck and then waved goodbye as she departed for her new and very well-deserved life. She’d done her best in difficult circumstances after dad left, and though dirt poor he’d never once questioned her commitment to her children. Speaking of which, Tom turned and waved a hearty goodbye to his younger sister, who had managed to extricate herself from the couch and lumber to the door. Her hips spread the entire width of the doorway, touching the frames on either side. She gave him the finger and waddled back inside her ramshackle flat. The drive to Annabelle’s was pleasant enough. He was waved past the security gate as usual, drove through the estate towards Annabelle’s house, and parked up beside the outbuilding that had become his secretive clinic. There were already two cars parked-up nearby. A bright orange Lamborghini sitting alongside a beat-up Ford Fiesta with a 90s plate. Clearly his first clients of the day were ready and waiting for their appointment. The clinic had developed a strong and steady business over the last 12 months since Tom had first slimed down the plump princess herself, Annabelle. She’d been true to her word, calling upon her enviable black-book to find high society’s most overindulgent gluttons and turning them into paying clients. Similarly there was never a shortage of cash-strapped service workers desperate to exchange their physical beauty for a bundle of cash. Tom sometimes felt bad about abusing the kind of people he’d used to call his peers, but the allure of big houses, fast cars, and material wealth was just too strong to resist. He entered the clinic and saw Annabelle’s mother, Lilly. She was picking up a pile of papers that had spilled onto the floor, bent low in her effort to collect them all. Tom couldn’t help but admire the view. Lilly had been Tom’s second ever patient at the clinic, waddling in at an impressive 425 pounds, just a touch less than her daughter had been, but sauntering out a red-hot 120 pound milf. Beneath the blubbery overfed exterior had been a slamming body and a face to match. Since then she’d been helping our around the place - a lot of the clients were her friends and acquaintances after all - and Tom had grown to quite like having her around. Today, in particular, he was enjoying ogling the soft ass cheeks poking out beneath her shirt as she stretched to collect her fallen cargo. “Morning Lilly”, he coughed politely, “looking good as ever”. She straightened up and turned to face him, a sly grin spread across her rosy cheeks. “I hope you weren’t checking me out young man. You know very well that I’m a married woman”. It was part of the game they played. Innocent flirting. A flash of skirt here and there. Tom knew it made her feel pretty, and he certainly wasn’t going to turn down a bit of fun every once in a while. “I sent your first clients through to your office. Toby has already sorted all the paperwork. They’re all yours now”. She touched his chest innocently as she walked out the room. Tom’s morning was a fairly standard affair. Relatively speaking. A famous actress that he half recognised from some god-awful American television show wanted to lose some baby weight for an upcoming role, one of Lilly’s country club friends wanted to shift the best part of 125 pounds before her daughter’s wedding - in three months’ time - and a UK politician that he was fairly certain was on the back-benches of the Conservatives wanted her regular 5 pound removal. Some people, it seemed, couldn’t get away with losing half their body weight overnight without awkward questions, and about half his clientele were long term clients who would visit every week for months or even years for a gradual experience. Tom didn’t mind - he charged more for that. As the politician and the woman who had kindly agreed to take on her excess fat waddled out of his office (they were both about as large as each other now), Tom breathes a sigh of relief. Using his powers so much in a short period was surprisingly draining, and he needed to recharge his batteries before going again tomorrow. Just as he was walking towards the exit, Annabelle sauntered into the room. He hadn’t seen her in a good month or so - she’d been off partying with her Old Etonian friends in Tuscany. And quite the party it appeared to have been. For one reason or another it had been a while since her last visit as a client before she’d gone away, and a further month of drinking and eating to excess hadn’t done any wonders for the figure Tom had originally sculpted for her. Annabelle’s entire body had puffed out like rising dough. Arms thick and lacking their previous muscle definition, tits heavier and sagging, thick thighs touching together almost down to the knee, and a fat porky gut hanging over the waistband of her now far too tight shorts. She’d gained an awful lot of weight in such a short space of time. “I see you’ve been enjoying yourself”, he grins, nodding towards her bulging belly. “Yep. I ate and drank and fucked all day every day - and not necessarily always in that order. Unfortunately the party lifestyle has a way of catching up with a girl”. She pats her belly with a self-satisfied smile. “Thankfully I’ve got you here to set me back on the straight and narrow. So chop-chop, let’s get this over with”. “But there’s nobody here to pass it onto”, Tom pointed out, “the last client left a few minutes ago and we’re done for the day. Let’s do it first thing tomorrow instead and I’ll…”. He didn’t get to finish the thought, as Annabelle took his hand and pressed it gently under her vest-top and against her soft breast. “Come on now Tommy, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement”, she whispered in a sultry tune, as she released the button holding back the dam of doughy belly-butter and squeezed out of her clothes. She stood, a plump naked beauty, before lifting a chunky leg and straddling him on his office chair. Her fingers played tantalising at his belt buckle… - - - - Tom left the clinic about 20 minutes later, carrying an uncomfortable additional 76 pounds around his middle. Annabelle, once again a bombshell beauty, had also left him slightly bowlegged - she’d learnt a few new tricks whilst she’d been away. Thankfully the drive home was relatively short - just a few minutes to his Kew townhouse - and as he pulled his Porsche into his private parking space he couldn’t help but wonder how different his life would be right now were it not for that freak storm. Tom was almost at his front door when he felt someone tug roughly at his arm. He spun around, heart beating in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t an enormous red-haired woman, about as wide as she was tall. This mysterious beached whale was sweaty and panting, the walk up his entrance steps likely an Everest style effort, and had a face that he couldn’t help but feel he’d seen before. Was she a client? Had Annabelle sent over another of her plump friends? Was she a celebrity? Or… “Jennifer?”, he asked slowly. The same girl that had been at the bus stop with him that fateful day. Who had snuffled down his leftovers and been blasted by the same lightening that gave him his powers. To see her again after the best part of two years couldn’t be a coincidence. She embraces him like one might a long lost relative - warm and tight. “It’s so good to see you. I need to talk to you. I need your help. It’s about… it’s about your powers”. She whispers the last two words, but they still make their hair on the back of Tom’s neck prickle. This was a conversation best continued behind closed doors. Tom helped Jennifer inside - a slow and arduous process given her size. Once she was settled on his couch, a polite refreshment offered and gratefully accepted, he asked her to explain what she had meant. The ensuring tale did not leave Tom feeling much better. Jennifer explained that she too had developed powers shortly after the incident at the bus stop. A raw, unstoppable, and never ending hunger which even a fully stuffed belly would only temporarily contain. What’s more, her metabolism slowed and she was gaining weight at around five times the rate of a normal person. As a result she had ballooned 200 pounds in just the first 6 months, and was dangerously close to becoming immobile. Ever since she’d starved herself every day, suffering through the unbearable hunger, only to ultimately maintain her weight thanks to the meagre scraps that she did consume. Her tone was an uncomfortable mixture of defeated and desperate. Perhaps no surprise then that upon getting wind of a potential miracle cure for the curse of obesity being touted around the south London area, she asked around town until she eventually tracked down Tom. This was a concern - if she could do it anyone could - but at least Jennifer was a known entity that could be contained. “And so…”, she panted breathlessly as she neared the end of her long and tearful exposition, “I need you… please, to use your powers on me. I’ll do anything. Anything. It’s… I can’t take it any more…”. Jennifer’s belly grumbles loudly, as it had done the day of the storm. Tom supposes that’s why she ended up with these powers in the first place. He was sympathetic to her plight, and certainly wanted her to keep her mouth shut about everything she’d learned. “Look, I’ll help you, of course I will, but I need to wait until my clinic is open tomorrow morning. It’s where I work. I’ll have to find someone to pass the weight onto, and then there’s the legal paperwork, I think it would be best if -“. Jennifer interrupted him mid-flow, panicked. “No, please, tomorrow is too late! I haven’t eaten properly in weeks. I can’t… please I’ll do anything!”. Tears now gushed down her cherubic cheeks as her belly grumbled loudly once again. He’d been expecting a quiet night in to nurse his swollen gut. This was all getting a bit too much. “Look… fine, you can stay here tonight and… I’ll use my powers”. Hugging and sniffled thank-yous ensued. “How much do you weigh?”, he asked nervously, conscious he was already carrying extra timber around his middle courtesy of Annabelle. “I’m… I’m not sure”, she admitted bashfully, “my scales didn’t go over 400, but that was a long time ago”. Tom gulped nervously. With some difficulty he escorted her to one of the ground floor guest bedrooms. Clothes slipped off so they might live another day. He positioned himself on the large king bed, Jennifer standing off to one side, and took her hand. “Look, I may not have much mobility after this, so I’ll need your help this evening. I can sort someone to come to the house to take on the weight tomorrow morning”. Grateful nods and another loud rumble from her belly. No time like the present, Tom thought, as he started the process. Immediately his body began to gather mass. He felt his already bloated gut hang all the way between his legs and settle on the bed below. He felt his tits swell and hang ponderously under their weight. He felt his ass bubbling away, spreading across the soft Egyptian cotton bedsheets. He felt as large as he’d ever been in the clinic. Surely this was nearly over now? But the weight kept coming. Jennifer wasn’t even looking particularly thin yet - still a long way to go before she would be gracing the catwalks of London Fashion Week. Just how big had she been? Tom held his nerve, felt his body growing fatter and fatter until… he relinquished Jennifer’s hand. Drained, he took her in. Her pants and undergarments had fallen in a heap around her ankles, revealing a set of Spanx shape wear that had admirably been trying to rein her blubber in. He wondered why the company even bothered making it in her size. The t-shirt she was wearing could have doubled as a tent for how much it dwarfed her petite figure. She casts it off, revealing a smoking body underneath. Tom had been right, she was a pretty girl without the extra blubber. Very pretty in fact. He would like to have examined it further - for academic purposes of course - however no sooner had she ran her fingers across her washboard abs than her stomach grumbled again. Jennifer winced, turned on her heel, and ran out of the room, presumably towards his kitchen. Trapped in a fatigued daze, Tom moved instinctively as if to follow her. Or rather, he tried to. He didn’t move an inch. Mind fog clearing, he looked down at his body. He was enormous - larger than any patient he’d ever treated at the clinic. Soft doughy flesh bulged from every part of his body, or at least all the parts he could actually make out. Two huge melons rested on his chest, great fat orbs sagging under their own weight. His belly was so large that he could only make out part of it before the rolls disappeared from view, obscuring his entire bottom half except for a pair of fattened feet poking out at the very end. Hands nervously groped around his body - this was not good. Tom tied again to extricate his ass from the bedsheets to no avail. He was stuck there until Jennifer returned, thankfully with his phone so he could organise some assistance for the morning. He wasn’t going anywhere until he’d fixed this mess… Jennifer staggered in a few minutes later. A piece of red velvet cake that Tom had been saving for a dinner party dessert that weekend in each hand. Her face was smeared with icing, hair dishevelled, but as she chomped down greedily on a hearty handful Tom could see that her hunger had finally been satisfied. “Uuuurrrrp! Oh, pardon me!”, she bleaches through mouthfuls of cake, sending crumbs spilling across the cream carpeted floor, “I feel… urrrrp… incredible!”. The bed springs pinged and groaned as she sat at the bottom of the bed. “Oh wow, I’m uh… really sorry about all… that”, she gestured at Tom’s blubbery immobile body, “I guess I’d really let myself go!”. She bites her bottom lip mischievously. “You know I haven’t been this thin in… well ever. Do you like how I look?”. “You look… you look beautiful”, he choked, plump cheeks burning red. Another stunning naked woman was sitting at the end of his bed - he really was making a habit of this. Jennifer crawled up the mattress towards Tom’s sausage-like legs. He watched her plump tits sway under gravity’s pull. “Well tonight you’ve made me the most satisfied woman in this green and pleasant land, and I feel like there’s a debt to be paid. I know better than anyone the frustration of being too big to touch yourself, so…”. Her hand pushes roughly into his flabby chest, forcing him onto his back in a horizontal position. Lacking the necessary ab strength there was no way he was getting back up from this. ‘Pop’, the sound of something plastic being flicked open. Jennifer appears by his head, a large bottle of lube in her hand. “I found this in your bathroom cupboard you naughty boy. I just feel awful for leaving you in this sorry state all night. Would you like me to give you a little massage to relieve some of the tension?”. He nods excitedly. “Excellent, and tell me Tom, what do you like?”. A cool liquid drips onto his chest. Jennifer rubs her hands over his oiled moobs, kneading his fat gently between her fingers. He can feel how fat and heavy his chest is, slipping and sliding in her grasp. A pair of lips close around one of his plump nipples. Tom shudders with delight. “I like… being… powerless”, he pants, cock throbbing somewhere deep below, calling out to be touched. “Oh is that right?”, Jennifer giggles, “well you’re looking pretty powerless now big boy. Unable to get up, unable to touch yourself, unable to stop me doing whatever… I… want…”. She emphasised the final three words, her hands slapping his mammoth oily tits in time. Gentle fingers tease at his puffy nipples before a pair of soft lips close around one, nibbling. Tom groans, his hands groping at Jennifer’s body. “Quite the pair you’ve got here”, she giggles, “making me feel self-conscious about my little bee-strings”. She presses her modest chest into his, flesh on flesh. Pressure builds somewhere beneath Tom’s hanging belly rolls. With considerable effort he raises his hands to her tits and begins to knead them greedily. The effort of lifting his thigh-sized upper arms has him panting heavily - his body was not used to supporting such a vast bulk. Jennifer pulls herself from his grasp and slides down his belly, settling on his lap. She leans back, spreading her legs wide to reveal a visibly damp pussy. “Come and get me big boy”, she teases. Tom luges forwards, a moth drawn to a beautiful flame, but his hands grasp fruitlessly at the empty air as Jennifer is just out of reach. “Urrrrgh”, he moans, desperate to touch her, caress her, but to no avail. “Oh dear, oh dear, has someone got a little too big this time? Has someone got so fat, so jiggly, so wobbly, that they can’t even take the woman presenting herself right in front of them?”. Jennifer giggles with glee. “You can’t even reach your own cock to pleasure yourself anymore. Which means you’re at my mercy now…”. Tom feels the cool lube ooze into his fat pad, oiling up the fat surrounding his buried cock. “Oh fuck, oh fuck”, he moans, desperately hard as she kneads gently at his crotch. Each hand motion rubs his fat against his member, sending pulses through this wobbling body. “Faster”, he begs, but if anything Jennifer slows her pace, drawing out the pleasure, but also prolonging the sweet release he so desperately wanted. Every time Tom nears climax Jennifer draws back, oiling his inner thighs and playfully kneading his soft doughy flesh as his cock throbs and pulses in vein. “Please… please…”, he begs, “let me cum…”, but the recently skinny temptress remains apathetic to his plight. Lying back all Tom can see is his mountainous belly blocking Jennifer from view, but he can feel her working around his fat pad, teasing him like a predator playing with its next meal. An oiled up finger poked through his blubber and touches this tip of his cock. Tom almost came on the spot, writhing and wriggling as the finger circles slowly around his head before massaging the lube up and down his frenulum. “Oh fuck… I’m gonna… ohhhh”, he groaned as a deluge of cum filled his fat pad and oozed out onto the bedsheets below. His entire body quaked and rippled as heavy waves of orgasm overcame him. Tom needed time to recover after all that excitement. He sat plopped on the bed panting heavily, unable to move an inch, and watched as Jennifer ordered three takeaways from a variety of cuisines and devoured each in turn. Her appetite was truly something to behold. After slurping the last of the beef and black bean from its plastic container she finally collapses back into the bed next to him. Her stomach was round and hard - a food baby if epic proportions. “Ohhh…” she groaned, a hand slipping down to her pussy and rubbing it softly, “that feels soooo good”. Jennifer reminded Tom of a drug addict having just received their next hit - glossy eyed, euphoric, and dead to the world. She moans and squirms as she cradles her stomach in one hand and private parts in the other. A minute or so later Tom feels a hand snaking up his mammoth hip. “I need you in my life”, she purrs, clambering atop his gut, a hand exploring his mammoth titties, “you’re the only person in the world that can make me feel like this. My power will keep forcing me back into that blubbery body, and yours can help me escape it. I need it. I need you. And… I think I can help you expand your little business enterprise”. Tom raised an eyebrow, curious. “Well it sounds like you’ve only tapped one aspect of what your power can do - weight loss - but I know another community that would at very handsomely for your magic fingers”. Her face is level with his now. Their lips meet in a long drawn out kiss. “Over the last couple of years I’ve been making ends meet by making videos for online communities with… unique predilections. There are people out there who want to gain weight, who want their partners to gain weight, who want to watch as someone they’ve never met gorges themselves into immobility. Feeders they call themselves, and I think they would pay very, very handsomely to visit and establishment that catered to their depravities. I can help you run it day-day, and you’d just need to show up with that power of yours. So come on big boy, what do you say…?”.

Chapter 3: The Arrangement Twelve months after the news first broke, superpowers had become so commonplace in London as to seem almost banal. The link to that freak storm had been established early on. Scientists reasoned that anyone caught in the vicinity of a lightening blast on that fateful day had awoken with powers somehow related to what they were doing at the time. An athlete blessed with super speed, an on-duty paramedic that could heal wounds with her touch. Powers great and small were cropping up in the most unexpected of places. Some a blessing and others a curse. Tom had kept his mouth well and truly shut about his own run in with the storm. The government was already murmuring about emergency laws needed to keep the super-powered in check, and he certainly wasn’t about to get himself shipped off to some Guantanamo Bay style facility for the extraordinarily abled. That said, he hadn’t stopped experimenting within the safety of his own home. Tom’s powers, he’d concluded, were overall pretty decent, with just one major design flaw. He could transfer any amount of fat from another person to himself, or vice versa, in a matter of seconds, simply by touching their bare skin. The person’s body would immediately adapt to the loss or addition of blubber, skin shrinking or stretching accordingly. The first time he’d proved this he’d waited until mother was knocked out cold and then temporarily slimmed her all the way down to a snoring size 16 - her supple skin tight around her plump tits and ass, without even the slightest indication she’d been a wobbling behemoth moments before. He’d also learned how to target the area of weight gain and loss, for either party, leaving his body sculpting powers greater than that of the most decorated plastic surgeon. Unfortunately, he always had to act as the middle man in these fat transactions, and as he stared down at mother’s fit form it was over the crest of a vast belly attached to a wobbling 400 pound body. He couldn’t even reach his cock to stroke himself. A major drawback, but not an insurmountable one - he just always needed an onward vessel to complete the chain… Tom’s piercing alarm woke him roughly from an otherwise peaceful and pleasant slumber. It was Saturday, which meant he had an early shift at McDonald’s starting in around 30 minutes. It had been a late night down the rabbit-hole of edging porn, which had culminated in a virtual mistress instructing Tom to blow his load into a handful of Kleenex, which after 4 hours of build-up hadn’t been a particularly tall order. He swung his legs out of bed and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked… good. A full 50 pounds had slipped off his body over the last year or so, leaving him with a little bit of timber around his middle but otherwise fit and healthy. He sprung out of bed, grabbed a towel, and headed towards the shower. No sooner had he turned the corner out of his room than Tom bumped into his mother walking in the opposite direction. She was carrying a lurid pink yoga mat under one arm. “Oh, sorry darling”, she said sweetly, “in a world of my own!”. The workout gear she was wearing was damp with sweat, and her flush cheeks and tousled hair suggested that she’d just finished another of her intense Zumba classes. Mother had lost about 150 pounds in the last 12 months. Only half of these could be attributed to his supernatural interventions. Spurred on by the first few pounds shed, she’d taken up all sorts of intense physical exercise, as well as kicked her bad eating habits in favour of a healthy vegan lifestyle. She was still a fair bit overweight, but Tom couldn’t have been more pleased - he hadn’t seen his mother this happy in years. ‘Thud, thud, thud’. Tom turns to look at Penny’s bedroom door. Something loud was echoing from the other side. He tip-toed over with mother following behind and gently pushed open the door. A most pleasant sight greeted them on the other side. His sister was hunched over, fingers clasped around the belt loops on her Levi jeans, as she tried desperately to force them over her thunderous thighs. Penny had been the unknowing recipient of Tom’s powers for over a year now, and the effects on her figure had been significant to say the least. He’d pumped 75 pounds or so of fat onto her once toned body, turning the Amazonian goddess into quite the heifer. The weight had primarily settled around her ass and hips, with two vast saddlebags weighing her down and forcing her walk into an awkward fat girl waddle at all times. Her thick bubble butt outgrew it’s clothing with such regularity that more often than not she’d wander around the house in just her panties, the soft ‘slap, slap, slap’ of her mammoth ass cheeks an early warning indicator of her arrival. At first she’d tried desperately to shift the pounds, but Tom could pile them on faster than she could burn them off, and before long she’d given into her new life as a fatty. More than once he’d snuck down in the middle of the night to see his sister plopped in front of the fridge chowing down on a chocolate dessert. The day’s leftovers from work were now solely Penny’s to devour, both he and mother having bowed out in favour of their new healthy living regimes. Tom made sure to keep the fridge well stocked with the unhealthiest offerings his work could provide. Safe to say, Penny was a little touchy about the subject. She jumps up and down as she attempts to force the jeans over her enormous cottage-cheese thighs - clearly the source of the mysterious noises from moments before. Her elephantine ass shakes and wobbles violently like jelly in an earthquake, barely contained in a pair of lace panties. Unfortunately this appeared to be a fruitless effort. His sister’s thighs bulge obscenely over the waistband as she admits defeat. “Having trouble there sis?”, Tom asks, “want me to grab some butter to grease you up a bit? Though you’d probably just eat it instead, right?”. Penny spins around, almost knocking herself off-balance with the jeans still stuck two-thirds up her thighs. A hanging belly jiggles into view, largely obscuring the front of her frilly panties. Her t-shirt has been forced into a crop-top by the growing gut beneath. She splutters incoherently, face a deep beetroot. “Perhaps you can borrow a pair of my old jeans dear?”, his mother chips in with a grin, “they’re too small for me now but I think you might just squeeze into them”. She’d rather taken to teasing her only daughter for her ever deepening weight problem. Payback for the years of cutting comments no doubt. Penny finally finds her voice. “Out! Out both of you!”. They step out of the room in fits of giggles as Penny waddles awkwardly to the door and slams it shut. “I couldn’t help myself”, mother sniggers, “though I suppose I shouldn’t joke. At the rate she’s blowing up we’ll have a TLC film crew knocking on the door in a couple of years. Half-tonne daughter!”. With that mother strode away, still giggling to herself like a naughty schoolgirl. - - - - Tom arrived at work a couple of minutes late, the bus having been characteristically late. He wished he had enough money for a half-decent car, but with his measly wage and bills to pay he wasn’t left with much at the end of the month. He snuck into the back-room just in time for his manager to chew him out loudly in front of the rest of his greasy spotty-faced colleagues for his tardiness. There were times when super strength or laser eyes felt like particularly desirable powers - now was one of them. After a hasty change into his McDonald’s uniform he was behind the till taking orders. Another dreary day of serving the great unwashed. Entirely unremarkable. That was until one particular customer waddled through the fast-food restaurant’s doors. “… and why shouldn’t I have the new model for my birthday? I told daddy I’ve outgrown the Mercedes and need something a little classier, you know?”. Tom looked up curiously for the source of the shrill and entitled voice. It wasn’t hard to find. Lumbering towards him was a behemoth of a girl, well over 400 pounds if he had to guess, wearing a tight summer dress that did nothing to hide the blubbery whale beneath. Her calves quiver and shake with every step, as two enormous trunks attempt to manoeuvre around one another with difficulty. A bloated gut strains the buttons running up the front of the dress, which was clearly purchased quite a few BigMac’s ago, such that Tom can see her soft tanned flesh bursting through around her lower belly. Her face is very pretty, and somewhere beneath the chubby cheeks and double chin there was more than likely a well-defined jawline hidden from the world by years of overindulging. And she must have started young - she could only be 18 or so. Tom had seen her type before - young, rich, spoilt, and grossly overweight. Waited on hand and foot by doting parents, likely an only-child, and given every opportunity in life with no need for self-control. They usually plumped up to round little things by the time they went to secondary school and then went one of two ways - vapid narcissism combined with an underlying eating disorder slims them down to the standard insipid posh bitch you’d see around High Street Kensington way, or they simply double down on their bad eating habits and balloon into enormous wobbling monstrosities. This one had clearly plumped for the latter. The girl approaches the counter. A mobile phone is clutched in one of her puffy hands as she talks loudly into a pair of AirPods poking out from her flowing golden locks. “I know right, it’s like, totally not on. Anyway I’m uhhhh, I’m at the salad bar, I’ve got to go… Okay, love you too hun”. ‘The salad bar?’, Tom thinks to himself, this fine establishment was many things, but a salad bar was most certainly not one of them. Perhaps this one was a little insecure about her excess adipose? Upon reaching the counter, the girl barks, a little breathlessly, “I’ll have a double quarter pounder with cheese, two large fries… a supersized chocolate milkshake… and an Oreo McFlurry. And you know what? Make it supersized”. Quite the order. But Tom supposed this girl could probably handle her snacks. He processes the order and waits as his colleagues behind rush to prepare her gluttonous feast. He breaks the silence. “So… uhhhh, salad bar?”