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  1. Oh man, there used to be this huge thread, I swear, haha. Lately I've been on a massive Sleep Token kick, but I lean into more power/melodic in general. Children of Bodom's Hatebreeder album is always an easy go-to, and I like a lot of what I've heard from Kamelot, Rhapsody of Fire, Evoken, Duskmourn (a lot of atmospheric/funeral doom, now that I think about it) Pagan's Mind, Fractal Gates, Deafheaven's Sunbather album was a wholly transformative experience personally, Manowar, Within Temptation. I've also been grooving on this band, St. October, since their vocalist is a gal I used to know way back when (not really personally or anything, though) and it's been nice to see that she's doing real well for herself. Spotify has also lead me to learn I dig Falling in Reverse, Nothing More, Spiritbox, Bad Omens, etc but honestly I'll give almost anything a listen. I'd ideally like to have at least one band/album in each subgenre that I can really get down with.
  2. Has anyone noticed fatness has become completely normalized post-pandemic? The last few years have been the biggest change in attitudes regarding weight gain in my lifetime. Women talk about and show off their bodies in a way they just didn’t during 2010’s body positivity. Young girls do not want to enable “diet culture” and deny their own happiness. Weight gain is no longer something shameful that needs to be fought. Plus size clothing and mannequins really outnumber normal clothes sizing at stores like Target, which is definitely new. The biggest potential for change I think is the adoption of Universal Standard. It’s a clothing brand that advertises its size system to other labels as “the average American woman is a size 18, so why shouldn’t clothing sizes reflect that as Medium?”. It has been a successful online ad campaign and I have genuinely heard more than one girl make that point in my friend group. Something else I’ve noticed is that it is no longer culturally mocked for men to date fat women. I know multiple skinny guys who openly date fat girls and I think it’s not stigmatized for guys in general to do “locker room boys talk” about fat girls. I was recently in a trendy bar in a “skinnier” state and I noticed for the first time there were more fat girls there than skinny hipster girls. There were traditionally good looking guys openly flirting with fat girls in front of skinnier women. My friend whispered to me “I can’t believe guys like big girls now.” Where do you think this can go? I can’t imagine what else can be done. Maybe plane seats becoming bigger?
  3. Honestly, anyone down to chat in general, would love to get to know folk in the community 😄

  4. A reason why people can't retire at 65 anymore is because the best this country can do for presidential candidates is either an 81 or 77 year old. I'm not expecting some 30 year old fresh out of grad school for a candidate, but can we at least have a president that wasn't born before the Cold War began? People should be fighting for a better cost of living than a pay increase. It's already to the point where people are spending $20 just to scarf down a Big Mac and acting like $25 an hour is still not enough to live off of despite their grandparents easily being able to buy a house with half of that pay rate. Anyone with the last name Kennedy should stay far away from politics. You'd think after the last two generations, they'd take the hint. The United States is that one friend who rarely pays their bills on time, can barely afford rent, yet spends half their paycheck on their other so called "friends" who should learn to fight their own battles and pay for their own expenses. And to quit using their friend as backup when sh*t hits the fan. If I see "would you like to donate to _____'s campaign" one more time when trying to fill out a form, I'm voting for Afroman out of spite. Nothing's worse than election day where old people end up hounding you over "don't forget to vote for ____" like stfu, that's why I've absentee vote the moment I was able to.
  5. Coolb

    Selena Gomez

    I know most here love weight gain in general but I personally think this weight suits her more than any weight, and not in a FA point of view. I really think she looks her best as of right now. Seems like it's the weight she's supposed to be. I don't know if it makes sense. What do you think?
  6. Since “unpopular opinions” is my favorite chit-chat thread, I’m laying down another one that seems overdue for Curvage… Here goes…. 1. Just because your girlfriend is fat doesn’t mean she’s a BBW. 2. Just because I’m into BBWs does not automatically mean I’m into fat chicks. (Wait… what?) On the surface this doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I promise -- I’m not a lunatic… so let me un-pack this idea with an example of conditional logic. We might say that a circle is a shape, but a shape isn’t necessarily a circle …because obviously, a random shape could also be a triangle, a square, an octagon or whatever. The same is true in our context. A BBW is a fat woman, but a fat woman isn’t necessarily a BBW. Certainly everyone on this forum knows that “BBW” is an acronym for “Big Beautiful Woman”. And yet, for some reason the term gets thrown around incorrectly far too often. Working this out of order, I‘ll start with last letter… “W” for “Woman”…. this is a fairly obvious definition. With an exception to the LGBT crowd, people generally agree with this one. The first “B” stands for “Big”. Again, this is important. Even though it’s not clearly defined, it’s not typically contested. If a woman is very pretty, but wears a size 4 dress, nobody is going to refer to her as a BBW. I know there are some differing opinions on the mid sizes (bigger than chubby but smaller than obese) but I don’t really see this as super important. (More on this in a minute…) Then there’s the other “B”. Beautiful. God all-mighty do people struggle with this one. Take for example a hypothetical subject who is a woman, and obviously fat… but the good lord cheated her in the looks department. Her face looks like it caught on fire and someone put it out with a shovel. Does “beautiful” really apply? Do we call her beautiful just save and protect her feelings? …even if it obviously isn’t true? If you care about being polite and don’t want to be hurtful, this can be a tough one for sure. Now, let’s complicate this even more with another hypothetical: This woman has the face of an angel and the body of goddess. She’s a plus-sized Aphrodite. She COULD be the most beautiful woman on the planet… BUT her confidence is in the toilet. She HATES the fact that she’s fat, and is constantly down on herself for her long string of failed diets. She doesn’t take care in her appearance because she is so convinced that fatness is synonymous with ugliness. She doesn’t see the point. She is meek and quiet in her introverted demeanor. She won’t go to the beach with you unless you drag her there, and tries to hide in a black one piece swim suit, with an over-wrap. She will not talk about her fatness to turn you on, she won’t have sex with the lights on, she’ll get super self-conscious if you touch her belly. She doesn’t like eating in public, won’t let you feed her for foreplay. She thinks being called “fat” is an insult and will start to cry if you point it out to her. So is this woman “Beautiful”?? Of course not!!! Confidence is an incredibly important factor when considering beauty. In this particular case, the problem isn’t with her body, but the gray matter between her ears. Trust me… I’ve dated this girl before. You think, maybe, if you are kind and considerate and tender and honest… you might convince her that fatness is a good thing, and she will open up to become something really special. Sorry Jack, not gonna happen. You’re wasting your time with this chick. She’s never going to enjoy being fat and your persuasion isn’t enough. She is going to be the most mentally and emotionally draining woman in your life. She's never going to understand your desires, she's never going to see her own value and the sex will be perpetually awful. I know what you're thinking... But hey ChaminglyEvil.... What If! What if she magically found her confidence. Began dressing to impress, became sexually playful, wore a string bikini, jiggled her fat to turn you on, became a dream come true? Are you telling me that you are still aggravated by fat girls? Yes. But, at this point, she has blossomed. She has leveled-up; she's not JUST a fat girl anymore... She's officially a BBW. I make this distinction because obesity is quite common in the United States…. Certainly we have no shortage of fat girls. But BBWs are certainly more rare…. And very much worth pursuing. Now, let's circle back to the girl wearing the size 14. She's 5' 5" tall and 190 pounds with a BMI over 31. General society would say she's too big to be considered "normal". Curvage patrons might say shes too small to be considered fat. Is she a BBW? Well, if she recently lost 10 pounds and is currently exercising / dieting super hard to lose more weight, then no. She's not a BBW. If she recently gained 10 pounds and is sexually excited about her fuller body... and dresses to show it off... then yes, she's absolutely a BBW. I posit that the distinction has less to do with the actual dress size or number on the scale than it does with the mental attitude of the woman. What say my Curvage friends??
  7. Chapter 10 Isadora gulped standing behind the ladies of the crew. Going down the elevator shaft, she was quite nervous. Then she felt her hand being held by Elara, helping to calm down the princess. She wondered how the little green girl was so brave. Soon the elevator stopped with dust going everywhere as Isadora waved the smoke away. They began walking a short distance, till they came to fallen rocks closing the cavern off. "This is the entrance. Give me a signal when you want out, ok. I'll be waiting for you," Throm explained. "Sounds good," Mira nodded. Mira touched the stones as a tunnel was created through the rocks. The girls walked through as Elara and Isadora awed at the dragon's digging power. Soon Mira closed the tunnel behind her when they got to the other side. Then everything got dark. "Turn on the lights!" Isadora screamed as Nellie made a light with magic. "Thats better," Isadora sighed. "Try to keep yourself together," Yuki smirked. All the girls continued walking down the cavern as Isadora was shaking. "Mira, are you sure this is a good idea?" Isadora sighed. "Don't worry, were all together. Whatever's down here, doesn't stand a chance," Mira smirked. "If we die. I'm blaming you," Nyrie sighed shaking with the princess. Soon the cavern opened up as Nellie shot a light to the ceiling. They were in a huge underground room with many materials on the walls. On the other side of the room were more tunnels. "I know your down here. Come out asshole!" Mira shouted. "Shh. Quiet. Now it knows were here," Isadora sighed. "I want it to know where here," Mira grinned. "We're going to die," Nyrie whined. But there was no noise, no presence. That made everything even more unsettling. "Seems it's a bit shy. What's wrong, you scared of 7 cute girls." "Mira, stop taunting it," Nyrie gulped. "Looks like we'll have to go hunting. But there are so many tunnels to explore. Maybe we should split up. So, the thing down here will want to come out and pick us off. Yeah, let's do it. That will lure him out," Mira grinned. "I don't like this plan," Isadora sighed. "Ok, here are the teams," Mira stated. "She's not listening," Isadora whined. "The only thing is, if we find this creature, then how will the others know?" Nellie asked. "We can put on magic bracelets. You can make them connected with magic. If one of us spots the creature, we can infuse magic into the bracelets making all of them turn red, to tell the others. Then we can meet back here," Elara stated. "Wow, thats actually a good plan, Elara. I didn't know you were so smart," Mira smiled rubbing Elara's head. "Well, before I turned into a goblin, I was a general for the elf army. I came up with plans all the time for battles. I'm not that smart though, stop," Elara blushed. "Give yourself more credit, Elara," Mira smiled making the goblin smile. "So here are the teams. Sariel, you go with Nellie. I'll go with Nyrie. Yuki, go with the princesses. Protect them well," Mira stated. "I will." "Ok, lets hunt this thing down," Mira smirked. *** Soon Elara and Isadora were alone with Yuki in the dark. The only thing helping them see was a glowing light made by Isadora. Isadora was scared out of her mind looking into the darkness ahead. She was just waiting for something to pop out to scare her. "I'm scared Elara," Isadora shivered holding onto the little goblins arm. "Get a grip piggy. You need Elara to protect you. How sad," Yuki giggled. "Just stay close to Yuki and me. You'll be ok. It might go after Mira since she taunted it so much," Elara smirked. Then Isadora heard a growling sound as she whimpered. "What was that?" Isadora frowned. "I think it's your belly," Elara smirked. "Maybe we should take a break," Yuki stated. "Sounds like a plan," Isadora smiled as she heard Elara's belly gurgling as well. "Mine's rumbling too. Maybe our bellies are talking to each other," Elara laughed. "I wonder what they're saying," Isadora blushed, remembering her conversation with it earlier today. *** Sariel smiled as she walked with Nellie lighting the way holding her arm. "Please protect me. I really don't like the dark. I hope this creature isn't too scary." Nellie frowned. "You'll be fine. Nothings scarier than me," Sariel smirked. "I hope you're right." *** Isadora burped, while eating the candy they had brought along. Elara was also eating too. She smirked, seeing the princess gobble down the sweets. Yuki was in the corner drinking a bottle of beer, belching. "Hey easy, you don't want to get too full when that monster comes. You'll have trouble running," Elara giggled. "Yeah, sorry. It's my nerves. I stress eat when I'm nervous. I'm just so scared," Isadora sighed. "I am too," Elara stated, showing her shaking arm. "You are. Then why did you want to come down here so badly?" "Well, it's because I'm tired of being weak. I want to be useful. To challenge myself and be brave. Not just to I have the courage to face my sister, but to become queen one day," Elara sighed. "So, you've made up your mind about your sister." "I just want to remove her from power. Mother wanted me to be queen so I will fulfill her last wish to me. To be queen I need to be strong and have the courage to face anything. But I'm still scared. I'm not over what happened that night. I still have nightmares about it. It feels like I'm under so much pressure, but I have to stay strong. For mother and the kingdom," Elara sighed. "So, you're putting on a brave face." "I just don't want to be a burden anymore. I want to be strong again," Elara sighed. Isadora could relate to her feelings. "I know what it's like to feel like a burden. But it's ok for you to lean on others, every once in a while. I learned that, thanks to spending time with the crew. Me and the others are here for you. You don't have to do this alone. You're still going through a lot, and I understand," Isadora smiled. "Thats true, but I'm still tired of being weak," Elara sighed. "Your stronger than you know. I don't know much about being queen, but I'll give you this. You keep going despite everything being hard for you lately. I think your amazing for that. Just don't overdo it, ok," Isadora smiled. "Thank you. Maybe I am pushing myself too hard. I'm sure everything will work out once I get my old body back one day. Plus, our training is going well," Elara stated. "Exactly, you're doing great. I can't wait to try out our teamwork. Speaking of over doing it. I need to stop eating these chocolates," Isadora blushed seeing she had emptied half the bag already. "Yeah, you really overdo it lately, don't you," Elara smirked. "Yeah, it's hard for me to stop. I just want to keep eating until I'm full. Hey, remember when the dwarfs said being fat was beautiful. Well, I haven't felt pretty even once since I grew this pudgy. As a princess, I feel like my beautiful looks are going down the drain," Isadora sighed patting her ** belly. "You are still pretty Isadora. At least you're not green, short and plump like me. I look like a juicy pear," Elara sighed taking a handful of her big jiggly butt. "Yeah, I should be thankful, sorry. But your still pretty too, Elara." "Thanks," Elara blushed. "But seriously, how can the dwarfs think this is sexy. What's so hot about this belly," Isadora said patting her ** pooch as it wobbled. "I think it's cute on you," Elara giggled. "You don't have to say that to, burp make me feel better. Oh, I'm starting to feel burp sick from all that sugar." "Let me help you," Elara blushed. The goblin girl put her hand on Isadora's belly as she rubbed it smiling. Isadora blushed feeling the goblin's hand on the bottom curve of her tummy. "Sorry, do you mind. I just want to make you feel better," Elara smirked. "Um, sure. I don't mind," Isadora blushed. "Let's give your belly some room to breathe." Elara undid the princess's blouse buttons, revealing her pudgy pooch and soft flanks. Isadora felt relief as her buttons were undone. Her belly hung over her pants a bit sitting down. The goblin sat in front of her as she placed both hands on Isadora's bare ** belly. Isadora felt tingly the moment Elara put her hands on the princess's pampered overfed tummy. She felt Elara's thumb go into her navel, pinching her chub as the black-haired girl panted. Elara got lost, rubbing Isadora's belly. She moved her green hand across her tummy as it felt so plush. Like a pillow, but better. She couldn't stop herself as she wondered what was going on with her. Why did she feel tingly and why was rubbing this soft pudge so addicting? It fascinated her, putting the girl in a trance. She saw Isadora was panting and she felt herself doing the same. Then the princess let out a burp as they both giggled. "Feel better?" Elara wondered. "Yeah, it, burp feels...good," Isadora panted. "Do you want to rub mine as well, burp. I ate too much while, burrp we were talking," Elara panted looking at all the candy wrappers around her. "Sure, I'll give it a go," Isadora blushed. Then Elara gasped feeling the princess's hands on her love handles and belly. It felt nice to rub a belly, but to have your own belly rubbed was even better to her. She moaned a bit as Isadora hands played with her pudge. It felt so nice. Elara kept fondling Isadora's pooch while the princess did the same to the goblin's green tummy. The girls blushed as they rubbed each other's bellies, panting softly. "This feels nice," Elara blushed. "Yeah, it does, keep going," Isadora panted letting out a fart. "What are you 2 doing?" The girls looked up to see Yuki staring at them puzzled as they separated blushing. Yuki finished her drink patting her own beer belly, belching. "Sorry, we were just giving each other belly rubs. We were having some belly aches is all," Isadora sighed. "Yeah," Elara blushed. "Whatever burp weirdos," Yuki sighed. Yuki looked at her own beer belly bulging over her panties blushing as she pinched it. Then she compared the size of her starter roll to Isadora's ** belly blushing. I need to watch how much I drink. Don't want to end up as big as that pig, Yuki thought sighing as her ears went down in shame. Then the fox picked up on someone's scent as her ears perked up. "Wait a minute, I sense someone coming?" Yuki stated as the girls stood up alert. *** Nyrie lit the way with her magic with Mira next to her. They kept walking down the path till they came to a dead end. They noticed some drawings on the wall. It was a heart, followed by a picture of a little girl holding the hand of an older woman. "So, our creature can draw, interesting. Can you make out what this means?" Mira asked. "Not really, seems like a harmless drawing to me," Nyrie stated. "This next one isn't so harmless." On the wall, the word killer was written over and over again. This was also mixed with claw marks as well. "That doesn't look good. What's that terrible stench? Do you smell that?" Nyrie sighed. "Oh my, I think...I found Adela's men," Mira gasped. The green haired pig tailed harpy looked over Mira's shoulder as she gasped too. The girls saw dead bodies on the ground with blood everywhere. "Whatever's down here, isn't friendly it seems," Mira sighed. *** Yuki saw a figure approach from the dark as Elara shined her light on what it was. Then sighed in relief seeing it was Nellie. "Oh, thank god it's you Nellie," Isadora sighed. "Yep. Sorry I startled you," Nellie beamed. "Nellie, where's Sariel?" "We got separated, when a cave in happened. I was so scared," Nellie sighed, walking over. "Stop! Don't come any closer," Yuki stated. "Hey, why are you saying that to Nellie?" Elara wondered. "Yeah, what's the problem?" Nellie sighed. "This girl isn't Nellie. I'm a kitsune, and I have a sensitive nose. You don't smell like Nellie at all. Infact, you smell like rotting flesh. Who are you!" Yuki shouted. Suddenly Nellie grinned as she turned away from them. Then her head rolled back till her neck broke looking at the girl's upside down as they yelped in fear. Her mouth opened into 4 sections as she began laughing with blood dripping from her sharper teeth. Soon the pale skin of the cowgirl's skin began to turn grey with fur. Then it's hands and feet grew claws that looked like spears. Her mouth formed into a dog like snout as it snarled at them with red eyes. "I am... a murderer," it smiled in a nasally voice, giving off a bloodcurdling growl. "Oh shit, RUN!" Yuki yelled as the girls began to sprint away. The creature began pursuing them as it ran on all fours snarling. "Yuki, huh, what is that thing?" Elara panted running as fast as her little plump legs could carry her. "It's a Skinwalker! I didn't expect one to be down here. I just put magic into the bracelet to alert the others. Let's run back now!" Yuki stated. "Wait for me, huh." The kitsune saw Isadora was already lagging behind, panting. She saw the black-haired girl run with her meaty legs. Her ** belly jiggled with her blouse still undone with every step she ran along with her wobbling D cup breasts. Clearly that weight was slowing her down. "I'm huh, getting tired. When did I, huh, get so out of huh shape," Isadora panted as she ran slower by the minute. "Don't tell me your tired already. Can't you move faster, you pig!" Yuki yelled. "I'm trying, huh. My legs and chest are on, huh fire. This is your fault, huh, for feeding me too much, huh at the table," Isadora gasped. "It's ok. Isadora. I feel, huh your pain," Elara panted. The goblin was running slower as well. Her green belly jiggled with her C cup boobs and wobbling butt. "Not you too Elara. Dam it, I just had to be stuck with the fatties," Yuki growled as she saw the monster catching up to Isadora. Yuki went between them fast as she summoned a blue sword in her hands. She sliced into the monster's neck, but she saw the blade not go through his skin. The beast snarled as it went to bite her. Then she summoned another sword that slammed into his mouth. He smirked, nibbling on her blade. Yuki growled with her sharp teeth as she kicked him back with force with her long soft heeled leg. Then she twirled her swords as if she was dancing. "Snow sword dance, glacier," Yuki stated swinging her 2 swords as a huge thick wall of ice was made in the cavern. The creature began banging on the ice as he roared. "That should buy us some time, move," Yuki stated holding Elara's hand. Soon they were on the move again. Yuki sighed as the princesses weren't moving any faster with their plump legs failing them. She saw the monster behind them break through the ice already running at full speed as the girls panted. They were both sweating, looking ready to pass out. "Dam it all. You girls better thank me for this later," Yuki shouted. The kitsune picked up both girls as she ran like lightning. Now it was Yuki's turn to pant. Not only was her starter belly giving her slight trouble, but the girls were a