. The girl’s horty facade falters for a moment. She looks away shamefully, and then back with rosey cheeks. “Oh… my friend, she’s, uhhhhh, she’s a yoga instructor and she’s always banging on about healthy eating and vegans. I want to lose weight, and I will, it’s just… girl’s gotta eat”. She shrugs her ham-like arms, two soft bingo wings flapping against her generous side boob. This piques Tom’s interest. He glances over his shoulder - her meal was almost ready. Leaning in closer, he speaks in hushed tones. “Look, if its quick weight loss you’re interested in I may be able to help you. For a price”. He’d thought about this before, of course, though had never had the stones to admit his powers to another person. But flipping burgers wasn’t exactly paying the bills, and he didn’t want to work here forever, right? The girl frowns at him. There’s a greedy curiosity behind her eyes. “How quick?”. Tom smiles. “I can’t speak here. If you’re interested then eat your food and meet me out back in 10 minutes. It’s a service area no one ever uses except me”. She thinks for a moment before nodding curtly. Her heavily laden tray arrives moments later. Slipping out of the service exit a few minutes later Tom was brimming with nervous excitement. Was he really about to go through with this? The girl was already waiting, sipping on the last of her supersized milkshake - itself more calories than most people would eat in a single meal. The buttons on her dress looked even more strained than they had a few minutes before. “So…”, Tom begins, unsure quite where to start, “I can, errrr, well I can transfer weight. Fat I mean. From another person to myself, and the other way around. You must weigh, what, 400 pounds?”. The girls frowns, cheeks rouge, “435”, she corrects him. Quite the butter-ball. “Oh, sorry… but you’re about my height, so a healthy weight would be around… 120? Well, I’ll take 315 pounds off your hands for… £10,000?”. He rushed the last bit, struggling to get out the significant sum he was quoting for this most unique of services. He’d thought about it ever since she’d waddled away earlier on. Clearly she was wealthy, daddy’s money was no object, so why not start the negotiations high? She considers for a moment, eyes narrowing in thought. “Prove it”. Tom beckoned for her hand, grasped her pudgy fingers, and thought about fat flowing between them. He certainly wasn’t about to take it all, but figured he’d stop the process when his elasticated work pants felt a little snug. Almost immediately he felt his powers working, as sure enough his belly bulged against his waistband, as his body filled out once again with lard. He let go just as the first seams started to break. The girl had done well from the encounter. Though still very clearly morbidly obese, her belly no longer poked through her the buttons on her dress, and based on a quick inspection of his body Tom would guess he’d taken about 50 pounds off of her. She was almost speechless. “I… how… but you…”, she splutters, lifting up his shirt to gently prod at his flabby gut - her flab until a few moments ago. She finds her voice. “Do it. Take it all. I’ll give you your £10,000. Just do it”, she pants, the greedy glint back in her eyes. “Tomorrow, here at 4 o’clock”, Tom replies resolutely, “I need to make some preparations first. A change of clothes for my new size - you’ll need one too - and somewhere I can transfer the weight onto afterwards”. He hadn’t yet worked out where the weight would actually go on its onward journey - he certainly wasn’t intending to keep it, and piling it all on Penny, though fun, might raise her suspicions a little too high. “And I’ll need it in cash, okay?”. The girl nods fervently. “Yes, yes, fine, but I’m not doing it here in some squalid back alley. Come to my house when you’re done here - 12 Elmbrook Grove, overlooking Richmond Park. You can leave the onward transfer to me, I have an idea that should work for both of us. The name’s Annabelle by the way. Nice to meet you, errrrmm…”. “Tom”, Tom volunteers in response, “okay, see you then”. Emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins he gently pats Annabelle on her belly as he passes. She giggles playfully. The next day couldn’t come soon enough. Tom had snuck home, shouting excuses about feeling tired as he hurried upstairs to his room, away from prying eyes. He’d stayed put that evening, eating a bag of greasy leftovers that he’d taken home from work as he played his PS5 into the early hours. When in Rome, right? - - - - Tom waited until he heard the front door slamming shut next morning, which signalled his mother and sister’s departure - they were going dress fitting for Cousin Kate’s wedding, something given Penny’s recent weight gain he’d very much liked to have been a fly on the wall for. Any other day he might have snuck along too. He hurried off to work. He arrived just before his shift and was ready and waiting at the till before his manager could even think to start another shouting match. The day passed unremarkably. When the clock struck 4pm he hurried outside and grabbed a bus towards Richmond. The long winding drive to Annabelle’s house was even more impressive than Tom had imagined. Beyond an enormous pair of ornate cast-iron gates, which opened graciously after he provided his name to the security guard manning them, was a sweeping path lined by towering old oaks as tall as giants. The house itself was similarly resplendent, with four floors and as many wings. A Victorian Manor House befitting a Duke of the day. Tom turned right before reaching the main house’s entrance, as he’d been directed by the security guard, and instead made his way through a wooded path to another smaller but equally impressive building nestled deeper in the estate. The ageing wooden door to this building was hanging slightly ajar. He pushed it open and walked into a stunning modern home. A floating glass staircase spiralled up to the second storey straight ahead. And was that an infinity pool he could see in the distance? As he marvelled at a level of wealth and luxury he’d only dreamed of, Annabelle waddled downstairs with a Louis Vuitton shopping bag in hand. She was wearing a pair of dangerously skin-tight jeans and low cut vest top, which showed off her generous hanging assets. Nestled between her upper arm fat and side boob was a brown paper package. Tom’s heart skipped a beat. “You came!”, she squeals excitedly, “here’s your fee”. She hands over the bag. Inside is a thick bundle of £50 notes. Tom had never seen so much money in his entire life. Annabelle takes his hand and walks him through the house towards a secluded room at the back. “Now. You’ve got your money. Make me skinny”. This was all very rushed. Tom suspected that Annabelle was used to getting what she wanted. Still, she’d kept up her end of the bargain. “Okay, I just need to take these off”, he said gesturing to his work clothes, “they’ll only burst off anyway once I activate my power”. He quickly slipped himself out of his clothes, and turned back to see that Annabelle had done this same! Thankfully her hanging paunch covered her pussy from view, but he couldn’t miss her fat melons resting atop her wobbly belly, or the other 400 pounds of her jiggling excitedly in front of him. “I… uhhh… you could probably have kept yours on for now. They only have… oh well, I doesn’t really matter”, he stammered, taking her pudgy hand. His palm burned hot and the weight began to transfer. The enormous girl started to shrink before his eyes. Her hips receded, arms tightened, face shrank. Every part of her body was losing the thick cushion of jiggling fat she’d supported previously. Tom meanwhile could feel himself blowing up. He’d never taken on this much weight before and was nervous about how his body would take it. Already his legs were forcing each other into a wider stance as the space in between filled up with blubber, and he could feel his entire body sagging under its new heft. Sure enough, a striking jawline was making a tentative appearance on Annabelle’s face, as her mammoth tits receded like the sea at low tide into a set of delicious double-ds. Her stomach was almost flat now. Legs pockmarked by only a smattering of cellulite. Tom had to finish the process at exactly the right time… now! He released his hand and staggered backwards. Annabelle was… stunning. Toned, tanned, a few curves but not an ounce of excess pudge on her body. Her long blonde hair tickles the top of a generous set of perky tits, which sit above a flat stomach and two toned pins. Even her peachy ass had just the right amount of curve. Tom immediately stood to attention. Or at least, he imagine he did, as looking down he was greeted by a vast ocean of fat and not a cock or even his feet in sight. Weighing in at somewhere around 500 pounds Tom was by far the largest he’d ever been. The fat had distributed across his body evenly, leaving every part of him bloated and puffy. He ran his hands down his chest, across a pair of tits that we’re far bigger than the beauty stood in front of him. He tried to grope downstairs but could not reach his fat pad around his bulbous gut. Annabelle’s shrill voice cut across his daydream. “It worked! It actually worked!”. She was almost jumping for joy, hands running up and down her perfect body, inspecting every inch. She cupped her tits, traced the curve of her ass, attempted in vein to pinch an inch of her washboard stomach. “Thank you… thank you!”, she sang with glee, rushing in for a hug. Tom felt her body sink into his overflowing flesh. Her hip pressed into his fat pad. He shuddered with pleasure. “Careful big boy”, she giggled, pinching his hip playfully, “I don’t want you getting too excited before we’ve finished proceedings. I’m going to pop some clothes on before you blow your load”. He nodded bashfully, watching transfixed as Annabelle snaked her hips into a low cut shirt. When robed, Annabelle tapped on her phone, and moments later two people walked into the room. The first was an old well-dressed gentlemen. He carried a leather portfolio in one hand and a briefcase in the other. His silver hair was as distinguished as his tailored suit. A lawyer perhaps? The second looked almost as out of place as Tom felt. A wide-eyed Asian girl of about 18, wearing a scruffy dress and a nervous look. “I trust everything is in order Toby?”, Annabelle asked the elderly man. “Yes miss, most certainly”, he replied in the most perfect queen’s English Tom had heard outside of royal interviews, “Miss Patel has reviewed and signed both the contract and non-disclosure agreement. I can see that the process worked as you had hoped. Shall we conclude?”. “Quite”, Annabelle agrees smartly. She turns to Tom, “Miss Patel is the cousin of one of my housekeepers. I was made aware of a financial challenge she was facing and proposed a mutually beneficial arrangement. Our family lawyer Toby has worked up a contract for an exchange of goods and services - discretely of course - and we’re all ready to proceed when you are”. Tom nodded, dumbstruck by the formality and efficiency of the process. How the other half lived, he supposed. Taking the nervous girl’s hand he focused his energy and, sure enough, soon felt the weight passing between them. The girl’s dress ripped and tore as a tsunami of blubber poured onto her previously waif-like frame. Jowls sagged, chins jiggled, and before Tom knew it he was as thin as he’d ever been - barely an ounce of fat left on his body. The same could not be said for poor Miss Patel, who teetered unsteadily on two enormous sausage legs, above which sat a set of 80 inch hips and rolls upon rolls of thick belly blubber. 500 pounds of naked lard, she poked and prodded her new body with a stunned expression. That was, until Annabelle’s lawyer opened up the briefcase and presented her with a vast pile of cash. “£50,000 as agreed Miss Patel”. Her eyes briefly grew as wide as her stomach as she looked over her small fortune. Annabelle handed her a pile of some of her old, now far too large, clothes. When eventually squeezed into them the girl took the briefcase, a copy of the signed contract, and lumbered towards the door with the support of the aged lawyer. “£50,000!”, Tom whispered indignantly, “you only gave me ten!”. “You only asked for ten”, Annabelle reminded him, “besides, you have to admit that the impact on poor Miss Patel is a little more… heavy, don’t you think?”. Tom considered. The young girl wheezed and panted as she waddled out of the room. “Fair enough”, he conceded bitterly. “Besides, I think you undercharged me. I think you could quite easily ten, fifteen, even twenty times as much for the right client. And I certainly have the right connections into the high-society types that have that sort of cash and the fat to burn. My mother for one could do with a bit of the Tom treatment”. She runs a finger gently down his chest. “I take after her in the weight department. Or at least, I used to”, she winks. “You could operate discretely from here - I have an outbuilding that would make the perfect little clinic - and I’ll secure a steady supply of ‘Miss Patel’s’ that are happy to take a heavy gut in exchange for heavy briefcase. With the right price, and after my finder’s fees of course, you could have quite the money making operation. So what do you say?”. Ton considered. It all sounded… too good to be true? He barely knew this girl, and was loathe to expose his powers to a wider audience than necessary, but… he’d also spent a year failing to find any useful application for them other than tormenting his fat little sister, and with the prospect of a future career flipping burgers… “Deal”. They shook hands triumphantly. “Now”, Annabelle continued, “you’re welcome to head off if you have somewhere to be. Or you could stay for a celebratory drink, dip and dinner?”. She nods towards a bottle of champagne, the infinity pool, and Tom’s leftover McDonald’s bag in sequence. Tom blinked stupidly. “Ummm, sure, but I didn’t bring any swimming gear…”. Annabelle flashes back a cheeky grin, “I’ve just lost 350 pounds. Neither do I…”. - - - - The infinity pool’s water was a particularly pleasant temperature on the otherwise cool afternoon. Tom swam to its glass edge through softly rising steam and surveyed the estate beyond. The property was about as large as you could get so close to the centre of London - outside of the royalty of the day of course. Protected by a high brick wall and even taller birch trees, the garden was a quiet sanctuary in the beating heart of the great city. A soft splash from behind him indicted Annabelle’s arrival. He turned to see her blonde hair whip out of the water as she came up for breath. The water drips down her hair onto her chest. Soft but full breasts completed by a pair of puffy nipples. It’s too much for Tom, who squirms as he begins to get hard. She smiles and hands him a glass of champagne from the side of the pool. The pair drink and chat until one bottle is empty and another is dangerously close. It transpired that though entitled, posh, and most certainly spoilt, Tom actually had more in common with Annabelle than he’d expected. They shared the same taste in music, were both blue blooded conservatives, and shared a thorough distaste for salads, among a great many other things. Tom thought that there was perhaps a lesson here about books, judging, and covers, but decided that the best time for introspection was not at the bottom of a champagne flute. As the sun dipped below the tallest of the trees in the distance she tapped a mysterious button by the side of the pool. A few minutes later a smartly dressed maid opened the folding doors from the kitchen holding a large silver platter. Tom winced and jumped atop one of the pool’s underwater bar stools, angling himself to hide his modesty. Between the booze and good chat he’d almost forgotten that he was still stark bollock naked. The maid places the tray down and retreats back inside. “I reasoned that we’d want something hearty to eat after all the excitement today”, Annabelle smiled, lifting up the lid to reveal a selection of greasy goodies. A double quarter-pounder with cheese, 12 nuggets, three large fries, two supersized milkshakes, cookies, and an apple pie. “Sure, but, I guess I thought you’d be on a health kick now. You know, in-keeping with your hot… I mean, your new body”, he slurred, red-faced and realising quite how quickly the drink had gone to his head. Annabelle giggled and moved closer, hoping onto Tom’s lap. Though buoyed by the water he could feel her soft ass pressing onto his crotch. He groaned, knowing she could feel his cock pressing into her thigh. “Don’t be silly! Quite the opposite. Meeting you means that now I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, and still have the perfect body at the end of the day. I’ll keep feeding you business, and you can keep me in my size 6 jeans even though I’m supersizing every meal from dawn till dusk. And maybe I’ll give you a little something in return…”. She swung one leg over Tom and straddled him face to face. His cock presses into her belly, hard as marble. “B… but… why?”, he choked, hands unable to resist groping her hips and ass. “Oh that should be obvious Tommy”, she sighs. She bites her lower lip and delves her hands under the water. One clasps his shaft, the other his head. She circles a manicured nail around the tip, sending waves of pleasure through Tom’s body. “No one has looked at my like you have today for… well, for my entire life. I’ve always been the fat little rich girl that people made fun of behind my back. Now thanks to you I’m better looking than all of them. And I liked how it felt. And I’m pretty sure you like how this feels, don’t you?” She rubs her thumb under the base of his head. Tom can’t bring himself to speak. He simply groans in agreement. “Exactly, so why not have some casual fun with it? I’m not looking for a boyfriend or anything - but you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch…”. She pinches his cock and Tom audibly moans. “Good boy. Now, pick up and burger and feed me. I’m feeling particularly peckish”, she commands, just as she slips his cock into her and begins grinding their bodies together…

Chapter 2: The Sister “Beep, beep, beep”. Tom rolled over with a groan. The morning after a late shift was always a struggle, and today, it appeared, was no exception. He groped bleary eyed for his phone, accidentally knocking it onto the floor. The alarm continued, loud and annoying, if slightly muffled by the mattress now separating them. “Fine, fine, I’ll get up..”, he moaned to no one in particular. Tom swung his legs out of bed. He glanced sleepily at the large free-standing mirror opposite and took himself in. His bruises had all but disappeared four weeks on, but the memory of that strange incident at the bus stop remained fresh in his mind. He’d been knocked out cold by the lightning strike, coming to only when a kind passer-by had noticed him sprawled on the pavement and rushed to his aid. By that time his red-headed companion had already disappeared. He’d forked-out a few quid for an Uber home to nurse his wounds. Tom’s light blonde hair had been styled overnight by his pillow into an impressive Mohawk. Beneath this tousled mop sat a pair of tired blue eyes, dazed and demanding another 15 minute snooze. He studied his face critically, noting his increasingly rounded chin. He couldn’t even hide it underneath a bushy beard, being incapable of growing any more than a few pathetic wisps of facial hair. The resolution to eat better at work had lasted all of two days, after which the 21 year old had slipped back into his regular routine. Tom placed a hand on his bulging gut and sighed. He’d really let himself go. He groaned as he heaved himself off his bed. After recovering his phone and turning off the alarm Tom wrapped a towel around his middle and stumbled out into the upstairs hall, towards the shower. The family bathroom was a short walk down the hall, on the left opposite his mother’s room. Groggily he groped for the handle and stepped inside. “Ummmm, have you ever, like, you know, heard of knocking?”, his sister’s moody voice snapped at him suddenly. Heart pounding, Tom lifted his gaze. He noticed her pyjamas first - an airy silk two-piece sprawled in a heap right next to his feet. Just ahead of this a large bath towel was discarded across the cool stone tiles. He gulped nervously. His sister Penelope was facing away from him, applying her makeup in the steamy bathroom mirror, naked as the day she was born. Two impossibly smooth legs snake up to a perfect set of hips, supported by a plump round bubble butt. Penny measured an impressive 6 foot at full height, much taller than his modest 5’ 8”. Long limbs draped over the sink, she bends lower, momentarily flashing her pussy between her legs. Tom chokes on his words. “I… uhhh… sorry”. Penny groaned disapprovingly, put down her mascara brush, and turned to face him. Tom’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her generous bosom, a hefty pair of double-Ds that belied her otherwise toned frame. Ever since his sister turned 18 he’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of her in the flesh. Now the moment had come it was all he could do to stop his rock hard member from blowing there and then. “Uhhh, up here…”, she sighed, as Tom ripped his gaze away from her milkers and up towards her beautiful angular face. “God, you’re such a little perv”, she concluded. Penny strode towards the door, tits bouncing violently with every heavy step. Tom panicked, too focused on her swaying udders, and pressed himself against the door frame, trying to make room for her to pass. Unfortunately his burgeoning gut was in the way, forcing her to squeeze past, their bodies pressed into one another. He felt her warm soft tits squish into his own flabby chest, her hand brushed innocently against his crotch, “mmmmmmm, oh god…”, was all he could moan. It took Penny a few seconds to force herself past. She turned back, disgust etched into her high cheekbones. “Pathetic”, she spat, grabbing a handful of Tom’s belly and giving it a harsh shake, “just like our sow of a mother”. Tom groaned again certain he’d blow this time. Power play and humiliation were his kink kryptonite - he loved the feeling of being completely at the mercy of another person. Thankfully for his boxers Penny released her grip and sauntered away before he reached the point of no return. He watched her round cheeks all the way down the hall until they disappeared into her room. Tom stumbled breathlessly towards the shower. He came after just five short pumps, emptying his load all over the basin. Penny’s tits were still fresh in his mind, and he imagined her smothering him under their heavy load. Once out and dried Tom made for the door. He stopped short, eyes caught by the silver scales nestled in the corner of the room. Morbidly curious he stepped on. ‘212 pounds’, their reply. He shook his head mournfully. That was 15 pounds more than he’d been just a few months ago. This weight problem was really getting out of hand. Once dressed Tom made for the fridge to grab some breakfast before setting into an afternoon of gaming and jerking - in no particular order. He walked down the hall, reached for the banister, and made his way downstairs. As he neared the ground floor he heard raised voices coming from the kitchen. “…and you wonder why you can only fit into sweatpants nowadays? There’s more calories in this shake than I’ll eat all day”. That was Penny’s unmistakable bark, likely directed towards his poor mother. Tom quickened his pace. As he rounded the door to the kitchen he saw his sister standing imposingly over mother, who was slumped dejectedly in one of their dining room chairs. Mother’s descent into gluttony was on certainly on display this morning. A pasty white gut bulged through the gap between her too small vest-top and too tight sweats, both of which hadn’t fit comfortably for about 30 pounds. A thick roll of meaty flesh flopped onto her lap, spilling out across her tree-trunk legs. There was no denying it now - mother was quickly approaching reality-TV levels of fatness, which may yet see her confined to her bed, trapped under an ever growing mountain of flab. Penny’s lean frame towers above her, holding what must be the offending breakfast shake in her hand. Mother squirms, the two chairs she’s sitting on - one for each vast ass-cheek - creak ominously. “I’ve told you how to eat right and shift that whale-blubber but you just won’t listen. Dad was right to leave your fat ass”, she spat cruelty placing the shake on the table in front of mother, “he deserves better than a sow like you for a wife. Speaking of which, he’s taking me out shopping this afternoon. He wants my advice on what lingerie to buy his new girlfriend, and I get a whole new wardrobe out of it!”. She lent forwards and patted her mother’s belly patronisingly. “Enjoy stuffing your face until I get home”. With that Penny strutted out of the room, pausing only for a split-second to shoot Tom a scathing look as she left. He shuddered, the memory of the morning’s events still raw and humiliating. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house. Finally, some peace and quiet, Tom thought, but first to console his poor mother… “She… she’s just…”, he stammered, unsure quite how the sentence was going to end. Mother’s lips quiver as a single tear falls down her plump cheek. She pops the lip off the milkshake and chugs down the viscous liquid in frenzied gulps. A few seconds later all that remains is a thick dribble down her chin. She bursts into tears. “She’s right!”, mother wails, her chins wobbling with the beats of her chest as she cries, “I’m a hopeless pig! I weighed myself this morning and I’m up to 380 pounds!”. She attempts to stand, legs struggling to support the years of overeating. Tom rushes to her aid, supporting a soft ham-like underarm as she struggles upright. A significant effort given her size. Without warning she wraps her arms around him and squeezes in a tight embrace. His chubby body sinks deep into her morbidly obese one. Warm blubber envelopes him on all sides, a fleshy bed soft enough to sleep on. Wandering hands awkwardly gripping her exposed and overflowing hips for support. ‘So fat…’, he thought, ‘I shouldn’t have enabled her… it’s my fault she’s almost immobile… it’s my fault… if only there was some way…’. And then the strangest thing happened. As Tom’s mind wandered to the possibility of slimming down his mother’s considerable bulk, his hands started to burn red hot. He couldn’t explain how, but he felt his mother shrink ever so slightly beneath his palms, whilst simultaneously his own belly bulged uncomfortably against the waistband of his already overstretched shorts. He could feel himself… absorbing her fat. Tom released his grip and jumped back from his mother, heart pounding so loudly in his chest that he was sure she could hear it. She looked at him confused - she didn’t appear to have noticed what just happened. Likely far too fat to miss a few buttery pounds. “I…. errr…”, he stuttered, before making his excuses and hurrying upstairs into the family bathroom. He locked the door behind him and made his way to the scales, heart pounding in his chest. They creaked alarmingly as he stepped on and he peered around his belly to see the damage. ‘223 pounds’. Tom staggered off the scales, clutching a nearby wall for support. “That’s… not possible”, he mumbled, unable to come to terms with his sudden 11 pound weight gain compared with 15 minutes prior. There is a loud ‘ping!’ as the top button flies of his shorts into the shower door. A soft pale belly oozes out of his shorts, forcing down the zipper and settling on his crotch, visibly fatter. He poked it nervously, feeling his finger sink deep into the weighty spare tyre. The rest of the day was a distracted blur. Tom squeezed into the only pair of sweats that would fit, ran some errands for his mother, and tried to keep calm in the face of his newfound powers. By the time night fell and the rest of the house was sound asleep, Tom crept half-naked from his room and down the upstairs landing, towards his sister’s room. He’d spent the day considering his new ability, and wanted to test the limits of his abilities… Penny was fast asleep, surrounded by Victoria’s Secret bags, snoring loudly - knocked out cold by a cocktail of wine and spirits from her boozy afternoon with dad. Even in the darkness he could make out her naked body sprawled across her mattress, covers thrown off and legs askew. Tom crept towards the foot of her bed. He winced as a floorboard creaked loudly underfoot, but mercifully Penny didn’t stir. Pinching her big toe, the easiest exposed piece of flesh he could safely make out, Tom collected his thoughts and focused intently on a single, solitary idea - transferring weight from himself to his sister. It took a few moments, but sure enough his fingertips seared red hot and he felt his snug boxer shorts ease up quite considerably. His sister, meanwhile, was developing the slightest of belly pooches as her gut expanded outwards. By no means fat, but not quite the chiselled Amazonian goddess she had been a few moments before. Tom’s boxers started to fill up again, this time with a throbbing erection. He was getting off on this - a slippery slope, he thought to himself, before forcing a hand down their front and stroking silently until he blew his load all over the inside. Sticky but satisfied, he crept back to his room, wondering how his sister would react come daybreak. But the following morning a most curious thing happened. The rarest of sights - all three members of the family huddled together without insults flying or raised voices. They were silently transfixed on the television, or more specifically, the breaking news broadcast that had interrupted a particularly dull episode of ‘Homes Under The Hammer’. “…almost overnight here in the UK’s capital, and in response Boris Johnson has called a meeting of the government’s emergency response cabinet COBRA. We’re expecting a statement from the prime-minister and the defence secretary at around 11am…”. The feed cuts from the polished BBC news reporter to a shaky mobile phone recording - ‘eyewitness footage’. People are running, shouting, from some unseen threat in the distance. The cameraman stops behind a car and focuses just long enough to capture a person flying into shot, elevated ten feet above the ground and glowing yellow. More screaming and shouting, and what looks like smoke rising in the background. Without warning a beam of light explodes from their hand and slices the car in the foreground clean in two. The camera falls to the floor and the footage cuts out. “Super-powered wreak havoc in London”, scrolls across the bottom of the screen. Tom gulped nervously.