bit hefty to say the least. "Gosh, you girls weight a ton, you need to lay off the food," Yuki panted. "Sorry," Elara blushed. "Maybe your just out of shape," Isadora pouted. "I am not huh out of shape. Shut up fatty," Yuki gasped as she saw the opening up ahead. Yuki came out into the open with the Skinwalker not far behind. Then a rock was thrown past Yuki, slamming into the monster. The rock sent him down tumbling as he did a flip to get back up, snarling. Yuki gasped as she was relieved to see Mira and the crew. "Huh, thank goddess. I can drop the heavy luggage," Yuki panted. She put the pudgy princess's down as they blushed landing on their feet. "Good work protecting them, Yuki. So, what do we have here?" Mira wondered. "A Skinwalker. It, huh disguised itself as Nellie and tried to trick us," Yuki gasped catching her breath. It snarled standing a good distance from the girls. "What's a Skinwalker?" Isadora wondered. "They're shape shifting monsters that were once human, giving up their soul for power," Sariel grinned. "I see. They're dangerous, but against the 7 of us, were fine," Mira declared. The monster roared as it began to grow in size slowly. The creature grew bat like wings as it grew taller and bigger as its bones cracked. Soon the Skinwalker was the size of a dragon as it roared. "Geez, now it's a vampire bat," Nyrie sighed. "What the hell's going on? I've never seen a Skinwalker do this," Mira sighed. The monster looked at Mira and grew angry. "KILL, DRAGON, MUST KILL!" the monster shouted as it charged at Mira. "Scatter!" Mira shouted as everyone ran out of the way. Mira transformed into her dragon form as she roared grabbing the beast's arms. Mira then fired her dragon's breath at close range at the creature's face. But when the smoke cleared, the Skinwalker was unscathed. Suddenly Mira backed up as red blades came out of the monster's arms almost stabbing her. She noticed it was made of crystalized blood. She created a spear of stone as she clashed with the arm blade. Then Mira stabbed the monster in the chest, but the stone spear broke on the impact of his skin. The monster then grabbed Mira by the arm. The Skinwalker threw the dragon across the room as she went crashing into the wall. Then the creature shot red blood bullets out of its mouth. Mira smirked as Sariel blocked the bullets with a huge skeleton rib cage. Then bones came up from the ground wrapping around the Skinwalker's legs. It was held in place for a bit as it roared. "You ok there, dragon," Sariel smirked. "Been better," Mira stated. "Wow, that's one strong monster. I've never seen you tossed like that," Nyrie sighed. "Why is it after you, Mira?" Nellie wondered. "I don't know. But I've never seen a Skinwalker this powerful. It's got steel skin and crazy strength. I think it could take on dragons with ease, just from my judgement. We'll have to defeat it together. Get into formation. I'll be the diversion, since it's after me. I need time to create a sword strong enough to kill it. Sariel and Nellie, you'll be my defense. Yuki and Nyrie, you'll be my offense. Elara and Isadora, you're my support? Can you trap that thing for just a few seconds?" Mira asked. "I've got it. I wouldn't have come down here without being able to help," Elara stated. "Sounds good, let's do it," Mira grinned as the monster broke free of the bones charging at them. Nyrie grinned as she brought out her gun with magic. She fired a magic rocket powered by wind at the monster. On impact it exploded in its face. The monster kept going, seeming to be unfazed. Nyrie smirked firing more rockets. Some connected with the beast exploding while some the monster shot blood bullets at. Nyrie smirked as she brought out another gun and fired 2 at once. This blew the monster back a bit as he bled slightly. "That feel good, you jerk," Nyrie grinned. The monster roared as it swung its blood blade at the harpy. Yuki came in blocking the blade. Then another sword appeared in her hand pushing him back. 10 more blue swords appeared above her. Her tails formed ice hands as they grabbed the snow blades. Her mouth grabbed the last one as she held 12 blades at once. "Snow sword dance, piercing blizzard." Yuki jumped up as she twirled like a tornado drill cutting the monster's arm. The creature snarled in pain as its arm froze over with ice making a huge cut. "Feel that asshole," Yuki smirked. "Alright, way to go Yuki," Nyrie cheered. The monster roared as it smashed into the ground. The ice broke as spears of blood popped up from the earth from its wound. Yuki and Nyrie evaded as Nellie put up a shield blocking the spears. Then the Skinwalker turned its attention to Sariel. "DRAGON!" "I'm not a dragon, shit," Sariel sighed feeling her horns and wings. The monster started firing blood bullets as Sariel flew fast, dodging the enemy fire. She glided against the wall with the bullets following her destroying everything on the wall. As the creature was firing, Yuki jumped high as she twirled her blades into the monster's neck as it bled out. The monster roared again as it swung its arm at the swordswomen. She blocked it with all her blades getting pushed back. Sariel came in with her red scythe as she clashed with the Skinwalker's arm blade as he stepped forward a bit. "Now Isadora! Put your magic into me!" Elara shouted. All of a sudden, the creatures foot sunk into the ground. The monster fell off balance as Mira looked to see Elara had activated her trap. The monster's leg was sinking knee down, into a huge mud pit as it snarled. Mira saw Isadora channeling her magic into Elara trying to contain it in her friend. This gave Elara the power boost she needed to perform the spell. The enhancement magic was far from perfect, but it was enough. She was impressed they had covered for each other's weaknesses like this. Elara smiled with Isadora smirking as the trap had worked. "Way to go girls," Mira smiled as she drew a huge glowing ember like sword from the earth. The monster was about to get out as Sariel's skeletons held the beast in place. Then magical chains came up from the ground as well holding onto him, thanks to Nellie. Then the mud pit froze over with Yuki's ice blades. Now the creature was now stuck for sure. The dragon held a sword that looked like hardened lava as she flew in fast. My magma blade should do it, Mira thought smirking. The dragon roared, swiping her sword clean down the monster's body. Flames burst from the sword as fire and lava erupted from her blade, creating a shock wave. After the explosion of flames and lava, the smoke began to clear. The Skinwalkers body had been cut clean in half down the middle with a burnt singe. The Skinwalker bled as it began to fall in 2 separate directions. Mira transformed back into her human form as the huge creature fell to the ground. She walked up to half of the creature looking into its eyes. They were crying when looking at her. "Sister. I'm sorry...I'm a murderer. Please forgive me," it said as it stopped breathing. The other girls cheered having brought down the creature at last. "Great job girls, we did it," Mira beamed. "We sure did. It's been a while since we all worked together. Let's hear it for the princess's too," Nyrie smiled. "It was nothing, just simple trap magic," Elara blushed. "I'm just happy our training pulled off. You can thank Elara though. It was her idea for me to give her a boost in training," Isadora smiled. "That trap magic helped quite a bit. Good work you too," Mira smiled. "Guess, you weren't too bad today," Yuki blushed. "You girls were great, but everyone did amazing," Nellie smiled. "Alright, lets head back and tell Throm what happened," Mira grinned. All the girls began walking back to the entrance, but Mira kept looking at the Skinwalker. She touched its head lost in thought. Then she gasped. "No, it...can't be. Could you be, from that place?" Mira sighed. "Mira, is everything ok?" Sariel wondered. "Yeah, I'm good, let's...go," Mira stated. *** Later on, Throm came down happy to see the monster was killed, but not all was well. During the attack, most of the gems had been destroyed on the walls. "Well, thats unfortunate," Throm sighed picking up some crumbled materials. "Sorry, we were too lost in the fight to notice. Can you still work with this?" Mira wondered. "Yes, I can. Not all the gems were destroyed. The ones that were destroyed can be forged together again and put on your ship. It will just take around a month. Sorry," Throm stated. "It's fine. It's better than 2 months. Thank you," Mira smiled. Then Sariel grinned remembering when she dodged that monster's bullets, leading it over to destroy some of the gems. She knew this could delay them at least a bit longer. Now the girls will have to sit around and remain here for a month. Should be perfect for their waistlines, Sariel thought smirking.
  8. Edge of bed is always good. Turn to side, one leg under him, one over his shoulder, while he's kneeling on bed works well enough once you get a feel for it. In general, I'd recommend working out juuust a bit though even if your gaining. Cardio is super important in sex and strong leg muscles afford you a lot of opportunities. Also if you decide to go down the feedee rabbit hole, strong lower body helps retain mobility.
  9. Yeah, nurses had worked with DALL-E3 I think cause its generally ok with generating larger women if they're in more covered up types of clothing- so putting "scrubs" in the prompt gives you some more leeway I think, same idea as why it works ok with "sweaters". Once you start putting in any kind of clothing type where a larger body might mean more exposed skin, the censors go into overdrive and block most of what its trying to generate. At least that's what I think is happening. But yes, scrubs can kind of be low key great- that kind of normally looser clothing getting filled up and struggling to contain a growing body. Good stuff. Here are some really old ones, from maybe October last year? Then some before/after kind of images...
  10. No se por qué, pero me alegra tanto que comas rico 😋:). Se ve increíble ese ramen. Disfruta mucho :)) ve una buena película. Te recomiendo, y a todos los que lean, Napoleón con Joaquín phoenix. Buena peli, medio sarcástica pero buena en general.
  11. After her newly-crowned chef boyfriend has cooked a breakfast meal of pancakes, spinach and ricotta with bacon, Matilda makes her second deliberate effort in months to be punctual for practice. Close, but no cigar. She turns up a few minutes overtime, stuck in a limbo between not-as-late-as-usual, but not quite on time either. Elisha doesn’t seem to like this one little bit, throwing languid, resentful stares at her while the girls change into their gear, then jog outside, up onto the training pitch and into the chilly, dew-laden air. None of the girls want to say more than a single word to her during the session. It’s not as if they’re trying to avoid her – they just believe they have to act with caution around her, the way you would an injured stray dog that needs to be left alone and must be felt sorry for. It probably has something to do with the way she’s feeling out of breath during warm ups before most of the girls have even jogged the morning chill from their limbs. Margery strolls around like a vulture-necked sentry among them with her whistle in hand, using her voice and hands to bark directional instructions as they rehearse set plays and practice cut-back sprints. She never looks at Matilda. Not once. If Margery has to say anything to her at all, she speaks to the air around Matilda, eyes averted, never addressing her directly – and all while, Elisha somehow manages to worm her way into the centre of the pitch, sticking her foot into all the action as she struts around with her captain’s armband around her upper arm, fastened with obsessive precision as if to make her title as clear as possible. The real trouble comes after training in the change rooms. Kelsey, who is sitting on the bench beside her locker, huffs with lips pressed shut and drops her towel in her lap. She glances across at Talina, her defensive partner on the left wing, with an expression that suggests there are words trying to escape her mouth. Talina clocks onto her teammate’s searching gaze and squints at her, one brow raised inquisitively. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Kelsey licks her lips and then leans in confidentially. ‘I know we aren’t meant to transition until a counter-attack,’ she says under her breath, ‘but I can’t hold onto the ball forever. It doesn’t feel right. How do I move it into their third when there’s nobody to pass to when I’m getting pressured?’ Matilda overhears the two of them. ‘You could just long-ball it across to Stacey,’ she suggests, finding it a bit annoying to lean over her knees and slip her shoe off her heel, with the way her belly keeps wanting to remind her it’s there all the time, now. The two girls turn to her, then swap a strange glance with each other. But they return their eyes to Matilda, nonetheless, and wait. They’re listening. ‘Stacey should be mirroring your runs, right?’ Matilda reasons, leaning to one side and placing her shoe on the ground. She feels a fold develop under her ribcage as she does so. ‘Just like I was before Margery moved me to the backline. So if you’re waiting for us to move up the field, then just lob it straight over their heads. Straight to Stacey. Switch the play. She can do it. She’s a good controller of the ball. Not really that fast, but she can make the ball stick to her, you know? They won’t expect it. They’ll have to turn and chase her instead – so, if you let her dribble it up a bit, then get her to lob it over back to you again, it wastes the opponent’s time. By then some of us should have enough time to be making runs in behind for you to pass through to.’ Talina bites her lower lip, a sequence of thought making her eyes narrow. ‘Sounds risky. Won’t that allow the opposition to regroup as well?’ ‘Yeah. Our counter attack would die– but not all of it. That’s why our back line stays back; to get ready for a turn-over, if that happens. Only our midfield players are meant to make those forward runs anyway.’ ‘Not according to Margery.’ ‘Who cares! Evangeline should already be there ahead of you. Beth runs ahead of me, cuts inside towards you. Elisha runs up too. The rest of us stay back and guard the turn-over, or otherwise just sit as an anchor if nothing opens up and you need to recycle the ball. But in attacking transition, if you need to, just keep switching play to the other side of the field, between you and Stacey. Make the opposition shift side to side. It might annoy them. Then, if you get far up enough, our fullbacks can run up, and overlap, or underlap.’ ‘That’s sounding an awful lot like an attacking style of football,’ Kelsey says, laughing. ‘Again– who cares what Margery wants anymore? Talina; you and April can run up from your fullback positions and overlap. Grace and Mandy stay all the way back ready to stop a turn-over if it happens while I sweep in front of them like a traditional defensive mid. You can boot it back to me if there’s an emergency– I should be more or less isolated, and I should have a bit of space to work with. I’ll redistribute it to you from the back and you can try pushing forward again.’ Kelsey’s eyes glitter. Talina exchanges a glance with her, then looks away to examine the wall as she sucks her lips between her teeth. She’s visibly turning the ideas over in her mind. Then she tilts her head a little and says, ‘You know what? I can… actually see how that would work, but… Margery would kill you for suggesting it, for one thing. For another; doesn’t that mean you’d have to do more defensive work than usual?’ ‘Yes and yes. But again, who cares. If I’m not marked by an opponent, just send it back to me and reset. I won’t have long, but I’ll be able to think up something on the spot and spray some kind of pass forward. Just get back into an open space and I’ll pick someone out for a pass.’ Kelsey nods as understanding slowly unfurls in her mind’s eye. It’s not rocket science. As a matter of fact, it’s pretty basic football when it comes down to reality. But Talina still has one last doubt. ‘And if they counter-attack?’ ‘Everyone should be marking their nearest opponent’s run and shadowing them anyway. If they have the ball, pressure them. If they’re on the move, cut in front of their passing-lanes. You’ll have to do some sprinting, obviously, but when everyone’s running into our third, I’ll come forward and go up against whoever has the ball, force them to make a pass, or I make a tackle, either way I waste their time. Grace and Mandy should backtrack to shadow the opposition forwards when they run past me in case they’re looking to make a sprint into our box. Talina; by then, if the player you’re shadowing doesn’t have the ball, you and April just keep marking them so they don’t get to run out wide. And bam– we’re back into formation before they’re even in our final third.’ With a sly squint, Talina slowly nods, and is about to say something when she senses movement and looks over her shoulder. ‘You’re not seriously trying to give tactical suggestions, are you?’ Elisha butts in, stepping into their corner with one foot forward, looking inquisitively between the three of them. She shoots a down-the-nose frown at Matilda, an expression of disgust twisting her facial features. ‘You know that’s not what Margery has asked us to do. And you should be the last one to be saying anything to begin with, Tild. Look at you. How is anyone meant to take you seriously right now?’ Silence echoes like a propagating wave. Now everybody in the room is listening. Matilda sits on her bench like a child with nothing good to say and a rush of heat making her ears feel like they’re swelling. ‘I take her seriously,’ comes April’s voice all of a sudden. But her support had been too soft-spoken. Elisha’s attention is aimed on Matilda so telescopically that nothing else matters, and April’s voice behind her fades as if it had never spoken. Matilda feels her own face contort. She should be able to defend herself. Why can’t she talk back? Oh. She knows why. She doesn’t want to know, but she does. Elisha is right. Who is ever going to take her seriously? Her out of shape appearance has pulled any credibility she had out from under her feet. Anything she chooses to say is only undermined by the obscene lump of overfed softness in the front of her shirt, the strain of her hips against her shorts, the meaty thickness of her soft thighs against the edge of the bench. Elisha takes a few steps back to stand against the nearest empty locker so she can face and address the whole room. ‘I hate to do this, but I’m speaking on behalf of Margery, and as your captain when I say we have to trust the plan. I know we aren’t getting results, but we will. We will if we do this right. Stand straight. Look up. Suck it in, and commit to the boss’s tactics. Whether any of you like it or not, they will work.’ Matilda can’t help herself anymore. She’s about to lose her mind. She puts her hands on the edge of the bench and begins to rise. ‘But that’s–’ ‘Shut up, you fat ass,’ Elisha snaps, barely turning to acknowledge Matilda before continuing. In spite of herself, Matilda feels body-slammed to the floor. She slouches down with a heavy chest and tries not to make eye contact with the few girls she can tell are awkwardly glancing in her direction. ‘We have to believe in the plan,’ Elisha declares, planting one foot forward in assertive triumph. ‘If we all commit, it will work. Counter-attacks are about patience. We all know that. I know it might not be pretty, but it’s what we have to do for now… Not at all thanks to a certain someone who let themselves go, nooo, not at all… But, all we need to do is to stay focused, be patient, wait for the counter attack to properly present itself, don’t lose our cool by rushing in just to make an attempt at goal, and then eventually we will be able to do it right.’ Matilda can’t stay like this any longer. Her lungs are too full of fire. She hangs her head and hisses under her breath, deflating. Elisha notices. ‘Oh,’ swinging around, ‘and I guess you still have a problem with that, don’t you?’ She throws a hand at her in angry gesticulation. ‘You. You, who’s just sitting there like that. Don’t you get it? You’re half the reason these counter-attacks haven’t been working in the first place!’ ‘Oh, right,’ Matilda lifts her head to glare at the captain from under raised brows. ‘So you at least admit counter-attacking doesn’t work–’ ‘Only because of you!’ Elisha spits. ‘You’re such a let-down! You’re too fucking slow! How the fuck are we meant to get the ball through the midfield with you slowing it all down? Honestly, I don’t understand why you get all these chances?’ Elisha’s body leans into her words as her repressed rage begins to unravel itself in a verbal mess. ‘Why the fuck are you even still here?’ Her eyes are hugely wide, bright and icey like marbles, hatred tightening her facial features as she gives her head small erratic shakes left and right to punctuate her words; ‘Honestly, I don’t get it. I try but I just don’t. Actually, no, you know what? I don’t care anymore. I’m done.’ She turns away. ‘I’m so done, I’m so fucking done. I’m so through with this, I’m so done.’ She wheels back suddenly. ‘You are the worst; you let yourself get this fat and never do anything about it? Like– are you in denial? Is that it? Are you fucking ignoring it? Because I’m not. We aren’t. You’re so fucking chubby and out-of-shape, just some fat-ass now, I don’t get what your problem is. Oh I’m so fucking done.’ Elisha turns away once more, but then decides to wheel back a second time. ‘Like, what is honestly your deal? Did you sign a fucking contract with someone else? Did your daddy pay your way into a position here? You a trust-fund kid? You got dirt? You got dirt on someone? What did you ever do to deserve this? I’m so over it.’ Elisha turns and takes a step away. ‘So over it.’ Then turns back for yet a third time, one hand carving the air in gestures of furious articulation. ‘I don’t get how you let yourself get fat and still play this game. Like no, seriously. You can’t even play this game anymore. Look at you, you fat fucking pig; you don’t even fit your shorts anymore– and– and what the fuck is with this?’ She grasps around her own thin waist at an invisible paunch, ‘You look pregnant! Who in their right mind lets a woman play at four months pregnant? You need to go on a diet. Like. Right, now.’ Elisha shakes her head and turns on her heel for good this time. ‘So disgusting.’ As Elisha’s tirade snaps to an end, she finally stalks away. She packs up the last of her stuff into her bag and leaves the room. When all is silent again, Matilda finds herself unable to make any meaningful movements with her limbs. Everyone is looking at her. Left stung and beaten, she knows she ought to have something to say. Something to do. But she’s trapped. A great, sinking weight like a waterlogged rag wraps around her soul, holding it down low. She’s anchored to the bench upon which she sits. Her upper back aches. Her shoulder blades feel strained. The insides of her thighs feel hot and itchy against one another, and heat prickles under her arms. Kelsey is staring at the closed door through which Elisha has departed. There’s a doubtful shade in her eyes. A crease appears under her lids, tensing briefly just before it vanishes – just a momentary thought about something. Matilda slowly reaches for her bag, puts the last of her items away and closes it. The zipper’s length seems to stretch for as long as a highway into the desert. Keeping her eyes averted in what she hopes looks like stubborn defiance, she gets up and leaves. She can tell Kelsey is watching her go, and in those grey eyes is something that might be sympathy. But, oh god, no, that’s not what she needs right now. She wants to tell Kelsey to stop. Dragging her bag behind her, she exits the facility, walks out to her car, and gets inside, dangerously close to the precipice of a flood of angry tears. . . . Carlile cooks dinner for her that night. He listens to her in silence while he prepares the food. It’s well into the evening and most of her fury by now has been vented out her mouth, nose and ears, dispersing like smoke to join the kitchen’s ambient steam, and her throat is sore from talking for too long. She’s been sinking further and further into the stool as she runs out of words to say, and now she’s leaning across the bench, slumped over her elbows, her hair over her face in an un-combed mess. The anger is all gone, strangely. Now that it’s gone she just feels tired. Tired and hungry. But Carlile is right there across from her, glazing potatoes in her kitchen. He silently coats the vegetables in marinate, saying nothing, just listening. She lays there with her head in her hands and breathes sleepily, eyes looking up at him from under heavy lids. Something inside her slows down to a steady lethargic rhythm of peaceful safety. Her heart settles into place as she watches him work. Like a ball, spinning as fast as a wheel burning itself out against the tarmac, finally hitting the brakes and slowing down to eventual stasis. She feels like a downy feather tossed in the wind, floating down, swaying gently to eventual rest. It’s comforting to watch him work, his skilled movements satisfying to observe as they play out one by one. His hands are long and strong. He cuts the potatoes evenly, holding the knife in the same gentle, firm way he holds her hand. She wants to reach out for him, touch his fingers, lace them around her own and slowly rub her hands into his reassuring warmth. Ever since his induction week ended, Carlile has begun to change. Physically. He turns away from her to carry the sliced potatoes to an oiled tray beside the pre-heated oven, and that’s when she notices the roundness in the back of his shirt where his hip bones used to sit sharper. A filmy wash of desire sheathes her eyeballs as she scans his body up and down. She can’t see anything below his stuffy grey sweatpants, but something is different higher up. His stomach bends out against his shirt somewhat, moreso down low than up high. But how has she only just noticed this? Is it really that sudden? Oh. God. She lets her eyes flit up to the back of his head, then back down, eyelids droopy with desire, and she stretches her body over the bench to crane towards one side for a better view. Then he turns around and catches her. She glances up and gives him a guilty, filthy smirk. ‘Hmm,’ she hums, pressing her lips together and still smirking. ‘You must be eating whatever you’re cooking at the kitchen.’ She swears he’s quickly sucked in, the overt shape of his stomach shrinking back. The soft imprint of his hips remain there, however, too stubborn, unable to go anywhere else. ‘What’re you talking about?’ he says, looking away. Matilda sits a little straighter and shrugs, still smirking. ‘Nothing.’ . . . The Purple Vale Strikers visit Brentwood FC’s grounds that Friday to play their eleventh match of the season. The game goes all whack with stop-start motion that doesn’t really go anywhere. It turns out Elisha ratted on Matilda to Margery, thoroughly stomping on any chance she had at kindling a tactical flame in the girls’ game plan and forcing Kelsey and Talina to apologetically put Matilda’s ideas to the side. Despite being shoehorned back into Margery’s stiff, unfluid counter-attacking routine, the girls play without making any drastic mistakes, and everyone sticks their foot into the match with a growling fight that leaves them bruised and grazed for 93 minutes. Everyone except for Matilda, who can’t keep it up with that anymore. She is technically a defender, now, and she is stuck playing down the back line of the park. Except that every time she gets the ball, she fails to keep the momentum going forward down the lanes, either losing the ball to a tackle or running into a gang of opposition midfielders who find the time to rocket back into a defensive wall and force her to backpedal before she can cover any ground. She can hear angry locals yelling from the sidelines, but she doesn't allow herself to tune into what they’re saying. Around the 80th minute, a loose ball rolls away from a tackle eight yards from her. Elisha and Kelsey both converge on it, and Matilda sidesteps into some open space in case they need to pass the ball back to safety. As she moves out, she can hear her own breath like grinding rocks, and now an opponent jogs around the side to start man-marking her. Elisha gets to the ball first, and turns with it towards Matilda. The nearby opponent puts hands against Matilda’s arm and jostles with her. Instead of passing the ball, Elisha hoofs it clear up over Matilda’s head, all the way back to Nysha in goals. When Matilda tries to untangle herself from her opponent to run down the pitch, the girl gets in front to push off her body at a head start – her hands slipping down to accidentally push against Matilda’s waist, copping a fingerful or two of soft pudge. ‘Oh my god, what happened there?’ Matilda hears the girl laugh as she runs off at a jog. Once the game ends with a 1 - 1 draw, she doesn’t hang around for any longer than it takes to change back into her clothes. The atmosphere in the change rooms is thick with invisible poison, gloom, and the threat of a managerial outburst closing in on all sides like an approaching stormfront. So she’s dashed out the door and into the unfamiliar parking lot before anyone can stop her. Sweat still coats her forehead, turning cold as the night air meets her skin. Her silver Suzuki Swift is parked in a corner away from the harsh white glare of the floodlights. Coming around the driver’s side, feeling safe and stealthy, she unlocks the door, slips into the seat of her small vehicle, and allows herself to be swallowed up by the entombment of darkness and safety. That is until she flicks her headlights on, and the sheen of frosty moisture across the windshield illuminates the smears of scribbles written on it by someone’s finger. The letters don’t make sense at first. “ s s a t a f ” Did somebody mis-spell a name? She blinks, and then tries reading it backwards. Her heart sinks, oozing through the gaps of her ribcage like emulsified jelly. “ f a t a s s ” Someone has written on the outside of her car – as if she didn’t know – that she is a fatass. Letting her head drop, she glances over each shoulder, out of the windows into the darkness beyond, but can’t spot anybody nearby. She realises she’s still breathing loud enough to hear herself. God, she’s so unfit. A fat, weak, out of shape piece of shit who used to be the best in this sport. What is left of her now, but a **-bellied pig of a thing who’s sitting alone in her car, struggling not to sob beneath the oppressive weight of this name-badge written before her eyes on the windshield? She’s an unfit chubster who hasn’t even begun to fasten her seatbelt yet, knowing that when she does, she’ll have to deal with the fleshy package of softness that her belly has become, pressing against her fingers, and be forced to acknowledge a part of her that never existed before. And yet, in spite of it all, she can’t find the tears to cry with. She wants to, but there’s nothing available. Maybe it’s because the idiot who did it couldn’t even think to write it in reverse on the outside so it scans correctly from the inside. On the one hand, the word on the windshield hurts. But on the other hand, it somehow feels like scratching a terrible itch. She deserves this. She made herself chubby on purpose. She’s pathetic, and she’s gross. She has a fat belly, and fat thighs, and now someone has finally announced it to the public – a painful fact like a patch of restless nerve-endings trapped for too long beneath a plaster cast of “politeness”, busted open at last to be scratched at with long-overdue relief. Is that why this feels kind of nice, in a fucked up way? Matilda stares at the insulting letters on the windscreen, and for a brief moment in time, she imagines letting them stay there. Then she knocks the wiper lever down and watches the blades sweep up, back down – up, back down – erasing the word from existence. With that done, she drives off, feeling hungrier than she should be. . When she gets back home, she launches into escapism with her entire soul. This is her last night to be alone with Carlile in her house before her parents return, so she wants to milk every vibrant minute of this time like the last drops of life in a wasteland. He is already inside, having used a spare key. As soon as Matilda comes into the kitchen, she latches onto him like a facehugger not even two steps through the entrance and tells him to get the fuck into her bedroom. But he tells her to wait first. He’s only just finished cooking them a giant dinner in time for her return. So they sit and eat in each other’s company, packing a little too much food into their stomachs by the time they’re done, and find themselves burdened with bellies too full to keep sharp minds, their patterns of thought gone as dull and blunt as mallets. They shove each other onto the couch in front of an unwatched movie, the wide TV screen flickering light across their bodies in the unlit room as they peel each other’s clothes away like gifts to each other, the room silent except for that sensual hiss of skin brushing against skin, of clothes rustling. They make love, bathing in the heat of each other’s bodies as they touch, caress, squeeze and grope. But it’s not long before she comes to sense that same feeling of avoidant distance, once again, in the way Carlile is moving around her. He won’t allow her hands to come near anything remotely soft – and that’s a problem. As he redirects her touch, time and time again, to the more exercise areas of his body, she realises that he’s been visiting the gym again. He's going to lose all his softness. Matilda’s heart wrinkles, and something inside her loses a gush of hot air. Her mood almost dies on the spot. But she can’t go back now. Pushing aside what she knows is just petty anger, she gives herself some time for its absence to take hold – and then, in its wake, a wave of aggressive passion floods into her body, filling her with something unbearable. She grabs him by the shoulders and plants hard kisses up and down his collarbones. He cups his hand under her groin and begins searching for her sensitive spot. Before they know it, everything is spiralling out of control faster than a chemical reaction rising, frothing, exploding over the head of a beaker. . . . During the evening of the next day, the sun keeps popping in and out of hiding behind flat grey clouds. She stares out her bedroom window, thinking about last night. He’d fucked her until it pounded. Even now, she feels a tenderness one stage below a bruise between her legs. Taking outside a small rubbish bag filled with their used protection and dropping it discreetly in the general waste can just in time for her mother to return home from the airport in a taxi, she’d felt herself walk back inside with a bit of a funny gait. As she sits at her desk with her laptop, eating a bowl of ice cream and playing around on Football Manager, she hears her phone go off behind her somewhere in the blankets of her unmade bed. She knows who it is. But she won’t be going to training today. It’s not like she deliberately made that decision. It’s just that something inside her doesn’t have the strength to lift a finger about it. As if the option simply isn’t there to be clicked on the menu. And anyway, if Elisha is going to be a filthy rat and destroy any chance at making the right adjustments to the team’s tactical play, then what is the point in playing? The idea of sacrifice is dead, now, and she has killed it, all for a head coach who does not possess a single good idea about how to manage eleven young female footballers. Carlile had left earlier in the morning to prepare himself for a long day in the kitchen, leaving her alone, bored, and with nothing to do except eat ice cream, simulate virtual football matches, and wait until the late afternoon when she can use the excuse of “dinner time” to eat an entire meal. So she sits in peaceful solitude at her laptop, scoffing ice cream with more speed than she realises, getting up for stealthy refills every now and then until the spoon scrapes the bottom of the empty carton and her stomach feels overburdened with dairy – her metabolism trying, but failing, to deal with the catastrophic onslaught of surplus calories. . . . When she arrives at the clinic for her intern shift early the next morning, Matilda knows she shouldn’t have done what she did. Well, there’s many things she shouldn’t have done. Shouldn’t have binged all that ice cream. Shouldn’t have worn this outfit. Shouldn’t have even turned up. Should have gone to the gym instead. Should have quit this headlong binge weeks ago while she was still ahead, when it was clear Margery was never going to budge. Taking a moment to be alone in the restroom before she goes out through the foyer to meet Dr Goodwynn, she stands with her back against the tiled wall and glares loathsomely at the ceiling, mouthing nasty words to herself over and over. Her mistakes have chosen now, of all possible moments, to step out of hell’s portal and overwhelm every cortex of her fucked up brain with panic. She wasn’t ready for this. Then again, she was never ready for anything, was she? Not like she thought she was. The truth is all too clear, now that she sees it from within the brown blur of muck she’s trapped in. The rotting state of her club – her childhood club – infused with so many irretrievable memories, hopes and dreams slowly sliding away from her, further with every bite of fattening food, every molecule of adipose tissue wriggling into its place to join the fray, even now, probably. From the very start, her plan had been the poorly thought-out design of a belligerent child thinking they could build a rocket ship to the moon out of cardboard, and it has all come to its cataclysmic conclusion at last, miles off-track from where she projected to land. What the fuck was she thinking, forcing her body to store fat against its natural metabolistic will? Besieging her stomach until she broke its default setting? Was she really deluded enough to think she could do enough “damage” to her club that they would be forced to perform a “Hard Reset” and “start anew” with “a different manager”? What a disgusting, spilled-over, splattered mess of an entitled fantasy. Her clothes won’t even sit on her body with sufficient slack anymore. It’s no longer simply a matter of discomfort, nor just about the sensation of tightness. She had found the mental strength to deal with these worsening maladjustments and the cognitive dissonance for so long – but all those mental gymnastics are unravelling, now, faster than a coiled spring. And something’s going to get damaged. What’s really concerning is that she just… woke up one morning from a dream she had about being a railroad construction worker building a rail track into Neverland, only to find her clothes just straight up wouldn’t fit her body when she tried them on that morning. It’s a lucky thing she brought a long woollen cardigan with her today, otherwise she’d be showing narrow wedges of exposed skin for everyone’s eyes to see. It probably looks stylistically stupid, buttoning a cardigan which is meant to hang open, but she’s got no choice. Her enlarged belly has filled the front of her collared white shirt with its roundness, pressing against the waistband of her slacks to the point that the bulge of her gut is putting a mean strain against the shirt’s buttons. As a matter of stylistic design, her slacks have no central zipper for a fly, but instead zip up either side. Problem is, she can’t fully close the zips on the sides of her slacks, even though her breakfast-bloated stomach has slowly digested back down to a more relaxed state. Having to suck in all the time has been causing problems – making it harder than she feels she deserves to draw a sufficiently deep breath into her lungs– and the buried musculature of her abdomen aches from having to hold tight under an endless outwards tension. It’s like planking. She can’t do it forever. There comes a point where she has to stop sucking in. A short time later, Matilda wanders down into Dr Goodwynn’s office. Taking her seat on the opposite corner of her desk, she has to keep plucking at the folds of her cardigan to make sure every part of the garment is perfectly rumpled in such a way. But the thick woollen knit keeps wanting to settle around the shape of the most incriminating bulges and curves of her softened stomach – the way it squashes together and rolls into its own mass no matter how she sits. She tries to keep her focus rigid as a rock while she watches patients come in and out of the office one by one for consultations and various treatments, but the sensation of her belly’s lower skin pressing against tight fabric, pushing up over the belt’s buckle, takes her mind away from the present again and again, unbelievably distracting. As the day churns on, Matilda begins to sense that something is… missing from Dr Goodwynn’s repertoire of language. Whenever an appointment ends, Dr Goodwynn takes five or ten minutes to discuss the patient’s problems with Matilda; to teach her about what went right, what went wrong, and to explain each decision she made based on her knowledge. Thing is, Matilda has noticed that just over half of the patients who come in on any given day are bordering on overweight, a few of them guaranteed to be quite fat. And yet not even once has Dr Goodwynn uttered the words “fat”, “weight”, “overweight”, “size”, or anything remotely synonymous, today. Actually, now that she thinks about it, she hadn’t even said those words last week. Matilda comes to realise just how tacitly she has been side-stepping those words precisely at the threshold of being brought up. Dr Goodwynn’s verbal dance is masterful, the gesture almost sweet… But Matilda wishes she would just say something, already. Just admit that she can tell. Get it over with. The elephant in the room is too loud, taking up too much space. Nobody can move around it. The itch needs to be scratched – just like the writing left on her windshield. F a t a s s. That’s exactly it. I’m a fatass, she confesses internally. Thank you for noticing. I have a fat wobbling ass now. I have a round jiggly beer gut and it pushes over my pants. I have fat legs. I have chubby hips. My tits are growing like they haven’t since I was fourteen. Even my arms look thicker. I know I am. Tell me again, I’m listening. Call me out on it. Dr Goodwynn is moving her lips, and her smooth dark hand is gently waving above her vision. ‘…Matilda? Is everything okay?’ Matilda sucks in a lungful of air and straightens in her seat, feeling a row of buttons stiffen down the front of her blouse as her breasts and stomach in unison seek to push against them. All that’s stopping it from being seen is this stupid cardigan. ‘Sorry, I…’ She lowers her gaze and shakes her head in apology. Nudging her glasses back up her nose, Dr Goodwynn’s dark brows pinch together as she peers at her student. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ ‘Uhm. No.’ ‘This is quite uncharacteristic of you.’ Concern colours Dr Goodwynn’s face as she evaluates Matilda’s posture. Then she glances at the clock in the corner of her computer screen. ‘It is nearly afternoon. You are clearly unwell. I will not object if you need to go home.’ Matilda puts her hands in her lap and twists her thumb from side to side. Among all the posters on the wall, a BMI chart happens to catch her eye, and she glares at it like she might decipher some hidden message. ‘That’s… really kind of you, but… No, I’m fine.’ For some reason she feels like she needs to eat. ‘I don’t mean to press,’ Dr Goodwynn speaks carefully, leaning with her elbow on the desk and swivelling her chair around to face her squarely. ‘But how is playing at your club going? The last time you told me, you said things weren’t going so well. You had run into some problems. Your coach? If I remember correctly things weren’t very good between you two.’ Matilda smiles. ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. That’s all it is.’ Dr Goodwynn nods, saying “okay” with her eyes. Matilda withers like a dried flower. Well, it’s not a lie, is it? You can stretch half-truths to surprising lengths, if you give it a try. . . . Late to training. Again. She almost didn’t turn up at all. It’s getting far into the evening, and the sun has cooked the air to an oven-like warmth of stagnant humidity trapped among them by low clouds. At least that’s how it feels to her lethargic, perspiring limbs as she battles to push her body through several warm-up routines. During a brief lull in exercises, she hurries over to the sideline and bends over with a funny little sound coming from her mouth to pick up her bottle and take a long, hard drink. Her cheeks feel swollen with heat, blood surging through the vessels beneath her skin and neck. Her ears rush with over-pressurised circulation. Someone is calling out. Pulling her lips off the bottle with a smack, she gulps the last mouthful of water and resumes panting as she slaps the cap shut again. Her dizzy sight has never swirled this bad in her life. There are little flecks at the edges of her vision– ‘Matilda!’ The shouting resolves into the sound of her name and she spins around to see Coach Karen looking at her from ten yards away, waving her hand in the air for attention. ‘Earth to Matilda. Hello. Yes, you. Coach Ilda has something she wants to tell you, please.’ Karen points across the grass towards the club building, where the distant form of coach Ilda stands, thin and Germanic, with her arms folded, leaning her weight back on one leg. Matilda looks back at Karen, but the small woman has already turned and walked off to rearrange a row of training cones. Matilda has to make her way around the boundary line so she doesn’t get in the way of the girls as they go running all over the place. At the dead centre of the pitch is Margery, hawking out micromanagements and instructions. She can feel Ilda’s gaze from all the way over here, and her belly is shaking as well. Fuck. Is it visible? Cotton fibre is tickling her stomach in places it isn’t meant to. Her upper thighs wobble on their frames. The journey around the outside of the pitch takes longer than she feels like it ought to. Once she comes to stand before the coach at last, Ilda is looking at her like she’s nothing more than a blank block of concrete. ‘Hello Matilda,’ Ilda says, in that flat, angular accent. ‘I must deliver bad news.’ Matilda sways on her feet as a beat of unexpected silence goes by, forcing her to either wait and elongate the silence, or break the silence and ask what the bad news is. She can hear the girls shouting “pass! pass! here! over here! Open!” The whistle screeches now and again. The ball thumps and thuds. Feet pound grass in a haphazard patter. Ilda itches the side of her thin nose, one eyebrow lifting. Then she sighs, chest rising and falling, and looks off into the distance over Matilda’s shoulder with a squint. ‘Margery has asked of me zhat I pass on some instructions.’ A cursory glance at the head coach holding her whistle in the centre of the action. Ilda’s accent clips the ends off her words as she says, ‘As of now, you are to move into centre-back. Very much centre-back. A line of five, we are to assume. Vee are to train for a defensive formation of a five-two-two-one. Zhis is where you have brought us to. You are poor, Matilda. You are a poor, poor player.’ A sledgehammer swings from Ilda’s mouth into Matilda’s sternum, and she feels her spirit sent reeling backwards out of her body from the impact. She stands awkwardly in stiff paralysis. Where did her feet go? She wants to drink. She wants to sink into the grass and decompose. She wants to cry. She wants to feel tears break loose from her eyes as they painfully swell and wet her cheeks. But they aren’t there. All that fills her is shock. Empty shock. And anger, waiting. Her throat grows thick with a hard lump like granite. What Ilda says is right. It is all her fault. Everything is her fault. She’s fat. She’s out of shape. She’s had this coming in the form of a time-bomb delayed way too long. Get it over with, she mentally projects her will. Tell me I’m fat. Just do it. ‘Margery has instructed me,’ Ilda drags on, ‘to inform you of zhis. She can hardly stand to look at you, you know zhis? She is fürious. I will not say anything of why– you know why. Why you continue is beyond the reaches of my mind. As for her other lines of reasoning? Vell, your performance in the previous game is of particular note. Your… attitude, also. She cited also the many chances given to you previously. If I was to guess, then today was her last straw. You neglected to show up at all during the last session, and as of today, you do decide to grace us with your presence, however you are late once again. She sees fit now to punish you such zhat befits your behaviour.’ A breeze sighs past them in the silence that follows. The coach is still gazing past her, somewhere into the middle distance. Matilda tries to make a split-second decision. Nothing? Or something? She’s rattling inside the bars of her own chest, yelling. The way forward is a high-risk move, but for some reason she takes it – even if it’s just to get a reaction. Feeling anything and everything except the aloof cockiness she’s pretending to exude, Matilda forces her shoulders up into a careless shrug. She looks away to the side, hoping it comes off as arrogant disinterest. ‘Okay. Fine then,’ she mutters. ‘So I’m a centre-back now. Fine.’ Coach Ilda simply stares at her, now, teeth nibbling something behind her pinched-shut lips. . Half an hour later, Matilda stands in the middle of a line of five as they perform practice drills in their new formation. The girls quickly figure out what’s happened, and why, and they decide to sneak silent glances at her, mixed somewhere between accusation and apology. It seems they can’t decide. She takes up her new position with as much pride as she can manage, thinking it will make things easier, less physical, more mental. But she still finds herself growing sore and stiff-lunged by the session’s end, despite being asked to run less than usual. She never has to pivot. She never has to launch. She never has to leap into a short burst of speed, or pounce on something. Nor is she ever needed to sprint from one end of the pitch to the other in pursuit of the ball… and yet here she is, walking with hands on hips, sore, and slightly winded. And it’s Elisha’s time, now. It’s her golden era. She proudly takes Matilda’s old position on the wing, a spot she has always stared at with longing eyes and a salivating tongue. The prized role. A double-title of captain and playmaking winger. And everyone can see it, with Elisha’s back sticking up straight as a rod, eyes deeply focused like newly-calibrated laser beams, making passes with finer precision than anyone has seen in all three years of her tenure with the team. With Stacey shifting deeper to a left wing-back position, closer to Matilda’s line of passing, the two of them have to practise communicating as a pair for the first time in forever – but Stacey doesn’t seem too keen on it, leaving Matilda to awkwardly shift around the pitch, waiting for a backwards pass from Stacey during scrimmages and noticing the sheer resentment in her body language each time she’s forced into doing so. In the locker rooms afterwards, she tries to make some tactical suggestions, but Elisha bursts into flame all over again, coming down on her with such colossal fury that she nearly bursts a vein in her neck, letting her know to either shut the fuck up or get out. And there’s Stacey, behind her, throwing sardonic smirks as she bends an ear to the tirade. To make things worse, as if putting a grace-note of cauterisation to an open wound, coach Ilda pulls her aside afterwards to have a private word. The message is simple. ‘Stop trying to undermine us, Matilda. Or you are finished here.’ . . . On her study desk two days later on a Friday night sit two empty pizza boxes, a milkshake, and an apple crumble, still only half eaten, for dessert. She sits in her underwear, bedroom door locked, lost deep in a Football Manager session well into midnight as she finishes eating her dessert, her bloated stomach billowing out at full mast from her middle, and the upper meat of her thighs beginning to squeeze together. She doesn’t know it yet, but a microscopic stretch mark or two are beginning to redden along the outer zone of her breasts as they come close to reaching the size of mangos, their smooth flesh just beginning to overgrow the sides of her bra cups. . . . The team’s efforts that weekend against Ringhill Rangers FC awards them a 1 - 1 draw. Again. It’s awkward to play a full match defensively for practically the first time in her life, but eventually Matilda settles into the rhythm of the play and understands what is expected of her and when. The only reason the girls score a goal at all is because of a confident spell of attacking pressure that lasts for a solid twenty minutes. But after that, Matilda keeps getting outpaced, negged and dribbled around every time an enemy attacker near her with the ball. No matter how accurately she angles her intercepting runs, she can never get there on time, missing the chance to tackle by one or two missed strides. By the time the first half nears its end, she’s losing almost every breath she takes the moment it fills her lungs. For this, everybody pays the price. Barely five minutes into the second half, an opposition midfielder runs at her with the ball. Matilda spreads her feet, crabbing from side to side to meet them, making her defensive shadow as wide as possible… but they double-feint right, then cut left at the last minute, sending Matilda slipping backwards onto her ass as she sticks one foot out, her buttery thigh sent up and jiggling, missing the ball. She is left to watch as her opponent crosses the ball over to an enemy winger who’d been making a well-timed run through their backline towards the box, then passes it back to their midfielder, who lobs it straight over Grace’s head as she’s still turning to sprint back. The ball loops perfectly into the top corner of the net where Nysha wouldn’t have laid a finger on it even if she was Superwoman. From that moment, whenever the ball is up the attacking end of the pitch — a spell of grace during which Matilda can finally lean on her knees and suck air into her lungs — Nysha paces in front of the goals, sending her sidelong glances of concern. When the final whistle screeches, she knows the lost lead is on her shoulders. The opposition goal was her fault. But outside of that mistake, the rest of the ninety minutes are a different story. The pressure the enemy put on them should never have been allowed. She wants to ask Margery if she noticed how thin they were stretched on the defensive transition. Does she see how few options are available in the middle? Does she see the lack of depth in the forward wings? Does she see Evangeline looking utterly bored with nothing to do but knock the back every time she receives it? Does she see how much space the opposition players have to find angles all the way into their defensive half? She wants to ask a million questions. Her chance to complain comes in the locker rooms when April wonders out loud why it seemed like the opponent wing-backs never needed to actually run down the wings. ‘Why would they need to?’ Matilda huffs between heavy breaths, even though others have already regulated their breathing. ‘We’re stretched so thin in our midfield… and we’re not allowed to use our fullbacks to create numbers when we transition forward… Then the ball turns over, and we have nobody to contest for it in the midfield. So it’s just our fucking backline against… against everyone on the other team all coming at us? No wonder we got outflanked in the midfield.’ This is when Margery finally materialises, as if from mist, the entire locker room flattened under a heavy blanket of silence. The rest of what happens is like a fever dream – half experienced, half remembered, but only in a haze of traumatised confusion. Standing at the door, Margery screams at Matilda to shut up or get out, then proceeds to jet them all with flaming rage like molten ore in a furnace, yelling so shrill and loud that her voice quickly disintegrates into a hoarse rasp nobody can understand every word of – and just when they think it’s finally over, she doubles back to scream some more, about how they’re all upstarts, none of them are really trying, none of them really care, how they’re all underperforming and a disgrace to the standards set by all those that have come before them, and that they’ll cause her an early death from stress and dismay. Dear Margery Hartwell, if only that were true… Out in the parking lot on the way to her car, with her head down, the only thing in Matilda’s line of sight is the gravel beneath her feet. She’s almost far enough to feel safe again, when she hears two familiar voices coming from behind her. ‘Matilda.’ ‘Hey, wait up.’ ‘Matilda, wait.’ She stops, then turns to look. It’s Beth and Talina. Shuffling sideways to hide out of sight behind a big silver SUV, she waits for her teammates to catch up with her. They’re carrying their duffel bags over their shoulders. Coming to a stop between two cars, Talina stands slightly in front of Beth, wearing a frown, but not one of anger or accusatory distrust, the way she expects from everybody these days. Instead, they ask her if she wants to go grab a drink and “talk” about things. Her first instinct is reluctance. Or is it just laziness, these days? She ums and ahs about it. But they aren’t letting her off the hook so easily. They push until she eventually gives in — another behaviour that has been characteristic of her lately; giving in. She’s a hungry, lazy, chubbed-up push over. ‘Meet you at The Heelwood, then?’ Talina says. ‘Yeah. Okay. Sure.’ . About fifteen minutes later, they reconvene at a small lakeside venue not far from Prathfort – an S-shaped, glass-walled complex with a view over a few acres of undeveloped land and the rear-end of a golf course neighbouring a huge reservoir used for the city’s southern water supply. Beth and Talina sit on tall stools across the table from her with their backs to the view. Matilda finds herself gazing over their shoulders an uncharacteristic amount of times, her spirits coasting at a low glide, drained of fuel. They chat idly as they share a bowl of quinoa salad, garlic bread and a few glasses of wine, avoiding the looming agenda for now. Matilda realises she’s overstepping her drink quota when she asks a waiter for a second glass of wine before she can stop the words tumbling off her tongue. When the last piece of garlic bread leaves the plate, then all of a sudden Talina and Beth grow serious. ‘Okay, so, look,’ Talina leans forward on her elbows, ‘now that we’re alone, I guess we can talk about things?’ When Matilda meets her gaze, what she sees in those eyes is solid confidentiality, earnest determination. Good attributes for a defender to have. If Matilda had any say in it, she would have made Talina the captain years ago. ‘Sure,’ she shrugs with fake naivety, raising her glass to her lips to disguise their nervous movements. ‘What’s up?’ Talina shares a glance with Bethany, then turns back to Matilda. ‘A couple of things. First of all, we’ve both been thinking; we want you to know that we totally, one-hundred percent agree with everything you’ve been saying. Teamwise, that is. Strategywise. Everything. All of it. We’re on your side–’ ‘And so are the others!,’ Beth interjects. ‘Exactly. We can speak on behalf of everyone– well, almost everyone. It’s just that we’re all too afraid to say anything. We know how Margery is, now. She’d have a melt-down if she felt a gust of wind. But you know that. Probably most of all. It’s bad there. None of us feel like we have a voice.’ Matilda blows a lungful of air out her mouth and nods, looking down at the table's wood, the particular diagonal slant of its varnished grain. ‘…Yyyyyeah,’ she grunts at length, taking a dejected sip of wine. A wide open feeling of space swirls up into her head. ‘You must know that more than most,’ Talina admits. ‘Yup.’ Matilda growls again, taking another disillusioned, mournful sip of wine. Beth shifts in her seat, eager to speak. ‘At least it looks that way, for you,’ she says. ‘All we ever see is Margery hammering you, and hammering you, and… over, and over, and over… and I just… we just…’ ‘We’re just worried,’ Talina finishes for her. ‘You’re having a real hard time of it, and we just wanted to check up on you, ask you if you’re doing alright. We should have done it already. Reckon we should have done it ages ago. We don’t want you thinking we don’t care.’ Matilda feels an unexpected smile peel across her face. She lets it show, but turns it into a harsh laugh at the last minute, teeth bared. With another angry sip, she thumps her glass back down and lets the ensuing silence speak for her. Her two teammates adjust themselves awkwardly in their seats. Then Talina goes on. ‘We’re here for you, Tild. We just want to know, is all. I mean, it’s not to be critical or nothing, but I guess we’re starting to ask some, uh… questions. Now it’s at a stage where we have to ask.’ ‘What questions?’ Matilda demands. She already knows, but she wants to believe she doesn’t. She’d rather ignorance would coat her eyes and so remain blind forever. Talina rubs her lips and thinks, as if deciding upon which words to use. ‘I don’t know how to put this. But do you realise how much you’ve changed? Actually that’s a dumb-ass thing to say, of course you would, I’m sorry. I don’t want to corner you on this, but do you realise we can see how much you’ve changed?’ Warmth drains from her cheeks down through her neck and into her stomach where it begins to churn like some freezing, arctic tumult. She shrugs. ‘Uh… I dunno?’ scrambling to deflect the conversation away from wherever it’s going, ‘I– I just think if Kendra never left, then– And why are all the people involved in this fucking club’s problems all have names that start with M?– Like Margery?– and me?– Oh maybe I’m one, ha!– And it’s the tactics, too, they are just… I don’t know… they…’ Not realising that she’s been taking sips of wine between phrases to stall for time, she stops and blinks in confusion as a sudden swirl of lightness tightens around her ears. Her stomach feels heavy. She can feel it in her shirt, cumbersome and greedy for space. She’s not even full yet. Is it going to be like this all the time now? ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, Tild, but–’ Talina hesitates, sighing. ‘Would you say you’ve been eating more than usual lately?’ Matilda deflects with a quick, ‘No?’ as fast as a snapped rubber band. Her hands feel awkward. They feel large. She doesn’t know where to put them. She shakes her head, hoping it adds veracity to her denial – but she feels stuck too deep in a claggy swamp of panic to believe in her own lies enough to pull them off. She looks at their faces, one then the other. Their eyes are flat, unblinking. They don’t believe her, do they? They ask again, wording it in different ways multiple times, but she categorically denies each alternately-phrased attempt. Eventually they give up and Talina orders another bottle of wine as they move onto other topics. Compelled by an unwavering chorus of anxiety between her ears, she sips the dregs of her alcohol too fast and gets woozy. They talk some more and she pours herself some more and she gets even woozier. At some point or another, she sways off her stool to go to relieve her bladder in the toilet, and wastes half the time she spends in the cubicle fumbling with the drawstring in her shorts and laughing spitefully at the stupid, round quality of her stomach, slapping it like a naughty child that needs to be told off. There has to be a good five pounds of breakfast, bread and wine in this big, taut drum of a thing – maybe more. When she comes back to the table, Beth checks her phone and says, ‘Well it’s nearly dinner time. Anyone else feeling hungry?’ Talina shrugs. ‘Sure.’ At that moment, Matilda feels a corner of her stomach that is somehow still empty unleash a subsonic growl. She nods yes without thinking, first, that she can’t be eating this much food anymore. So they all order a meal each. When the food arrives, they put conversation on hold, and it isn’t long before her two teammates are looking at her with something like confusion or pity in their eyes as she devours her entire burger, every last stray onion and drop of sauce and all, before they’ve even progressed halfway through theirs. It’s as if some secret suspicion has, at last, had its hypothesis confirmed. Matilda straightens and wriggles her uncomfortable backside around on the stool as she tries to find a way to sit that doesn’t make her belly feel like a cannonball fastened to her waist with tight ratchet straps. ‘Okay, look,’ Talina says all of a sudden, putting her knife and fork down. ‘I’m sorry but I need to bring this up again. I’m sorry. But seriously? You just go and finish a burger like that in record time? And you tell us everything’s fine? Matilda, come on. Look at you.’ Talina’s shoulders drop as a sympathetic frown creases her brow. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but… are you in denial about something? We’re just worried for you, Tild.’ Gesturing towards her bloated state. ‘We can tell you’ve undone your belt, by the way. Not that we’re judging or anything. Sometimes you need to. Especially if…’ Matilda freezes. One arm starts to slide over her stomach. ‘Look– once again, please do not take this the wrong way– but you’ve just changed in a matter of months. That’s all. And you haven’t said a word. We don’t want to suggest you’re getting fat or anything. We just,’ she glances at Beth again, ‘we just wanted to know…’ ‘Know what?’ ‘Are you pregnant?’ Matilda feels her chest bubble. Laughter hits the back of her throat, but fails to emerge. She stares at them. She blinks slowly, trying not to lower her eyes, but having an impossibly difficult time of it. ‘It’s okay,’ Beth tries to console her. ‘You can tell us.’ Matilda’s voicebox spasms. ‘Yes. I know– I mean– what? No. No.’ Beth’s entire face pulls back into itself like a flower blossoming in reverse, sucked into a vortex of embarrassment. ‘So then…’ she falters. Talina says, ‘You don’t have to pretend, Matilda. Honestly, you’re totally safe with us.’ ‘Guys,’ Matilda pleads. ‘I’m not pregnant. I swear. At least I’m sure I’m not.’ ‘Really?’ Matilda’s eyebrows curl upwards. She’s just exposed herself under the harsh light of truth. The only other explanation has revealed itself by elimination. The expressions on her teammates’ faces are a heavy mixture of many things. ‘So, you’re not pregnant?’ Talina clarifies. Matilda licks her lips and reaches for the wine glass again. ‘No,’ she says, eyes slipping aside. She can’t do it. She can’t look them directly in the eyes. Talina leans forward and lowers her voice. ‘Okay, then please– be honest. I’ll be honest. Don’t take this the wrong way. But if you’re not getting pregnant, then… you look like you are? Honestly, Tild, if you’re having a hard time with something, we’re here for you. We don’t want to see you suffer. Do you hear me?’ Beth nods in agreement. ‘You were there for me. Remember? So I want to be there for you. And you know what? So do the rest of us. Remember what April went through?’ ‘People don’t just blow up like this,’ Talina presses. ‘If you’re binge-eating, coping with bad habits, or anything– absolutely anything– you need to stop before it’s too late. You’ll end up twice your size!’ Matilda's voice shrinks to the size of a squirrel. ‘I know,’ she says, feeling herself sink back down into her seat. The floor feels very close. Her shoulders feel heavy and sore. The noises around her are so loud all of a sudden; the chatter of people – people everywhere – talking, gabbing, yelling, gesticulating, leaning back in peals of explosive laughter. ‘If you already know, then do you need help? To stop?’ ‘I don’t know.’ Matilda can barely hear herself. ‘Don’t know? What do you mean?’ ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Talina shuts her eyes, then wiggles her head in confusion. ‘I–’ She presses her lips tight. ‘I don’t really understand.' Automatically raising the glass to her mouth, Matilda flinches as a hand shoots across the table to push it back down. She frowns, then slowly lets Talina drag press her hand back onto the table. ‘No,’ Talina says, shaking her head. ‘No more. Okay? From now on we have to stop you. No more drinks, or you won’t be able to drive. You’ll need to wait a bit before you can drive again.’ With a prolonged, high-shouldered shrug, Matilda lets go of the glass and folds her arms over her waist as she slouches, gazing out the darkening window behind her teammates. ‘Let’s just talk about something else, then,’ Beth suggests in a helpful manner. ‘We can forget about this for now. How about that?’ . Matilda suppresses tears all the way home in the car, her fists clenched tight on the wheel, knuckles pale as bone. Last thing she needs is her parents to see signs of crying on her face when she walks through the door. Later on, alone in her room and feeling heavy with exhaustion, she’s not sure she can keep it up much longer as the weight of the day comes down on her like the crashing peak of a wave. She feels fat. Tired and fat. She probably looks all bloated and huge right now. Maybe Talina and Beth are right. She must look awful. The urge to get a cold hard look at herself in a mirror teases her mind, flirting with the threat of self-humiliation. But as she dumps her duffel bag against her bed, she glances at the clock. It’s late. She should just put herself to bed. Forget it all. Cry, maybe. Fall asleep and let the whole slate wipe itself clean. Get up in the morning, move on with life, hope Carlile doesn’t get turned off the moment he sees her gross, bloated, pregnant appearance. She barely changes out of her clothes before flopping onto her bed, whole body bouncing on the springs. Did they used to crunch like that? Maybe. Maybe not. She feels her stomach slosh. Staring at the dim ceiling, she cradles the sides of her belly like cheeks and presses them into each other, creating a vertical roll of fat that lips gently over her thumbs. Then she lets go, disgusted with herself. The pillow swallows her swirling, heavy head, and she shuts her eyes against the darkness, feeling herself rise up to the peak of the parabola of her emotion until she finally falls back down to the ground of her heart, crying softly. . . .
  12. On average I'd say 20 pounds heavier than typical. Some skinny, but some definitely plump. People in the South are generally heavier, and I'd say the next generation of girls are too, so it adds up. Not sure if it's supply or demand driven, but the girls were popular. This was a club called Furnace.
  13. Here's a few more recent images I made on the Deviant Art AI generator, still learning prompt compostion as the AI never makes my "Big Red" character big enough (or at least make her belly big enough ha ha). Some imply a vore-like situation but you can easily ignore that aspect and look at the images and be ok. https://www.deviantart.com/realdvourer/art/AI-Happy-Mealtime-on-Vacation-1030469773https://www.deviantart.com/realdvourer/art/AI-Big-Red-is-the-Biggest-of-the-Bunch-1031503766 https://www.deviantart.com/realdvourer/art/AI-The-Last-Thing-You-ll-See-1031504171
  14. I need help. I filled out the form, read the conditions, uploaded the documentation correctly and entered my exact information, but when I press SEND nothing happens! The page simply refreshes and redirects me to the top of the form, and when I scroll down the page I see the data entered. I don't see any pop-up window, nor do I receive any email confirming that my form was sent, or waiting for a response. I don't know what's going on with the registry in general, or am I the only one experiencing it...??? . At the bottom of the "Contact curvage" page, I sent this same message but I still haven't received a response. Thanks for reading, I hope to solve this problem soon.
  15. Mochi's birthday🎉 and she was eating all day because of the invitations her boyfriend made her. When she got home her boyfriend had prepared a sweet and decadent feast for her, in this video Mochi faces the delicious challenge of eating an entire cake 🎂 by herself, she dives into that entire cake and lets herself be carried away by that sweet little pig. . ,🐽 who has been growing in it. Who needs to share when you have a cake to yourself? This feast is full of gluttonous pleasure, from the first moment he saw that cake, every bite was pure gluttony and pleasure, each piece of cake disappears between his lips, his face lights up with that satisfied smile, with each generous bite he takes . . her belly with her hands and it swells even more like a balloon, but she doesn't stop and the 2L soda perfectly accompanies her in this experience. Her boyfriend can't help but come in and give her bites of cake, massaging her belly and telling her that she has to finish it all, so get ready to witness this spectacle of unbridled gluttony with the first mochi cake with the voracity of a true glutton🐽🍰 Who said cakes had to be shared, especially on your own birthday?😈 This video has no cuts, it is 100% real❤️you can leave your review after downloading this file thank you for always supporting me 😘
    $8.99
  16. Chapter 9 Elara was sweating in her sleep as she moved around panting. "Mother, no." Elara said in her sleep. Then she jolted awake, holding her chest. The girl shivered in the sheets scared to close her eyes again. Then she calmed herself down breathing in and out gasping. "Come on Elara, keep it together. For mother, and the kingdom," she said to herself. Later that morning, Elara had woken up again after getting some sleep. She sat over the edge of the bed, still not used to how her green legs dangled off the sides. At least compared to her ones that could touch the floor. She also sighed at her green starter belly peeking over her underwear. Compared to her elfish slender waist she was feeling quite embarrassed. Elara also noticed how much her butt was spreading on her mattress making her blush. Then she hopped off her bed as she felt her body jiggle slightly when landing. "Goddess, I'm getting plump. I need to cut back," Elara grimaced feeling her wide hips. Then she saw Isadora come in smiling. Elara was happy to see the witch as she always brightened her day. She also smirked seeing those tight pants of hers looking painted on lately. Isadora's pale ** belly peeking over her pants was cute as well. "Hey Elara, are you ready for our 1st day training?" Isadora smiled. "Yes, but don't expect too much from me. I'm not the skilled mage, I once was," Elara sighed. "Hey, its ok. I'm not that great either. Let's just do our best, ok," Isadora stated. "Alright." Later after a hardy breakfast the girls, sluggishly walked out to train. The ship had stopped for the day, next to a huge lake. Nellie smiled in her magic robe outfit. Elara guessed it was to look the part as teacher. Nellie's plump figure had filled it out a tad though as it looked tight against her midriff. Elara rubbed her belly and saw Isadora was doing the same, belching. "Are you 2 ready?" Nellie asked. "Just give me burp 5 minutes to rest," Isadora stated as she sat down. "We need some time to digest our breakfast," Elara blushed rubbing her stuffed green belly. "Oh, I see. Seems my food made you bloated. Then again, I'm full as well. Maybe after we digest a bit," Nellie giggled. After 10 minutes of rest, Nellie began guiding the girls. Elara tried to unleash a powerful fire spell, but only smoke and sparks came out. This discouraged Elara as she was frustrated with how weak she had become. "My, your fire spell didn't produce, well fire," Nellie sighed. "Yeah. I've gotten so pathetic," Elara sighed. "Then maybe we should focus on spells you know better first," Nellie stated. "Sure. Guess it's time to brush up on trap magic," Elara smiled. Then she saw Isadora trying to contain a water sphere of magic, but it was leaking. "Dam it. I can't hold this spell together," Isadora sighed as the water fell to the ground. "Crap, why do I suck at everything?" "You have great amounts of magic power; you just need to learn control. So, this training will help you master containing most spells. You just need to focus and keep trying," Nellie stated as she went to pat Isadora's head. She saw Nellie's hand about to touch her hair, feeling terrified. Isadora covered her head wincing. "Hey. I'm not going to hurt you," Nellie frowned. "Sorry. It's just whenever I failed to do spells properly, my mother would punish me. I disserved it though for not figuring it out," Isadora sighed. Then Isadora felt her head getting rubbed by Nellie. She looked up at the cowgirl with shock. "Nonsense. I would never do that to one of my students. I do things differently than your mother. Just keep doing your best. I don't expect the both of you to get it on the first try. This might even take weeks for you both to improve. It's fine with me," Nellie smiled. "Thank you," Isadora beamed relieved she wasn't going to get a beating with Elara smiling at how nice their teacher was. Soon the girls were working together to give each other advice. Then they started practicing with each other as Nellie beamed at how determined they were to improve. Then she saw Elara bend over to charge her magic again as she heard a ripping sound. Nellie covered her face seeing the goblin had a hole in her pants now. "Um, Nellie, I need bigger pants," Elara blushed. *** 3 weeks later Isadora got up feeling her belly bunch up into rolls feeling annoyed. She noticed her new larger underwear was faring well. Weeks ago, her bra had broken followed by her panties ripping between her butt cheeks. Her stretched underwear finally had it with her growing frame. She got up slowly grunting a bit as she rose to her feet. It was getting slightly harder to get up from her bed recently. It had just been 3 weeks and she had put on another 8 pounds. Now 164 pounds, Isadora was continuing her fattening journey with the girls. Whether she wanted to or not. It wasn't her fault completely though. Thanks to Sariel, there was more food at the table thanks to her contributions. She also started going around putting dishes of nuts or candy on the ship for the girls to snack on. By days end they would be empty or near finished. Sariel even went around buying snacks for the girls when she returned. Not to mention, telling Nellie to make milkshakes with all the extra dairy around. It's not like Isadora didn't take from those dishes or glut herself at the table either. She was just like the rest of them, a piggy. She just couldn't help herself. Her chubby ** belly was proof of that as it bulged over her panties. She picked up her pants she had gotten from Sariel months ago looking nervous. She got them over her plump, jiggling butt by tugging them a bit. Then she went to close her pants flabs, as they didn't meet. She grunted trying again for them too not even come close to fitting. Her hips had gotten too wide, her butt too big. Not to mention that ** belly getting in her way recently. Isadora blushed as she had outgrown another pair of pants. She pouted seeing Sariel staring at her from her bed smirking. "Seems another pair of pants, bites the dust," Sariel giggled. "Shut up demon. This is your fault for making this ship a fat trap. Everywhere I go, there's food," Isadora pouted as she took her pants off panting a bit. "Thats the point princess. I'm just doing my job, fattening my prey. I told you; your waist could be collateral damage. It's not my fault you're a greedy piggy like your mother," Sariel laughed poking the black-haired girl in her ** tummy. "Dam, you just had to be good at your job. It's like you know what everyone wants to eat." "I'm no expert like gluttony demons, but I'm learning. And I do know what everyone wants to eat. I've learned their favorite food. Meat for Mira, Elara likes potatoes. Then Yuki loves her beer. Nellie enjoys cheese, Nyrie craves bread and fruit. And you my piggy adore anything sweet. I can hear your belly calling for chocolate," Sariel giggled as Isadora's belly rumbled. "Very funny, as if you can hear what our bellies are saying," Isadora sighed. "But I can," Sariel smirked as she put her hand on the princess's belly, rubbing it tenderly. "Hey, what are you?" Isadora pouted. "Hungry, need food. So hungry. Feed me chocolate." "Holy shit, who was that?" Isadora yelped. "It was your belly. I'm allowing you to hear what its saying," Sariel smirked as Isadora looked down at her pudgy tummy. "Please feed me. I need to be filled. Need more," the belly demanded. "Quiet belly. I'll feed you in a second ok." "Every time you feed me well, I get hungrier. Need more, every time. Please, I want to be full. Need to grow bigger." "No, your shrinking back down soon. You got that," Isadora pouted. "But it feels so nice to be stuffed. Can you rub me later. it feels good." "And I'm done talking to you. What kind of power is that? Why am I having an argument with my belly? " Isadora blushed. "A gluttony demon's power. It's called belly whispering. I can hear what a belly needs," Sariel grinned. "Freaky. No wonder you're so good at feeding everyone." "Yes, and there's more powers for me to learn about in the art of gluttony, greed, and sloth. By the way, you might want to get the bigger pants out, I got for you last week. You've clearly outgrown your latest pair," Sariel giggled. "Yeah, I still think my growing waist is mainly your fault. By the way, aren't you worried that the other girls will start noticing, there getting fat. Alot of the girl's pants are starting to look tight lately. Not to mention their bellies are starting to peek out noticeably. How are you going to make them keep gaining the pounds, if they notice there getting fat?" Isadora wondered. "I already thought of that by studying my prey. Once they see, they're starting to get fat, their blame will be going towards Nellie since she makes the food. But no one wants to hurt her feelings. She doesn't like it when you don't eat her food as you know. So, they'll eat whatever she puts on the table without question to make her happy. Combined with their indulgent bellies wanting to be filled after struggling in the past, its perfect. They won't see a couple pounds as a big deal at first. By the time they do think it's a problem, it'll be too late. Their bellies will grow too big and out of control by then," Sariel giggled. "You feeding mastermind," Isadora pouted. "I try." After Isadora got on her bigger white blouse and black pants, she went to have breakfast. She saw the girls eating at the table already. Elara walked next to the chair, shorter than the legs as Mira helped her into the seat. She smiled ready to eat home fry potatoes, planting her larger butt into the chair. Isadora smirked seeing the goblin scarf down her potatoes despite vowing the lose weight after destroying her pants. The once slim goblin was now looking like a over ripe pear thanks to her addiction to potatoes. Her once flat belly was now a ** starter belly. The girl's butt was taking up a lot of room on her seat as it spread. Even her shorter legs were looking plush as she wiggled them in joy from eating her favorite treat. According to Sariel, she was up 25 pounds from the start. Isadora then saw Nellie was eating a lot as well filling her belly with cheesy eggs. The cowgirl was looking rather chubby now almost like the princess herself. Her pooch had grown into a ** belly now as it bulged in her lap slightly. Not to mention her huge breasts had gone up to G cup with a butt as large as Elara's. On her face, Isadora also noticed a slight double chin forming. Yuki was also starting to gain some weight. Her beer starter belly was a tad rounder hanging over her panties. Not to mention her curves and limbs were starting to soften as well. Seems the fox girl was softening up nicely as she ate bacon with her beer. Nyrie was starting to get a butt almost as large as Elara's. Her pooch was also growing into a starter belly now like the goblin's as well. Not to mention those thicker thighs proofing up over her bird like legs and feet. She saw the harpy unbutton her pants groaning as she let out a belch, eating pancakes. The harpy was going to fatten up like a plump turkey at this rate. Mira was changing the most though as her belly was now a lot more noticeable looking almost like a ** belly. Not to mention her breasts were looking like E cups now. Her butt was getting softer and bigger spreading in her chair. The once muscle toned girl was now looking plush as she dug into her sausage. The girls had all gained around 20 pounds from the looks of it, since Sariel began to fatten them up. Mira was a bit larger though at 28 pounds heavier. But like Sariel said, none of them brought it up. They all ate ravenously like nothing had changed. Even if some were adjusting their tighter pants around thicker midriffs. Sariel also mentioned they would get addicted to eating, and it looks like she wasn't wrong. One thing was for certain, their waistbands were getting tighter by the day, as Sariel's plan was starting to show results. After the girls stuffed themselves thoroughly, Yuki poked Isadora's belly. "My princess, your belly sure is getting big. To think you outgrew burp another pair of pants, piggy," Yuki grinned. "Yeah, sadly I'm getting fat," Isadora frowned. "Not as if you can talk burp Yuki," Nellie smirked patting Yuki's tight beer belly, making the kitsune blush. "You need to lay off the beer yourself. It's making your belly grow." "I'm just really bloated today is burp all. I'm not that big, besides, you're looking a bit thicker yourself cow," Yuki stated making Nellie embarrassed. "Come to think of it, my butt has been looking meatier. Mira, your belly looks very bloated too. We're not burp getting too fat are we," Nyrie blushed looking at her spreading butt cheeks in her chair. Then suddenly the button popped off on Mira's pants as it went flying. The dragoness blushed with everyone shocked as the blonde's pants flabs came undone with her bloated tummy sticking out more. "Oh dear. Maybe a bit, but I like having meals all the time as opposed to starving. I think a bit of extra weight isn't a big deal. We just have to make sure we don't get too big, like my old friends. By the way Nyrie, you need to do a repair job later," Mira blushed. "Got it, Mira," Nyrie said patting the dragon's back. "Maybe ease up on the food, Nellie. You're making too much," Yuki stated. "I'm sorry, my food made you fat? It's all my fault," Nellie frowned looking sad. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I love your food. Never burp mind. Forget it," Yuki sighed as everyone else stopped talking about their tightening waists. Isadora was shocked that everything had gone just like the succubus said it would. Nellie was the scape goat or scape cow in this case. Everyone loved Sariel and all she did was make them more money. No one came close to suspecting her. Isadora was impressed, how good Sariel was at her job indeed. Later Mira's pants were being repaired as the dragoness saw Nyrie grin, looking at her map. "Mira, were close to the underground city now," Nyrie grinned. "Good, I can't wait to see it after all this time," Mira smiled. *** Soon the door to the ship lowered after Terra stopped moving. Mira, and Sariel walked with the princesses towards the city. Elara beamed in excitement with Isadora as they laid eyes on the city. The huge cavern was vast with tons of room towering above them. They saw rubies, emeralds, and more gems all around the underground cave. It made the cavern glow different colors. Not to mention the huge buildings in the city were made from the different colored materials as well. As Elara waddled closer, she saw people up ahead. "Wait, are we allowed in, despite being monsters?" Elara asked. "Yes, we are. The dwarfs welcome anyone. There very down to earth people," Mira grinned. "Good, it's nice to go out in public for a change." Elara began seeing races of all kinds when they entered into the city, but mostly dwarfs. They were just a bit taller than her 3ft 2 in height, which was refreshing for a change. Another thing she noticed was how chubby or fat the dwarfs were. All of them had at least ** bellies that jiggled with their steps. If she wasn't green, she might fit in with these short people with her own belly jiggling. "Heh, Mira. Why are all the dwarfs, so rotund," Sariel wondered. "It's a part of their culture," Mira stated. "I didn't know some cultures were ok with being fat," Sariel smirked. "The world is a big place with many beliefs, you'd be surprised," Mira smirked as Sariel nodded. "Big indeed." Soon they passed a bridge going over a creak. The water had gems on the bottom making the water glow. The stream headed to a huge lake in the distance. Then they came to a house that was across the bridge. A dwarf with a brown beard was chopping wood as he saw them approach. He was wearing a brown coat with a white shirt on and short pants. He stopped what he was doing as he waddled over smiling. "Mira. It's so good to see you." "You as well. Girls, this is Throm, the mayor of the city. He also built my ship," Mira smiled as the dwarf hugged her thick midsection. "I see, you're eating good Mira. That a girl. You'll be attracting mates in no time," Throm laughed patting her belly. "I'm not good with that sort of stuff, you know that," Mira pouted. "I jest. Come, let's get some lunch in your bellies," Throm stated patting his large gut. Going inside the door they had to lower their heads crouching slightly as it was made for shorter statures. Elara felt right at home in this house. They saw 2 dwarf children running around as they hugged their father on sight. Then cooking in the kitchen was one of the largest girls Elara had ever seen. She had brown long hair framing a round face with multiple chins. The dwarf had huge breasts that were sagging under her yellow dress. Not to mention her huge apron belly proceeding her as she waddled towards the girls. She was so round in her figure, with her butt competing with her apron gut. Her supple hips almost looked as wide as the doorway in fact. The dwarf's arms and legs were also looking very ladened with fat. Every part of her jiggled with each of her steps that made thumping sounds. Even her hands and feet were plump. "This is my wife, Daisy. She's my jiggling cutie," Throm smiled kissing his wife as their bellies touched. "She's quite a looker," Sariel smirked. "Make yourselves at home. I made extra today for leftovers, but you can have some," Daisy smiled. Soon the girls were having lunch despite eating breakfast not long ago, but the food was too good to pass up as they got lost in the flavor. Elara noticed how much the dwarfs put away at the table. Not that she could talk. The goblin felt her belly start to feel full and heavy all over again. "This meat is wonderful, where did you get it?" Elara wondered. "It's deer. We go to the surface to hunt for food. There's plenty up there to keep us well fed. Not to mention all the ale we make. We have everything you need down here, like sugar, yeast, and water. We're always eating with a beer in hand it seems," Throm smiled. "That explains why you're all plump," Sariel giggled. "Sariel, thats rude," Mira pouted. "Ha, ha. It's ok Mira. We know how well rounded we are. It's in our culture. We take pride in our pudge. If your belly is always full, it's a sign of wealth and good fortune. I'll let you on a little secret. We find fat to be quite attractive," Throm smiled patting his wife's wobbling belly as she blushed. "You find fat to be sexy?" Isadora gasped. "Yes, indeed. My wife next to me used to be slightly chubby when we first started dating. That didn't last long though, after I spoiled her rotten. Now after 10 years of marriage, 2 kids and lots of meals, she's grown so big. It shows off her wealth and how pampered she is. Plus, its more to love on my round plush queen," Throm smiled kissing her belly this time as she blushed. "Thanks honey. My belly grew to be this big thanks to your care. You made me realize how nice it feels to stuff my belly, till it's close to bursting," Daisy grinned eating more meat. Isadora blushed at that last statement. She remembered Sariel telling the princess, she enjoyed eating as well. She wasn't wrong as at times deep down Isadora did feel good after stuffing herself. The princess sighed trying to focus on anything else. "I know in other cultures, its frowned upon to be fat. But to dwarfs it's the opposite. Thats why despite us being equals to humans and elves, were still considered odd balls. To each their own I guess." "Well, it isn't hurting anyone that you're into larger woman," Isadora smiled. "Yeah, maybe you girls should open your minds to it and try to gain some weight. Looks like some of you are already trying to get fat," Throm smirked poking Isadora's bloated tummy as she blushed. "I'm not fat," Isadora pouted. "Relax, ha, ha. That belly looks good on you, don't fret," Throm laughed. "No, it doesn't," Isadora sighed as Elara giggled. "Anyway, why did you come and visit me, Mira? You need some help with the ship?" Throm asked. "Yes, indeed. I need adjustments to go underwater for long periods of time," Mira explained. "Why's that?" Mira explained to Throm what they were planning to do. "I see. You're going to the dragon kingdom and avoid Adela's detection. Thats a dangerous journey. Are you sure the dragons will help? They still hate the elf's and humans after the war. Were lucky they've decided to remain dormant." Throm sighed. "I'm sure they'll give me their aid. Adela will surely become their problem too if they don't work with us now. Another war will break out as well," Mira frowned. "I'm sure. I can provide you with the parts you need. It's a shame you came at a bad time though," Throm sighed. "Is everything ok?" Mira asked. "We would have your ship ready in a week, but because of what happened recently, we need to start digging in a new place to get more materials to craft. It could take 2 months at least to craft them," Throm stated. "2 months. Seriously," Isadora sighed. "We can't stay in one place for too long. Adela's army is all over, looking for us. Anything we can do to help speed this along?" Mira wondered. "Well, the reason we have to start digging in a new place is because of what we uncovered recently. We were digging about a month ago to expand our territory. Then suddenly we reached an underground cavern. It was just under the earth with tons of space. We were very surprised it was there. It even had a lot of rare materials, including the ones you needed. No crafting needed. But then, as we went deeper into the cavern we started to smell a powerful source of magic." "Smell magic?" Elara stated. "Yes, there noses can pick up on magic easily and other smells," Mira explained. "We didn't just smell magic though, we smelled something, foul. Smelled like...dead corpses," Throm sighed as the 2 princesses began to get frightened. "So, we decided to block off the area and leave before we found what was down there. I actually asked Adela's soldiers to investigate. After closing up the entrance again, I waited for their signal to return. But they never did," Throm stated. "Seems like something's been in that cavern for years. Till you disturbed, whatever it is," Sariel said. "How about we check it out for you," Mira smiled. "Oh, no. I couldn't ask you to do that. You could disappear like those soldiers," Throm sighed. "I'll go down with some of my crew. Will be fine. At the same time. If there is something dangerous down, there. You can't just leave it there, hoping it won't bring harm to the city," Mira stated. "You make a good point. If you manage to do this, I'll repair your ship fast. I'll also pay you generously for helping. Thank you," Throm stated. "Not a problem. Alright, let me gather the crew and I'll go check it out. Elara and Isadora. I want you to stay behind. It might be too dangerous for the both of you." "Not a problem," Isadora shivered. "Actually, I was wondering if I could still go," Elara stated. "Elara, I know your slowly getting the hang of magic again, but this sounds very dangerous. Are you sure you want to tag along?" Mira wondered. "Yes, you've all taken care of me for the past few months. It's time I started paying you back," Elara smiled. "Hm, alright. I won't stop you if you're that determined," Mira smirked. "Might as well tag along Isadora, since I'm going. We can look after each other," Elara grinned. "Actually, that sounds like a great idea," Mira stated. "Do I...have to," Isadora sighed as she farted from her plush rear, getting nervous.
  17. trying to be more active online but I’m not very active in general 🛋️🫢
     

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    1. FaJames

      FaJames

      And it does the waistline good ! 🥰

    2. dsknsw1000

      dsknsw1000

      Judging from the squishiness of your body, you are exactly the right level of active - maybe even you could relax a little bit more!