Hi all, My second story, hope you enjoy. Fair warning - this story contains brother-sister elements throughout. Chapter 1: The Storm ‘Escape to Jamaica, the Heartbeat of the World...’. Tom regarded the colourful billboard across the street with silent distain. A suspiciously attractive couple smile back at him through two sets of perfect white teeth. Overflowing glasses of what appeared to be fruit punch chink together merrily in the foreground, whilst behind a tropical paradise of sun, sand, and sea faded into the horizon. He’d not managed a foreign holiday in three long years. Money had been unpleasantly tight ever since his dad had left home. The revelation of his father’s longstanding affair had rocked the previously strong family unit, and in a matter of days Tom had been unwillingly promoted from firstborn son to ‘man of the house’. With that came a burden to support his stay-at-home mother, and now the majority of his meagre pay-packet was spent simply keeping the lights on in their grim South London council house. His mum was a kind but simple woman. A dazzling beauty in her day, she’d been swept off her feet by his wheeler-dealer dad and settled down by the tender age of 20. Lacking any useful qualifications she’d focused instead on making a home for her family whilst her husband worked a local market stall. Tom came first, then his sister Penelope two years later. Their childhood, at least what he could remember of it, had been perfectly happy. Then his dad left and everything changed. His mother had turned to the fridge for comfort, and grown fat as she consoled herself with cake. More often than not he would come home from a long and tiring shift at the local fast food establishment to find her plopped on the couch waiting expectantly for him to present her with the day’s leftover food, which they ate together for dinner most nights. Her good looks had quickly been swallowed up by the encroaching blubber. His sister had taken a different approach, becoming ever more distant and sullen through her formative teenage years. Now aged 18 she had all of mother’s former beauty but none of her kindness, and was generally a dark cloud over the household whenever she was home. A crash of thunder rumbles high above. Tom looks up just in time for the first fat rain drop to land squarely between his eyes. He blinks stupidly and curses under his breath, “brilliant, bloody brilliant...”. If he hadn’t stopped to stare at that damn poster he’d be sheltering at the bus stop by now. He sets off hurriedly, arriving two minutes later drenched through from head to toe. His trainers squelch awkwardly underfoot as he finally steps out of the rain, which even now appeared to be turning to hail. The thin grey hoodie he’d donned that morning clung to his body, accentuating the generous curve of his potbelly. The storm had come out of nowhere, and he certainly wasn’t dressed for the occasion. Tom pants to catch his breath. He knew he was out of shape, but even so was surprised at quite how much of a struggle that short jog had been. Perhaps a few too many greasy leftovers taken home following his shifts at the local McDonalds? He resolved to eat better in the future. Tom hated being overweight, but lacked the willpower to do anything about it. He’d resigned himself to always being a hopeless fatty, Open on three sides and covered above by a thin plastic roof, the bus stop certainly wasn’t a perfect protection from the elements. The howling winds stung as they whipped across his face. Tom shrugged off his backpack and settled himself on one of two small plastic seats against the shelter’s single wall. ‘125 to Southfields - 7 minutes’ confirmed the digital display affixed to the roof. A small mercy, he thought, at least he hadn’t missed his ride home. ‘Thud’, ‘thud’, ‘thud’. The pounding on the roof intensifies, interspersed with deep rumbles of thunder. Hail stones as large as marbles smash into the pavement all around. What was going on with this weather? A shadow looms to his left. Squinting through the haze he sees a figure approaching. A large black umbrella quivers in the wind, obscuring its holder from view. As the new arrival reaches the threshold of the bus stop a particularly fierce gust rips the umbrella from their grasp and carries it off into the distance. The umbrella’s former owner is a young woman, in her late 20s if Tom had to guess. A cascade of wavy red hair frames a pretty face. Or, he reconsiders, what would have probably been a pretty face were it not for the thick layer of chub surrounding it. This girl was chunky. Very chunky. A generous pair of tits rest atop a wobbly belly, poorly contained beneath a strained and sodden jumper. A greedy gut bulges over the waistband of her jeans, into which are packed two thunderous legs. Lumps and bumps of cellulite are visible through the tightly stretched fabric, like overstuffed sausages close to bursting their casing. Tom had never been into fatties, and if he had to guess this newcomer was at least 150 pounds north of good-looking. She catches his eye and breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “I thought for a minute I’d get blown away too!”. It would take gale force winds to lift that fat arse off the ground, Tom thinks, but he keeps this to himself and murmurs in agreement. The beached whale waddles towards the spare seat beside him. Tom’s eyes dart nervously to her bulbous thighs. He wonders if the cheap plastic seat will support her considerable heft. The bolts attaching it to the wall creak and groan as she gingerly sits down, but mercifully hold. A fat cheek overflows from her seat and presses into his thigh, soft and warm. They sit in silence for a minute or two, watching the storm steadily worsen from their modest shelter. Another rumble of thunder, this time from right beside him. Turning, Tom catches the woman’s cheeks flush red with embarrassment. Her belly gurgles again, loud and angry. “Sorry”, she mumbled bashfully, “I’m so hungry. Didn’t manage to grab lunch today. I feel a little feint...”. Loathe as he was to enable her evidently poor diet in the same way that he did with his mother’s, the idea of this behemoth feinting and collapsing onto him wasn’t exactly appealing either. He reached into his backpack and procured a brown McDonald’s bag containing that day’s leftovers. “Please”, he insisted, pressing it into her hands, “rather you than me. I’m trying to watch my weight”. He patted his belly, feeling it jiggle awkwardly for a moment afterwards. Relief washed over the woman’s cherubic face. “Oh, you’re too kind!”, she called back over the ever worsening winds. They exchanged names - hers was Jennifer. She peered into the bag and licked her plump lips greedily. Clearly her lardy arse approved of his unhealthy offering. Sausages fingers descend into the bag and reappear with a greasy burger in their grip. As Jennifer’s mouth opened wide a thick double chin grows a temporary third companion. Tom watched, transfixed, as she gobbled down the burger and then set to work on a dozen McNuggets. He thought he’d established the source of her obvious weight problem. If only this piggy had been waiting at the bus stop to snuffle down all the fast food he’d previously brought home, Tom considered. The extra padding insulating his middle would be around her own instead. Would she even notice another 30 pounds spread over her vast wobbling body? Somehow he doubted it. ‘Crash!’. A hail stone the size of a grapefruit smashed to the ground directly ahead. Tom wrenched his attention away from his grazing companion and watched aghast as the storm intensifies. The skies darken suddenly, reducing visibility even further. The dim glow emitted from the small digital display above quickly becoming their best and only light source. ‘Crack!’, the bus stop’s Plexiglas roof begins to splinter under the strain. Tom stands, pressing his back into the shelter. He felt the structure quivering ominously in the wind and wonders how long it will hold. A pudgy hand grasps his own. Looking down he sees Jennifer’s frightened face staring back at him, wide-eyed and helpless. The remaining nuggets have dropped to the floor, bouncing around as they are picked up by the wind. He calls out to her, but can’t hear his own voice over the drumbeat of wind against his ears. The last thing Tom remembered was a brilliant flash of lighting striking the ground just ahead of them. The forked burst of energy blasted him off his feet, slamming back into the shelter with a sickening crunch as the world fades to darkness...

Fetish Ending (2 of 2): Epilogue: Mother’s Milk It had taken a full hour before the cuffs had finally been removed, and I was free to walk out of Piggy’s. Having awoken in a locked room deep within the Piggy’s compound, I had been greeted by two burly men in uniform and quizzed on why I was there, where I had come from, and my relationship with mom. I was cautious at first, skirting around the key talking points, but as the interrogation went on I felt an odd rush of adrenaline as I told them about our... intimacy. When I got to the part where mom undressed and tried to seduce me, I felt a hard throbbing somewhere beneath the enormous belly that rested in between my legs. Telling these strangers about everything I had done to mom, and she had done to me. It was turning me on. In the end, I think the police officers had let me go just to stop listening to my story. Their faces a mixture of concern and disgust as they escorted me out of the building and into the bright sunlight beyond. Once I was back outside in the fresh air I was greeted by a surprising and familiar face... Maddy, freed from her imprisonment at St. Jude’s, bound up to me and gave me a long hug. Or as much of a hug as two 500 pound plus people can manage with their bellies in the way! My hands groped at her fleshy rolls as we squeezed each other tightly - she was as soft as ever. After we’d torn ourselves apart she excitedly explained everything. How she had become concerned about the success of our plan, contacted the authorities to call in a bomb scare at Piggy’s, and escaped herself to come and help. I was shocked and touched - not many people would have been prepared to put themselves on the line like that for me. And it’s a good job she did! A few more seconds and mom might have put an end to me for good. We watched as concerned parents arrived to collect their children, badgering the police to reveal what could have happened to warrant such a severe reaction. Fat girls, large and wobbling, ran as fast as their thick legs would carry them away from the compound and towards the relative safety of their family. I lick my lips as I watch their globular bottoms slapping together underneath their spandex shorts. Before long the team leads were escorted off the premises in handcuffs. Some were crying, others ashen-faced and resolute. Reporters had started to arrive, tipped-off about an explosion and potential scandal, and were snapping photos as they were bundled into police vans, presumably off to jail. I’m watching them curiously when a chubby young red-haired woman rushes up to me and says breathlessly, “are you the one that was in the room when it happened? Her son?”. “Ummmm, yes?”, I reply slowly, looking at Maddy for support. She simply shrugs back at me, as confused as I am. “Interesting... My name’s Stephanie. I’m a reporter... well, sort of. I manage various forums... online-only... they’re... niche”, she mumbles, struggling to get the words out. Her cheeks flush red. Maddy and I look at each other, more bemused than before, which seems to spur the girl into action. ”I overheard some officers talking about your relationship with your mom...”. I wave my hands frantically to shut the girl up and pull her out of the crowd to a secluded area by the edge of the compound. “What do you know?”, I ask breathlessly. “Well...”, she begins, clearly a little embarrassed by what’s about to come next, “I know that you and your mom... oh, I might as well just say it - I know you and your mom had sex, and that she fattened you up while doing it”. I try to look ashamed at the admission, though I’m not sure I pull it off. “For most people that would be... undesirable, but I run a website for a very particular and very eager clientele that would be interested in seeing more of you and your mom doing... that. The money is excellent, and it will be the perfect way for you to satisfy your needs. In more ways than one...”. A short while later, after having agreed with Stephanie that I’d consider her offer, if only to keep her quiet, we return to the throng of people hovering outside the Piggy’s entrance. A burger van has arrived, clearly capitalising on the volume of fatties congregated in such a small area, and the smell of greasy meats wafts through the crowd. My stomach rumbling, I buy myself two quadruple bacon cheeseburgers with fries. I’m halfway through the first when I hear shouting from the Piggy’s entrance. “Get off me!”, a familiar voice cries, “do you know who I am? What I can do?”. Mom is dragged kicking and screaming from the main entrance of Piggy’s, two burly police officers struggling to keep her thin but muscular body under control. Stephanie and the other journalists turn to watch the scene unfold. The trio is nearing a police van, which is patiently waiting for its charge a few metres ahead of me when mom catches my eye mid-thrash. “You...”, she seethes menacingly, “I’ll make you pay for this, mark my word I’ll make...”. Mom trails off without finishing the thought. Her eyes glaze over as she looks at my body... or... what I’m holding... In a flash, mom wrenches free of her police escort and pushes them forcefully to the ground. A sudden burst of almost superhuman speed. She bounds forwards and leaps on top of me, my back crashing into the cool earth below. Her muscular thighs straddling my much meatier ones, squeezing tight. The wind knocked out of me, I simply watch as she greedily snatches the remaining burger out of my hand. Mayonnaise smears around her mouth as she gobbles down the greasy food. Her pupils dilate - body seemingly acting on instinct alone. I simply lie there and watch, making no attempt to push her off. Mom’s breasts jiggle up and down as she forces processed meat and cheese into her face, her top haven ridden down in the commotion, and I have a perfect view. My cock is already rock hard, poking pathetically into mom’s firm inner thigh. I see movement off to my right and tear my head away from mom’s tits just in time to see Amy being escorted past. She is sat in the middle of a large pallet attached to a heavy-duty crane. It would have been more than large enough for a normal person, many people in-fact, but Amy’s impossible bulk is so vast that she spills over its edges. A small white sheet covers her modesty, but as the truck exists the outer wall of the main complex it gets caught on a low hanging branch and left behind. A one-and-a-half tonne puddle of human fat, from a distance I can barely make out her limbs. “Jack?!”, she moans in desperation, craning five chins over her shoulder to look at the caught sheet flapping pathetically in the wind, “what are you doing? Why aren’t you helping me?”. I feel a fresh pang of guilt, but unfortunately, the damage is already done. Every cellulite bump exposed, every roll on display, Amy is paraded in front of a captive audience, as she is carried naked towards the reinforced truck at the end of the drive. The world’s heaviest woman - by some measure - it's unsurprising that cameras flash and crowd mutters as she is airlifted past. I should rush to her aid, cover her modesty, but I simply lie on the ground and let my mom gyrate and gorge herself on top of me. Mom’s speed is impressive. In less than 30 seconds the burgers are gone - now sitting comfortably in her belly - and she turns to the large bag of fries. Behind her, the two policemen stand shakily to their feet. Eyes furrowed, they march towards her. As if aware of their presence looming from behind, mom forces down a final fistful of fries and belches loudly, cradling her now distended belly. Her eyes refocus, and she glances down at me, a look of confusion and desperation etched onto her face. Before either of us can say a word, she is hoisted roughly to her feet and bundled into the back of the police van. “Oh my...”, is all Stephanie can muster, as she looks down at me. Her eyes rest for a fraction of a second on the bulge in my pants. She smiles wryly. “I suppose that medicine must have increased her appetite. This bodes very well indeed for our little arrangement”. She bends down over my face and whispers out of the crowd’s earshot, “I have connections inside the justice department. I will take a bit of time to set up, but I can make sure this happens as frequently as you’d like. Maybe next time without any clothes on...”. I squirm pathetically as I come in my pants - unable to keep my throbbing cock at bay for any longer. I moan loudly, to shocked and disgusted looks from the people standing around me, and pant to catch my breath... - - - - Six months later and Amy spends her days in her room at St Jude’s, losing weight under the watchful eyes of Dr. Smith. She was still immobile, but closer to one tonne than two. Today was the first time I would see her for several weeks. I had intended to visit more often, but our relationship had become increasingly strained since the incident outside Piggy’s after her escape. After everything that’s happened with mom, I don’t think she trusts me anymore. I walk slowly down a grey and sterile corridor, glancing into the rooms as I pass by. I see Lily, a young girl that I knew in passing from my own time here, sitting on her bed, gazing absent-mindedly out of her window. She looks bigger than I remembered, great fat rolls bulging out on either side of her spherical body. She must have been discharged and gained all the weight (and then some) back in the real world. So many of the patients at St Jude’s were ‘re-offenders’, unable to keep their wandering hands from the biscuit tin once outside of these walls. Dr. Smith would have been spitting with rage when she saw that Lily had undone all of her hard work by porking up again. Walking past her door I spy at least a dozen more fatties in a variety of stages of undress, exercise, or lounging around. My time here was better than at mom’s cruel hands, but certainly no holiday. I’m glad to be a visitor today. Having weighed in just last week at a respectable 412 pounds, I’ve lost enough weight over the last six months that I’m no longer getting suspicious looks from the porters as if I might be a patient about to make a break for it. I near Amy’s door, and steel myself for another potentially fractious meeting. Two people are sat around her bed, playing what appears to be a game of gin-rummy. Amy, by far the largest of the group, is plopped in the centre of her mattress. She’s wearing the regulation St Jude’s outfit - a blue cotton gown - and fills it out so much that her rolls are visibly straining the fabric. It’s the largest size they had, and she’s only recently been able to squeeze herself into one at all. To her right, Maddy frowns as she looks at her hand. She was also a visitor nowadays rather than a patient, having decided that the thin life simply wasn’t for her. Maddy seemed to be much happier now that she wasn’t chasing an unattainable dream, but her dress size hadn’t thanked her for the decision. Neither, it seemed, did the chair she was bulging over the sides of. It creaks ominously. Emma completes the circle, dressed in her pretty nurse’s pinafore. She looks like she’s been spending too much time around her patients and not enough time working. The hours plonked on her bottom rather than rushing around the ward have helped her ass spread wide, taking up more of the cheap plastic visitors' chair that she was perched on than it had when we first met. One hand lazily holds her cards aloft, the other dives in and out of a large bag of chips, scooping up a healthy amount of soured cream dip before making its way into her mouth. Standing in the open doorway I cough gently to alert the group to my presence. “Oh”, is all Amy can muster, as both her face and her cards fall in unison at the sight of me. A good start... Maddy and Emma avoid my gaze as they shuffle their cards back into the deck and make a hasty retreat. Emma mutters something about “getting back to work”, as she passes, and Maddy simply shakes her head at me, jowls aquiver. I close the door quietly and walk over to one of the now-empty seats. “So...”, I say nervously, unable to read the meaning behind Amy’s powerful stare, “I know I haven’t been myself lately, but I’ve been doing some thinki-”. “-We’re done”, she interjects coolly, waving a hand to dismiss my words like a cow swatting away a fly. “I thought when you came to rescue me that you wanted to be together. You said all those lovely things, saved me from that basement. But you just couldn’t help yourself...”, she points a sausage finger at my crotch, “from your disgusting fantasies”. I squirm, how could she know? I kept my regular meetings with Stephanie quiet, and always in a hidden location way outside of town. I tried not to talk about mom unless asked directly, and even then my responses were curt and controlled. I had even managed to play off the incident at Piggy’s where I abandoned Amy to the mercy of the crowd. Amy snorts a derisive laugh, “you thought I didn’t know? Know that you and your mom fucked? That you fantasised about her as a kid? That you still do now?”. I open my mouth to argue back, but before I can formulate the words Amy snatches up a remote control from her bedside table and turns on the large TV on the opposite wall. She deftly navigates the TVs many menus and selects a recent recording of Channel 7 News. “... more on that at noon. But first, our very own Annabelle Dewitt was down at the high-court this morning for an update on the so-called ’Fairfax Fattening’ case”. A thin and pretty young lady flashes on screen. “I’m here at the high court for the third day of what already looks set to be a long and difficult trial. With two adjournments in so many days, Judge Price has now formally banned any food or drink from the public gallery, in an attempt to keep Lisa Fairfax under control. The true effects of the medicine that she was injected with during the incident last fall, which saw her arrested and her global weight loss brand shut down, are only now becoming clear”. The shot cuts away from the news reporter’s smiling face to recorded footage from inside the chamber, where mom sits at the defence’s table, her lawyers muttering inaudibly by her side. She’s unrecognisable from the woman who had confronted me down in the Piggy’s basement, just a few months ago. I take a sharp intake of breath. Her body, once chiselled like Michelangelo’s David, was now a perfect cultivator of one thing alone - fat. A prominent jawline had been lost in a thick layer of chub, rounding her face and adding an additional chin to the one God had given her. Arms and legs puffed out like the Pillsbury Doughboy, fat hanging down the underside of her limbs as her mass succumbed to the pull of gravity. A thick and doughy belly sits heavily across her chunky thighs, belly-button exposed as a top that likely fit about two dress sizes ago struggles to contain it. She had to have gained over 200 pounds! As pleasing as her overall body-shape is, one feature, in particular, gets my heart racing furiously. Mom’s tits once lost to her fitness regime and pecs beneath, have risen like a Phoenix from the ashes. Two enormous fleshy orbs are perched like water balloons atop the crest of her belly, bulging out of her v-neck top. They jiggle as she talks, two bags of fat hanging off her chest, and as she leans forward the camera gets a shot down into her cavernous cleavage, and just a hint of nipple. “Judge Price also took the controversial step of allowing Miss Fairfax access to unlimited food of her choice during recess. Whether this is to placate her when court is in session, or as payback for what happened to his daughter, Olivia, at one of her camps, this reporter can only speculate. Whatever the cause, he must be getting nervous about the rumours coming from the defence counsel about a so-called ‘magic bullet’ that will get the case thrown out of court entirely. No hints as yet as to what this is, but I’m sure all will become clear in the coming weeks. I’m Annabelle Dewitt, reporting for Channel 7 News...”. The TV switches off. I realise suddenly that my breathing has become heavy, and squirm as I try to hide the erection throbbing in my pants. It must be too obvious though, and Amy’s gaze wanders down to the conspicuous lump pumping beneath my boxer shorts. “Pathetic...”, is all she can muster, gesturing towards the door, naught but disgust etched into her face. Shamefully I stand up, my chubby cock still pulsating in my pants, and shuffle out of the room. I suspect that I might not see Amy again for some time, if ever, and my heart falls at the thought. As if on cue to distract me from my wallowing, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. Reaching down I see a message from Stephanie. ‘Finally got the paperwork through. We’re on! Meet me tomorrow morning outside the Town Hall’. I gulp. This was what we had been working towards for some time. And now I had nothing to hold me back... - - - - Less than 24 hours later and I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a banged-up Chevy, Stephanie at the wheel. “... and then I had to bribe the prison warden, who thankfully for us is a patron of some of my sites, and wouldn’t want his particular kink to be made public knowledge. It’s been a tougher ride than I thought, but it will all be worth it in the end... you’ll see”. I nod meekly whilst looking out of the window at the countryside speeding by. Soon enough a high barbed-wire fence comes into view, followed quickly by the imposing grey bricked building of Highbury Prison. This is where mom was spending her day's in-between court - under lock, key, and the ever-watchful eyes of the prison’s guards. Stephanie parks the car in the visitor car park and we walk together into the main complex. I follow a few paces behind her plump bottom, which jiggles fiercely as she hurries towards the warden's office. A woman on a mission. A minute or two later and I can hear a heated conversation from behind his office door, having elected to wait outside and catch my breath. Sure enough, a few moments later the door opens and a gruff looking gentleman with a frown as deep as his hanging belly waddles past and beckons us to follow. We’re led down a set of narrow corridors, past a loud and busy canteen, and underneath an archway labelled, ‘maximum security’. Coming to a stop outside a large metal door, the warden dismisses the two guards standing outside. “Now you’ve got one hour. Just one. That’s all I can give you Stephanie, and damn your evidence against me!”, he barks gruffly once the guards are out of earshot, squaring up to the chubby young red-head. She beams back at him and holds out a well-manicured hand, “deal”. He regards it disdainfully, before turning on his heel and waddling back down the corridor. Stephanie shrugs off the snub. “Well, no time like the present”, she says happily, pushing down hard on the handle of the door and letting it swing open to reveal the room beyond. Mom is sat naked on a large hospital bed in the centre of the room, thumbing lazily through a trashy magazine that rests atop her wobbly stomach. The room is sparsely decorated, and there are no posters or picture frames to hide the cracking white paint on its four narrow walls. Two uninviting plastic chairs have been abandoned next to the bed. Stephanie and I make our way over to them. Once seated, I take in mom’s corpulent form. She looks heavier in the flesh - her legs are thick like the trunks of a mighty redwood tree, so much so I’d be surprised if she can even support herself on them. Her belly spills out across her lap, and an enormous ass envelopes her lower half in jiggly flesh. She is fatter than she had been on the news broadcast - perhaps another 150 pounds added to her already morbidly obese frame. Her tits are still the primary focal point of her gain. Two vast melons, surprisingly perky, sit atop her belly. Each had to weigh as much as a small child, and surely no bra in the country could possibly fit those enormous hooters. A pair of puffy nipples poke out like armed torpedoes ready to fire. “Mom”, I say shyly, “you’re looking... big”. My heart beats furiously as the words tumble out of my mouth. I hadn’t come here to tease, but the sight of mom’s gain had emboldened more than I had expected. She sighs heavily, a hint of malice flashes across her face before the mask of calmness is restored. “And who do I have to thank for that I wonder? My fatso of a son. I suppose at least now people won’t be as surprised to find out that we’re related”. I blush, mom’s silver tongue is as quick as ever. She clears her throat. “We don’t have much time, let’s get down to business”, she says curtly, “I have a proposition that I think you’ll find mutually beneficial, especially now you’ve broken up with that harlot of yours”. Stephanie must have phoned ahead... “I want to be out of this place, and you... well, you want me. The trial is nearing its end, and my lawyers tell me that your testimony is the tipping the jury against me”. Mom edges towards me, ripples of fat waving across her body as she shuffles her heft across the bed. A warm, pudgy hand finds my own and guides it up to her bulging belly. “You could have this. All of it, as often as you want. I’d be in your debt...”. My fingers close around a handful of soft blubber. My cock hardens instinctively, and I can’t help but grope feverishly at her fat rolls, as she and Stephanie share a quiet giggle. I let out a low moan - this was quickly becoming overwhelming. “That’s what I thought”, she continues, batting away my wandering hand with a harsh swipe, “and all you have to do is agree to testify in my favour. Say it was that ex-girl of yours, Amy. Say it was all her idea. A sick fetish that she and some of my staff were engaging in behind my back. You came to me for help, and we confronted her. Things got heated, out of hand, and... well, the rest is history”. Mom sits back with a self-satisfied look on her face. “The judge is in our pocket. We recently found out that his daughter has been doing some freelance work for one of Stephanie’s big girl websites for quite some time, and he’s so keen for it not to get out he’s willing to set aside his previous animosity towards me. This would be enough for him to throw the whole case out of court”. She finishes her speech and looks at me smugly as if the decision had already been made. “So?”. My brain unsuccessfully attempts to process this barrage of information. Mom is despicable. Evil. She doesn’t care about me at all. She’s thinking about herself and herself alone - as per usual. She deserves this. To be fat, and alone, and unhappy. To live out the rest of her days at the pleasure of the State in this gilded cage. And how could I turn my back on Amy? After everything we’d been through - that I had put her through? She’s owed better that. She’s owed better than me... Without warning mom opens her legs wide, belly quickly spilling into the space in-between, but not before I get a flash of her pussy, nestled amongst the rolls of her fat pad. My decision is made before her soft paunch touches the white satin sheet beneath. My body moves faster than my mind can keep up with. I find myself standing-up, unbuckling my belt, slipping out of my clothes and exposing my morbidly obese body to the room’s other two occupants. I don’t care though, not as Stephanie’s hand slips into her bag and returns holding a video camera, which beeps into life. With a huff I heave myself onto the bed, crawling forwards furiously towards mom’s crotch. My face coming to a rest inches above her belly covered pussy, and take a deep, shuddering breath. The calm before the storm. I press my hands deep into her cottage cheese thighs and push them out even further, spread-eagled on the bedsheet. With one I lift her heavy lower belly, and the other I guide in what is left of my porky cock. Except... our fat pads are too big. They slap together fruitlessly, the tip of my cock nuzzling her plump lips, but unable to breach through. “What’s... the... hold-up”, mom pants out-of-sight from somewhere over her mountainous belly. I see Stephanie bend down beside us to inspect the issue. ‘Snap’, ‘snap’, she takes a couple of close-up photos. “Well, it seems you’re too fat to have sex”, she says cheerily, slapping my buttock with her open palm. “Maybe if you hadn’t eaten so much sausage you’d be able to use your own!”, she laughs heartily, now grabbing my fat pad and shaking it roughly. I can feel my member rubbing against my folds, and squirm with pent-up anticipation. Mom groans as my cock brushes over her clitoris, teasing. “Must I... do… everything?!”