    3. In Love With Bellies

      In Love With Bellies

      You are actively growing your body ! 😍

  18. It takes five entire days of rain-grey solitude until Matilda gets to see Carlile again for longer than a measly half hour at a time. Every time she swings past his house on the way back from her internship or various errands to say a quick hello, he has been looking more and more worn down. He says his induction into the workforce has only a couple of days left, but she can tell that it makes no difference for him. The roster is practically full of gaps, and they need him to start almost full duties on the ASAP. Adapting to his new job and working ten hour long morning-to-night shifts is leeching so much of his energy that a hangdog sag has emerged under his eyes, even around his mouth. On Tuesday morning of the next week, it comes time for Matilda to return to training. Without Carl around, she’s had nothing better to do than sit around home, by herself, watching mediocre movies, playing Football Manager on her laptop, while putting things like chocolate ice cream and cheap cookie dough in her mouth just to keep herself occupied. Now, sitting on the edge of her bed with an empty plate on the bedside table, she gives her breakfast-containing stomach a couple of rapid pokes, as if pointing it out to herself. The small shirt she’d slept in fits at a direct, 1:1 ratio with her belly, strangely precise to its shape, apart from some crease and fold lines that bend along the side towards her hips. Right under the spot where her belly bulges out over the waistband of her pyjama leggings, she lays her fingers underneath, then lifts it up, excruciatingly slow, stretching it, until the blubber of her stomach refuses to lift any higher. When she lets it drop, she watches its brief but assertive nod play out like a dance, with extra little jiggles around the edges, taking her shirt along for the bouncy ride. Oh, fuck. Fuck. It does that now? It’s really come to this, hasn’t it? She has a chubby paunch that moves on its own volition, like an independant appendage subject to its own laws of wobbly, jelly-soft physics she would never have understood back when she was still slender, even if someone described it to her. Like describing the sun to someone who has never seen it. She realises, now. Realises that you have to live the experience in order to know it. Otherwise you can only imagine. She realises she can’t describe it to anyone; how strange, how fantastically horrifying it feels. It’s an experience nobody could ever understand, or identify with. Not even April, who had shown too much sick emotion about her own weight issues, those years ago, to see what Matilda is seeing. Her mother wouldn’t understand. Her father wouldn’t. Not even Harriette wants to talk about her own accumulation of weight in the particular way Matilda feels compelled to. All of a sudden she feels alone. If it keeps going like this – upwards, that is, and outwards – then this feeling of isolation in her knowledge of how alone she is in her feelings… will only get worse. She’s not sure if she wants this to get worse. Worse is as easy as letting snowball continue on downhill. Better is stopping the momentum, somehow. Easing up on the constant eating. Saying goodbye to the endless food. Working out every day. There’s nothing else to do about it. If Margery hasn’t freaked out and abandoned the club by now, given how chubby Matilda managed to make herself, then she knows what’s next. She’ll have to begin confessing some losses to herself. Maybe Margery will kick her out, after all, and that will be that. Maybe it’s time to start losing this belly, and the buttery thighs, and the widening hips. She wonders what she weighs right now, at this particular minute and second in time. It would be weird to see it all shrink away. All this change, this development, this growth – nobody knows how much consistent work it has taken. Against her own wishes, she even feels an odd attachment to her newly round belly, and the thickening squish between her fingers when she pinches it – an odd attachment to every particle of flesh tugs on her heart. All that food, all the belly-aches, all the times her stomach was so packed that it felt full of lead… All of it has ended up right here, a resultant birth, a gathering in her midsection, manifesting as this jiggle-prone bump of soft flesh that used to be an abdominal wall so tight she could see its musculature without tensing. With nothing else to do except ruminate and waste time, Matilda stands up, packs her gear into her duffel bag, changes into some loose comfortable clothes, and walks out to her car. . . . There is still a light dew frosting the grass by the time she arrives at the grounds, and a thin mist hangs low, trapped at the feet of the purple hills that loom over the suburb. Looking at the time, she has actually managed to arrive before the rest of the girls for perhaps the first time in several months. She locks her car and wheels her bag across the tarmac, the whole slow, meandering walk towards the entrance feeling a little like a concession of defeat. She has tried for months to repel Margery from the club, but the stubborn bitch has held on with her bony-knuckled grip like an iron bracket, and now Matilda has pressed her bluff for a few pounds too long. She’s too chubby now, her buddha-belly too round, thighs too soft, leaving her out of shape and unable to play the way she used to. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye to it all. She approaches the entrance and opens the glass doors, stepping into the foyer and breathing the recycled air in through her nose as she walks down the corridors. Surprisingly, the change rooms are empty. The lights are on, but there’s no one around. She must be the first one here. Dumping her case on the bench in front of her locker, she toe-flicks a nearby ball up onto her knee and balances it before letting it drop. She performs a few keepie-uppies; right, right – left, right, left, right – left left. The flanks sides of her torso vibrate criminally with each flick of her legs. Anyone could tell, now, couldn’t they? Even if they tried, not a soul in this club with eyes to see could lie to themselves and pretend she isn’t chubby. She’s grown plump. It isn’t just a matter of sucking in or not, anymore. Lifting the ball into the air, she waits for it to fall back down, then boots it at the wall on the volley, aiming for a square of space just under the small barred window. The ball smacks off the painted brick, then comes back at her. She stops the ball’s path with the inside of her heel, and her right foot hits the ground, sending her thigh jiggling and causing her round ** belly to give a nodding bounce as an afterthought to the movement. Matilda allows herself to grimace in the privacy of the empty room. Even if she sucks in far enough to hide the depth of her paunch, its width is still a factor, and that’s not something that can be sucked in. It’s all too clear she’s got lovehandles at play. Her hips swell out against her shorts, and her thighs are so untoned as to be smoother than a Greek statue. Then there are her breasts, which have really started to show some growth, her sports bra suddenly asked to contain a larger volume of roundness that really deserves a size up in garment. But there’s a funny joy in it all. Glancing around the empty room to make sure nobody is around to see what will happen next, she stops the automatic suck-in she’s learned to maintain by default these last few months. With a bird’s eye view from up top, she watches the face of her stomach amplify as she relaxes, its bulge pulling the creases of her shirt to follow its direction. She gives her stomach a hearty thud with the heel of her fist. It feels so wrong to be standing here with her belly unashamedly sticking out and probably still processing the ice cream from this morning, in a sports facility where this kind of behaviour travels at direct odds with everything she’s supposed to be embodying. It’s all so wrong. It’s been wrong from the very start. She feels a dirty thrill trickle down her spine. Snorting at the fickle nature of her own psyche, she brings her attention back to the ball. She rolls it under her foot, then pivots on top of it, pretending to feint a shot, then dribbles it from side to side between her feet and continues to casually mess about while she waits for everyone to show up. Suri is first to arrive. When she spots Matilda, she stops in the door and tucks her chin back with a tiny, sceptical frown, not sure she was expecting to see Matilda. ‘Oh… Hey… You’re here already…?’ Having finally been brought back off the bench to return into their starting eleven, Suri has been taking care to arrive early and do everything in a correct manner to keep Margery's eyes off her back — but you can perceive this subtle bound-up, insulted slouch to her shoulders that makes her look hesitant and withdrawn into herself. Matilda looks up at her teammate with a bright-eyed smile, then gives her a dismissive shrug as if to say I guess so!, before redirecting her attention back to the ball beneath her feet. She even sucks her stomach in once again, before she has time to realise she's even done so, the mere presence of someone else in the room triggering her nervous system into making its own decision on the matter. But she can hardly keep track of what her mind is up to, these days. Nysha appears not long after, along with Mandy, the two of them so engrossed in conversation they completely miss the fact that Matilda is in the room before them, going straight to their lockers in order to make preparations for practice. Then Beth arrives, but through the opposite entrance, hiding Matilda from her sight. Stacey arrives, shooting Matilda a wordless look of questioning as she passes by. Grace Sola, who is still standing in for Caitlin in lieu of her disappearance, arrives, and tries to offer a smile at Mandy — but receives not so much as a distracted glance in return. Then Evangeline struts into the room, singing silently to herself with her airpods in and the world shut away outside the perimeters of her awareness. April and Kesley show up alongside each other and go to their lockers, then proceed to turn around, only to find Matilda sitting beside her locker. ‘Holy shit,’ Kelsey's eyebrows stand tall as she scans Matilda up and down. ‘You're… here.’ It's then that Matilda catches April’s eyes hovering somewhere mid-height around her body. She turns self-consciously aside, angling her body away. ‘Yeah-yeah,’ folding her towel and chucking it into her locker, ‘I’m on time for once. I’m sorry.’ April lets her bag slide off her shoulder onto the bench. ‘It’s just a surprise, is all. But a good one; don’t get the wrong idea.’ A gentle shrug. ‘It’s nice to have you back.’ Matilda raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s not like I went anywhere.’ ‘You may as well have,’ comes a voice from behind her. She turns to meet Elisha, who has just shown up, and is glaring as she walks past with chilly blue pale eyes. ‘I’m finding it hard to believe you’ve actually turned up on time for once. I'd get ready now, if I were you. There's work to do.’ Aye aye, capi-fucking-tano cunt, she wants to yell back. She pinches her mouth shut instead, and just stares at the centre of Elisha’s spine as she walks past. Kelsey and April do the same, then turn to face Matilda with nothing better to offer than resigned shrugs. ‘What can ya do?’ April mutters under her breath, sucking air through her teeth. Later on, it turns out that this “work to do” mentioned by Elisha, is a surprise medical examination. ‘Another one?’ Nysha almost screams. ‘What are we, cattle?’ And this generates the obvious question: how and why did Elisha seem to know about it in advance? According to coach Karen, things have progressed to a point where all the girls “need to be kept in check and brought back into line”. From where she sits on her locker’s bench, Matilda melts a little into the seat’s planks as Karen delivers the announcement from the far end of the room. And to make matters worse, when Karen notices Matilda’s presence, she falters mind-sentence, face going slack as she processes what she’s seeing. The coach’s lips slowly purse, and then at length, she continues talking. ‘I hope you all see why we have to do this– and I hope you see where the professional standards are now. Again. Okay. Understood? See you all in a minute.’ The girls mill outside onto the small courtyard around the corner of the exit towards the field, and kick balls around with each other without any real aim or passion while they wait for Karen to call on them one at a time, bringing them into a nearby stand-alone room that hasn’t seen much use since the days when Kendra was still managing the club, when they would allow local university students to use the space for physical ed. practicals and a few small community functions. Why the current clowns in charge have chosen to launch this surprise physical checkup before the practice session is as illusory as the question of why some people are left or right handed. In about fifteen minutes, it’s already halfway done. Matilda hasn’t been called yet, and she starts to wonder with paranoid uncertainty if there’s some kind of sinister reason for that. One by one, the girls come out from the room and back out into the courtyard, discussing their results in hushed but relieved tones. Everyone seems to have ticked boxes so far – weight and fitness-wise. Only April and Talina have clocked in at a meagre one or two points above the twenty-percent body-fat threshold Margery is trying to enforce like marshall-law. Thing is, neither April or Talina seem to be worried about it like they would have been a few months back. When they share their results with the others, there is an absence of that trademark anxiety Margery had instilled so deeply in this group of girls. Matilda thinks she knows the reason why. Or hopes it’s the reason. It’s because she hasn’t been called in yet. She’s going to be called last. The set play, here, is so obvious that she can read it like an open book. The rest of them know, too, all the way deep down, that she’s about to cop a thrashing about how unfit she’s become, once the staff can see the truth of it, exposed, bare-skinned, and halfway towards total nudity. If they can’t make her do what they want, they’ll have to make an example out of her. When Matilda’s turn finally comes and she’s called inside, Margery isn’t even in the room. She’s probably unable to stand the sight of her, by now. Not when so much personal failure lies beneath Margery’s history like a landmine to be stepped on at the slightest brush against her consciousness of the subject of chubbiness. A row of purple medical beds line one wall. Against the other wall sit various medical exercise apparati such as jump-pressure pads, flexibility measurers, leg machines, a treadmill, and one of those industrial-grade scales with the display fixed at chest-height on a stand with rails. Anatomical posters and motivational images clutter the walls, beneath which Karen sits at a desk placed beside the large industrial-looking scale. It must be incredibly precise, probably able to support tons and accurately measure three fridges stacked. The walls are bleach-white, and the floors are dark cement with a high-polish lacquer that reflects the ceiling’s lights right back up at your eyes so that there are almost no shadows left in the room. Karen looks far too illuminated, her skin washed with a sick brightness and every last thread of her clothes discernable. ‘Shoes and socks off,’ Karen says without looking up, her mild eyes cast down at something on the desk. ‘You can leave them by the door please.’ Matilda bends over at the waist to lift each leg and slip her shoes off the back of her heels. She can feel the front of her waistband flip down, the spill of her paunch pressuring it to give way as such. ‘Thank you. This won’t take long now, hun, but will you stand there please,’ pointing at a corner close to the scales. With one last look around the room, Matilda crosses the room, walks over to the corner and stands with her back against the wall. There’s no one else in here. Just her and coach Karen with her small eyes and dirty brown hair. The floor feels cold on her bare soles. Karen stands up from the desk where sits, and suddenly frowns at her as if something had startled her. She flaps a hand at her. ‘You can’t just stand there forever. Shirt off, please.’ Turning around, Karen picks a pair of callipers off a board nailed to the wall from which various instruments hang like a tool shed. Matilda’s fists bunch at how wrong this setup feels to look at. Like a torture chamber. Taking a quiet breath, she glances around, waiting for an idea to magically appear about how to stall for time. ‘Hurry up please. We don’t have time left.’ With a sigh, Matilda shakes her head in dismay and obeys, jaw jutting out as she runs her tongue behind her teeth in a show of bad temper. It’s like ripping off a bandaid – best to get this over and done with, now, then put it behind her and move on. Put up with the bullshit and leave. It can’t be that bad. She sucks her belly in, up into her lungs, before she does anything else… but in spite of the precaution, the commotion of pulling her shirt off upsets her belly button so that it shakes softly as the mound of fat encircling it moves simply from being knocked by her fingers. A roll of flesh in the side of her ribcage can be seen above her hip, which itself folds as she leans over to the side and drapes her shirt on a nearby hook on the wall. She then stands there, barefoot in her sports bra and her black training shorts, the front of the waistband weighed down into a shallow U shape by the protrusion of a smooth potbelly whose undercarriage has developed a subtle crease that curves up to her hips like a broad smile. Her lovehandles fill the space inside of her shorts’ waistband, their flesh bending faintly over the prescribed edges of the band like little parentheses to the emphasised sinkhole that is her belly button. Her breasts sit above it all, held back firm against her chest behind stringent fabric, while her thighs press her shorts’ creases tighter than they ought to be. Karen glances over at Matilda’s vulnerable, unsure posture to conduct a quick visual read, then turns away again with a disappointed click of her tongue. She moves a few pages to one side of the desk and scans the ones beneath. Her face is lined with personal history, and the way she holds herself reminds Matilda of a bumble bee who’s always so engrossed in its immediate tasks that it’s forgotten how to pay attention to anything else due to fear of doing so. Attaching a few pages to her clipboard, Karen makes her way over to stand beside Matilda. ‘You know,’ she says casually, ‘you’d think you were pregnant, if not for these things,’ dipping her shoulder to give Matilda’s hip a poke – a jiggle spreads through her lovehandle and darts along the bottom of her belly. ‘Do you remember your results from the last time you had a medical, Matilda?’ running her finger down a list as she scans the data. Matilda’s tongue is jammed hard up behind the corner of her mouth. She shakes her head. Karen reads aloud from the sheet. ‘M-hm. Just five foot eight. One forty-nine pounds. BMI twenty-two point nine. B.F. percentage sitting just above twenty-four percent.’ She looks Matilda in the eyes, then gives her an up-and-down glance. ‘If you’d believe it, that is.’ Her face beams with absolutely zero sincerity. ‘I really think you need to be more careful with yourself, hun. Now arms up, please. Quickly.’ Matilda does as she’s told while Karen lets a measuring tape unravel in her hand and flicks it like a whip, grabbing the other end and squatting so that her face is level with Matilda’s stomach. She sucks in harder. Karen applies a gentle touch against the area, grimacing in dismay as she runs her hand down then under the curve of her belly, sending a zap of violation through Matilda’s entire being. ‘What have you done here?’ Karen asks nobody in particular. ‘What have you done?’ For the next ten minutes or so, coach Karen seems determined to “accidentally” touch, flick, and hit all Matilda’s chubby bits with a ‘Whoops!’, and a ‘Sorry about that!’ each time, exploring her body and gauging every fold, crease and curl of flesh she encounters by wrapping the measuring tape around each offending part. From where she squats behind her, Karen reaches around the front of Matilda’s stomach to place the measuring tape’s tail, and accidentally drives the back of her thumb into her belly on the way past. The flesh gathered around her navel swallows part of Karen’s knuckle, a sideways jiggle rippling across her belly as it scrapes away. ‘Lord,’ Karen tuts, ‘You really ought to be more careful, Matilda. I barely touched you.’ Matilda growls, ‘Oh really? I can barely tell.’ ‘Well then you need to take better care of yourself, don’t you.’ Karen pushes the ends of the tape together, relaxing her grip a little when her fingers sink into Matilda’s sucked-in paunch about half an inch above her belly button. Humming disapproval through closed lips, Karen loosens the tape measure until it isn’t cutting into her flesh like a miniature dough, and then takes the measurement a second time. ‘I’m sorry but I can’t get an accurate read if you keep doing this.’ Karen pinches the number off. ‘Doing what?’ Matilda tries to look down to read it, but the coach stands up too fast, yanking the tape so it spins around her midsection and whips around the other side, flicking her forearm and leaving a faint sting around the circumference of her belly. ‘Ow! Fuck!’ Matilda jumps back on her heels, the motion-sensitive areas of her body sent jiggling – mostly waistline and upper thighs. Karen mutters as she writes a number on a sheet. Then she looks at her with an expectant twinkle in the side of her eye. ‘You don’t want to know what it was?’ Matilda touches the sting left on the side of her belly. ‘I don’t care,’ she mutters. ‘Maybe you should try caring, then, hun.’ Coming closer and wrapping the tape around her hips, Karen apologises as Matilda feels a finger or two brush the softness of her backside. Then Karen rips the measuring tape away again – only this time Matilda dodges the whip, the end of the tape only just brushes her calves. ‘Don’t do that again,’ Matilda snaps. Karen takes the measurement for her chest and clicks her tongue again. ‘Sorry, my bad. Now, look; if you ever need help choosing bra sizes, just let me know.’ ‘Excuse me?’ Matilda frowns. ‘Oh don’t be a silly girl, we can all tell what’s going on here.’ And with that, puts the tape away on the desk and scribbles a number on the sheet, before pulling a drawer open and rummaging inside. When she turns around, she holds in her hand a pencil-sized stick with measurement markings like a ruler, and a circular washer that slides back and forth along its length. ‘Tense your abdominal muscles please.’ ‘What?’ Sliding the washer all the way down to the front of the tool, Karen crouches in front of her and presses the head of the stick into a spot just to the side of her belly button, where the blubber if her paunch looks to be at its highest in fat volume. They both watch as the skin of her belly, with doughlike obedience, lets the object’s tip sink in. The perimeter of flesh that didn’t sink pushes the washer backwards on the stick, back a little more, until Karen is happy that she’s found the buried firmness of muscle, and the washer stops almost precisely on the “1 inch / 2.54 cm” mark. Matilda hopes the shocking depth has something to do with her sucking in, and not with what’s actually happened to her. ‘Mmm,’ Karen hums, holding the stick up to her eyes. She squints at it, then says, ‘Exactly one inch.’ She leans over the desk to jot it down, then waves one hand at the scale. ‘Over there, please.’ Matilda blows air out her nose and steps over to it, sucking in out of sheer embarrassment so hard she can barely find air to breathe. Karen drops the pen and comes around the opposite side of the scale, activating it with a button press. ‘Okay. Up.’ With an impatient nod at the plate. Matilda’s legs feel bolted to the floor. For some reason she can’t do it. It’s the display. It’s the way it looks. It stares blindly back at her, all dark glass and empty red zeroes, waiting with a digital smirk to tell her how heavy she has become. How fat she’s gotten. How much blubber is weighing her down. ‘Now, please? Come on? Hurry up? Hoppity hop? Which one of those registers to you?’ She concentrates all her willpower into the proprioception of her left leg, and is about to move it on the first step forward towards her judgement, when Karen ruins it all by throwing an offhand glance at her waistline, raising a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Oh, come on, you can’t be sucking in anymore, hun. I just told you it’s doing you no good. We can all tell. Relax it, please, else I can’t get an accurate read on these measurements.’ When Matilda just stands there frozen, Karen reaches in to tap her on the belly, a feeble jiggle rippling forth in response. ‘Stop this. And hurry up now; do as I say.’ Matilda jerks backwards, abdominal muscles contracting even further. Fizzling rage bathes her body. She has to force herself to endure its surge, waiting for it to fade like an episode of pins-and-needles. Taking a breath, she tightens her spine straight and hard, locating whatever amount of dignity she knows is stored within her, summoning it all into a space just behind her forehead so she can think with clarity. Surely the coach must be coming to the end of this humiliation ritual. The sooner it’s over the better, she knows, and doing as the coach asks is all she can do to bring its end closer. ‘Stop that silly sucking in first, Matilda. It’s the last time I’ll tell you. Otherwise we’ll have to start everything all over again and we’ll be here even longer.’ Oh fuck no we won’t. Matilda clenches her jaw and submits her spirit to new depths of lowness. When she finally expels the breath shoved up into the top of her chest like contraband, it all comes crashing back down into her gut, the face of her potbelly filling back out until it resumes its fullest form of bloated protrusion, her breakfast from this morning still somehow not completely digested. Without looking, she can see how huge it looks from above, ballooning at the bottom of her vision. Now that the scale’s display console is in front of her, she can’t help but stare at it. Like a lottery machine with all its numbers about to spin into place. The digital display seems to throb with pulses of glowing fate. Jaw locked and cheeks flushed, Matilda steps forwards with her belly sticking out, bouncing up and down, hips offering diminutive jiggles, and upper thighs wobbling lightly. She lifts her feet, one then the other, up onto the scale platform. The zeroes flash as her first foot lands and she shifts her weight up onto the platform. The display rockets up and dips wildly, flashing all sorts of wild, uncalibrated figures at her; ninety-eights, hundred-nineties, hundred-twenty-fives, hundred-twos… As her other foot lands, she centres her weight and the numbers on the display begin to stabilise with a hundred and nineties, fifties, forties... Then with a last flash of approximating numbers, the display comes to a stop and blinks with its final verdict. “171.72 lbs / 77.89 kg” A hundred and seventy one pounds? No, wait, that’s not right. Karen takes a small suck of air in through her mouth, amazement opening her face comically wide as one of those carnival clowns you throw pingpong balls into. Under the assumption that the reading is incorrect, Matilda steps off the scale, only to have Karen snap a hard glance at her. ‘What are you doing? No. This isn’t over yet. Get back on there, please.’ Chest deflating like a popped balloon, Matilda obliges, stepping back up on the plate and watching as the digits flutter, with apathetic assuredness, straight back up the precise figure of 171.72. She feels her shoulders sag. ‘That’s not good, hun,’ Karen says as she scans some old records. ‘Fuck off.’ ‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that. I know you’re not exactly short, but you aren’t exactly tall either. This kind of weight looks bad on your figure, hun. You used to weigh one hundred and forty-nine pounds, which, maybe that was workable, if you just had a bit “extra” here and there. But this is just bad. You’ve gained twenty-three pounds in three months. What have you been doing?’ Unable to force a single word out her throat, Matilda twists her fingers into knots at her sides. Karen is looking right at her. It is at precisely this moment that Matilda diverts her eyes, only for her vision to land on the club’s huge emblem painted on the wall. Purple Vale. Its violet crest. Its inscribed banner. The prized ball cradled atop like a crown. Memories and feelings flood the eye of her mind and soul. The club is dying. Her club – is dying. It’s been dying since the day Kendra, the last passionate member of staff, was moved along like dead weight. Death has been leeching its sour reek into the air of the facility ever since the day Margery Hartwell took her place. Margery and her broken ideas of frightened, defensive play styles, her non-existent plans of attack, her rigid dynamics, her authoritarian hand withdrawing like a frightened snake from any idea that isn’t her own. Margery and her pathetic body-shaming complex. Her own failures and her own regrets. The psychological baggage from her personal history of humiliation that she couldn’t help but drag like a rotting carcass decades later into this club, stinking the place out and driving all quality away under a wave of repulsion. ‘Don’t you think you look a little,’ Karen shaping her hands in front of her stomach with some kind of attempt at apologetic mime, ‘…a little chubby?’ Her chest swells with bile – almost overflows. She feels the corner of her lip pull back in a sneer she isn’t strong enough to hide anymore. She never knew she could hate somebody so much. These coaches have ruined football. Refusing to meet Karen’s eye, Matilda gives her a one-shouldered shrug. Karen dips her head forward, looking up from beneath doubtfully raised brows. ‘And it doesn’t concern you?’ Matilda pretends to be all light-hearted about it, and says, ‘Oh no, don’t worry about it, it’s fine, I’m just dirty-bulking.’ Karen blinks. ‘Oh. I see. And you just decided you would go off and do that without consulting anybody on the medical team, so they knew?’ ‘Uh… yeah. That’s why I got this thing now.’ She forces herself to pat her belly. It feels cool and shockingly soft to her fingers. ‘Is that so. Even if that was true, the last thing you need right now is muscle. And you wouldn’t be getting any stronger with the way you’ve been going, hun. You’ve just been getting… well. Softer. Surely you see that.’ ‘I’m fine, don’t worry about it,’ she shrugs, wanting this to be over. ‘Do you even know what dirty bulking is?’ ‘You can’t be serious… Of course I do. How can you not see this problem? You’ve been getting fat. How much more obvious can we make it? Look at your legs. You’ve lost all definition in them. Your torso is particularly chubby, see – and look at that belly! You aren’t pregnant, hun, so the way it’s sticking out like that means it’s painfully obvious you’ve just been eating too much and not bothering to work any of it into muscle.’ Matilda’s eyes boggle with irritation. ‘I. Am. Fine. Stop badgering me. Just let me go and practice.’ ‘You’ve been practising nothing but eating.’ A moment of silence. Then Karen cocks an eyebrow. ‘Stand up straight,’ she says. ‘Now… without stretching your neck – just look straight down with your eyes – and tell me something. I want to know. Come on. Do as I say. That’s it. Straight as a rod. There we go. Now, without moving your neck, can you see your feet?’ Matilda looks down. Her socks are white today. ‘No, not like that – I told you not to move your neck. Look down with your eyes only.’ Matilda does so, pulling her neck back. It doesn’t feel comfortable. The tips of her socks splay out on the floor, peeking out from the moonlike curve of her belly’s front. ‘I… can see my toes.’ ‘Oh, wonderful. You can see your toes. I asked if you can see your feet. See what I’m suggesting? So,’ Karen reiterates, ‘that means you’re fat. You have a distended midsection, and a clear view of your own feet is obstructed. That’s just how it works, hun. The point of all this is to make you see what you have been refusing to see. Do you see it now? Because we see it. And we see the weight you need to lose. Now it is your turn to see it. So go and lose it, Matilda.’ She returns to the desk and starts packing away the equipment and re-arranging the documentation. ‘We’re done here. Shirt and shoes back on please.’ Stepping off the scale, Matilda snatches her shirt off the hook and throws it back over her head, the relief of privacy drenching her body like warm rain. Reaching down to retrieve her socks and shoes, she decides to court disaster one last time. ‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ she provokes in a calm, quiet voice. ‘I’m not that bad. I can still play…’ Already moving towards the door, Karen comes to a halt as if shot. She slowly turns and looks back at her from beneath raised eyebrows. She is almost smiling in disbelief. ‘Don’t try your luck, Matilda.’ She blinks harshly, then scrunches her nose a little. ‘You should really lose that weight. Before things get bad.’ And so, with a fake apologetic smile, Karen opens the door and shows Matilda out. . The training session drags like a sack of deadweight. No one asks how things went for her. They don’t need to. All the girls either have suspicions, or enough nous to connect the dots, not in the least reinforced by the visible struggles she encounters during drills, falling behind, needing to catch her breath before anyone else, face going flushed red and her hairline the first to become soaked with sweat. On her way out the club an hour and half later, she passes the bathroom and overhears voices. Two of the girls are chatting. She stops to listen briefly, gathering all she needs to know by the tones of voice and no more than a few sentences that it’s Beth and Kelsey talking. Beth is confessing in a hushed voice that she feels better about herself and is feeling more confident ever since “she’s been getting out of shape”, and that “it’s stopping Margery from picking on us as much”, and that “it’s like she’s a sniper distracted and looking elsewhere now”. Matilda doesn’t know if she should smile or not. If nothing else, at least her crusade of self-sabotage has worked in one sense. It’s worked for her teammates. For the very soul of her club. The club she remembers, at least – not this stale skeleton of a thing Margery has stripped all the flesh from and starved down to a husk of itself. Nauseating shame and hot victory collide with each other inside her soul, a high-speed crash forming a mangled car wreck of smashed emotions. Outside, in the parking lot, she begins to walk across the tarmac with her eyes on the ground when coach Ilda suddenly appears around the corner from behind a bush in a mad hurry and waves at her. ‘Halt!’ she commands, throwing up a stiff hand that is about two inches off becoming a fascist salute. Wrangling her facial muscles into the most neutral expression of amiability possible, Matilda stops and looks up at the coach. ‘Matilda,’ informs the coach. ‘Margery has asked to see you before you leave. She would like a word. She is in her office.’ And with that, Ilda spins on her prim Germanic heels and stalks off. With an irritated sigh, Matilda slowly comes about and makes her way back inside, dragging her feet down the corridors all the way to the office wing. The first thing she notices about Margery when she comes clear of the door frame are the circles under the manager’s eyes, and the lowered angle of her head as it hangs over her desk, barely lifting to see her enter the room. When she finally does raise her head, Matilda notices the manager’s eyes lock suddenly upon her body as she takes a step to the side and folds her arms over her chest, waiting in a way that conveys her best “what do you want?” attitude. The lines around Margery’s eyes look so deep you could trace them with a pen. Her cheeks look flaccid, the whites of her eyes have no shine, and her mouth hangs open as she begins to talk, leaning heavily on her desk with her elbows. Her voice is quiet, verging on exhaustion. ‘You cause me so much pain.’ Matilda draws her arms tighter around herself and has to resist the urge to shuffle in circles on her feet. ‘I just moved you into the midfield, and you’re already causing problems. So many chances,’ Margery moans, holding her hands out in plaintive exasperation. ‘So much talent. So much understanding of the game. So much potential. Yet here you are. Do you understand just how colossally you are wasting your opportunities away, Matilda? Really. Why are you doing this? Do you realise what you’re doing? I used to think you knew – but every time I become less certain. Look at yourself.’ Matilda watches a sneer writhe through Margery’s lips – but this time she notices a sadness in her eyes, as well. ‘Look at this… thing you’ve done to yourself. You look even fatter than ever. It boggles my mind. It makes me want to weep. A footballer with so much natural talent wasting away before my eyes.’ Margery looks down at the desk, as if observing the direction of its grain. ‘I’ll have to move you to right-back, soon. What a waste! Someone of your attacking ability? Playing in a fullback role? I shake my head, I really do. Frankly this is the most disappointed I have ever been, in anyone, in my entire life. I am sorry, but I cannot hold back my feelings any longer, you understand. This…’ waving her hand at Matilda’s body, ‘trend of yours. It is disgusting, quite honestly. It is borderline immoral how badly you are treating yourself.’ Margery’s nostrils flare as she presses her lips into a straight line and looks up at the wall behind Matilda. ‘You remind me of a girl I used to know. Years ago, when I was in school. We played. She had talent. She could have made it into the local team, but…’ She peers into a vision of the past, voice trailing into sadness, ‘when tryouts came, she never made it to that level. Do you know why?’ Matilda nearly bursts out laughing. She fidgets with her fingers, a sadistic, spiteful knife of pleasure manifesting in her fist. She knows exactly why. Margery is talking about none other than her very own self. The failure. The guilt. The regret. Oh, the sheer rush of this – hitting Matilda sweetly in the forehead like a sugar rush, a five milligram injection of heroin comedy straight into her arterial system. Giving up on waiting for a response, Margery looks away, eyes sunken back into her skull like dead marbles. ‘That girl let herself go,’ Margery sighs. ‘She let herself go. Just like you have. The tryouts were too much for her, when it came time to be put to the test. She could have completed them. She would have. She would have succeeded, but instead she was too unfit, held back and depressed by her own flaccid, immobile, useless weight she let hang on her. It was embarrassing. Utterly humiliating. And in the end, Matilda, she was laughed off the pitch. You understand? She almost never returned. So much talent, so much potential, all of it wasted– her window of opportunity missed.’ Margery shakes her head and looks up to meet her eyes with a deep, hot glare. ‘Take heed, Matilda. You have a window of opportunity left to you still. Do not miss the sliding-doors moment. Grow any fatter than you already have, and you will have to say goodbye to everything you know. This is your final warning. And to make it clear just how serious I am, this time… I have already begun lining up a transfer for another winger. I am sorry it has come to this. I didn’t want it to. But here we are. Here you are, barely fitting your clothes properly. Out of breath. Unable to reach your top speed… You have done this to yourself. Now dig yourself out of your own hole. That is all I had to tell you. Now get out of here. I’ll see you on Friday.’ . . . From that day onwards, a sour taste lingers on Matilda’s tongue. Bitter bile and hate. Before she knows it, she’s on a two-and-a-half-day long food binge to mask her unstable emotions, riding them up and down and around like a rollercoaster she’s just clenching and waiting to be over. The only thing that stays up consistently is her stomach, stuffed perpetually full with food – another snack or drink or meal going inside it the moment it shows the first sign of deflating. By week’s end, she finds herself laying on her bed watching shows in her pyjamas with so many wrappers cluttering her bin that they’ve overflowed and gathered into a second pile beside it. The episode of a show ends, and the laptop’s screen goes black, flashing a dark reflection back at her. She groans as she glimpses her legs sprawled open, one shin hanging off the edge of the mattress, and her body lying reclined in an awkward twist as her neck sits up at an angle on the pillow. Her left forearm lays over her belly which sticks up from her midsection like a hill, her other arm sprawled out like a bird’s broken wing. She frowns at her reflection. The visual shape of her stomach ballooning out holds her attention hostage, and it’s at that precise moment that she becomes aware of how uncomfortable her stretched sides feel from the size and weight of her culinary indulgences, testing the strength of her internal organs. ‘Man I really gotta stop,’ she groans to herself. ‘I have gotta stop doing this.’ Then a new episode starts up, splashing the screen with colour again. Her reflection is replaced, and her thoughts of fixing her ways evaporate along with it. As the hours go by, she slots biscuit after biscuit between her lips, knowing she shouldn’t, but never once acting like she believes it, until she perceives a tiny burn like an air-light prick of a thorn somewhere on the side of her belly. Thinking it’s just a stray fibre in her pyjama top irritating her skin, she frowns and brushes it away with her hand, then keeps eating. Last biscuit, then she’ll put it all away. Or in the bin. She’ll go back to the gym. Get fit again. Regain her athleticism, her pace, her agility. Re-emerge in the team’s ranks to get the girls winning again, and put on a stony face as she deals with Margery’s bad tempers forever and ever until the sad bitch either leaves or dies. Dread fills her heart with heavy tar, and she feels herself sink into the mattress. She picks up another biscuit and bites into it. She’s barely even watching the show anymore. Then she feels that microscopic, almost imperceptible sting again, like the world’s tiniest ant trying to nip her skin. Exhaling from her nose in irritation, she leans forward and pulls one side of her pyjama shirt up to peer at the area. The wedge of belly skin rises forth to meet her investigative fingers. Oh fuck… is that… Matilda leans harder over herself at the waist, the exposed portion of her belly balling into a single roll, and she narrows her eyes. Did she scratch herself by accident? Is it a… Or is that a stretch mark? She places two fingers over the tiny red fleck and stretches it out like a canvas. Her flesh obeys to her fingers’ manipulations with such soft ease that it scares her. A little pink line the length of her fingernail, right there, a little further than an inch away from her navel. She cocks her hip to scan around the side of her belly for any more, grabbing and shifting the spongy flesh coating her torso. She twists to the other side and checks for more, only to find one and a half on her left hip, a little larger but less defined – blurred at the edges, and not as pink. A second half-mark sits beneath it. Small shockwaves ricochet through her flab as her fingers release their grip on it. Then she grabs at the other side of her belly again, her worry-darkened eyes scouring her body in paranoid frustration. Her heart flutters with little skips of panic as she pinches the flesh under the young pink marks. This can’t be right. They’re too new. They definitely weren’t there yesterday. Is her skin already reaching its limits of elasticity? Surely not. There’s no way she’s still getting fatter. Throwing the bottom of her shirt back over stomach, she folds her arms over waist in dejected self-protection, sticks her jaw out, and stares a thousand yards away at the screen of the laptop like she’s just seen a bomb go off and kill innocent children. She needs to stop. She needed to stop weeks ago. She needed to get back to the gym months ago. . . . But she didn’t. And she doesn’t. When Carlile comes over to visit the next day, there is something she notices as quick as a set-off mousetrap. Smothering him with kisses at the front door, she pulls back and rests her forehead on his chest, running her hands down the side of his body and peeking down at his stomach. That’s when she sees it. The shape below her eyes pleases her; a rounded, filled-in curve that wasn’t quite so obvious the last time they saw each other. ‘I miss you,’ he sighs. ‘I miss you too.’ ‘Your parents home?’ Rubbing her nose up into the corner of his neck, ‘Not anymore. Mum just left for a conference in Chile, and dad’s doing some relief teaching in the country again.’ She lets out a breathy giggle as she feels his fingers slide down the back of her pants and clutch a heap of her asscheek in his long fingers. With nobody around to witness it, they spend the night eating, fucking, cuddling on the lounge in front of the TV, fucking again, then eating again, and not much else, on repeat for as long as they can until they fall asleep in each other’s arms well past midnight. . . .