. She grunts, and forces herself into a seated position. After a moment to catch her breath, she swings one enormous leg off the bed, and then the other, and before I can say another word she has pushed me down, lying face up to stare at the single bulb hanging far above. Mom waddles herself around to my feet and heaves herself onto the bed, edging forwards and on top of me. She gently lowers herself. I can feel hundreds of pounds of woman pressing down on me, pushing me deeper into the already strained mattress. I don’t mind though, and it’s made all the more pleasant as she finally guides my throbbing cock into her pussy, settling herself on my crotch. “There we go...”, mom soothes as she begins to rock herself backward and forwards. An aftershock of fat reverberates with every thrust, as her titanic ass comes crashing into itself. Blubber ripples around her body, causing her juicy melons to sway, heavy and engorged. My wandering hands can’t help themselves, and grope around her body as she rides me like a cowgirl. Over the bumps and mounds of her tree-trunk legs. Over the gelatinous booty that juts out like a shelf behind her. Over two fat tits, bouncing one in each hand. I slap them together, eyes transfixed on the two swinging pendulums as she pounds me like a fattened hog. This couldn’t be further from the first time we had sex. This is mutual, raw, loving. “Come on fat boy...”, mom pants as she reaches climax. Her voice becomes higher, breathier. “Come... for... mommy”. This is too much. My cock throbs one last time, and then the dam breaks, a deluge of cum exploding into mom’s warm pussy. I pump over and over, each one as much as I would usually release in a single session, and feel myself collapse into the bed. Spent. Mom shudders, her blubber quivering like jelly on a power-plate, and she arches her back and lets out a final, long moan. My eyes watering, I look up at mom’s sweaty face. Despite her initial bravado, it looks like the effort of thrusting her few hundred-pound body back and forth for the short few minutes had taken its toll. Her breathing is deep and laboured, and her entire body is shaking like she’s just run a marathon. A surprised exhalation. A final pitiful quiver. Her abs give way, body falling like a condemned building hurtling towards the ground. Mom collapses onto my belly, our flabby bodies connecting with a loud ‘slap!’. Her arms are outstretched in a high plank position (not that she had been getting much exercise since she left Piggy’s mind), but her belly hangs so low nowadays that it doesn’t matter. I feel a tidal wave of fat reverberate around my body, slapping together two oversized buttocks on my behind. Seconds later I’m dazed by the pair of enormous breasts that come crashing into my face. Sucker punched by two fat water balloons. Mom lays panting for a few moments, Stephanie moving around the bed to get a panoramic shot of her vast ass. My cock still inside her, as hard as it had been when I’d first seen her legs spread open, shows no sign of abating. I turn my head to give myself space to breathe, face still smothered by mom’s fat tits, and a rock-hard nipple brushes my mouth. I lick my lips nervously. Mind whirring. Mom hadn’t permitted me to do this. She might not react well... I feel around desperately for the juicy teat with my tongue, and once found, clamp my lips tightly around it. It’s now or never... I take a long hard suck. “What are you...? Oh... *hmph*... Oohhhhhh...”, mom groans, her tone moving from angry, to surprised, and finally to a moan of deep pleasure. A rich liquid gushes into my mouth. It’s thick, more the consistency of single cream than watery milk, with a similar taste. I gulp it down, a hard suck causing an even greater volume to burst from mom’s tits and fill my cheeks. Raising my arms I cup mom’s right breast with both hands. Face still covered, I massage it, encouraging more with each pump of my hands. Some spills between the cracks in my lips, wetting mom’s breast and running like tears down my barrel chest and onto the sheet below. I barely register, too focused on the task at hand. Once the first breast is spent I pop out mom’s nipple and search feverishly for the other. “Hmph... here you go sweetie”, mom whispers, pushing her fat tits lazily towards me, brushing them across my face and leaving a second nipple a few inches from my lips. It’s hard, clearly ready for what is about to come. I place my lips around it and suckle greedily, mom moaning all the while. I feel a sudden rush in my crotch and I come again, cock pumping as I squirm my gelatinous body under mom’s enormous bulk. After a couple of minutes, the gush slows to a trickle. I continue suckling desperately, but mom leans back and her nipple pops out of my mouth, leaving a slow drip of thick milk onto my chest. “Tut, tut - greedy!”, she laughs in a mock angry tone, tapping me on the nose like one might tap a naughty dog begging at the dinner table. I blush and relent, slumping back into the bed to finally catch my breath, mom still straddling me. Suddenly, a knock at the door. It creaks open and a young boy scuttles in pushing a large metal trolley. Its uneven wheels click and clack loudly on the concrete floor. “Sorry to disturb”, he says nervously, glancing between mother and me as we lay on top of one another, “but it’s feeding time, and... and the warden said I have to keep to the agreed schedule”. A bead of sweat drops down his nose and travels the full length of his body before landing with a quiet ‘drip’ at his feet. “Not to worry”, Stephanie smiles back, “why don’t you leave that here. I’ll see to it that everyone is properly fed”. The young man looks back at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I suppose feeding the prison whale thrice a day can’t be a particularly in-demand role. He nods appreciatively and slips back out of the room, casting one last confused glance at mom and me straddling one another. Mom finally clambers off of me, grunting with the effort. The tip of my cock is freed from her chunky pussy, and I wipe the last of the cum away on the sheets whilst attentions are elsewhere. Stephanie lifts the lid off the nearest silver platter a pleasant aroma fills the room. Deep-fried chicken - crispy but succulent - wafts all around. Mom and I take in a deep sniff. I wait for her to rush forwards and snatch it away, for her insatiable appetite to take control, but to my surprise, she stays plopped on the edge of the bed. A frown crosses her brow. She glances unsurely at Stephanie, who shrugs in return. When this happened before she couldn’t keep herself from... she couldn’t keep... she... My hand lunges forwards and grabs a particularly large and juicy drumstick off the plate. I blink stupidly at it for a brief second, my mind many paces behind my body and struggling to keep up. Before I can process the situation I find myself chewing a greasy bite of fried chicken, and then another, and another. Each one more feverish and desperate than the last. Chicken bones discarded in my lap, pooling grease in my deep naval. The world around me shifts out of focus, except for the bucket of chicken and it’s fattening contents. Mom and Stephanie are speaking, I think, I can’t make out the words over the ringing in my ears. White noise. It’s as if my body has shut down its other sense to focus on... to focus on... I blink, the fuzzy shapes in front of me coming slowly back into view. How much time had passed? A minute? An hour? The ringing in my ears subsides and I can hear a faint, ‘click’, ‘click’ coming from my right. Stephanie is crouched low and taking photos. An unflattering angle no doubt. I look down at my lap and see that the mountain of chicken bones has grown many times larger than it had been just a moment ago. Or, had it been longer? My head hurts at the thought. Glancing ahead I can see that the bucket lies on its side, empty, not a morsel remaining. “...is big Stephanie, very big. I’m not hungry in the slightest. If this is a repeatable process, and... I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Well, I could be back in my old wardrobe by, I don’t know, year after next?”. Mom’s voice pierces through the ringing. I catch her gaze, and her eyes widen as she registers my return to the land of the living. “Oh, you’re back, I wondered how long we’d lost you for. Not worry, you’ll get used to it. Losing yourself to the hunger that is. The need to feed. I thought I was doomed to it forever. That you had doomed me to it forevermore specifically. But life has a wonderful way of working itself out sometimes, and on this occasion, I’d say it’s worked out rather well indeed!”. She pats me on my stomach, which I suddenly realise is as hard and bloated as it’s ever been. I groan, weighed down by the milk and chicken in my overstuffed stomach, and fall back into the soft pillowy bed. I was doing so well at losing weight... “Stephanie, tell the warden we need more time. I don’t care what he says, just get it done”, mom barks at the chubby ginger, who scurries away dutifully. “Now... I think we’re due a little chat about this arrangement of ours... I’d like to make a small amendment to our terms”, mom says kindly, turning back to me. She cups her elephantine breasts and jiggles them, giggling. I groan my cock hardening once again against my better judgement. What have I done...? - - - - Mom’s imprisonment ended as spectacularly as it had started. Amy wheeled into court on her Piggy’s hospital bed - one-tonne of woman, accused of perverting the course of justice. Lengthy cross-examination, witnesses called and evidence given, liberally sprinkled with shouts and tears. Mom’s verdict delivered by a stony-faced Judge Price. ‘Not guilty’. Hordes of angry Piggy’s parents waiting on the courthouse steps, held back by a throng of police officers struggling to keep the peace on this gloomy October afternoon. “Witch!”, “liar!”, “you’d better watch your back!”. Harsh words, but mom’s unfaltering smile made me suspect that she wasn’t particularly concerned. The limousine waiting for us at the bottom of the steps took us straight to mom’s new sprawling country retreat. It has been generously gifted by her old partner Jessica in recompense for not supporting her court case. A peace offering, graciously accepted. That was eighteen months ago, and since then my life had fallen into another of its strange routines. I was living with mother in her rural retreat. We shared a house, a bedroom, a bed. In fact, there wasn’t much we didn’t share nowadays. The line between mother and son, feeder and feedee, submissive and dominatrix, blurred even more with every passing day. But if nothing else, our relationship was mutually beneficial. I needed mom’s body, and she, in a manner of speaking, needed mine. Or more specifically, she needed me to milk her dry once a day, and in doing so pass the fattening concoction that I had injected into her back at Piggy’s onto myself. This daily ritual had, unsurprisingly, impacted my figure quite considerably over the last year... I stir from my slumber. Deep and peaceful, as it so often is nowadays, blinking wearily at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. I look to my left - mom isn’t in bed. She must already be waiting for me in the kitchen. Best not to keep her waiting. I take a long, deep breath, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet land with a thud on the cool stone floor. I ready myself for a significant undertaking and try to stand-up. My legs creak and moan under the effort, and for a worrying few seconds, I think that I’m not going to make it. That I’ll fall back onto the bed, unable to leave its soft and fluffy confines. Mercifully though my body relents, and I pull myself into a standing position. A large free-standing mirror opposite casts back a reflection that I still can’t quite believe is my own. Almost as wide as I am tall, I look like a child’s drawing of a fat person - which is to say, spherical. A heavy and droopy belly hangs over my crotch, which now envelopes my cock completely, and wide childbearing hips which have accumulated several rolls of wobbling blubber. Legs as thick as beer barrels, but significantly softer, rub together from pelvis to my feet and are cratered with more cellulite than you’d find at a weight-watchers meeting. Two tits larger than mom’s at her heaviest sit awkwardly upon my male chest. They have grown substantially since I started drinking mom’s milk, far more proportionally than the rest of my body, and most days I take to wearing specially made bras to ease the burden on my struggling back. For the most part, however, I stopped wearing clothes shortly after I arrived, as it was too much effort keeping my wardrobe up to date with my ever-increasing body mass. I’m now used to seeing my super morbidly obese body reflected back at me from the variety of mirrors that adorn the walls of the mansion. I waddle slowly and carefully a few steps forward, to the electric scooter waiting for me by the door. This had become a practical necessity about six months ago when the sprawling nature of this rural retreat had become a challenge to navigate with my additional bulk. At over 700 pounds I know that mobility of any kind is going to be a challenge in the coming weeks. The scooter groans and creaks as I lower myself into it. The last two had broken - ‘weren’t built to hold this sort of weight’, according to the man who took them away and delivered replacements - but this one was hanging in there, thankfully. I set it to top speed (not particularly fast with my bulk weighing it down) and scoot out of the bedroom and across the hall. My tits jiggle ferociously with every small bump of the floor tiles, slapping against my body with an audible sound of fat smacking fat that I’d become accustomed to from my ass cheeks whacking together with every step. I turn a corner into the lounge. Mom is waiting for me, seated on a large chaise longue in the centre of the room wearing her bright white bathrobe. The last year had been much kinder to her body than mine. Without the serum-induced cravings, mom had been able to revert to her previous diet and exercise regime and had slimmed down to a modest 250 pounds. Still a fatty, for now, but with every passing day, another pound fell off her frame and onto my own. Her belly is a hefty spare tire around her middle - a single heavy roll with a cute little dimple at the front underneath her deep bellybutton. It is taught and overstuffed - the loose skin treatment purchased at great expense from St Jude’s meant that mom’s body was as tight and beautiful as ever. Chunky legs and ham-like arms give her the impression of a middle-aged housewife that’s given up on keeping trim, letting herself indulge now that she’s settled down. Her tits are the only area of her body that hasn’t changed. Even as the weight fell off the rest of her, mom’s tits stayed as plump and engorged as ever, becoming hilariously large in comparison to the rest of her shrinking frame. “I wondered when you’d be up”, mom calls at me from across the room, “I’m starting to get a little uncomfortable”. She lifts her tits and lets them fall, the jiggle still visible through her thick fluffy gown. I scoot over to her, top speed little more than a crawl as the electric motor struggles to deliver its heavy cargo. “I think you’ll have outgrown that scooter soon you know. It’s not sounding particularly well”. I stop just short of mom and await my next instructions. Light streams in through the tall French windows, casting a healthy glow across her face. The last year had been kind to mom. With the stress of life without parole removed and the prospect of returning to something like her old body, she had become a much happier, and as a result, more pleasant person. She was still selfish, that would likely never change, but when we lay together in bed I had recently started to get the sense that she did actually... love me? Her bright azure blue eyes twinkle as she smiles at me. More beautiful than ever. “I haven’t seen Stephanie this morning. I suppose that she is sleeping off last night’s midnight snack... I guess this means that you’ll be having a double serving for breakfast today”. My stomach leaps - a double serving! Since we arrived at the ranch I’d been sharing mom’s breakfast treat with Stephanie, whom it transpired had been using her raunchy websites as a mechanism to satisfy her own feedee desires. Shortly after we moved here she and mom had drawn up a revised contract for their ongoing business relationship. Mom would fund the expansion of Stephanie’s operation as an 80/20 partner, allowing her to use the house as a retreat for an assortment of kinky activities on top of her existing offering. Stephanie asked for only one thing in return - a daily dose of mom’s sweet nectar. She’d been hooked it ever since, guzzling down a breast-full per day, and had ballooned into a rather delicious ssbbw as a result (to use her preferred terminology). Today though, she was nowhere to be seen. You snooze, you lose... I flick the scooter to top speed (denoted by the small picture of a hare next to the dial) and follow mom through the lounge and into our designated ‘kink room’. Ever since the house had become the nation’s premier feederism getaway, the kink room had become a well-stocked playroom for horny fat admirers. I come to a stop by a wide electric chair and look at mom nervously. “A little help?”. Her hands sink deep into my flesh as she hoists me under my arms, rubbing the bumps of my cellulite-ridden hams. After significant effort, I sink into the deeply reclining chair and pause to catch my breath. Having helped me into place mom pulls down a wide rubber sling from its home in the ceiling above. A routine so well practised that I barely notice my mouth start to salivate. Pavlov’s feedee. I lick my lips expectantly. Mom pulls the sling down to chest height, its arms about shoulder-width apart, and in a single elegant motion shrugs off her dressing gown. Despite the recent weight loss, her body is as meaty as I remembered, a thick spare tyre wobbling around her middle. Plump arms, chunky legs... I can feel myself harden under my folds. She lifts her enormous tits into the sling, which carries their weight and lets them hang freely. They slosh around gently like two overfilled water balloons about to burst. I press the ‘up’ button on my chair and it creaks into life, slowly lifting me into a seated position. From my vantage down below I can see her creamy moons edging ever closer, filling more and more of my view until they’re all I can see. I open my mouth unconsciously. Just a few centimetres now... My lips close around a puffy nipple. An explosion of rich and creamy milk fills my cheeks and runs down my throat into the depths of my gut. I gulp down mouthful after mouthful, hands squeezing and prodding at mom’s under-boob to encourage as much milk out as possible. When the first is spent I greedily bite at the other, mom groaning with pleasure as I nibble at her other teat. The same gush of milk. The same furious fondling. I’m full to the brim by the time this tit also runs dry. ‘Uuuurrrp’, I belch happily, patting my enormous gut as I feel mom’s milk sloshing around inside me. That was quite the breakfast! I know that today is going to be one of those days that I lose myself to the food - blackout and wake-up an hour and many bowls of fries later. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to do it. Mom catches her breath - milking time was always quite an experience for her - and shovels her enormous bosom back into her dressing gown. “I wondered if you’d be able to finish both helpings now you’ve got so used to just one. I guess I shouldn’t ever be surprised by your appetite though should I?”, she teases, grabbing a handful of my hanging gut. Suddenly the ground begins to tremble - a quake? - growing gradually louder and more thunderous. Mom’s breasts quiver beneath their silk covering, and my body trembles from head to toe. The pounding reaches its climax as an enormous figure bounds into the room. Stephanie looks a complete mess. Hair frizzy and unkempt, pyjamas dishevelled, and a thick sheen of sweat covering her brow. She’d clearly just undertaken her first serious exercise in many months, and her body didn’t appear to be thanking her for it. Speaking of which, she looks like she’s piled on at least another 50 pounds since she turned 24 this Spring, bringing her somewhere close to what I was when I first stepped foot inside this house. Her gut has grown from soft and chubby to meaty and fat, bulging out in front of her and covering her plump pussy. Ass, legs, and arms have all expanded, taking up three or four times the space they used to. Cellulite craters her stretch-marked body, and overall she’s become the picture of gluttony - weak, morbidly obese, and a slave to her appetite. Stephanie huffs her way over to mom and me, floor still quaking with every thudded step. When just a few feet away she pauses, doubles over, and grasps for breath. “Did... I... miss...”, she manages to crane her head up to look at me, seated in the feeding chair, a splash of milk still dribbling down my chin. “No...”, she moans pathetically, looking at mom with puppy-dog eyes. “Perhaps”, mom snaps back, an impatient edge to her voice, “if you had waddled that fat bottom down here a little earlier then you’d wouldn’t have missed feeding time. And, the foundations of my house might still be intact. I’ve said it before Stephanie, you need to start using your scooter - one more cracked tile and I’ll start making you pay the cost of your new monthly wardrobe”. She struts over to Stephanie and gives her sides a hearty jiggle. Stephanie pants and splutters in protest, but lets mom have her way nonetheless. Deep down Stephanie enjoyed playing the submissive. As Stephanie continues to be fondled by mom I feel a strange sensation rising in my chest. It’s oddly warm and starting to pulsate, ever so slightly at first, but getting stronger with every second. My heart pounds in my chest. Was I having a heart attack? No... it was more... pleasurable. My chest feels tender, sagging... full. I look down to see my tits quivering gently, and then... It starts as a dribble. A few drops of milk falling gently onto the crest of my stomach. As I exhale in shock the dribble turns into a stream, jetting out across my belly in two perfect jets. White, creamy milk, similar to that which I had been gobbling down for the last couple of years, bursts from my body. Before I can utter even a single word I see a blurred figure rushing towards me in my peripheral vision. I flick my eyes right just in time to see 350 pounds of red-headed sprinting towards me, faster than I’ve ever seen her move - fat or thin. Stephanie luges forwards slapping into me with considerable force and straining the bolts and screws of my feeding chair. Milk splashes across her chest, dribbling down between her tits, but it’s my hefty pair, not her own, that her entire being is focused on. She forces her mouth around one of my teats, stemming the flow. I feel her warm lips pressing down hard, and her tongue working its way over the bumpy surface of my nipple. A shape intake. I hold my breath. Milk explodes from my breast as Stephanie takes a long hard suck, the dam well and truly broken. My eyes roll back in my head as organismic pleasure the likes of which I have never experienced pulse over me, great waves of ecstasy breaking against my flabby shore. My cock rock hard, after just a few seconds I can feel myself coming all over her vast thighs - over and over with every suckle of my tit. I can hardly breathe when she starts on my other moob, sucking even harder, desperate for her to empty it into her enormous belly. A glorious minute or so later and I’m spent - body and mind a nervous, shivering wreck. “Urrrrp”, Stephanie belches as she forces herself off of me and cradles her sagging belly. “Too much... too full... but so hungry...”, she moans, as her belly begins to rumbles ominously. Another voice cuts through the moans and pants, for the first time in minutes. “Stephanie”, mom says gleefully, grin wide and eyes dancing, “this is perfect! Long term exposure to my milk causes, not only intense hunger but also reproduces the same effects! We can use this... I can use this...”. Mom strides over to me, body bouncing underneath her robe, which loosens a little with every step, revealing her obese tits beneath. Mom grabs a hold of my own tender breasts and squeezes them hard, inspecting them like a farmer might inspect a fattened pig ready for the butcher. She caresses them, massage them, and I moan softly, utterly at her mercy once again... - - - - I’m awoken by the sound of nearby people, clunking machinery, and a familiar sensation over my chest. Opening my eyes blearily I see the smiling face of Kate, mom’s latest personal assistant, fixing a large suction cup to one of my vast melons. A clear plastic tube hangs down from the ceiling far above and is fastened to the sucker, ready to whisk its pricey contents away to the processing plant out back. Glancing left I can see the other stalls, or ‘cowsheds’ as mom had lovingly named them, each with their own blubbery occupant sitting in specially-made reinforced chairs. Stephanie is two doors down. The second fattest here after myself, she had recently celebrated her one-tonne milestone and had been rewarded with additional feedings for her good behaviour. And it certainly showed - her arms now pinned to her side by the rolls and rolls of blubber weighing them down, and an ass that spread so wide she’d recently needed an upgraded seat to accommodate it. Immobilised by her vast size, Stephanie sits on that gargantuan bottom 24 hours a day, dozing, gorging, and producing her own sweet nectar. It hadn’t taken long at all for Stephanie’s body to reproduce the same biological changes as mine, and she had been the second willing volunteer to mom’s growing milk empire, which two years in boasted 13 permanent ‘milkers’ and about four dozen others that come and go as they please, that is until they succumb to the same inevitable affliction that claimed the former group - immobility. With each new, helplessly dependent, blob that waddled onto her books, mom’s bottom line swelled as much as her milkers own vast bodies. Mom’s business model was at once devilishly complex and brilliantly simple. A portion of the addictive, fattening milk would be used to maintain her flock, keep us contented, satisfied, and impossibly large. Once an individual started producing their own milk they were forced, by threat of having their supply cut-off cold turkey, into joining the swelling ranks of milkers, hooked up to industrial breast pumps every day. The rest of the product is sold at a premium to a variety of nearby fast-food restaurants. Local health officials could only look on in horror as the queues outside ‘Belly Burger’, ‘Chicken Shack’, and ‘Doughy’s Doughnuts’ grew longer and longer with every passing day. Innumerous fine-dining restaurants shut down as the masses snubbed them in favour of four greasy patties stacked with cheese, or a bucket of fried gristle. The local populous was not to know, of course, that their sudden penchant for the deep fat fryer was a result of mom’s secret operation. But even the most uneducated among them couldn’t have helped but notice that everyone within a 20-mile radius had blown up faster than a party balloon. Whilst I’d been confined to the cowshed by my vast bulk for some time, making trips to the high-street a practical impossibility, I did enjoy watching the increasingly desperate local new coverage. Wide-angle shots of fat bottoms waddling down the street, people gorging themselves into a stupor and collapsing in kebab shop doorways, the panic buying of XXXL clothes and the shortages that left half the populous stuffed into ill-fitting clothes. Fat families, all stuffing their faces and growing wider, heavier, meatier with every mouthful. An obesity epidemic the likes of which had never been seen before. Government officials had recently declared a state of emergency, and the state school system had temporarily closed, partly because no teacher nor student could concentrate with ever rumbling tummies, and partly because none could fit behind their desks! The local youth had borne the brunt of mom’s devious plot, their little bodies ballooning outwards at a rate their poor legs simply couldn’t keep up with. No less than 50 were hospitalised and completely immobile - great puddles of flesh - desperately shovelling anything they could get their hands on into their hilariously chubby cheeks... “How’s our best piggy doing this fine winter morning?”, Kate asks me with a smile, snapping me out of my reverie. “It’s getting nippy, right?”, she continues, as I notice her breath hanging in the air, “let me turn up the heating a little...”. She strides over to a control panel on the wall to my right, and a few moments later a pleasant glow starts pulling down from a heat lamp above. “There! Can’t have our prize producer catching a chill now, can we? And speaking of nippy...”. Kate leans across my vast belly and gives my nipple a gentle squeeze. I shudder, a squirt of milk bursts from my tit, and a familiar organismic rush crashing over me in a powerful wave. She giggles, and back hops down, her generous boobs bouncing up and down as she does so. Kate is a plump young girl, with a wide pair of hips and an ass that formed a sagging bubble jutting out from behind. She wasn’t mom’s first personal assistant, that accolade went to a quiet but hardworking Indian woman named Desi, who was currently plopped on her ass a few stalls down. She’d made the mistake of taking a sip of my milk a few months in, and try as she might, she couldn’t resist going back for more. Mom wasn’t happy until she’d realised Desi’s potential, and from then on had been quietly complicit in her skimming a little off the top. When the day finally came that Desi couldn’t heave her enormous brown bottom up and down the mansions plush marble stairs, she was awarded a place alongside Stephanie and me - in return for her product of course. Kate had also recently started sampling my goods, so to speak. I warned her not to, told her it was irresistible, would make her get incredibly large, but the appetitive enchanters in the local food supply must have been too much temptation for her to handle. Her formally tight behind was now thick and sagging, her body having accumulated around 100 pounds of fat that had previously been wanting. Her soft gut was no longer contained by her uniform, and hung proudly over her waistband, jiggling with every step. She wasn’t a resident of the cowshed yet, but now she’d had her first taste of its produce it was only a matter of time. Her shorts munch happily on her fat booty as she walks back over to the control panel. “Before we pump this morning’s product I think you’re overdue a check-in big boy...”, she giggles. A few clicks later and a digital display flickers to life on the wall opposite. ‘1639 LBS’ flashes back in angry red text, and Kate gasps audibly. I knew I was getting larger every day, but that’s over 100 more than I was 8 weeks ago! At this rate... “Woah, nice job fatso! I know cows have four stomachs, but even so!”. Bouncing back over to me Kate grabs a handful of my belly and heaves herself up my body, resting her fat ass on my gut. She raises the second suction cup into place over my melon but pauses before attaching it. “Hmmmm…”. I can see the turmoil in her face. She licks her lips unconsciously. Before I can say a word Kate lunges forwards and places her mouth around my exposed teat. Mom’s milk has engorged my tits far beyond anything I thought possible, and my nipples had also swelled such that each was about the size of a golf-ball. My fleshy nipple fills Kate’s entire mouth, and I groan as her soft tongue tickles at it, working its way over its surface, as she takes a deep breath... Kate rolls off me a few minutes later collapsing onto the floor between my legs, with a belly so bloated that she’s burst the top button off her shorts and is threatening the remainder on her tight cotton shirt. “Ugghhh”, she moans, helplessly flailing her arms, unable to get up. The automated milking system kicks in, sucking my left tit dry, but today mom will have to make do with half measures, the remainder sloshing around the groaning girl’s gut. As I gaze at Kate my eyes suddenly feel heavy, this morning’s excitement having caught up with me, and my world fades to blackness as I fall into a deep sleep. I’m awoken by the unmistakable pitter-patter of stilettos on stone, growing slightly louder with every step. This, of course, can only mean one thing. Mom is on her way. Glancing down at the lightly snoring Kate, who remains collapsed in a heap between my thighs, I use what little movement I still have in my foot to try and nudge her awake. “Kate... Kate...!”, I whisper, attempting to rouse her from her food coma, but it’s too late. The footsteps come to a sudden halt ahead of me. I look up nervously, locking eyes with a familiar face. Mom is wearing a tight floral maxi-dress, the soft silken material hugging her toned curves. The last few excess pounds of her prison ordeal having melted off some months ago, mom was almost back to her pre-injection levels of fitness. Legs thick and powerful, stomach washboard and flat, arms wiry and strong. She was the picture of physical fitness in all but one respect. A pair of enormous breasts, out of place on her otherwise muscular figure, hang ponderously off her chest. Vast titties sloshing around with the same fattening milk as mine. The world’s hardest-working bra keeps them pushed up and perky, creating a cleavage deeper than an ocean trench, and far more pleasant to look at. She surveys the scene with a smirk. Stepping out of her high heeled shoes, bare feet kissing the cool stone floor, and moves silently across the enclosure towards us. Six inches shorter, the hem of her maxi-dress trails on the floor behind her. Her engorged melons wobble violently with every step. Somewhere deep within my folds, I can feel myself getting excited... Mom stops just short of Kate’s snoozing body, towering over her, before bending down into a deep squat. A sharp prod in the belly rouses Kate from her slumber. “Oooof... what’s...? *urrrrp*... oh... Miss... *uuuurrrrp*... Fairfax!”, she belches, hands frantically groping at my thigh rolls to push herself into a standing position. Mom places a hand on her shoulder, forcing her back into a sprawled position, fat ass on the floor, back lent into the belly that hangs over my crotch. “Oh dear, oh dear. Not another one!”, mom giggles in a mock angry tone, “you were such a skinny little minx when you joined us. Flaunting yourself around the house back when I was still shifting my last few pounds. Well, I can see where they all went!”. She places an index finger from each hand between the strained buttons of Kate’s shirt and gently pulls. With a succession of quick ‘pops’, each button pings off across the room, allowing Kate’s fat, tanned gut to pour through the opening and land with a jiggle on her lap. “You’ve been dipping your hand into the company cookie-jar”, mom smirks at the bloated young girl still wedged pathetically between my thighs. “I’ve known for months. Lower yields here, strained clothes there. I’ve been tracking your morning weigh-ins. Data sent directly my phone. 234 pounds... you’ve become quite the porker!”. Kate groans again, as mom grabs two handfuls of her belly and kneads it lovingly. “Watching that tight ass get wider and saggier every day. Cellulite creeping up those perfect pins. Belly bursting out of your shorts. Jawline lost to wobbling jowls. It was enough to make me forget about your betrayal of trust”. She lets go and slaps Kate’s belly hard, a ripple of blubber spreading across her soft body. “But even your obvious weight gain can’t make me forget about the dent in my bottom line. I need producers, not free-loaders. I suppose we’d best expedite the process...”. Mom’s hands reach behind her back, pinging open the clasp of her bra. In the blink of an eye, her breasts succumb to gravity, pulled down by their hefty mass into two fat teardrops. She shrugs off her shoulder straps, casting the comically large bra to one side, before lifting them out and over her dress. Nipples already hardened by the cool temperature of the cowshed, a dribble of milk escapes from the tit on her left. She must not have fed anyone yet today... “No... too full...”, Kate groans, but mom is already leaning in. I can only see the tops of their heads from my vantage up above, but the nuzzling sounds and occasional gasps for breath can only mean one thing. Kate’s grip on my legs loosens, her arms falling limply by her side as she concedes defeat. After a couple of minutes, mom leans back, tucking her enormous tits back into her maxi-dress. “Can’t... breathe... can’t... move...”, Kate mumbles, as mom slips a phone out of her pocket and taps out a short message. A few moments later two burly men turn the corner into my pen, the taller pushing a large reinforced wheelchair. “Time to get you to bed Kate”, mom smiles, stepping out of the way so the two security guards can reach her, “I think it’s time I hired a new housekeeper. You’re simply too much of a greedy glutton to fulfil the role any longer. I’ll have to find another use for your fat ass...”. The young girl groans in reply as the two men heave her up into the chair. I can see their muscled arms rippling under the strain. Fat bottom wedged safely into the chair, belly still spilling out onto her lap, Kate is wheeled away to metabolise her meal. I feel sorry for the girl - mom would keep her addicted to the fattening milk until she’s immobile, like me. “You didn’t need to do that...”, I say meekly, averting mom’s gaze. She laughs heartily in response, “I know, but I just can’t help myself! There’s something so delightfully arousing about watching other people get hopelessly fat. Speaking of which...”. Mom pulls a lever on the control panel. A familiar clunking far above my head is followed shortly afterward by a whirring sound as mom’s patented ‘feeding funnel’ descends from the ceiling. Whilst her milkers were still treated to a box of doughnuts or plate of fried chicken on occasion, the majority of our food was delivered via these funnels, which pump a high fat, high calorie, high oestrogen mixture directly into our mouths. It was the easiest way to keep the ravenous hunger at bay and produce maximum yield for her business operations. “Sit still sweetie, you know the drill”, she whispers in my ear, as she attaches the funnel to my face. It covers my nose mouth and ears, muffling my breathing. “There we go, almost ready...”. Mom’s muscular glutes jiggle underneath her dress as she turns away, and a short button press later and a thick, sweet liquid tickles my lips. Chocolate flavour, my favourite. I start to gulp it down, a prize hog munching from my trough. I know that the machine won’t stop until I physically can’t eat another bite, and frankly, I wouldn’t stop myself either. Mother’s milk had ruined my appetite as much as it had my metabolism. “Now you’ve been a particularly good boy recently. Your yields are up, you’re eating well, and I see that you’re over 1600 pounds now”. Mom caresses my thighs, kneading handfuls of my doughy flesh. “I think I’m finally ready to forgive you for that horrible business with that ring... for what you did to my body...”. She runs her gently hands over her toned hips, turning sideways to show me her profile - stroking a tight ass on one side, cupping hefty tits on the other. “Now let's get my baby comfortable...”. Before I can open my mouth to protest mom presses a large blue button on the side of my chair, and it creaks into life, lowering my top half down to the ground. The feeding funnel follows, and after a few nervous seconds I am laying flat on my back. I’ve never liked this position, far too fat and weak to think of sitting up or rolling over. I’m like an upturned turtle - exposed and vulnerable. My legs and arms are splayed, pinned to the floor by hundreds of pounds of fat. Helpless. I gulp down another mouthful of the chocolatey weight gain formula. My stomach is nearing capacity, and sure enough, after a couple more mouthfuls the pump whirring high above powers down, and the feeding mask pops off my face with a satisfying hiss. *Buuuurp* “Mom, let me... let me up...” *Burrrrp!*, I pant. She appears by my side, towering over me. A familiar sense of powerlessness wells up from within. Followed by a gentle stroke of my hair. “Shhhh, there there, everything’s alright. Mommy’s going to give you a nice scrub down. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”. I want to resist, but my mind’s eye is already picturing mom’s soft hands rubbing in between my folds, fondling over my tits. Another deep belch. I nod meekly, submitting to mom’s dominance once again. She turns away, beautiful buttocks jiggling as she fetches a bucket and sponge from the corner of the pen. Whilst filling it up with warm sudsy water she looks back over her shoulder, and hurriedly blurts out, “do you regret using the ring?”. I’m stunned into silence. Why was she asking this, and now of all times? Of course I regretted it! All the hassle, the heartache, the immense weight gain and loss of my fit young body. Though... even as I ponder my mind also races through my time spent at mom’s hands. As her unwilling feedee, captive and bedbound. As employer and employee, watching her splash around in my pool. As a conjugal visitor, being ridden like that fat pig I’d become. As lovers, sharing a bed and drinking milk from her bosom. Am I... happy? I hadn’t stopped to ask myself that question in some time, afraid, perhaps, of the answer I might get. I expected to be miserable. Aroused yet ashamed. But the more I think about it the more I realise... “No... I... I don’t regret it at all. I... I love you mom”. The words tumble out of my mouth, and I can feel my puffy cheeks flushing crimson. Mom strides back over to me, bucket carried by a taught and muscular arm, water sloshing over the floor. She places it down by my side and bends down until our faces are inches apart. I can feel her warm breath on my face, see the hints of wrinkles on her otherwise flawless face, hear her whispered response, “I love you too dear”. She cups my face and we share a long and passionate kiss. I want nothing more than to take her in my arms, grope her perfect body, but they are stuck to my side by their sheer size and unable to move an inch. She pulls away, a cheeky grin etched across her perfect face. “Oh, you are a naughty boy. I was just going to bath you, but I suppose there’s no harm in...”. Mom trails off, dropping her shoulders once again and slipping her arms out of the maxi-dress. It falls to the floor, revealing a pair of enormous breasts hanging off an otherwise Amazonian figure. Her legs are chiselled out of marble, not a hint of cellulite across their smooth and taught surface, and her arms look strong enough to lift any man (except me of course). Only mom’s tits show signs of her past life as a fatty - ravaged with stretch marks and hanging low due to their immense weight. Picking up a sodden sponge from the soapy bucket, mom wrings it out over her body. Water cascades down her shoulders and into her deep cleavage. I can barely contain myself as she turns and bends low, flashing me her pussy in the process, and picks up a nearby bottle of body lotion. She hangs there, bent over, ass just inches from my face, and I imagine myself burying my face between her legs. A quick peck on the lips. She flicks the cap off the bottle of lotion and upturns it upon her chest. The greasy liquid dribbles over her tits, running between the crenellations of her abs and down her thick legs. Winking at me, she begins rubbing her breasts, lifting them carefully in both hands and rubbing them slowly. “Hmmmph”, she quietly moans as she traces a finger around each plump nipple. Mom catches my eye and moans louder still. She’s teasing me. Successfully. Hands cupped underneath, mom jiggles her greased-up water balloons. I watch her fatty orbs bounce up and down. I want to grope them, suck on them. Desperation overcomes me. “Please... please...”. I beg, patting as I feel the blood pumping around my crotch. Somewhere deep within my fat pad, a cock has hardened like steel. Not that anyone would ever see that is... “Oh you poor thing”, mom teases, “does someone want a go on mommy’s titties?”. She moves behind me, legs tickling my scalp. She then lifts her tits in her hands, the effort showing in her muscled biceps, and bending down into a deep squat, lowers them onto my face. Two engorged breasts eclipse my world. I feel her oily skin touching my own. Feel the warmth of her chest on my cheeks. I can’t help myself. I shake my head furiously, expelling a deep breath as I motorboat her gigantic tits. They slap loudly into my flabby chins and reverberate off my puffy cheeks. I can hear mom giggling somewhere up above as I’m smacked repeatedly by her hanging melons. “That’s right, you like mommy titties don’t you? It’s because of you they’re so big after all”. Mercifully, as I start to run out of breath mom sits up, her tits rising with her. She turns, and I see lotion trickling between her round cheeks, disappearing into the space between her legs. Hands massage the lotion around her shiny bottom and run up and down her legs as she eyes me hungrily. I’m squirming now, wishing that I could touch myself to relieve the immense pressure building up between my legs. Just a few strokes to blow my load. “Now, that’s enough foreplay...”, mom whispers in a sultry tone, “time for your bath young man”. I groan as a pump of pre-cum oozes somewhere in my fat pad. Mom picks up the soapy sponge and starts to rub it up and down my arms, caressing them gently and inspecting every fold. “I never thought you’d get so big you couldn’t lift your arms. To be so... helpless. Someone could take advantage of you. Do whatever they wanted and you couldn’t stop them... Lucky for you that you’re here with your mommy, hmm?”. Mom moves on to my flank - my overflowing muffin-top. She gently washes in-between my folds, squeezing my excess flab, pressing her body into mine. Her enormous bosom bulges against my hips, fat on fat. After a minute or so she disappears out of sight, and I feel her straddle my left leg, laying her body flat against mine as she works her hands over its surface. I feel her hot, wet pussy against my thigh, working into way up towards my belly. “Hmphhh...”, I groan louder still as she clambers on top of me, sitting atop my mountainous gut. “Nice and deep..”, she whispers, tracing a soapy finger around my navel. Without warning it delves inside, descending many inches into the black hole of my belly. Mom’s lubricated finger slowly thrusts in and out, simulating sex that I’ve long been too fat to perform. Satisfied, she climbs further atop my body, settling herself just below my chest. I can just about see her flushed face poking out above the mounds of my body. Hands grab roughly at my monster milkers, pinching my nipples and releasing their last dribble. “I bet you never expected to have the biggest boobs in the family”, mom teases, bouncing them up and down, “I have to admit, I’m jealous of these big, flabby, soft boobies. They’re definitely juicier than mine. Just goes to show quite how fat you’ve let yourself become... ”. Mom edges forwards over my tits, straddling my chest and looking down at me from her throne high above. Our eyes meet, we share a bashful smile, and I’m reminded of the mom I used to know before I interfered with time. My gaze falls - down her perfect breasts, rock hard abs, hairless crotch... I lick my lips, drawn to her wet pussy like a moth to a flame. Damn her for fattening me up so much... If I only could lift my arms... “I’m up here sweetie...”, mom teases, waving a hand that snaps my gaze back to hers. Any prior embarrassment washes away as a mischievous grin crosses her lips. “I know you haven’t seen any action in a while but, well, I suppose boys will be boys...”. Mom shuffles forwards, her oiled-up body sliding down my chest, feet plant on the floor either side of my head with a thud. I look up, greeted by mom’s damp pussy between two muscular legs. Ready and waiting. Powerful thighs working effortlessly, mom lowers herself into a deep squat. Her cool ass comes to rest on my red-hot cheeks. My lips touch hers. I kiss them, nibble them. She shudders, her pussy becoming wetter with every pass of my tongue. I work it furiously around her pussy, exploring her wet folds, edging towards her clitoris. Muffled moans from somewhere high above are snuffed out as her thighs squeeze tighter against my head. Caught in a wonderful vice, all I can do is pleasure her. She starts to rock back and forth, globular cheeks slapping into mine, pussy pressing hard into my face. I finally find her clit, teasing it with my tongue. “Ohhh!”, mom moans, loud enough even to penetrate her thick thighs, “yes... yessss!”. Needing no further encouragement I quicken my pace, circling her clit feverishly. Her body quivers with anticipation, building every second like a pressure cooker ready to blow. Eventually, her back arches into my flabby chest and I feel her body shudder as she orgasms over and over. “That... that...”, mom pants, gasping for air. She steps off my face and staggers to the side, grabbing hold of my weighty moob for support. I squint as my eyes readjust to the bright halogen bulbs above, and fight to catch my breath. Whatever I had been expecting out of today it had definitely not included that... A few moments later her face reappears over my own. There is a sheen of sweat across her unwrinkled brow, and her normally pristine hair is frizzy and wild. Our lips touch in another long kiss. “That was... unexpected. I’ve been so busy with all of the work to get this place up and running, I didn’t realise how badly I... well, now you definitely deserve your treat...”. Tracing a finger along my body mom saunters towards my lower half and out of sight, running her hand across every bump and roll as she goes. My foot tickles, as she reaches my full height and continues around to the inside of my thigh. Obscured from view, the other side of a tonne of fat, I sense her edge closer to my crotch. Hands plant into my fleshy upper thigh. She must be kneeling. Without warning, I feel mom’s face press deep into my fat pad. Her unmistakable button nose and prominent high cheekbones plunge into my soft fat. She shakes her head vigorously. “Oh... Ohhhhh!”, I moan, as she returns the favour and motorboats my crotch, the vibrating fat jiggling my cock below until it’s harder than stone. She nibbles at my pudge, hands groping at my fat pad all the while. Mom comes up for breath. “I was so pleased when Desi told me that you’d finally lost your cock to your blubber, you know. I thought it was a fitting punishment for what you did to me. Depriving you of your manhood. The silly childhood lust that led you to meddle with time in the first place”. She sighs, “but now I’m starting to wonder whether it would have better to keep the little guy free. It’s hard for you to please anyone with this!”. She gives my fat pad a hearty shake. A generous squirt of pre-cum escapes somewhere deep below. I moan again, pathetically. “No matter...”, mom continues, “I’m sure if anyone can tempt it into life then it’s going to be me”. One oiled hand lifts my bulging fat pad whilst the other reaches underneath and delves into my pelvic folds. I feel her greased-up hands sliding around, groping at fistfuls of fat, looking for a needle in a haystack. “You’re such a big, handsome boy...”, mom mutters softly, “I want you bigger... fatter... all mine...”. Though I haven’t seen my cock in years I can sense that mom is edging closer. “Yes... yes... anything...”, I groan from the other side of my belly. Fat presses against my throbbing member. I feel fingertips pressing just an inch or so away... My eyes snap wide open as mom’s fingers finally clasp around the head of my penis. I choke on my breath, momentarily blinded as my world turns white. A rush of pleasure, greater than any climax I’ve ever experienced, explodes throughout my enormous bloated body. Muscles that haven’t worked in years contract and pulse wildly, straining at the very fibres of my being. I groan loudly as my cock deluges pump after pump of cum over mom’s fingers. Her hand reaches further in and grasps the shaft of my cock, rubbing up and down vigorously, lubricated by my fluids. “Ohhhh!”, I scream as I orgasm even harder, years of unfulfilled sexual urges pouring out of me in one glorious moment. After a few more seconds mom’s hand slows, and my cock finally abates, utterly spent. Her arm retracts from its blubbery cave, and I can feel my cum slowly dribbling out from between my folds. As I catch my breath I feel mom dabbing me down, cleaning away my mess like the helpless child I am. My heart pounds furiously, struggling to pump blood quickly enough around my vast frame. I can barely breathe, body sapped of energy like I’ve just run a marathon. Mom appears by my side, mops my brow, and brushes tousled hair from my face. Fat watermelons pressing against my head, she gives me a gentle kiss on the lips as the world shifts out of focus. “I love you...”, she whispers. I want to respond in kind, but the words are stuck in my throat. “Shhhhh”, she soothes, caressing my cheek with a soft hand, “my big boy. I’ve been neglecting your needs. You’re a red-blooded male after all”. Mom giggles, and grabs a handful of my milky tit. “From now on once you’ve finished sucking on these”, mom lifts her breasts and lets them slap onto my face, “you can suck on this”, she stands and flashes her dripping pussy. I open my mouth to scream in agreement, but all that escapes is another gasping breath. “Now, time to sleep...”. My body groans in agreement. Eyelids heavy, I succumb to a deep and peaceful slumber... - - - - Meanwhile, in the estate’s large processing plant my milk has been quality checked and pumped into unmarked bottles. They are packed tightly on a large wooden pallet marked ‘Mother’s Milk’, the trading name for mom’s fattening operation, and is carefully lifted into the back of a patiently waiting truck. It is bound for a large chain of chicken shops, her first foray into the national market, and would soon be adding pounds to the waists of unsuspecting gluttons all across the land. Though the ring was destroyed in our fateful encounter, its devilish influence was still rippling across the land. Bloated bodies swelling ever outwards. Hungry. Gluttonous. Growing. As I doze the truck’s engine splutters into life, and it drives out of the ranch’s impressive cast-iron gates, to new beginnings... The End

Narrative Ending (1 of 2): Epilogue: The Gentleman and the Ring It had taken a full hour before the cuffs had finally been removed and I was free to walk out of Piggy’s. Having awoken in a locked room deep within the Piggy’s compound, I had been greeted by two burly men in uniform. My interrogation by the municipal police force had been equal parts stressful and confusing, but to their credit, once they had corroborated my story they were quick enough to let me go. I had been truthful to a point, leaving out a few choice details, including both my time-travel and sexual relations with mom. Without any way to prove them they would sound like the ravings of a mad-man, and being sent for further psychological testing was not high on my priority list. Once I was back outside in the fresh air I was greeted by a surprising and familiar face... Maddy, freed from her imprisonment at St. Jude’s, bound up to me and gave me a long hug. Or as much of a hug as two 500 pound plus people can manage with their bellies in the way! After we’d torn ourselves apart she excitedly explained everything. How she had become concerned about the success of our plan after shortly after having been escorted back to her room, contacted the authorities to call in a bomb scare at Piggy’s, and escaped herself to come and help. I was shocked and touched - not many people would have been prepared to put themselves on the line like that for me. And it’s a good job she did! A few more seconds and mom might have put an end to me for good. We watched as concerned parents arrived to collect their children, badgering the police to reveal what could have happened to warrant such a severe reaction. Fat girls, large and wobbling, ran as fast as their chunky legs would carry them away from the compound and towards the relative safety of their family. Based on what I’ve seen today, I can’t blame them. Before long the team leads were escorted off the premises in handcuffs. Some were crying, others ashen-faced and resolute. Reporters had started to arrive, tipped-off about an explosion and potential scandal, and were snapping photos of the spandex-wearing ladies as they were bundled into police vans, presumably off to jail. I’m watching them curiously when a glamorous young blonde woman rushes up to me and says breathlessly, “are you the one that was in the room when it happened? Her son?”. “Ummmm, yes?”, I reply slowly, looking at Maddy for support. She simply shrugs back at me, as confused as I am. “Excellent! My name’s Annabelle Dewitt. You’ve probably heard of me from my Channel 7 talk show... no? Well, that’s no bother, I’d love to get to know you better”. She’s got a wide smile, showcasing two rows of perfect white teeth, and something behind her large bespectacled blue eyes tells me that she’s thinking about how lucrative an interview with me might be. Her tight-fitting skirt and blouse sit well on her size 4 figure - only the pretty women make it on TV. She thrusts forward a well-manicured hand, “so, what do you say? Interview exclusivity in return for a chance to control the narrative?”. I ponder for a moment. It would be good to get on the front foot for once - I don’t want people asking too many questions about my past if I can avoid it. And she did seem like a nice lady after all... We shake hands, and the deal is done. A short while later, after my first on-camera interview, during which I explained what had happened down in the basement, I hear shouting from the Piggy’s entrance. “Get off me!”, a familiar voice cries, “do you know who I am? What I can do?”. Mom is dragged kicking and screaming from the main entrance of Piggy’s, two burly police officers struggling to keep her thin but muscular body under control. Annabelle and the other journalists turn to watch the scene unfold. The trio is nearing a police van, which is patiently waiting for its charge a few metres ahead of me when mom catches my eye mid-thrash. “You...”, she seethes menacingly, “I’ll make you pay for this, mark my word I’ll make...”. Mom trails off without finishing the thought. Her eyes glaze over as she looks at me... or... perhaps, beyond me... In a flash, mom wrenches free of her police escort and pushes them forcefully to the ground. A sudden burst of almost superhuman speed. She bounds forwards and leaps past me, and onto the gentleman standing just behind me, landing on top of him like a lion about to devour its prey. She isn’t interested in eating him however, it’s the burger and fries he was holding that she snatches greedily. Mayonnaise smears around her mouth as she gobbles down the greasy food. Her pupils dilate - body seemingly acting on instinct alone. Mom’s speed is impressive. A matter of seconds and the burger is gone - now sitting comfortably in her belly, as she turns to the large bag of fries. Behind her, the two policemen stand shakily to their feet. Eyes furrowed, they march towards her. As if aware of their presence looming from behind, mom forces down a final fistful of fries and belches loudly, cradling her distended belly. Her eyes refocus, and she glances up at me, a look of confusion and desperation etched onto her face. Before either of us can say a word, she is hoisted roughly to her feet and bundled into the back of the police van. “Oh my...”, is all Annabelle can muster, as we watch the van speeding down the road and away from Piggy’s, “you weren’t kidding when you said that the medicine increases your appetite...”. Amy was the last to leave the compound. Unfortunately for her, it meant that the media coverage was at its peak, and a large police cordon has been set-up to hold the vultures at bay. It was getting late, the sun starting to set beyond a hill far in the distance. The local fire department had spent the afternoon knocking down various walls within the Piggy’s complex, and an hour or so ago a large crane had driven into the heart of the building, on a rescue mission. A distant rumbling signifies its return. I rush forward and see to my delight that Amy is unhurt, though... perhaps a little exposed. She is sat in the middle of a large pallet. It would have been more than large enough for a normal person, many people in-fact, but Amy’s impossible bulk is so vast that she spills over its edges. A small white sheet covers her modesty, but as the truck exists the outer wall of the main complex it gets caught on a low hanging branch and left behind. A one-and-a-half tonne puddle of human fat, from a distance, I can barely make out her limbs, but as I get closer I see she’s waving me over. “Help!”, she shouts in desperation, craning five chins over her shoulder to look at the caught sheet flapping pathetically in the wind, “I can’t let everyone see me like this!”. I feel a fresh pang of guilt, but unfortunately, the damage is already done. Every cellulite bump exposed, every roll on display, Amy is paraded in front of a captive audience, as she is carried naked towards the reinforced truck at the end of the drive. The world’s heaviest woman - by some measure - it's unsurprising that cameras flash and crowd mutters as she is airlifted past. “Well, that is quite a lot of woman!”, Annabelle giggles as Amy swings a few metres in front of her. “You’ll certainly have your hands full young man - a lot of cushin’ for the pushin’ on that one... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease, I just can’t help it!”. The vehicle’s suspension groans as she is hoisted in - laid to rest on the cool metal floor. I rush forward to join her, but before I can reach the open back door a member of the ambulance crew throws out an arm to stop me. “All non-essential personnel are to follow behind in convoy”, he barks sternly, “this cab was not designed with this one in mind. Any more weight and it won’t be going anywhere”. I wave a sorrowful goodbye to Amy as the doors of the ambulance close, and rush back to grab Maddy and get a taxi. I had already lost Amy once, it wasn’t going to happen again... - - - - Six months later and we had settled into a rather comfortable routine. Amy spent her days in her room at St Jude’s, losing weight under the watchful eyes of Dr. Smith. She was still immobile, but closer to one tonne than two, and happier for it. I wasn’t allowed to stay over at the hospital, but thankfully visitation rules were fairly lenient, so most days I made the effort to go down and spend some time with her. We had decided to press restart on our relationship, in an attempt to get past the awkward topic of time-travel, forced-fattening, and questionable parental relations. So far it was working a treat, and last week we had taken the sizeable step of agreeing to be boyfriend and girlfriend again. Just thinking about that fact made me smile, and so it was that on this pleasant Tuesday afternoon I had an extra spring in my step as I walked down the well-trodden corridor to Amy’s room. Three people are sat in a circle around her bed, playing what appears to be a game of gin-rummy. Amy, by far the largest of the group, is plopped in the centre of her mattress. She’s wearing the regulation St Jude’s outfit - a blue cotton gown - and fills it out so much that her rolls are visibly straining the fabric. It’s the largest size they had, and she’s only recently been able to squeeze herself into one at all. To her right, Maddy frowns as she looks at her hand. She was a visitor nowadays rather than a patient, having decided that the thin life simply wasn’t for her. A decision I respected. Maddy seemed to be much happier now that she wasn’t chasing an unattainable dream. She’d even starting seeing one of the young nurses - a timid chap called ‘Greg’ - and took no end of pleasure from gossiping with the girls about their various date nights. To her left Annabelle is thumbing her playing cards with a thoughtful expression on her face. After our chance meeting at Piggy’s the young reporter had wasted no time ingratiating herself with Amy, and the two had quickly become good friends. We still did interviews now and then, discussing how I felt about mom’s court proceedings, but Annabelle had started spending more and more time here for the good company alone. Unfortunately for her that also meant spending her days around several registered fatties, and whilst Amy was on a strict calorie-controlled diet it didn’t stop Maddy and I bringing in snacks to graze on during the day or ordering a couple of mains when we all went out for lunch together. These bad habits appeared to be rubbing off on poor Annabelle, whose size 4 dress was resigned to the back of her wardrobe whilst her thick size 8 belly pooched out from under her current attire. Emma completes the circle, dressed in her pretty nurse’s pinafore. Recently she’d been spending less and less time working and more and more chatting with the girls, much to Dr. Smith’s irritation. All that time plonked on her bottom rather than rushing around the ward has helped her ass spread out a little, taking up more of the cheap plastic visitors' chair that she was perched on than it had when we first met. She didn’t seem to mind though, so I hadn’t brought it up. One hand lazily holds her cards aloft, the other dives in and out of a large bag of chips, scooping up a healthy amount of soured cream dip before making its way to her mouth. Standing in the open doorway I cough gently to alert the group to my presence. “Hello sweetie”, Amy beams up at me, leaning towards me with her lips puckered. A quick peck - conscious of the watching crowd - I look back at the bed just as Annabelle cries, “aaaaaand, I’ve won!”. She plants her winning hand down triumphantly, causing Maddy to throw her cards away in disgust and Emma to roll her eyes exaggeratedly. She was not a gracious winner. I spend the next 15 minutes or so catching up with everyone, getting the latest update on Maddy’s weekend away with Greg, Annabelle’s busy morning at court, and Emma’s growing fear of Dr. Smith. Suddenly, Annabelle’s phone beeps two loud chimes. “Oh, it’s almost time!”, she shouts excitedly, jumping up to turn on the large TV on the opposite wall. She flicks onto Channel 7 News. “... more on that at noon. But first, our very own Annabelle Dewitt was down at the high-court this morning for an update on the so-called ’Fairfax Fattening’ case”. The lady standing in front of me appears on screen, chubby belly and all. “I’m here at the high court for the third day of what already looks set to be a long and difficult trial. With two adjournments in so many days, Judge Price has now formally banned any food or drink from the public gallery, in an attempt to keep Lisa Fairfax under control. The true effects of the medicine that she was injected with during the incident last fall, which saw her arrested and her global weight loss brand shut down, are only now becoming clear”. The shot cuts away from Annabelle’s smiling face to recorded footage from inside the chamber, where mom sits at the defence’s table, her lawyers muttering inaudibly by her side. She’s unrecognisable from the woman who had confronted me down in the Piggy’s basement just a few months ago. Mom’s upper body is puffier than it had been. A soft layer of chub has settled around her arms and neckline, and her face is supported by a roll of fat that is at risk of forming a double chin when she glances down. Her tits, once lost to her fitness regime and pecs beneath, have made a perfect recovery, pleasantly filling out the space beneath her orange jumpsuit. She’s looking chubby, like a soccer mom who’s stopped working out, though honestly, I had expected more. The shot pans around, giving me a view of her backside, and suddenly everything slots into place. Mom’s buttock spreads across two stools, her hips wider than a standard doorframe, with brick-house legs poking out beneath. Her bulbous ass looks to be eating her jumpsuit, a deep crevasse between two fatty moons. To say that she had some extra junk in the trunk would have been putting it very lightly. “Judge Price also took the controversial step of allowing Miss Fairfax access to unlimited food of her choice during recess. Whether this is to placate her when court is in session, or as payback for what happened to his daughter, Olivia, at one of her camps, this reporter can only speculate. I’m Annabelle Dewitt, reporting for Channel 7 News...”. The TV switches off. A guffaw of laughter breaks the silence, as Maddy’s smacks her thighs heartily, spluttering, “did you see the size of her? And the Judge is letting it happen! God this feels even better than I thought it would”. We all agree vehemently and chat excitedly about what might happen next in the trial, my upcoming deposition, and how long mom might get behind bars. The peace is broken a few minutes later by a stern voice barking loudly from the doorway. “Nurse Emma! I thought we discussed this!”. Dr. Smith barges into the room with the air of a teacher about to reprimand a group of naughty schoolchildren. A nervous hush falls over our group. I look away sheepishly. Emma is frozen with fear, a chip topped with soured cream inches from her open mouth. “You cannot spend the working day sitting here snacking and chatting like this is some sort of... some sort of...”. Words fail the ageing doctor, who marches forwards and stands tall over Emma, hands resting on her bony hips. “If you want to gossip and get fat you can do so on your own time!”. A dollop of soured cream drips off of the chip and onto falls with a splodge onto Emma’s dress. Dr. Smith sighs and grabs a handful of both Emma and Annabelle’s bellies, giving them a hearty shake. Fat ripples underneath their too-tight clothes. “You little porklings were supposed to be setting a good example for them”, she nods towards Amy, Maddy and I, “not gorging yourselves to become as fat as they are!”. Letting go of the bellies, which jiggle appreciatively, she sighs heavier still. “You’ll both be checking into here if you keep going at this rate... now away with you. Shoo!”. Emma rushes out of the room red-faced, followed shortly by Maddy and Annabelle after hasty goodbyes. Dr. Smith checks some of Amy’s vital signs, nodding and muttering under her breath, before jotting them on the chart at the end of her bed and leaving the room, presumably to check on another patient. Alone, at last, I spend a wonderful afternoon with Amy, making plans for what we’ll do after she gets a clean bill of health... - - - - By the time that Christmas rolled around Amy had been discharged from St Jude’s and was sharing a large flat with me in the city. Our pay-out from the now-defunct ‘Piggy’s Corporation’ had been so large that neither of us needed to worry about money ever again, and we were comfortably settling into retired life. Amy’s newfound mobility had opened up a world of opportunities, and we spent our days experiencing the very best of city-living. Between this, moving house, and keeping up with our growing circle of friends, there wasn’t as much time as before for our old favourite pastime - eating. We were still both very large of course, but without meaning to we had slimmed down to a respectable 400 pounds each. I didn’t mind, and importantly, neither did Amy. “Ouch”, I mutter to no one in particular, as I burn my hand on the stove. A small red welt appearing on my pale skin. I shrug it off, doing my best to ignore the slight throbbing on the tip of my finger, and continue preparing dinner. A head pokes around the kitchen door, followed by a beanpole body - tall and painfully thin. “Hey Jack, anything I can do to help?”. It was Greg, Maddy’s boyfriend. The pair had been going steady for the last few months, and their invitation to dinner had felt long overdue. Board games, friends, and a three-course meal. As close to perfection as life could get. “No, no”, I reply jovially, ignoring the pain in my finger, “you guys relax, I’ll be out with the food in a minute”. Greg smiles, shrugs, and heads back to our spacious dining room. A few minutes later I follow, setting four bowls of lobster bisque in front of my hungry customers. “Mmmm”, Maddy moans, taking a large spoonful of the soup, “this is excellent. Who knew you had it in you?!”. Shrugging, I nod an acknowledgment and sit quietly as I have a taste myself. She is right - it is good. Maddy’s chair creaks ominously as she guzzles down the soup - despite having been purchased from a specialist store with larger bottoms in mind. Unlike Amy and me, Maddy had continued to grow ever since we had reconnected in the running corridors of St Jude’s, gathering mass in-between every one of our catch-ups. Her face was rounder and heavier than it had been - plump jowls quivering with every spoonful she shovelled into them - and her body larger and more bloated. A tear-drop belly juts-out so far out that she’s having to crane her neck to get her head over the bowl - two meaty arms dripping with fat shake violently with every mouthful. A few drops of soup spill from Maddy overeager spoon and onto her navy dress. Greg jumps to attention, grabbing up a napkin and dabbing at Maddy’s belly where a stain was forming. Maddy giggles as Greg rubs her belly, caressing it for far longer than the small spill demanded. His fingers sink deep into her fleshy paunch. I catch Amy’s grin in my peripheral vision and roll my eyes discreetly in return. It hadn’t taken long after they started dating for Greg to come clean about his predilection for fattening up larger ladies. A closeted but eager feeder, he had taken the job at St Jude’s to get his kicks from the sizeable women waddling around the place. Seeing Maddy, an ex-patient, gorging herself when visiting Amy had been too much for the poor boy to handle, and he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask her out. I suspect that he had a hand in every pound added to her body since then. “Mmmmm”, Greg moans as he kneads Maddy’s belly, clearly enjoying himself a little too much. She flashes him a brief but meaningful look - ‘careful’ - and grabs his bowl, which is still two-thirds full and starts chowing down on that too. Greg’s eyes widen, a mixture of shock and pleasure, but he retracts his hand nonetheless. The stick and the blob, they were quite the pair... As the familiar scraping of cutlery against china fills the room, I stand up and start to clear away the empty bowls. Maddy belches loudly as I tidy away the two bowls in front of her. “Oops, where are my manners!”, she blurts out, cheeks flushing a light rouge, but Amy’s stifled laughter helps ease her embarrassment. By the time I bring out the main course - chicken and spinach in a cheese sauce - the wine was flowing freely and conversation had turned to something we could all bond over - St Jude’s. “...and then”, Maddy guffaws, fighting back tears, “I had to grease him up and push him down the chute!”. The rest of the table erupts in drunken laughter, as Amy, slurring her words slightly, chokes through a mouthful of giggles, “I can just imagine his little legs flapping”. She waves her hands up and down in imitation of my flailing lower half. I sigh - Maddy does love this story - but let the group have their fun at my expense. “And I was speaking with Emma the other day...”, Maddy goes on, knocking her hand into the wine bottle as she gesticulates in my direction. I catch it in the nick of time before it tumbles to the floor. “She told me that you got a little too... excited when she was helping you into your gym gear?”. I dart a look at Amy, concerned for my safety, but thankfully the look that greets me in return is as warm and jovial as it had been a few seconds before. “Don’t worry dear, Emma told me everything months ago. It was before we’d reconnected, she was a good-looking nurse, and you were a horny guy who couldn’t... was too fat to... well, you know...”. She glanced down at my fat pad. The whole table knew what she meant, and I blush crimson accordingly. Maddy looks extremely pleased with herself, Greg apologetic, and Amy has a pleasantly comforting kind smile. A timer goes off on my phone. “Oh, it’s almost time”, I say with a jump, grateful for the distraction. I switch on Channel 7, turning down the volume, and we continue our chat whilst an energetic young weatherman explains the risk of snow for the coming weekend. After a few minutes, my ears prick at the mention of my last name. “... back to the trial of Lisa Fairfax, who was last week was sentenced to life in prison without parole. This is a Channel 7 special on the woman at the centre of this remarkable trial”. For the next 10 mins, I watch the story of mom’s life. Humble beginnings, her bullying at school, meeting her future business partner Jessica, Piggy’s rise to fame, and then its spectacular downfall and the start of the lengthy trial. It was an interesting journey, and one which I had experienced first-hand. I see myself on the screen from time to time, looking worryingly large compared to the people around me. I wonder if the camera really does add 10 pounds... “... which is when Miss Fairfax began putting on weight. A result of the action taken by her son, Jack Fairfax, during the incident that led to her arrest”. The shot shifts to a picture of mom standing against an eggshell white wall. Three photos - front, side and back - showcase her toned and tanned body. The envy of all other middle-aged moms of one. It must have been taken just after her arrest, and sure enough, an overlay flashes on screen as soon as I’ve had the thought - ‘Day 1 following arrest’. They fade out and are replaced with another set, this time with a caption of ‘Day 50 following arrest’. Mom’s lower stomach bulges out, a potbelly round and proud, as her body thickens all over. Generous thighs envelop the muscle definition of her legs and a globular booty forms where previously two powerful glutes had sat, perky and tight. As the photos are replaced one by one I can see the outline of mom’s body growing wider and fatter as she succumbs to the devastating effects of her own experimental medicine. Her upper body puffs out at a reasonable pace, but her bottom half grows impossibly large in-between each fade. Thighs cratered with cellulite are forcing her legs into a wider and wider stance as they fill the space between her legs with supple flesh. Her ass drops lower and lower as it too expands, and by the final photo, mom is as wide as she is tall. Leaning on a walking stick for support, it appears that she doesn’t have long before her elephantine ass causes her to collapse to the floor, and confines her to permanent bed rest. Or at least, that is the best I can glean from the images on the screen. I haven’t actually visited mom since she was arrested, outside our brief interactions in the busy courtroom of course, and if I’m honest I don’t want to ask myself why. Wounds still too raw, too deep. Perhaps next month... I mute the TV as Maddy barks, “she looks like she’ll be *hic* immobile soon. Good riddance - the fat bitch!”. She knocks back the remaining few gulps of wine in her glass and grins at me mischievously. I take a mental note never to cross Maddy if I could avoid it - as if I needed reminding. Amy refills our glasses, ever the dutiful hostess, and changes the conversation away from the awkwardness of my mom. “Have you spoken to Annabelle recently Maddy? We bumped into each other at the store the other day and she said that she’d changed jobs. Something about creative differences with station management?”. Maddy snorts derisively, “creative differences? Is that *hic* what she calls it? I’d call it getting too large for TV!”. She places her hands underneath her beach ball of a belly and lifts it for dramatic effect. “Annabelle spent too much time in the company of fatsos like us”, she laughs, dropping her belly onto her lap with a satisfying slap. “The first 50 pounds she could probably get away with, but the second, and the third? I’m surprised they kept her fat ass around as long as they did!”. “Oh”, is all Amy can muster, her cheeks flushing red as she looks away - embarrassed for Annabelle, certainly, but also slightly pleased by Maddy’s candid revelation. The night continued in high spirits - food and wine flowing as freely as the conversation - and we bid a slurry goodbye to Maddy and Greg at half-past midnight. A quick brush of our teeth, peck on the lips, and a few moments after touching the pillow sleep overcomes me. - - - - A year or so later, one cold September morning, I finally pluck up the courage. It was a long drive down to the prison where mom was confined 24 hours a day. One which I took alone. Despite Amy’s protestations to tag along for moral support, I felt this was something I needed to do by myself - for myself. The prison was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a bleak and uninviting place. Great breeze block walls and high barbed-wire fences greeted me on my arrival. The criminals held here were some of the country’s most unusual - as a result of their crimes, or mental and physical state - and required a unique sort of treatment that most prisons weren’t catered to support. Once I was past security and had checked myself in, I was guided deep into complex by one of the burly guards. He looked the strong and silent type, his muscled shoulders rippled as I waddled along behind him, panting to keep up. Eventually, he stopped outside a large metal door, and I buckled over, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. After a minute or so of panting I had just about recovered and sheepishly gave him a nod to open up the cell. Mom is sat on a large hospital bed at the back of the small room, her eyes closed, snoring gently. The setting is not dissimilar to the one that Amy had been kept in at Piggy’s - there’s a concrete floor, a fridge standing against the wall on my left, and the bed is reinforced. An irony that I’m sure neither of us had missed. Mom’s body from the waist up is undoubtedly fat, and wouldn’t look out of place on a 300-pound woman. A meaty pair of arms - soft and fleshy - and a round face supported by a thick pair of chins. Heavy breasts sagged a little under their weight, straining the underwire of her hefty bra, which is the only piece of clothing she appears to be wearing presently. This was more likely born out of necessity as opposed to exhibitionism, as from her waist down mom’s body is magnitudes larger - too big for any clothes to possible handle. Two legs, each unbelievably round, look like two great sequoias resting on the bed. Each could easily weigh 500 pounds and looked as though they hadn’t moved an inch since the moment mom had been plopped there. Huge cellulite craters are dotted across their surface, all the way to down mom’s feet, which poke out pathetically at their end, suspended a few inches off the bed by the fat bulging out from where mom’s calf muscles used to be. Even her toes are fatter than any I’ve seen - stumpy pork sausages with no space in between. Covering mom’s lap and upper thighs is a vast lower belly that spools out onto the bed. Her arms rest atop its blubbery shelf. The soft white flesh around her naval looks supple and jelly-like, and her belly button itself it a wide and deep crevasse. I wonder how far my arm would sink into it before it came upon resistance... I shake the thought from my mind as I continue moving forward. Mom’s hips are so broad they give her a distorted, almost impossible, look. Wider than she is tall, they spread her body out across the entire width of the super king-size bed - a puddle of fat with a body poking out of the centre. An ass so large it surrounds her - a prison of fat, from which I know she’ll never break free. As I stop just short of the bed I see that mom’s hands are bound to its sides. I wonder whether that’s for her protection or mine... “Hello mother”, I say coolly, impressed with how assured my voice sounds under the circumstances. She opens her eyes groggily, and it takes a few seconds for recognition to register with them. Her face quickly reforms into a look of disgust. “You... I wondered if you’d ever have the stones to come and visit me. Your own mother. Flesh and blood. Well... in a manner of speaking”. Her eyes follow me around the room as I take I seat on the edge of her bed. My own dart down towards the flabby roll I can feel pressing into my side. Mom wasn’t exactly leaving me a great deal of space. “I suppose you’ve come to gloat have you?”, she snaps at me, her eyes blazing with a fiery rage. I consider her question for a moment. Why had I come here? It wasn’t to forgive mom or expect forgiveness in return. There was a better chance of mom rising off the bed and running a marathon than her ever uttering the words ‘I’m sorry’. So what then... Distracting myself from a difficult question to which I didn’t have an answer, I pick up a chart resting in a small pouch at the end of her bed. It looks like doctors' notes - or something similar. ‘Name: Lisa Fairfax’, ‘Sex: Female’, ‘Weight: 1289 Pounds’. My jaw almost hits the floor as I see the numbers on the page. I knew mom was fat but... this fat?! I clear my throat. It’s dry to the bone, and as much as I try and resist, the temptation is too much to bear. “Well... someone’s been a greedy girl...”. I rest a hand on top of one of mom’s tree trunk thighs and jiggle it, tidal waves of blubber cascading across its broad surface. My palm sinks a few inches into the flab. Pure fat, any bone or muscle hidden deep within, never to see the light of day again. Mom’s hands struggle against their bindings, but she’s unable to move and at the mercy of my wandering hands. Mom curses me under her breath, her gaze as sharp as daggers, but is powerless to stop me exploring her vast body. I caress her vast body… Suddenly, a knock at the door. It creaks open and a young boy scuttles in pushing a large metal trolley. Its uneven wheels click and clack loudly on the concrete floor. “Sorry to disturb”, he says nervously, glancing between mother and me, “but it’s feeding time, and... and the warden said I have to keep to the agreed schedule”. A bead of sweat drops down his nose and travels the full length of his body before landing with a quiet ‘drip’ at his feet. “Not to worry”, I smile back, “why don’t you leave that here. I can see to mom’s... needs”. The young man looks back at me, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I suppose feeding the prison whale thrice a day can’t be a particularly in-demand role. He nods appreciatively and slips out of the room quietly. “If you think you’re going to humiliate me even further by watching me eat that junk, you’ve got another thing coming. You may have broken my body, but my willpower is still as strong as an ox”, mom snaps defiantly. For a moment I even believe her, but an unconscious flash of concern across her face as she glances down at the trolley makes me suspect that she’s not as confident as her words suggest. As I lift the lid off the nearest silver platter a pleasant aroma fills the room. Deep-fried chicken - crispy but succulent - wafts all around. I take a deep sniff. My stomach rumbles against my better judgement. I reach forward and grab a particularly large and juicy drumstick off the plate. Holding it up to mom’s face, I make sure to let it rest just out range of her plump lips. She whimpers, and her mask falters, before falling away completely. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, she tries to heave herself forwards, snapping her jaws at the empty air. Unfortunately, her non-existent abs aren’t able to move her vast body even a millimetre off the bed. Waving the drumstick tantalisingly in front of her face, I laugh, “your willpower doesn’t seem to be holding up very well at all! Now, I’ll give you this, but only if you ask nicely”. Mom’s face contorts into a strange mixture of longing and rage, though after just a few moments it’s clear that the former has won the day. “Feed... me...”, she mutters under her breath, so quiet that I can barely make out the words at all. “Sorry, I can’t hear you”, I taunt, moving the drumstick an inch or so closer, just in front of mom’s salivating mouth. I know deep down that my teasing is hypocritical, even cruel, but I’ve gone this far... “Feed me”, mom says more loudly, the words coming out in a rush of pleasure and anticipation. “Feed me, Feed me, Feed me!”. Smiling, I lower the chicken to her lips and watch as she rips off the meat like a piranha stripping an animal carcass. Frenzied and greedy, grease drips down her chin and onto her porky tits. I shovel mouthful after mouthful of food into her fat face, chins jiggling with pleasure with every overstuffed bite. Morsels tumble down and rest on her bulging belly, but she doesn’t seem to notice, or at least care. Her enormous body shakes and wobbles violently as she cranes to reach the food that I am holding, still bound by her restraints. She is a slave to her appetite - and what an appetite it is! After 20 minutes I’m shocked that she still has room for more, and another 10 later the entire trolley - which had contained enough food for a family of 8 - is nothing but a stack of empty plates. “Buuuuurrrrp”, mom belches, out of breath and sweating profusely from the effort of gorging herself. Her arms fall limp, resting on top of the enormous roll of lard that surrounds her middle. A picture of gluttony and ill health, she looks back at me, pathetically. As mom catches her breath, the room quieter, calmer, I reflect on what has just happened. The sight of mom’s naked, though gigantic, body. The touch of her soft and gelatinous skin against mine. The rush of her begging me to feed her, and then watching the calories slip down her throat and into her vast stomach... The situation, and my desires, had got the better of me, as they had done every time I travelled to the past. I had assumed it was the ring to blame, but perhaps the two of us were always destined to be this way together. I the spark, and mom the tinder. It couldn’t happen again. I stand up abruptly, looking mom directly her soft brown eyes. “I... I won’t be back... it’s for the best. Goodbye mom”, I croak, turning away and heading towards the door. I half expect her to call out from behind me. A profanity, a plea to stay, anything. Instead, the only sound is mom’s heavy breathing, and a slight gurgling from her stomach, even now preparing itself for its next meal. I leave mom’s cell with a confused sense of both triumph and guilt. There was no question that this version of mom had been cruel, but to what extent was my meddling with time responsible for her mental state? Did she need to be punished or helped? Unfortunately, it was too late to change that now... After the guard had locked the cell behind me - a purely symbolic act given the immobility of the prisoner inside - I start the long walk back to the main entrance whilst he remains outside the door. I’m lost in thought and introspection, such that I barely notice the plodding footsteps coming from down the corridor ahead until they’re echoing off the walls like shots from a gun. Looking up, I spot a figure waddling down the corridor towards me. They are large, very large, with hips almost as wide as the small corridor, leaving little room on either side to pass. As I draw closer I notice a familiar pair of glasses, deep blue eyes, and a shock of blonde hair that could only belong to... “Annabelle?”, I call at the stranger, who grins back two rows of perfect teeth and spreads her arms as wide as the space will allow, fat hanging off their undersides like melted cheese. She takes me into a fierce hug, squeezing our bloated bodies together, fat against fat. I can’t help but feel my way around her hips as she pulls me in even tighter - they’re pure lard, not a hint of the bone lost somewhere deep within. I glance down and see a shelf of a buttock bulging out behind. Quite a bit of junk in that trunk... We prize ourselves apart. “Jack! What a pleasant surprise! Now what are you doing here I wonder? Finally plucked up the courage to speak to mom I suppose? Well good for you”, she says heartily, slapping me on the shoulder, jowls quivering. “I’m here for a similar reason. I need to speak to your mom about a little... business arrangement. I suppose you heard that I’d left the reporting gig?”. “I think Maddy did mention it yes”, I reply with a smile, “something about... creative differences?”. Maddy chokes out a hearty belly laugh, grabbing two handfuls of flabby paunch in her hands and jiggling it side to side. “Well, you could say that I suppose! To be honest, they said I got too fat. Can you believe that?! I mean, sure I’ve put on a few hundred pounds since I started, but I suppose I’d always figured that my work would speak for itself. I guess not”, she mused thoughtfully. “Well, they gave me my marching orders and brought in a vapid size 0 bimbo to replace me. Brittany or Jennifer, or something like that. I got a bit of petty revenge though - you should have seen how much of my leaving cake I managed to eat live on air before they took me off. The new girl couldn’t believe it! The fat sow she was there to replace stuffing her face with chocolate icing...”. Annabelle looks off into the distance wistfully, as if recalling every mouthful of her chocolate gorging session. I pull her back to reality - “Well I think you’re looking great. And their loss, right?”. Her gaze snaps back to me, eyes twinkling. “So, what sort of business arrangement are you here to speak to mom about?”. “Well... I’m thinking of moving into the bakery business. Figure that your mom would be a pretty hefty client if I could bag her. If you’ll excuse the pun! And she has links into a whole network of former fatties who are just one cookie away from blubbery relapse. I know it’s not particularly ethical, but...”, she shrugs back, grin as wide as ever. It certainly wasn’t ethical, but the thought of Annabelle enabling mom’s ongoing immobility, and former Piggy’s residents giving in to their base desires and gorging themselves back up to reality TV weights... I nod my approval. We chat for a few more minutes, updating each other on our friends and loved ones. As a church-bell chimes 3pm somewhere off in the distance, I bid Annabelle goodbye, sucking in my belly as we try to squeeze past each other. Unfortunately even this isn’t enough, and we’re soon pinned against the walls by our bulk, face to face, what remains of my cock pressing into her enormous soft gut. I feel her doughy flesh envelop me, hands kneading it desperately as I try to push her off. I harden rapidly, to my horror, and Annabelle’s stifled giggles tell me that she’s certainly noticed. “It’s okay, I know you like us big girls...”, she grins, patting the sides of her belly, causing her whole body to jiggle violently. The sensation of her body shaking, waves of blubber slapping into me, has me panting with excitement. I desperately try to push her away, hands groping at her hips. She giggles harder, “I guess you REALLY like big girls, huh?”. She slaps her belly again, harder this time, over and over. I feel her paunch slapping relentlessly against my fat pad, which quivers around my cock in turn. I bite my lip, desperate to calm myself down and escape this pleasurable torture, but it’s too late. I groan as cum begins pumping into my fat pad. The trip to see mom must have got me going more than I thought, as the flood keeps coming with every moan, warm and wet. It soaks through my pants and spreads across Annabelle’s exposed tummy. The added moisture oils it up, and finally we come unstuck and slide past each other. My face turns red with embarrassment as I awkwardly inspect my sodden crotch. “Don’t worry, I know you didn’t mean to”, Annabelle says in a gentle tone, patting me on the shoulder as she wipes her belly with a tissue, “I won’t tell Amy. This can be out little secret big boy”. She gives me a cheeky wink and turns away to stride down the corridor towards mom’s cell. I admire her vast globular, wobbling booty against my better judgement, and once my pants have dried I too make my departure and head for home... - - - - I walk hand-in-hand with Amy down one of London’s old cobbled streets. Impressive Victorian townhouses tower above us on either side, the smell of hops and hearty food wafting from an open pub door as we pass by. It’s getting late, but the setting sun cuts a careful line down the middle of the road ahead. We bask in the final rays of the dying day. In the year or so since visiting mom in prison, Amy and I had talked a number times about taking an extended Euro-trip - travelling around a few countries to experience the wonderful smorgasbord of European living. After a rather expensive trans-Atlantic flight, a red-faced check-in girl having bashfully admitted that we needed to purchase four tickets - two for each of our wide behinds - we finally set down in Paris and started a six month cultural tour that had already seen us pass through France, Spain, Belgium, Italy, and a smattering of the Mediterranean on a luxury cruise. Despite having previously maintained our lower weights and more active lifestyle, ever since first sampling European cuisine any attempt to maintain this on holiday had well and truly gone out of the window. By the time we arrived at Amy’s grandma’s vineyard we both needed a new wardrobe, and after six weeks of force-feeding at her old, wrinkly hands we each needed another one! The old crone seemed determined to see her granddaughter off as plump as she could, and in her croaking English, never ceased to compliment how big and fat she had grown. “My, my, you’re looking large today”, “look at that belly - I can see you’ve been eating well”, “come on dear, waddle that fat bottom over here”. Hearing Amy encouraged and teased by her closest family was rather delightful, and as we said our goodbyes her grandma had even whispered to me out of earshot, “now make sure you keep her well-fed, I want to see her even fatter next time you visit!”. A day later we set sail on a large cruise liner from Civitavecchia, for our penultimate leg around the Mediterranean. Being in the fortunate position that money was no object, we had splashed out of the cruise’s most lavish package, which included a spacious suite, a private chef, and a 24-hour butler service. The latter of these had been too much temptation to bear, and we had the poor boys rushing the length and breadth of the boat all day long, ferrying us plate after plate as we devised increasingly gluttonous meals for our cook to prepare. By the time we stepped off the scale on the final day we were each up over 50 pounds, and both back into the prestigious 600 club. The flight to England had been snugger than we’d expected, and on landing, we were politely asked to upgrade to three seats each for our return journey. And so, on this fine summer day, we waddle slowly down the old English street, a familiar jiggle beneath our strained clothes. Of course, my recent gain isn’t the only thing weighing me down - the small wooden box in the breast pocket of my jacket had been feeling more and more like a dead weight with each passing day. The moment had never seemed right, but as the end of the trip draws ever closer the pressure was becoming too much to bear. We press on, through a small gate at the end of the road and onto a piece of Common land, which tapers up to a small hill, overlooking London. It was a slow and breathless climb, but we manage to stay one step ahead of the setting sun, and as we reach the peak - collapsing on a strategically placed wooden bench - the view that greets us makes the journey feel well worth it. As we catch our breath and admire the reddish-golden hue framing the world’s greatest city, I finally pluck up the courage that has so far eluded me. “Darling... it has been a long and rocky journey, but we got through it, together. I travelled to so many times and places, that I forgot who I was, and what I wanted, but in the end, my heart brought me back to you”. I gaze into Amy’s deep azure eyes, which are shimmering with nervous expectation. “I’ve realised, that the only place I wish to be, is right here, now, with you...”. Hands shaking, I reach into my breast pocket and pull out the small wooden box. Opening it along its back hinge, I present to Amy a familiar ornate bronze ring, which I had managed to snatch before the police had rescued us from Piggy’s. In place of the black onyx gemstone, however, is a brilliant 3-carat diamond, sparkling gently in the fading sunlight. Amy’s fervent nodding and stifled sobs give me the answer I wanted, and we share a long and passionate kiss. We sit there for what feels like an age, as the sun finally concedes defeat and dips back behind the skyline, and street lamps below flicker into life as night falls. Two days later we board a plane back to the US, to our home, a sense of nervous excitement in the air. Sitting either side of the aisle, three seats for each of our elephantine behinds, we lean over and clink a glass of champagne in the middle, before settling in to enjoy the flight. The trim air hostess raises an eyebrow when I ask her to please bring all three in-flight meals - one for each seat - and is positively aghast when I ask to see the selection of duty-free snacks as I hand her back three empty trays. Amy and I can’t help but catch each other’s eyes as she stalks off to get my third helping of cake, muttering something about ‘lard arse Americans’ under her breath, and laugh in unison, marvelling at our unashamed gluttony. As the cabin lights dim, and passengers settle-in for the night, I share one last smile across the aisle with my beautiful, morbidly-obese fiancé, before pulling down my night-cap. My stomach full, it isn’t long before I drift off to sleep, and dream, not about the past, but our future together. I dream of the two of us gorging ourselves every day, and falling back into immobility. I dream of our friends, Emma, Maddy, Annabelle, visiting us in our beds, their bodies blowing-up too as they too succumb to the inevitable weight gain that comes with spending time in our presence. I dream of mom in prison - her ass as large as a room, engulfing her tiny body in an ocean of soft blubber as the compound I injected her with causes her body to blow up larger and larger. I dream... As I doze, the plane speeds through the air on its long voyage back across the ocean, to new beginnings... The End

Chapter 17: Showdown Heart pounding, I peer over the top of my cabinet and examine the scene unfolding beyond. Two teams leads - the large Polynesian girl I had followed here and another that I recognise from my time at Piggy’s - are standing guard against the inside of the door. Hands behind their backs, standing to attention. They look like military personal, and... are those... crowd-control batons? Mom meanwhile, is striding towards Amy. She stops at the large double-door fridge and rummages around inside. She’s wrapped up in a long black shawl, which drapes along the floor behind her. Thin and silky, it ruffles gently in the breeze wafting down from an air conditioning unit above. After a few moments, she comes out of the fridge holding a large block of cheese - enough for a small dinner party - and continues her walk towards Amy. I move quietly around the cabinet to get a better look at mom. The shawl is tied firmly at the front in a neat double bow, mom’s sleek brown hair cascades down over her shoulders, which look broad and strong. Her face is as I remember, beautiful and stern, though perhaps there’s an extra wrinkle or two since I saw it last. “Who’s hungry?”, she asks Amy, wafting the block of cheese in front of her face. Amy looks at it longingly, but holds her nerve, shaking her head - resolute. Mom tuts impatiently. She picks up a syringe off a nearby stainless-steel medical tray and places it into the top of a small saline bag, the tube for which runs down a short plastic cord and into Amy’s arm. Two drops of the bluish liquid fall into the bag and trickle down the tube into her bloodstream. Amy shudders, her pupils dilate, and her hands lunge forwards uncontrollably and snatch the food from mom, taking frenzied bites. Cheese spreads around the edges of her mouth, and crumbs tumble down her many chins and onto her plump chest below, but she either doesn’t notice or is too engrossed in her meal to care. “That’s right, gobble it down my beautiful blob”, mom smiles, stroking Amy’s head in a manner that could have even been mistaken for affection, “... oops”. A large chunk of cheese breaks away in away feeding frenzy and falls into her cavernous cleavage. Mom plunges a hand between her breasts and rescues it from its fatty crevasse, popping it back into Amy’s open mouth. “We can't have you missing a mouthful. You need over 9000 calories a day to maintain this body, and many more than that to keep it growing bigger. Besides, I know how much you love your food, I just couldn’t bear the idea of you going hungry...”. She turns away and starts kneading Amy’s flesh, examining every fold. With mom’s back turned I creep back out from behind my cover and edge towards the hospital bed in the centre of the room. I’m careful to keep myself out of the guards’ view and take a wide path that keeps a handily placed cabinet between us at all times. One hand rests nervously on my pen-knife. This could go south very quickly. “... so fat that we’ll have to order another bed. I never thought that two and a half tonnes wouldn’t be big enough...”. Mom’s voice fades in and out, as I focus all my attention on keeping quiet. I’m still not entirely sure what I’m going to do when I get there. I couldn’t kill mom... could I? I push the thought from my mind - it won’t come to that - and edge even closer, emerging from behind my hiding place and tip-toeing across the three metres or so between mom and me. Her back turned, she’ll never notice my approach. Just a little closer... I could try to hold her hostage... and then... “I wondered when you’d be joining us”, mom says suddenly, turning around to face me. But... how? Mom laughs, “you thought that you could sneak in here and rescue your girlfriend like a knight in shining armour? You? You’re so fat I could spot you on a satellite if I wanted to, let alone CCTV. We’ve been watching you ever since you waddled onto the grounds”. My mind races. If mom knew I was here then what else did she know? I glance nervously around the room. Mom, perhaps reading my intentions, gestures to a small black box perched on top of the nearby fridge. “Oh I saw and heard everything big boy”, she giggles, clicking her fingers with a loud ‘snap’. The team leads move quickly across the room, one straight towards me, the other circles around behind, blocking my escape. “Pleeeease, let him go”, Amy whines from her bed, unable to do anything due to the immense weight pinning her to the sheets. She might as well have saved her breath. Mom ignores her completely, snapping her fingers again. A pair of strong hands grasp my arms from behind and force me down with a thud onto the chair from a nearby desk. It groans beneath my weight but holds. My hands are bound together behind my back, as my mind finally finishes processing the enormity of the situation. Trapped, at mom’s mercy once again... this had not gone well at all... She stands over me. The lights beating down from above cast a harsh shadow over her eyes that reminds me distinctly of the mom I had just left behind. Capricious and unstable, some things never change. “So, we’ve finally solved the mystery of how you escaped. And why my shy and obedient son suddenly had a change of personality when he arrived at camp. I have to say I’m impressed. I never thought you had it in you”. Mom bends down, face inches from my own. “Of course, some things never change”, she whispers, placing a hand either side of my overflowing muffin top and giving my enormous belly a shake. I can feel hundreds of pounds of blubber jiggling ferociously around my middle. “You’re quite the fatty now”, she laughs, a smile curling across her thin lips. It looks out of place on her face - forced, like graffiti carved roughly into stone. “Now”, she continues, straightening up, “you’ve caught me on a good day. I'm minded to let the two of you go, but first, I’m going to need you to tell me how that ring of yours works”. Of course. Why else would she be keeping up this pleasant pretence? But I’ve been here before and felt first-hand the devastating impacts of mom’s control over time - fool me once... I shake my head vigorously. Not today. Mom looks unfazed, as she smiles back, “oh I wouldn’t decide just yet... I’m prepared to make an offer that I think you’ll find very fair. I heard you telling Amy about your feelings for me. I confess, I never knew, but I suppose it makes sense - I did have you very young after all. And of course, I’ve worked very hard to keep my figure...”. Mom places a hand gently on the belt fastening her silken robe, and pulls it, letting the robe slip off her shoulders and fall in a heap around her feet. My jaw hits the floor. From the tips of her toes right up to her neckline, mom is wearing a skin-tight fishnet bodystocking embodied with floral decal. It’s a single continuous piece of fabric, though her privates are exposed at the front and the back. Four thin strips of material hold the upper and lower halves in place. Her pussy is shaven and her thick muscular ass pokes out bulbously from behind. A pair of chunky tits bulge out from underneath the suit, nipples poking through gaps in the fishnet, pinched slightly. The body of a Grecian goddess - I go from soft to hard in a matter of seconds, my heart pounding as mom smirks, noticing my discomfort. Mom saunters forwards, her thick body jiggling in all the right places. I try in vain to keep eye-contact, to resist the power of her body, but they stray downwards to the space between her legs like moths drawn to a flame. She places a leg over my own, and straddles me, sitting on my flabby lap, pushed up against the belly spilling onto my upper thighs. I feel her soft, warm skin pressing against mine, the dampness of her pussy on my legs. “Now I am prepared to be very accommodating of your perverted desires”, she whispers, leaning forwards and burying my face between her breasts. I shake my head against my better judgement, lost between her fleshy orbs. “I’ll do whatever you want”, she whispers breathlessly, a hand, reaching down underneath the front of my spandex shorts, groping at my fat pad. “But you”, her hand finds the tip of my penis poking out from the surrounding blubber. “Need to”, she starts rubbing her finger around it in circular motions, wetting it with the pre-cum pumping out in droves. “Tell me”, she quickens her pace, pumping her palm up and down on the surrounding blubber, which shakes against my shaft. “How to use that ring”, she pinches its head abruptly, squeezing, her fingers pressing in on the sensitive flesh. “Ahhhhh... Ahhhhh!”, I moan, exhaling loudly, on the verge of exploding. I’m ready to blow, desperate for mom to keep pumping for just a few more seconds. She rescues my face from the depths of her bosom and looks me in the eyes her stare colder and more calculating than before. “Please... keep... going...”, I pant breathlessly, squirming as I try to rub my cock against mom’s hand to release the dam, but she simply narrows her eyes, unbowing. “Give me what I want”, she replies slowly, labouring every word, dragging out my torture for as long as possible, “and I’ll give you plenty more than that”. It’s too much. I’m weak. Weak and lusting after my mom’s flesh. I’m about to relent, but something in the background catches my eye. It’s Amy. She’s quietly lying on her bed. We catch each other’s eyes and she shakes her head sadly, a single tear rolling down her face. My throbbing erection subdues, and I shake myself back to the present. “No”, I reply resolutely, newfound confidence behind my voice. Mom looks at me, her face inscrutable. She stands up abruptly, swinging her leg back over mine and walking over to the nearest medicine cabinet. I watch her round buttocks bounce up and down with every step. Straining on the straps of her suspenders. When she bends over I nearly faint, her cheeks spreading just enough to reveal her pussy. As I stare mesmerised at mom’s ass I barely notice what she’s doing, and am surprised when a few moments later she turns around holding a large glass syringe full of a strange blue liquid. “Now then”, she says calmly, “this is a mixture of the drugs that we’ve been pumping into Amy for the last couple of years. But about fifty times the normal dose”. Holding it to her face she squeezes a small air bubble out of the top of the syringe, a brief jet of blue liquid squirting out along with it. “My lab technicians tell me that it will destroy your metabolism. Make every whiff of food an insatiable craving. Turn your body into a fat factory...”. “Do your worst”, I spit back in response, “there’s no way I’m telling you how to use it. I’ve been fatter before, I’ll be fatter again. Go ahead, make me immobile. There’s nothing you can do to make me talk”. To my surprise, mom smiles once again. What is going on in that twisted mind of hers? “Oh, not you silly. Her”, she replies, pointing to the wobbling figure of Amy on the bed opposite. “If you think she’s big now, you wait until I’m through with her. I’ll make you watch as every inch of her is consumed in fat. Unable to speak because I’ve got her hooked up to a feeding funnel so she can gorge herself 24/7. And you’ll have to live with the knowledge that it was all your fault”. My heart falls through the floor. I was supposed to save her from her plight, not plunge her further into the darkness. I can’t, and mom knows it. Sharing a desperate look at Amy, who shakes her head feverishly in response, I relent and spill the beans about how the ring works. Mom listens intently, placing the syringe back on the countertop. Once I’ve finished she struts behind me, grasping my bound hands and prising the ring off the end of my porky finger. “But, you can’t, you don’t understand!... The ring, it’s dangerous, it -” I shout in vain, but mom presses a finger to my lips. “Shhhhhh, there’s a good boy. Now... what did you say... I simply pop on the ring”. She places the ring on her long bony finger. “Close my eyes”. Her hazel eyes close shut, the madness in them momentarily shielded from view. “And wish for another time and place”. The ring glows its usual deep scarlet and I feel my body and soul tearing apart once again. A sudden gust swirls around me and a rainbow of colours dances bright in front of my eyes. But... something’s wrong. The wind starts to howl, the colours turn monochrome, and the pulsating ring turns from red to black. Mom mouths something that might have been “what have you-?”, but cannot finish the thought. The crack along the centre of the ring widens, bright white light bursting through this gap. The ring explodes. - - - - A kaleidoscope of colour bursts from the ring and returns to the world. The wind stops suddenly, and I feel myself collapse back into my body. Mom is blown back several feet into the two team leads standing behind her. They fall to the ground in a crumpled mess. My chair, meanwhile, is blasted back onto the hard stone floor, breaking apart, and freeing my bound hands as the rope falls away. Everyone in the room has been knocked off their feet. Except for Amy of course, who sits unmoved on her bed, her eyes wide as she surveys the carnage around her. My mind works quickly - I have to get some leverage over mom, and fast! I scan around the room, settling on the recently prepared syringe still resting on the work surface. I need to be quick. Jumping up off the floor (or the nearest equivalent for a 550-pound blubber-ball), I rush across and snatch up the syringe mom had prepared - a sentence to gain. Mom was unlikely to forgive and forget this in a hurry. I walk over to the pile of bodies, still struggling to disentangle itself and jab the syringe firmly into mom’s exposed buttock. I press it down and release the cocktail into her body. She shrieks with fright, pushing herself up off the floor and wheeling around to face me. “What did you...”, she seethes, looking at the empty syringe still clutched in my hand. “Now hang on a minute...”, I reply nervously, thinking that perhaps I have misjudged the situation. “Let’s talk about this, I’m sure we can come to some sort of...”. Mom screams, lunging forwards and picking up my pocket knife, which had dropped unbeknown to me onto the floor during the chaos. A madness in her eyes - the same madness I had seen in my previous trips to the past - told me that this was not an idle threat. She flicks out the 6-inch stainless steel blade. “You’ll pay for this...”, she seethes through gritted teeth, as she stalks towards me like a lion eying up its meal. I back away, but as my generous buttock bumps into a cabinet behind me I realise there’s nowhere else to go! Mom quickens her pace, and I close my eyes, knowing that I cannot outrun her and that I’m too weak to overpower her. ‘Bang!’. The force of the explosion blew the heavy metal door to the medical lab right off its hinges and into the room. It knocks both me and mother off our feet and onto the cool stone floor underfoot. My head crashes into the ground with a considerable force, and a nasty crunch makes me think I may have broken my nose. Ears ringing, I just about make-out the follow-up cry of “grenade!”, before a blinding white light fills the room. My senses in disarray, I lay still, and after a few moments, succumb to the pounding in my head and drift off into darkness...

Chapter 16: Search and Rescue Once I was safely outside the sprawling St Jude’s estate, I hailed a cab and set off towards Piggy’s. Not wanting to waste a moment, we only stopped the cab once on the long five-hour journey. I rushed into the hardware store and grabbed a pair of bolt-cutters, a crowbar, and a pocket knife. Unfortunately, they didn’t sell any more suitable clothing, and I wouldn’t leave Amy in trouble longer than necessary for the sake of vanity. My questionable attire would have to do for this improvised heist. When the sat-nav confirmed that we were a mile or so away I asked the driver to slow down and drop me off near the perimeter fence. The elderly Indian gentleman was a little confused, to say the least, as he looked my 550lb spandex covered body up and down, but he took my money and generous tip nonetheless. I watched him drive off into the distance and when the coast was clear, knelt and started to cut a large ‘Jack-shaped’ hole in the perimeter fence. Once safely through, I rest the cut-out area against the hole as best I could - at a distance it would appear whole, though I hope no one does a closer inspection - and make my way into the thick woodland that surrounds Piggy’s. I trudge through the undergrowth, trying my best to avoid the stinging-nettles given my skimpy attire. The deeper I go the slower I become. One ‘snap’ of a branch underfoot was all it would take to make myself known to a nearby team leader, and that wasn’t a thought I wanted to entertain. I pass a tree-stump that looks oddly familiar, and then a thicket of ferns that causes a dizzying bout of deja-vu. I know this place... Cogs turn, slower than I would have liked, before clicking into place. I’m near the cabin! Our cabin - Amy and mine that is - where we had got to know each other, gorged ourselves, shared our first kiss. I quicken my pace as much as I dare and walk a familiar path through the bracken. One last corner and the cabin should come into view... The charred remains of a wooden building, long since burnt and left to smoulder, is all the greets me. Molten plastic - the corner of a bulge bar - the only clue that once there had stood here a Mecca to gluttony. Spiritual home of the fatties. My heart falls, but not enough to distract from the task at hand. I continue my way through the forest, now following the well-trodden route from the cabin to the main complex, and duck down behind a large bush on the edge of the running track. The buildings are as dull and lifeless as they had ever been, but it’s the new posters that adorn them which catch my eye. “We’ll beat the fat out of them!”, one proudly claims, complete with a picture of a muscled team lead raising a fist against a cowering fat girl. “Fat kids mean failed parents”, another boldly states, underneath a side-by-side of two families. An overweight girl stands in front of an equally overweight mother, her hair frazzled, clothes unwashed, and an overall look that screamed ‘poor’. On their right a lean and muscled girl stands proudly in front of her similarly sculpted mother, both smiling a perfect white grin. Pretty unsubtle messaging... Maddy was right, Piggy’s had changed, and not for the better. The place had a militaristic feel to it now. What little love and care there had been previously had been cast out, along with any nay-sayers like poor old Madison. Shaking myself back to the task at hand, I examine the wall ahead of me and see an unassuming fire escape that must lead to the main complex. There are a couple of nearby security cameras on an automated swivel, but if I time my run just right I should be able to slip past unnoticed. Before I can muster up the courage however, I hear footsteps from close by, and duck down, holding my breath. Ten or so girls come jogging around the corner. As they draw closer I see they are drenched in sweat, and appear to be carrying weighted backpacks - so heavy that they are hunched forwards to stop themselves from toppling over. The girls at the front of the procession come to a stop, hands resting on their blubbery thighs, gasping for air. Two team leads jog effortlessly to the front of the group. “And why have we stopped?”, the first asks sarcastically, “did you tell these lard asses to stop running Dannie?”. “No. I did not”, she replies calmly, hands resting on her hips. In the blink of an eye, she grabs something from the utility belt resting on her waist and... ‘crack’. The whip hit the short ginger girl closest to the team lead square across her wide bottom. Those thin spandex shorts don’t look like they offer much protection - I wince at the thought of the angry red welts that must already have started appearing on her flabby buttocks. Dannie raises her arm threateningly, whip clenched tightly in her fist, and the group starts moving - the ginger girl fighting back floods of tears. Once the stragglers had rounded the corner, out of sight, I sneak out of my hiding place and towards a service door that leads into the main Piggy’s complex. Placing my crowbar in-between the door and its frame, I apply as much pressure as I can, putting my full weight behind the push. Thankfully I have built up enough muscle, or still carry enough fat, that after a few tense seconds the door pings open. The sound of clanging metal reverberates down the corridor beyond, and I hope that nobody was around to hear it. Holding my breath, I slip inside, leaving the crowbar resting against the inside of the door, which I pull shut behind me. - - - - Piggy’s was much larger than I remembered. I spend fifteen nail-biting minutes tip-toeing from corridor to corridor, with not the foggiest idea where I am, or where Amy might be being held. I am about to turn into another nondescript hallway when I hear voices echoing from around the corner. I come to a halt suddenly, grab the wall to steady myself, and listen intently. “...Have seen the look on her face when I told her that she wasn’t going to eat this weekend. The fat pig burst into tears!”, a woman laughs. I can feel my face getting flush with anger. “Anyway, I’m off to the gym, you want to come?”. Another voice, slightly harsher than the first, with a Hawaiian twang, replies “lucky s.o.b., I’ve got whale guard duty. Third time this week! I must be in Miss Fairfax’s bad books...”. Whale guard duty...? This sounds promising... I edge towards the corner and peer around, hoping against hope that neither of the women is looking in my direction. Mercifully they aren’t, and I can now see two team leads standing a few metres away, chatting in front of a water fountain. The shorter of the two, an Asian woman with long black hair, jokes “just make sure that she doesn’t run away!”, and walks off in the opposite direction. Her companion, a much taller woman who looks to be of Polynesian descent, laughs, and then starts to turn towards me. I duck back around the corner before she can see me. My heart beats so fast I worry that she might hear it thumping against my chest as she nears. I make myself as small as possible by flattening my back against the wall (a challenge given my size) and hold my breath... The team lead appears in the corner of my eye. A hulking figure, taller than me, I sneak a glance as she walks past me, and see that her head is mercifully turned the other way as she inspects a notice board on the opposite wall. Too close. I follow closely behind, keeping the team lead in sight as we walk through even more nondescript corridors, and then down a flight of stairs into a basement, which I didn’t even know the building had. The team lead's large muscular buttocks wobble happily in her tight booty shorts as she walks, which I keep a nervous eye on in-case she looks over her shoulder. As we reach a darkened corridor with a large metal door at the end, I hang back and watch as the team lead strides ahead and chats briefly with another figure at the end of the hallway. It must be time to switch shifts. But that means... Sure enough, the other figure turns and begins a slow walk back down the corridor towards my position. Shit! I duck back around the corner and look frantically for a hiding place. The only option large enough to accommodate my blubber is a wide grate on the floor - probably used to house the underground cabling and pipework. Beggars, choosers... I lift the grate as quietly as I can and lower myself in. It’s deeper than I expected, enough for me to crouch as I replace the cover and start moving quietly along the tunnel in the direction of the secret room. I pause underneath a second grate as the team lead passes above me - I cannot help but look up for a cheeky flash of muscular thigh - and then continue ahead, underneath the metal door and into the mysterious room beyond. I can see harsh artificial light shining down through a final grate ahead, and once positioned directly below I gently lift it up and climb out of the tunnel. I’m standing in a large and brightly lit room. The ground is hard concrete, the walls untreated brickwork. These facts only serve to highlight how out of place the decor is from the room itself, for in the centre of this drab and cracking basement is what can only be described as a high-tech mobile hospital. Monitors flash and bleep the status of their patient, a large double-door fridge stands next to a desk stacked high with notes, and cabinets stocked full of mysterious medicines frame the hospital bed at the centre. The bed is larger than any I’ve ever seen, even at Piggy’s, wider than it is long, which is a practical necessity given its current occupant... Amy lies naked on top of the sheets, her skin pale and bleached as if it hadn’t seen sunlight in months. Her body is vast - far larger than anyone I’ve ever seen, in real life or on television. An impossible level of fatness, every part of her body is swimming in soft, supple fat. I strain my eyes, trying to imagine her old body trapped somewhere within - encased within the hundreds of pounds of extra blubber. Amy’s gain appears to have been focused on her lower half, giving her an oddly disproportioned look, like a weeble-wobble, unable to be toppled. Her legs are engorged far beyond anything I thought humanly possible and are forced outwards at 90 degrees, her thighs unable to come any closer due to the abundance of flesh in-between. Her belly bulges out onto her lap, and two sagging breasts sit atop it, resting gently on its crest. An ass like no other spills out from underneath Amy, spreading across the bed and drooping off its sides. As I move towards the bed I glance upwards and notice a digital display bolted into the ceiling. It reads ‘1556 LBS’. Christ, mom had really done a number on poor Amy. And to make her watch every day as her weight ticked ever upwards... cruel simply doesn’t do it justice. I brush her long blonde hair out of her face, and she stirs gently, opening her eyes a crack. “Jack..?”, she croaks, her eyes now opening wider, alert, “what... what are you doing here?”. Amy’s voice has changed, it’s slightly deeper, more echoey. I suppose that becoming this fat had many unexpected consequences, of which this was simply another. My heart falls further still. “I came to rescue you”, I reply in an unconvincing tone. I’m not sure how on earth that is going to happen now that I’ve seen the true extent of Amy’s punishment in the flesh - and there was plenty of that! “What happened to you?”. Amy looks at me quizzically, as if weighing up whether I am real or simply a figment of her imagination. “That day... when Miss Fairfax found us. I was told by one of the team leads that you vanished. In a locked room with no escape one minute, and gone the next. I assumed you’d found a way out of this hell-hole and made a new life for yourself... but me... they took me down here, locked me up, experimented...”. Amy gestures to the many cabinets surrounding us and the vials and medicines within them. “Appetite enhancers, subcutaneous fat encouragers, targeted weight gain...”, she sighs heavily, “I resisted at first, but in time I sort of just accepted it for what it was”. “But why?”, I ask, panic setting in, “why would mom do this? She runs a weight loss camp for god’s sake, this is... is...”. Well, it’s actually quite true to character now I think about it. Mom in my original timeline might have been holding it together, but if the ring had taught me anything it’s that all she needed was a very small nudge before she became mayor of crazy town. Amy shrugs her enormous beefy shoulders, and replies, “she’s unhinged. Your mom I mean. The more time I spend with her down here, the more I realise that she’s mentally unstable. But that’s not important right now. Why are you here? Where did you go? Why... didn’t you come back for me?”. Her face falls as she asks the last question, eyes averting mine. I gulp. This is the moment I had been dreading. Confessing to Amy who I am and how I got here. The last time I was honest about the ring it had not worked out so well for me, but I owe her this at least. So I spill the beans - finding the ring, using it to change mom’s past, the impact on my future, my regret at leaving her behind, mom’s torture. “And then”, I continue, nearing the end of the tale, “I managed to overpower her and take back the ring. I wished for home and... ended up here. After I was out of St. Jude’s - it’s a special hospital in the city - I came straight here to rescue you. I didn’t realise that mom would have... forced you to... I understand if you never want to speak to me again...”. I look away shamefully, unable to keep her gaze any longer. After a moment of silence, a pudgy hand reaches out and touches my own. I look back at Amy nervously, and to my surprise, she is smiling. Had she heard anything I had just said? ‘Why..?’ I mouth incredulously, but before I can speak Amy cuts across me, “it wasn’t your fault. I mean, not really. You didn’t intend for this to happen, you just... lost your way. But the ring brought you home. Don’t you see? It brought you back... to me.” She blushes, a deep rouge spreading fast across her sagging cherubic cheeks. My mind whirls. She was right. I had expected the ring to take me back to my original timeline, to mom, but had I ever really felt at home there? A new house, no friends close by, waiting to head off to the city and start my life, but unable to tear myself away from childish fantasies about my mother - who as it transpires wasn’t a particularly great role-model after all. But at Piggy’s, with Amy, I’d been truly happy, had a sense of purpose, fallen in love...? “But... your weight”, I say bashfully, my cheeks turn to blush as I avert her gaze, eyes resting instead on one of her thunderous cellulite ravaged thighs. To my surprise Amy giggles. “Oh, these extra pounds? You remember the photos of me from when I first started at camp right? Once a fatty always a fatty. I’d have pilled the weight back on soon enough. Maybe not quite this much of course... but still, being thin was never a good look for me. And besides, I thought you liked my extra padding?”. She gives me a cheeky grin. “I did!”, I blurt out, “I mean I do! It’s...”. I nervously rest a hand on her gigantic upper arm, itself likely weighing as much as a small child, and feel my fingers sink inches into her soft and smooth flesh. “And”, she continues with a smile, “I’m not the only one that’s put on a few pounds mister. Look at that gut!”. Amy heaves her arm off the bed and pokes a finger deep into my exposed navel, turning it upside down and bouncing my belly with her hand. The effort leaves her out of breath, but she giggles and gasps, “quite the porker! What have you... been eating?! Too much... soy milk by the look of things...”. Her hand reaches up and cups one of my moobs, giving it a gentle wobble. Despite her size, we look to be wearing the size cup size nowadays, as her gain has focused below the waist rather than above it. My cheeks turn red as she fondles me. After a moment Amy retracts her hand and pauses to catch her breath, before continuing, “well, it’s clear that I’m not walking out of here. In fact, I think that I might even be too wide to be wheeled out of the door nowadays. We need the police and the fire department. Have you got a phone?”. Nodding, I pull out the phone that Maddy had given me, and frantically punch ‘911’ into the keypad. I lift it to my ear, expecting to hear the familiar words, ‘911, what is your emergency?’, but instead, nothing. No signal. “Crap”, I curse under my breath, “I need to go upstairs, wait here, I’ll be a couple of minutes, I’ll...”. I hear the disconcerting sound of metal grating on metal behind me, and turn to see the door handle turning slowly. Shit! I glance, eyes wide, at Amy, and dart behind a nearby cabinet, just as the door opens and I hear three sets of footsteps enter the room. “So...”, a familiar voice echoes from across the room, “how is my big blubbery whale doing today? I hope you’re hungry...”.

Chapter 15: Doctor’s Orders I do not remember how I ended up in St Jude’s Hospital for the Morbidly Obese, though I have it on good authority from one of the young nurses that I was found collapsed in the street - unconscious and naked - and that it had taken the combined effort of six firefighters and three paramedics to get me up and into the reinforced ambulance. By the time I came around I had been there for two days, and ready to greet me were a pair of suspicious city councillors, keen to establish exactly who I was, and what had happened. As the saying goes, ‘once burnt, twice shy’, so I wasn’t about to go blurting on about the magic ring stuffed onto my finger, lest it be taken again and used against me. However, with no ID or fingerprints on record, I was a ghost in the machine, and I couldn’t risk anyone finding out my true identity until I was certain exactly where, and when, I was. My mouth firmly shut, they had no option but to wait patiently for me to be discharged, leaving me under no uncertain terms that when that time came I would be hauled to the nearest detention centre, and kept there until I spilled the beans. Additionally, to my dismay, the crack along the centre of the ring was now so pronounced that the gemstone was almost cleaved in two. It couldn’t have more than one or two uses left, if at all, so I had to be careful about when and where I attempted to use it. I decided that being immobile and defenceless, which is also how I would arrive once the time travel had completed given I always kept my current weight, now was not the best time. So, over the next few months I settled in at St Jude’s and had no choice but to follow their strict programme of diet and exercise. The first week or so was the hardest of my life. My body, so used to being pumped full of sugar and fat all day long, was not prepared for the sudden shift to a calorie-restricted diet, and the hunger pains had me doubled over, unable to move. And no sooner had these past than I was introduced to a gruelling in-situ exercise routine, which had me in such distress that I needed an oxygen tank just to recover my breathing. The hospital staff were particularly unsympathetic to my plight, having clearly seen their fair share of whales complaining about their treatment, and pressed on without hesitation. It had not been a pleasant few months. That said, being a patient at St Jude’s did come with one or two small benefits. Its research and development wing, tucked away in a gloomy basement, was at the cutting edge of weight loss technology, and was currently trialling a drug that stopped the issue of excess skin after weight loss, ensuring it instead pinged back into shape as your body shrank. Ingenious really, and as one of the first guinea pigs, I was already starting to see its effects, as my skin stayed taught despite the fat melting away beneath it. Additionally, whilst most of the hospital staff were cool and unsympathetic, my primary nurse, Emma, was an absolute delight. A chunky but kind woman in her early 30s, she alone seemed truly invested in my wellbeing, and fussed over me to make sure I was as comfortable as possible during my stay. Unfortunately, that didn’t extend so far as sneaking me in food to eat, so my stomach rumbled on, day and night. That said, a few months in and we had established a firm friendship, and the long days spent lying in bed went just that little bit faster with her at my side. Today is no different, and as I triumphantly lay down my winning poker hand, Emma pouts and looks down at my cards suspiciously. “Hmmmm, that’s an awfully good hand. Almost... too good”, she mutters in an accusatory tone, her eyes scanning my bulbous stomach, “you’re not hiding cards...”. “In my folds?”, I laugh back, reaching two hands underneath my paunch and flopping it out of my loose cotton lounge-pants, lifting each roll, in turn, to show the bare flesh beneath, “nothing here except prime all-American blubber!”. Her furrowed brow suggests that she isn’t convinced, but she doesn’t have a chance to probe further as at that moment the door swings open and Dr. Smith walks into the room. A sour-faced and cantankerous old woman, Dr. Smith did not approve of such frivolities as ‘fun’ and waves her hand impatiently as Emma hurriedly stuffs the playing cards back into their box. She bustles over to the side of my bed and gives my now exposed gut a poke with her skeletal finger. “Hmmmm”, she hums, “still grossly overweight, but perhaps now that you’re down to 600 pounds, and with your increased muscle mass... yes, I think it’s time you were out of this bed young man”. I gulp nervously - I’ve known this day would come for a while, but I’m nevertheless apprehensive about taking those first few steps, not least because once I am fully mobile and discharged I know that the city council could be waiting at the gates to steal me away. Dr. Smith, sensing my apprehension, tuts impatiently, “I’m not sure that being doted on hand and foot by a pretty young nurse, all whilst sitting on your fat bottom, is the best thing for you anymore. Time to get up and about. Up I said!”. She gives my overflowing side a hearty smack and points at the floor by the foot of my bed. Choosing to ignore Dr. Smith’s unsubtle jibes, I take a deep breath and ready myself for the plunge. With an almighty effort, I heave my thunderous thighs off the edge of the bed, feet slapping down onto the cool tiles below. “Come on...”, Emma whispers under her breath, and her words willing me on, I ease the rest of my body onto the edge of the bed, and take a first, tentative, step. It worked! I’m very unsure on my feet, and it’s embarrassing difficult, but I manage a slow waddle across the room, grabbing hold of a cabinet on the far wall to support myself whilst I wheeze and splutter. “Yes!”, cries Emma rushing over to give me a long, tight hug, her chubby body momentarily enveloped by my much larger one, “I knew you could do it!”. I’m wearing tight cotton pants today, but nothing on my top half and her head rests in between my bulging breasts. She bounces on the balls of her feet, and I feel her hefty tits jiggle as they press into my body. It’s the closest I’ve had to any action since I got here, and against my better judgement, I start to get excited down below. Dr. Smith struts over to us, her look indiscernible. “Well that is progress I suppose... though not worth getting too excited over...”, she mutters, eyes flicking down to the small bulge at my crotch and giving it a sharp prod. Her bony finger sinks deep into my fat pad and tickles the tip of my cock, which bursts to attention and pokes out from beneath its fatty prison. Emma breaks free of my fat, and she too glances down and notices the bulge. Catching my eye and blushing a deep crimson, she hurries out of the room, stifling a giggle behind her hands. “Well, there’s a lesson for you young man. If you want the ladies to hang around rather than run away in titters, then perhaps you should lose these titties!”. Dr. Smith pinches one of my moobs and shakes it, the supple fat wobbling like freshly made jelly, slapping against my chest. Tutting once again, she places an arm under my own and guides me back to bed. Once it has been sufficiently lowered I sit back down, the bolts and hinges creaking under my bulk, and Dr. Smith turns and struts out of the room. I lay silently in bed, considering my options carefully. I could find a way to delay my weight loss. Maybe even stay here indefinitely? It wasn’t really that bad. But... surely the doctors would find out, and even Emma wasn’t willing to smuggle me snacks, so the supply of food would be challenging. Perhaps I could reveal everything to the authorities? A simple DNA test would prove who I am. But... then mom would be contacted, and who knows what she’s like in this timeline? That might be worse than simply going to jail! I could use the ring and flee to a new timeline - attempt to fix things and get my old body, my old life, back. But... I’d tried that before, many times, and each had been less successful than the last, compounding my misery, and my weight. Of all the options I ponder over there’s only one that has any real viability. A shame, I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. It’s settled, there’s only one thing for it. Escape. - - - - Having decided that I can’t simply accept my fate lying down (both figuratively and literally), I take to my diet and exercise regime with a renewed gusto. My stomach screams for the fatty, rich, greasy meals that it once knew and loved, and my muscles burn from the effort of heaving my blubber around, but I press on nonetheless. Even Dr. Smith’s steadfast scepticism couldn’t hold up against my renewed sense of purpose, as a couple of months after my first steps she admits begrudgingly, “down to 554 pounds... you’re making much better progress than I expected”. I can’t see the number on the scales, the blinking digital display obstructed from view by my bulging belly, but the news is music to my ears - 50 pounds closer to leaving this place for good. Emma, who is seated in front of me as I stand on the heavy-duty weighing scales, whoops and cheers, though quickly quietens down when Dr. Smith gives her a long and disapproving stare. It hadn’t taken long for the awkwardness between us to subside after our hugging ‘incident’, and I noticed that Emma had been much more tactile with me ever since. A stroke of the arm here, a pat on the bottom there - I think she quite likes the attention, particularly when I can’t help but get excited by her low-cut tops and gentle hands. I know she doesn’t find me attractive though - I’ve seen her boyfriend and he’s the tall dark and handsome type, not an ounce of fat on his body, unlike the hundreds of pounds on mine. “Right”, barked Dr. Smith, clearly keen not to dwell on something as positive as ‘good news’ for any longer than necessary, “it’s time you did your morning laps around the gauntlet”. I groan audibly. Despite a full commitment to my regime I was nevertheless not a fan of St Jude’s indoor running track, ‘the gauntlet’, which circled the entire complex, and was gruelling 1km round-trip that patients were supposed to complete several times a day, depending in their weight and overall health. I was up to three and a half laps, which I loathed with a burning passion. Unfortunately, my outward expression of dissatisfaction did not seem to have attracted a great deal of sympathy from Dr. Smith, and without so much as a blink, she turned and stalked out of the room. “Come on, you’d better get changed”, replied Emma, in a voice that heavily implied ‘if you know what’s good for you’, and rummaging around in my chest of drawers, she produced and then threw me my running gear. She had recently ordered me the size down, due to my weight loss, but as I hold the spandex shorts up to my wide, bottom-heavy waist, I can’t help but feel they are a little on the small side. “We haven’t got all day”, she tuts impatiently from across the room, “I’ll turn around, you just slip them on”. I’m not thrilled at that thought, but ever wary of Dr. Smith’s wrath, I also turn around and slip out of my cotton PJs, squeezing into the tight exercise gear as best I can. The top barely stretches down as far as my belly button, and the shorts pinch in beneath my hips, leaving me with a large bulge of overflowing flesh around my middle, like an over-iced muffin. As I jump up and down in an attempt to force the shorts up the second half of my elephantine ass, I hear a stifled giggle over my shoulder. “You’re looking aren’t you...”, I groan, and sure enough, the response comes back a few moments later, “yes, I just couldn’t help myself!”. So now Emma’s seen my fat, cellulite-ridden ass, what next... Suddenly, I feel her soft hands snake around my hips, and fasten around the waistband of the shorts. Her body presses into my back, once again enveloped by my blubber, and I feel her warm breath tickling the back of my neck. “Come on, let’s get these over your blubber butt so you can start your exercises”. Emma heaves upwards with a small jump, but the fabric barely moves a millimetre - stuck in place by the overabundance of flesh in its way. Grunting, she tries again, and again, bouncing up and down as she attempts to shimmy the shorts over my colossal behind. As before, I can feel her tits jiggle as they slap against my back, and her thick thighs press into my ass. The vigorous shaking causes tidal waves of fat, which spreads from my globular bottom around the rest of my body. “Please... stop...” I moan as the sensation of being dry-humped from behind is making me hot and bothered, my fat wobbling around my privates and causing a similar sensation that it did when I was back with mom... Emma continues, harder this time, panting as she rubs herself against me as she tries to force the too-tight shorts up into place. “Come on fatboy...”, she whispers in my ear, “surely you’re not too big for the quadruple XL? Almost there...”. I groan, a familiar rush building in my crotch, as I try desperately to think of something, anything, to distract myself from what’s going on behind me. It’s too late. I let out a long groan, “ohhhhhhh yessss!”, and come all over the inside of my underwear, shaking as I orgasm with each pump of fluid. Emma stops suddenly, her hands releasing their iron grip on my shorts, and backs away gingerly, sidling around my body to face me head-on. “You didn’t...” she says slowly in light-hearted dismay, a grin breaking across her chubby face, “you did!”. She points open-mouthed at the wet patch spreading across my shorts, and giggles, “I guess I’ve still got it. Or maybe you’re just so deprived of loving in here that any old maid will do!”. I must look pathetic, as her expression turns to one of concern, and she continues, “sorry, I don’t mean to tease. Let’s get you out of those shorts. I’ll... dispose of them quietly, and I think your old pair are still knocking around here somewhere”. - - - - - - A short while later, having cleaned myself up, changed clothes, and bid an embarrassing farewell to Emma, I set off on my run around the gauntlet. I pass-by a few familiar faces coming in the opposite direction - a man-mountain by the name of ‘Vicrum’, ‘Karen’ a Texan housewife whose sweet-tooth had left her as wide as she was tall, and ‘Lilly’ a sweet girl of 15 who simply wanted to go back to school to complete her studies, but needed to drop a couple of hundred pounds to do so. A mishmash of different journeys and life experiences, all converging on this one, flabby, moment. The doors and corridors that lead off the running track pass by like the background of a Scooby-Do cartoon - seemingly repeating themselves every few seconds, such that I often wonder whether I’m making any progress at all. I jog for what feels like hours, my body quivering with every lumbered step, the floorboards reverberating under my girth. I’m nearing the end of my first lap when a familiar voice over my shoulder cuts through me like a knife through butter. “Jack...? Is that you?”. Eyes wide with shock, I wheel around. Standing behind me is Madison, my neighbour, and closest campmate during my time at Piggy’s, head cocked, looking me up and down with a confused expression. “So this is where you snuck off to? Thought you’d have made it further than St Jude’s after all that commotion. Though... you’re looking fatter than you used to. Did you and Amy sneak off somewhere to gorge yourselves, and then check yourselves in once you realised you couldn’t get out of bed? What? What’s wrong?”. Mouth agape, my brain struggles to process the enormity of Maddy’s words. She recognises me?! How is that possible? Unless... I’m back in the timeline that I left a few months ago! The realisation crashes into me like an oncoming train, and I stumble backward, Maddy reaching out a hand to support me. “What’s gotten into you?”, she asks, voice full of concern, bundling me into an unlocked side room and off of the well-trodden running track. I blink stupidly at her, and croak back, “I... I wasn’t expecting to see you here...”. Maddy sighs heavily, and nods, “no, neither was I. But after you left Piggy’s it... well it changed. I mean it was always pretty terrible - who likes eating rabbit food and doing all that exercise? - but the day you and Amy disappeared the tone of the place sort of... shifted. They stopped just teasing the campmates and started really humiliating us. It crossed a line, it was... cruel”. Maddy shakes her head, sighing heavily. “And Miss Fairfax - I mean your mom - she stopped overseeing her global operations and stayed permanently at Piggy’s. She and some of the worst team leads were up to something, I just knew it, but unfortunately, I was thrown out for ‘miscreant behaviour’ before I could get to the bottom of it. They were just afraid of what I might uncover!”, Maddy spits through gritted teeth, clearly resentful about her treatment at mom’s hands. However, a split second later her face falls, “but... I wasn’t ready to leave... I was making good progress - remember? - but I hadn’t conquered my demons... and when I found myself back in the real world...”. For the first time since we bumped into each other, I clear my head and take the time to look Maddy up and down. She had indeed been making good progress at Piggy’s and had lost the most weight of any campmate by the time that I left. All that hard work had been well and truly undone, however, and then some, as the black behemoth that stands before me is anything but the picture of health. Maddy’s hips are as wide as mine, thick and heavy, pouring over the sides of her spandex shorts and riddled with stretch-marks - she really must have piled back on the pounds in a hurry. Her top cannot contain the belly beneath, and her enormous paunch in exposed, hanging heavily over her waistband. Maddy’s belly button has also migrated south as her body has grown, and the deep crevasse is about 10 inches lower than it would have been were she a svelte 120-pound hottie. Perhaps the most impressive aspect of Maddy’s gain is in her extremities. Her legs were always thick, like her ass, but the last 100 pounds or so seen to have primarily settled there, and each looks like it weighs as much as a normal person, maybe more! Vast cottage cheese tree trunks, even at a wide stance they touch from top to bottom. Her arms are also fat like two juicy Christmas hams, and her upper-arm blubber droops down over her elbows due to its weight. She was the picture of ill-health and excess - a perfect patient for St Jude’s... Suddenly, something Maddy mentioned earlier clicks into place. “What did you mean... when you said that Amy and I snuck off somewhere...? I haven’t seen her since the day I left”. Technically true - my last memory of Amy was a fleeting look back at her and mom grappling on the floor of the cabin. I try not to think about Amy and her plight more than I need to. Even now it’s too painful a memory. “Well... you two left together, right? That day, with all the commotion. Banging, shouting and the like. No one ever saw either of you again, and your mom punished anyone that so much as uttered your names. We all figured you’d just run off to the nearest KFC to stuff your faces and live a better life on the outside”. I can feel the cogs turning, as I piece together the puzzle that’s before me. If Amy disappeared the day that I left... what had mom said...? ‘You won’t be walking out of this camp, you’ll be wheeled out of here on a hospital bed, immobile’... my heart sinks at the thought. And why had the ring brought me back here? I wished for home. Is this some sort of punishment for leaving Amy behind? Am I trapped here forever? Too many questions and I’m struggling to think straight, not least because I’m still wheezing heavily after my short jog. One thing is clear however, I have to leave St Jude’s and rescue Amy from her plight. “We need to... get out of here...”, I whisper breathlessly, “tonight!”. - - - - - - That night, at a quarter past one, I slip out of my room under the cover of darkness and tip-toe through a maze of corridors towards Madison’s room. Guards patrol these halls at night, making sure that the residents don’t attempt to break-in to the pantry, so it’s slow progress as I make sure to give them a wide birth. Eventually, though, I make it to my destination and knock gently on her door, which mercifully creaks open a few seconds later, and the tired but resolute face of Maddy appears through the crack. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry”, she whispers, barging past with a small bundle of objects under in her arms and setting off into the darkness. I follow nervously. We walk in silence for a few minutes, not daring to utter a word lest we be discovered. I had told Maddy all about why I needed to escape, and how I feared Amy was being held against her will, so all that was left to do was put our plan into action. We sneak around corridor after corridor until Maddy suddenly throws out an arm and whispers, “we’re here”. I look around, wondering exactly where ‘here’ is, and see nothing but an empty hallway, which stretches into the gloom at either end. Maddy, however, is busy tugging on something attached to the wall, and peering around her wide body I see her easing down a metal hatch, which hides the hospital’s large garbage chute. My heart sinks... Maddy, noticing my expression, snaps back, “the doors are alarmed, there’s security patrolling the entrance, bars on all the windows. How exactly were you thinking of getting out of here? If you don’t like my idea, then best of luck...”. She starts to push the chute door shut, but I throw out a hand to stop her. “No, it’s... it’s fine”, I say begrudgingly, resigned to my fate, “thank you for all your help”. Sighing, I crawl into the garbage chute, holding my nose as the whiff of rubbish stings my nostrils. The chute starts with a gentle decline, and small grooves every few inches give me something to hold as I pull myself in. I manage to shimmy half-way into the pipe, but as my hips attempt to squeeze through the hole they become wedged, filling the gap perfectly with their meaty blubber. I struggle, trying to pull myself free, but my ass has created a perfect seal around the chute, and I’m well and truly stuck. “What’s the hold-up?”, Maddy whispers frantically from behind me, “you’re not...? oh dear... well, luckily I prepared for such an eventuality”. I can faintly hear Maddy rummaging around with the bundle of items she’d brought with her, and then, without warning, I feel my cotton pants being pulled roughly down. I let out a muffled cry in protest, but it’s too late, and a light breeze blows across my bare ass and thighs. “Shhhhh, you’ll get us caught!”, she whispers back angrily, “now hold still”. An icy cold liquid splashes down onto the crest of my ass, and I jump in shock, squealing in a manner reminiscent of the piggy that I must now resemble. “Shhhh!”, Maddy hushes again, as I feel her cool hands spread the oily substance around my buttocks, “I brought some massage oil with me... well, in case this happened. We should be able to grease you up and down that chute in no time. Believe me, I take no pleasure in this...”. Maddy starts to massage the oil into my thunder thighs, kneading my soft flabby flesh between her pudgy fingers. Her hands are gentle, caressing my bumpy, cellulite covered lower-half with the same soft motions with which one might stroke a newborn’s head. My fat pad - the fleshy prison for my cock and balls, hangs embarrassingly beneath my legs on the other side of the chute, and cannot escape Maddy’s wandering hands as it too is massaged with her greasy hands. I groan as she kneads the fat encasing my cock, which hardens instinctively, hoping Maddy can’t hear me. After a minute or so I can hear her breathing becoming laboured - clearly oiling up my body was quite the workout. She pats the underside of my heavy thighs, pounds of fat dangling limply, and mutters, “you are... quite the porker... someone hasn’t been... watching what they eat... I’m... exhausted...”. She leans her heavy body between my spread-eagled thighs, sinks into my beefy ass, and rests there for a few moments as she catches her breath. A short while later and with a renewed vigour, Maddy heaves herself up and I feel her hands pushing my ass as hard as she can. “It’s working”, I shout excitedly, my voice echoing loudly down the dark tunnel, as I feel my body starting to inch through the opening. Almost... there! As my enormous greased-up ass finally slips into the chute, I can hear footsteps and shouting growing louder from behind me. “Quick, someone’s coming!”, Maddy whispers frantically, giving my elephantine behind one last shove, which causes me to slip down the chute and into the darkness. Far above me, I can hear echoed voices - I Hope Maddy doesn’t get into trouble on my account. I slide down the long and winding tunnel in complete darkness for a few seconds, before a light comes shimmering into view up ahead, and a moment later I pop out in the cool underground hospital basement. Something gently hits my back and turning around I can see the bundle of items that Maddy had brought with her, which she must have thrown down after me. Unfurling it I hold up a large towel to the light, a pair of very wide and very stretchy spandex shorts plus matching top, a mobile phone, a roll of banknotes, and a note scrawled on a scrap of paper that simply reads, “go get her!”. My heart swells with gratitude. If I make it out of this in one piece then I defiantly owe Maddy a beer. I dust myself off and make my way out onto street level...