  19. Chapter 8 Mira watched Morgan in front of her sight, make her way downtown. Her butt shifted side to side jiggling, making big deliberate steps. She waddled like a penguin no doubt thanks to her fat laden legs rubbing into each other. As they made a turn Mira noticed her huge belly wobble in her green dress. She saw the girl was panting looking at her plush face gasping from just walking. The blonde heard some chuckles, seeing Sariel giggling at her now fat friend. She was still shocked this was that same red haired petite girl she knew way back. "So, Morgan. How do I put this? Why do you look...well?" Mira sighed not knowing how to address the waddling elephant in the street. "You don't have to be polite about it, Mira. After all you didn't recognize me completely. I know I've let myself go since the guild days. Infact, I'm twice the girl I was," Morgan blushed. "I'm guessing your past those days." "Yeah, I'm retired. Even walking lately is a bit tiring for me. Now I own a business. You remember Kline, right?" Morgan asked. "Yes, of course." "Well, were married now," Morgan smiled. "Oh, how wonderful. I knew you had a thing for him, way to go girl," Mira smiled. "Yeah, he asked me out months after you left and soon, we got married. Of course, it didn't take long for me to get pregnant," Morgan smirked. "You're a mother too. Thats amazing," Mira grinned. "Yeah, but thats when the weight started piling on my figure. I got so many cravings while I was pregnant. Then after giving birth, I had put on 30 pounds. I tried to lose weight after that. But I gained even more, until I grew to be this big. I had just gotten so used to eating my fill, and I couldn't stop," Morgan blushed. "That explains a lot. Are you and Kline doing well?" Mira asked. "Oh, I am. Kline, huh still loves me even If I've, huh gotten fat," Morgan panted. "I need to sit huh soon. Oh, thank the goddess. We just huh made it. Welcome to my home." Mira looked up to see a nice decently sized house. The huge red head opened the door, waddling inside panting. Mira peaked inside to see more familiar faces. She saw Kline sitting in his chair eating some deer meat by the looks of it. He had blonde hair wearing a white shirt and some blue pants. Though Morgan wasn't alone in their relationship when it came to larger waistlines. Kline just like his wife, had a large gut sagging in his lap. His face was also cherubic with a double chin as well. He got up grunting and kissed his fat wife. Mira thought it was cute how their large bellies kissed as well, smushing together. Kline used to be the swordsmen of the group. But he clearly hadn't been swinging his sword lately with those jiggly arms. Then sitting on the other side of the table was another face she recognized. Lia the dark elf who used to be the rogue of the group. She was fast and able to cut enemies with her magic knives. Now she looked like even a walk might give her some difficulty with that large tan gut she had resting in her lap. Not to mention those fat laden thighs spreading in her tight short pants. Even her tan calves were thick to go with her plump toes in her sandals. To think she used to have strong slender legs. She was wearing a purple shirt that didn't fit around her belly completely as the bottom of her gut was showing. Her breasts were slightly sagging E cups now compared to her perky b cups back then. Her butt spread over the chair like an overfilled pan of rising dough. Even her once rough hands had softened as she probably hadn't picked up a weapon in a while. Not to mention her hands were a bit puffier. She grabbed her sandwich with her bingo winged arms. Mira watched her chew with her puffy cheeks to go with her double chin. Even her long white hair she used to have had been cut into a bob style. Mira was shocked to see that it wasn't just Morgan who had gotten so fat. She saw Sariel smirking to herself from the corner of her eye. She was probably amused by all this. "Hey, look who I huh found in our old hunting grounds," Morgan stated, sitting in her chair gasping. The chair also creaked loudly as she landed her overflowing butt in the seat. "Mira, it's you. It's so good to see you. It's been so long," Kline smiled hugging Mira as his large belly touched her small little bulge. "It has been, burp, too long. What made you come back after all this time?" Lia stated. "I recently moved up here. Just doing some work around the area. I just happened to run into Morgan. I was not expecting you all to have these though," Mira smirked poking Klines belly. "Yeah, we've um gotten rotund these days," Kline blushed. "Yeah, she almost didn't recognize me," Morgan giggled eating some meat as well. "What happened?" Mira asked. "I became a dad, thats what happened. I was home helping Morgan raise the baby and I put on some pounds from not being active. As for Lia here. She um...married the baker," Kline stated. "Oh, that makes sense," Mira nodded. "Hey, it's not my fault that cute dough boy seduced me with his muffins," Lia blushed letting out a fart. "We knew you were happy. But we did warn you how fat you were going to get if you married him. You have a sweet tooth after all," Morgan giggled poking the dark elf's belly. "Like you can talk. You packed on the pounds after getting comfy in your marriage. Must be nice to use pregnancy as an excuse," Lia smirked slapping Morgan's gut making it jiggle. "Shut up, piggy elf." "Make me, you fat cow." "Girls, don't fight," Kline sighed. "Opps, sorry honey. Anyway, eat with us Mira. Will catch up," Morgan stated as Mira giggled at their banter. "Sure. Heh, maybe you guys haven't changed completely," Mira giggled. It reminded her of the good old days when they were around the campfire. The girls yelling over something dumb while Kline tried to break them up. The only thing different was the names they called each other attacking their fat figures. "By the way who's your new friend?" Morgan smirked. "I'm her girlfriend," Sariel giggled. "Don't give them the wrong idea," Mira blushed making everyone laugh. Soon Mira sat at the table catching up with her old friends. Mira was so caught up talking, she didn't realize how much food she was putting away. She was having a blast filling her belly up, ravenous after the mission. It didn't take long for Mira to feel her tummy start to feel a bit heavy. Not to mention the tightness of her pants in front of her bloated belly. Mira unbuttoned her pants belching, rubbing her belly for relief blushing. She would have felt more embarrassed for her actions, but everyone else at the table had done the same. Lia and Kline had unbuttoned their pants as well, while Morgan undid her belt. If this is how they ate everyday it was no wonder they had all gotten fat. She remembered her friends always had an appetite, but now they weren't going on missions to burn the calories clearly. "Sorry for unbuttoning my pants," Mira blushed. "It's fine, that tells me you loved my cooking. Besides, we do the same all the time. Might explain why were so big. At least one of us is still trim," Morgan stated. "Well, I'm the only one of us thats still going on missions. Tell me, why did all of you stop? Did you really give up adventuring so easily? You all used to love going on missions," Mira wondered. "Well, there is a bit more to it," Kline sighed. "Not too long after you left, we got married and I had my baby. Lia was dating her future husband at the time starting to put on some pounds. We had actually started adventuring again, trying to lose some weight. But then over a year ago, Adela showed up after killing the elf queen. This town falls under her territory, so she demanded the towns taxes to help pay for her army," Morgan explained. "The town had no choice as those who didn't were cut them off from trading, left on their own. Most towns had to give into her demands. Then we noticed a lot of the jobs that the guild used to have, were taken by Adela's army. This meant there were less job postings at the guild. Which meant less money was made from the guild when they took their cuts from missions. Not to mention the taxes they had to pay. This led to them having to make bigger cuts to groups when they completed missions. Of course, that meant adventurers were making less money," Lia sighed, belching. "About 3 months later, adventuring groups started to disband fast. We had no choice but to do the same. We just weren't making enough money to support our selves. Adela's army was doing most of the missions now. We had to adapt. So, I own a flowering business with Morgan, while Lia runs the bakery with her hubby. Now many adventuring groups have disbanded, and some guilds are even starting to close their doors," Kline explained. "I see, that explains why the guild took a huge cut from me today. Come to think of it, a lot of guilds are taking bigger cuts," Mira sighed. "Yeah, and since we took up more sedentary jobs, with Adela's army taking our old ones. Well, we got fat," Morgan blushed patting her belly, letting out a fart. "Couldn't you have moved out of her territory to continue adventuring," Mira wondered. "Of course we could have, but we didn't want to leave this town. We grew up here and have many friends and family," Lia explained. "Plus, I had the baby to think about. I couldn't take my daughter through dangerous territories. It would be a very hard escort mission. You know how fun those are," Morgan sighed. "Yeah, screw those missions. But are you just going to accept Adela and not do anything about her? You realize she's doing this on purpose to phase out adventurers. She's replacing you with her soldiers to get jobs done. Now that the free market is dying, she has more control than ever since you rely on her more," Mira sighed. "What do you want us to do though? Adela took down Sella and took over the whole region. What chance do we have of stopping her? We thought it was best just to adjust. If we went against Adela, our daughter might not have parents anymore, please understand," Kline explained. "Yeah, things change Mira," Morgan stated. Mira looked at their large bellies, along with their glazed over looks. Things had changed indeed. That fire in their eyes they once had was burnt to cinders and cooled now. "It's ok. I understand. As long as your all happy than its fine with me. I'm sorry," Mira stated. "It's ok. By the way, you can come visit us whenever you wish," Morgan smiled. "I would love too, thank you for your amazing food," Mira smiled rubbing her belly. "Wait before you go, you have to try my husband's tarts. Hm, so good," Lia grinned as Mira started sweating a bit. *** Mira groaned as she rubbed her belly walking with her pants still undone. Sariel smirked, having watched the dragon stuff herself with her old piggy friends. "Burp, oh. I overdid it. I shouldn't have eaten so much. Just had to have dessert too, burp. I almost didn't want to get up," Mira groaned. "You told me, they all used to be slim adventurers. I wouldn't believe you unless you told me. If they eat like that often, it's no wonder they got so corpulent," Sariel giggled. "Yeah, maybe I shouldn't visit them too often. If I ate like that all the time. I might get fat too. Don't want them rubbing off on me," Mira blushed rubbing her belly. "You'll be fine as long as you don't catch their cowardness," Sariel grinned. "It's not their fault they fell into Adela's trap. Things just didn't work out for them, ok," Mira sighed. "True, but the defeat in their eyes was something. You saw it, right. They look like domesticated fat animals, then the wild adventurers they used to be no," Sariel stated. "I know, they gave up, but I burp won't. My fire is still burning strong," Mira stated. Will see about that. In due time, the fate of those adventurers will be the future of you and your crew. I can't wait to see the look of defeat in all your eyes as well when you can barely walk, Sariel thought grinning. Soon the girls made it back to where the ship had surfaced. Sariel giggled, seeing everyone on the ground taking a nap in the vibrant flower fields. They all had bloated tummies after eating lunch and some even had their pants undone. My piggies are coming along nicely, Sariel thought giggling. Then she saw Nyrie bent over working on the ship's engine. Her tight shorts gave a nice view of her plush butt cheeks for Sariel. Not to mention that bloated belly hanging under her waist. Clearly the stuffed belly gave her discomfort, but the harpy kept on working. Mira tapped her shoulder to get her attention. "Hey Nyrie, why is everyone taking a nap? It's the middle of the day," Mira wondered. "Well after everyone ate their fill, they just laid back and started talking. Then they all fell asleep. Lazy bums. I wanted to join them to sleep off all this bread I ate. But I have a job to do," Nyrie pouted. "Why don't you take a break as well. I have to discuss our plans," Mira stated. "Sure, ok. Also, weird question. Does my butt look bigger?" Nyrie asked blushing. "Um, hasn't it always been big," Mira smirked making Nyrie turn red. "No, it hasn't. Never mind." Mira got Nellie up as she stirred awake, blushing she had passed out. Then the cowgirl shook Yuki awake as the blue haired kitsune opened her eyes still a tad ** from drinking too much beer. She groaned holding her heavy beer belly as Nellie rubbed it to make her feel a bit better. "Rise and shine Yuki. I hope you feel better after that nap," Nellie smiled. "Oh, I do. Thank you, Nellie," Yuki blushed. "Anytime," Nellie grinned. Sariel poked Isadora's belly to wake her up. Isadora sighed as she blushed realizing she had fallen asleep so fast after sleeping in. She was getting so lazy lately. She clutched her swollen belly over her undone pants as Sariel giggled at her. Then Isadora got Elara awake by poking her green belly. She stirred awake letting out a cute belch as she blushed. Isadora giggled at her undone pants as well. "Ok, now that everyone's awake, I have some updates. First our next destination will be the underground dwarf city. We need to stop there, to make adjustments for when we travel underwater," Mira explained. "I thought the ship could do that, already," Nyrie stated. "Not for long periods of time though. Need the right materials, to go into the ocean for months. Then after where headed straight for the ocean and crossing into new territory to get to the dragon kingdom. Any questions?" Mira wondered. Then Elara rose her hand up. "Yes, Elara." "I was wondering if we could stop by the druid empire. It's on the way, right," Elara stated. "Yes, but why do you want to go there?" "My uncle is the king of the druids, and I think he can help me," Elara stated. "Wait. He's Sella's brother?" Isadora wondered. "Thats right. I think he can possibly get me back to normal," Elara said. "Oh, that makes sense," Mira stated. "Yeah, the druids are magically gifted with nature and can transform into animals. If anyone knows about transformation magic, its them," Nellie smiled. "But there's a reason I've been hesitant to bring up this idea. My uncle and the druids know Elara the elf, but not Elara the goblin. Other races besides elf's and humans aren't welcome in the empire usually. I'm not sure he'll recognize me," Elara frowned. "It's ok, Elara. Will come up with a way for him to know it's you. If you have even the slightest chance of getting back to normal, then I would take it," Mira smirked patting her head. "Thank you. I hope this doesn't delay the journey or anything," Elara blushed. "Not at all. We'll always have time for you Elara. Also are you still having trouble with your magic?" Mira asked. Elara sighed, touching the ground with her hand channeling magic into it. She created 5 blue flowers on the grass. "When I was an elf, I could make a whole patch of flowers with the same spell. After becoming a goblin, I've grown much weaker. I wish I was strong again," Elara sighed. "Magic isn't as easy for goblins to use as elf's so that makes sense. Plus, you're probably not used to your body yet," Mira explained. "Maybe I could teach you how to use magic in your new body Elara. At least till you get your elf form back," Nellie suggested. "I don't want to trouble you. Your very busy Nellie," Elara blushed. "It's fine. I'll have Isadora help me cook since she's the maid, so I have more time for lessons with you. Infact, would you care to join us, Isadora?" Nellie asked. "You want me to join in?" Isadora said. "Yes, didn't you say you had trouble with your magic too. Maybe having each other as study partners would be beneficial," Nellie suggested. "Wait, is it wise to have the slave learn more magic?" Yuki wondered. "It's fine, she knows her place," Sariel grinned evilly as Isadora gulped. "Ok, I'll join in your lessons," Isadora stated. "Cool, we get to be learning buddies," Elara smiled hugging Isadora as she smiled, belching. "Alright, sounds like a plan. To the dwarf city and then the druid empire," Mira stated as everyone cheered. "Any more questions?" "Yeah, why are you bloated? Your pants are undone too," Yuki giggled. "Oh, it's a long story," Mira blushed. *** In a huge field with rocks, elves were charging at orcs in a large battle. The orcs weren't happy with Adela invading their territory, so they were fighting against the elf's. Both sides were using weapons to kill each other, while others were using magic. At the current state of the battle, the orcs were winning due to sheer numbers. An elf commander sighed seeing the army of elves getting overwhelmed. The orcs really meant business it seemed. He ran into the tent, seeing Valena about to eat her lunch. She was wearing a black battle robe that hugged her now slender figure. She also had stockings on her slim legs with heels on her feet. She looked angry to be disturbed. "General Valena, we need your help. Our army is losing. The orcs surprised us with numbers. Please give us your strength." "Come on, I'm eating lunch. Can't you handle it," Valena whined about to take another bite. "I know you were counting on us to deal with this without your help today, but we need you, or else will be wiped out." "Fine, I'll help," Valena sighed as she groaned having to get up. The red headed tall elf walked towards the battle, swaying her hips to show off her slender figure. She saw the army losing to thousands of orcs making her annoyed. "All of you are useless. Let me show you how it's done," Valena growled as she took out her scepter. Suddenly, all the orcs noticed a huge glowing white light from a distance. They saw the huge light erupt like a volcano as it flared up into the sky. Then the orcs began sweating, realizing it was a huge magical attack. Some of the orcs began retreating as the light came towards them. Soon the beams of light formed into wolves, running fast. The magic wolves hit the field as it drilled through the army like butter. Any orc caught in the attack was incinerated to dust. The elves fighting gasped seeing most of their enemy get vaporized by several huge wolves of light. Not too long the orc army had lost a lot of its momentum as the elf's started gaining the upper hand. Valena put her scepter away as the wolves vanished. "That should do it. If you all weren't so useless, I wouldn't have to intervene," Valena pouted. "You know, maybe we should have opened with that attack. We could have lost less soldiers had you helped us from the start." "Are you questioning me, commander? Or do I need to get Adela involved?" Valena glared. "No, of course not princess," he said looking annoyed. "Good, now I'm going to eat my lunch and I don't want anyone to disturb me for the next few hours. Got it!" "Yes mam." Valena huffed entering her tent. She put chains on the door to not be disturbed. When Valena was inside, she sat down taking her robe off sighing. Under her robe was her blue blouse framing her slender middle. She also had a skirt on as well with a belt around her waist. When she finished taking off her robe, the elf began to feel a bit bloated. She sweat like a pig getting nervous. "Dam, that spell drained all my magic. My spell, I can't hold it, burp," Valena groaned. Valena watched as her belly began to protrude outwards. Fat began collecting on her midriff slowly growing forward, belching every 5 seconds. She panicked as her blouse began to feel tight around her waist as love handles began proofing over her pants. The red head's muffin top was getting bigger every moment as her belly now expanded to an inch over her belt. She felt her pants getting tight, wincing in pain a bit. The elf saw her butt was starting to spread in her seat as her thighs began to thicken, slowly growing plumper. She panicked, trying to get her tightening belt off of her before it squeezed her widening hips too much. Undoing her belt, she saw her arms were getting softer as well. Valena felt some relief as she heard a popping sound. She saw the bottom button on her blouse popped as she let out a fart. This revealed some pale belly flesh that was still growing outwards to 3 inches now. She finally got the belt off as her pants button popped off immediately, since nothing was holding back her expanding pooch. She sighed, feeling her skirt grow even tighter. Her thighs looked so meaty now as her skirt rode up a bit. Her face was also softening a bit as she grimaced feeling a second chin grow under her jaw. She watched her breasts go up from D cups to double E cantaloupes next to her flabby arms squeezed into her sleeves. Her chunky midriff had finally stopped growing bigger as another button came off her blouse. She now had a ** wheel of flesh above her tight pants. Her stockings were also stretched more, with the fabric moving down her legs a bit. They had more to cover over her now touching plump thighs. Another button popped on her blouse as she sighed at how silly she looked, belching. The once skinny elf was now looking like a meaty pale sausage in tight casing. She wore clothes that fit a slender elf, not a chunky pig. Her meaty ** belly hung 6 inches from her waist between her open pants flabs. Her ** tummy was exposed thanks to her ruined blouse between her lush thighs. "Perfect, my burp fat reduction spell wore off, and I ruined my outfit. But at least it wasn't in front of everyone. I would die of embarrassment to my grave if they saw me like this. I made it back in here just in time. In just a few hours. I'll recover my magic to shrink my fat down again. Can't believe my corsets shrunk thanks to the maids. Infact a lot of my clothes have been shrinking lately. They need to get better at cleaning. I've put on some weight too, but thankfully it's not too much. At least I'm not huge, like that whale Adela." Valena was still in denial about how fat she really was. In her head she was 15 pounds heavier when in reality she was 48 pounds heavier than last year making her chubby. Thanks to her spell, she could go out in public still looking as petite as ever when she had the magic to do so. But in the castle, she was a plump 183-pound piggy elf. Then she heard her belly growl as it needed to be filled. "Well, might as well stuff my face. I'm starving after all that work I did today," Valena smiled licking her lips, biting into her beef moaning. If you found this interesting, you can check me out on deviant art as well. I have more stories to read over there. chubbygirls12 User Profile | DeviantArt Hope your liking the story so far. Thanks for reading. 🙂
  20. This is something I obsess over - where the line is for 'self-harm' and gaining/ stuffing. Technically, you are reducing your quality of life in some ways through the literal hedonic consumption (of food) for the purpose of becoming 'obese' (not that this word carries much more than general body fat percentage information). The risk factors are so wide and the diseases from being fat all compound on each other to worsen one another. It's really, really bad for you and associated with reduced life span. You can tailor your diet, activity level and general lifestyle to still be able to gain mostly healthily, but it's going to be slower. But then, where's the cut off for all those things? Right? It's extremely individualized. Not every fat person is 'killing' themselves. Contrary to popular belief, with the right cardio/ exercise, you can be healthy and fat. Also, not everyone's the same. These two reasons are why the best we can do is to make general blanket statements of 'don't be sedentary', 'eat healthy', 'eat at regular intervals and at multiple points in the day'. I love that people enjoy gaining btw, just in case this came off as hating.
    cece brings another cute and sexy clip to us! HIGHLY recommended to fans of underboob, as well as just fans of softness in general. it is impossible for me to run out of good things to say about cece's clips because she delivers EVERY time.
  21. The nice thing about most of these (and why I had so many) is that Dall-E generally pumped out good ones most of the time. That's what made it so fun to use compared to Stable Diffusion- with SD, you can get really nice results but you have to do a fair amount of tweaking even beyond the prompts and even then ( at least in my experience) get some really messed up anatomy and warped/distorted stuff. With DAll-E3, I'd rarely get really messed up anatomy- occasionally you get some messed up hands or an extra arm or a weird belly roll like in some of those Kate Winslet pics above, but that's about it. The downside, especially now, is the censoring and fighting around that. As I've said, most of the ones I'm posting here were generated back in December or early January this year. Its too much of a hassle to try and get decent results when I tried off and on the past couple months at this point- the censoring and filters are just incredibly heavy handed now to the point that you're fighting to get any kind of "fat" or "curvy" woman image generated.
  22. “… So the question, Stephanie, is how do we create that perennial bestseller, you know? Not that I expect you to just tell me here, but just something to think about,” who appeared to be Stephanie’s boss (or the CEO? I wasn’t sure), Michael, offered. He looked to be in his forties or thereabouts, and probably spent his whole career in the upper ranks of the organization. That was how it was sometimes with these family companies. Steph swirled the beer in her glass. “Yeah no, I hear you. It’s tricky because you don’t want to chase the puck, you want to go where it’s going, you know? Yet at the same time bestsellers are bestsellers because they’re bestsellers. So it’s kind of a chicken and egg thing I guess. You know what I think… I think, this could be the alcohol talking, but we could do to take more risk. Just saying, I don’t know. Let’s see how I feel tomorrow, haha.” Michael nodded. He clearly respected what Stephanie had to say, even it was a bit demurring. “Hmm, yeah. Let’s sleep on it. Well it’s great to have you on board, again. It’s only been a few months but it feels like longer!” “Haha, well thank you. Cheers to that.” Steph turned to me, her blonde locks swirling around her well defined face in turn. She smiled. “Holding up? I know it’s a lot of names and stuff. Sorry that you have to tell people you’re in telecom; it would be slightly awk to have someone from the competitor at the holiday party, to say the least. Maybe even not allowed, not sure. Anyway.” “Yeah no, just happy to be here,” I said, trying not to spend all my time taking in Stephanie’s incredible form. The relationship dynamic had changed, whether we wanted it to or not—the friendship was there, but no longer colleagues, and we both knew I was mainly there for one thing and one thing only—to be utterly teased, which for better or worse only emboldened Stephanie to go even further down the garden path. I noticed throughout the evening she drank a lot more than I remembered from even a couple of months ago—if I had it right, she was on her fourth, held in somehow by her doubled Spanx and leggings underneath her dress. I also noticed Stephanie was getting more looks in general from the men in the room—maybe because I was looking for it myself—but probably because the cleavage she has on display was borderline indecent for a corporate event. And yet, there I was, generally enjoying myself for being at a relevant spot for my career, but mostly, let’s be honest, for Steph. “Well… you’ve been on your best behaviour all night. Thank you for accompanying me like a gentleman,” Steph turned and said to me as we inched closer to 10pm. “Will you get an Uber for us to share back?” “Um yeah, for sure…” I put in both addresses, hers and mine. I didn’t want to assume anything, as much as I wanted to. As we got in the car, Steph simply smiled as I glanced over at her form. Her rear really filled the seat; you could tell the Spanx was almost cinching her to the limit. Yet she smiled. She knew. You could tell she was used to it… almost relishing it. Too soon, we reached Steph’s place. I watched as she got out and got the best view of her bottom I’d seen… possibly ever. “Well don’t be a stranger, huh? I’ll let you know if I need a date for another event, haha. It was super fun hanging with you again.” Steph smiled, knowing exactly what she was doing. “Um… yeah, any time. Likewise!” I weakly offered, feeling absolutely smitten. While we would text from time to time after that, that was it with Stephanie for a while. She kept a low profile on social media, too—if she posted, it was other people, street photos, maybe a croissant—that kind of thing. And once in a while, a selfie, where she looked much the same—but I knew that was not necessarily the case just underneath. Finally, in May, I got a text that was quite different in tone than the usual industry and media habits texts we’d been volleying back and forth. “I have to say, I am so extremely impressed with how so, so patient you’ve been and the self control you’ve exerted,” Steph texted. “Like truly, I’m in awe. And I’ll be honest, I’ve been on a few first dates over the past five months, but I never quite stopped thinking about our ‘date’ in December. Or you. So… maybe this is crazy, but do you just want to like, have a date? See how it goes? I don’t want to ruin our friendship but I’m just too curious haha.” Before I could respond, an addendum: “… and yes, I know you’re wondering, I’ve gotten bigger 😇”
  23. Chapter 24 "Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the first year of your journey into the food-tastic world of Food Science and Nutrition! I'm Carl, surname Lorie—yes, put together, that comes very close to calorie. See, it's almost as if I was destined to teach Food Nutrition, right? My parents definitely saw that coming!” I gave a chuckle from my spot three rows from the front, fiddling with the lid of my pen nervously as I looked around at the students around me. This large auditorium was intensely different from what I was used to at school or even in sixth form completing my A-Levels; it all felt so much more… academic. I had been one of the first to arrive, choosing a spot not right at the front but not right at the back either. Not too far away from anybody, but not right next to anyone either. Fortunately, as the last students trickled in and Carl closed the door, it stayed that way, giving her plenty of space for her stationery. I wasn’t an anxious girl normally; people described me as bubbly and confident, and I could agree with them. I had been popular at school, but despite being blonde and what people called ‘hot’ (their words, not mine), I wouldn’t say I fit into the bitchy queen bee cliché. But I was never bullied; very few people disliked me; I was fairly smart; and I had been friends with both nerds and what Americans would call ‘jocks’ and ‘cheerleaders’. But here I was at the University of Surrey, in a course full of strangers, apart from all of those friends. Most of those friendships drifted in college, with only a few close ones sticking by, separating the ‘friends of convenience slash situation’ from those who cared specifically for me. Of those few, plus the few extras I made in the previous two years, not one found themselves chasing the same destiny I did through university—that being the ‘food-tastic’ world of Food Science and Nutrition my new lecturer just announced. “Sorry I’m late!” A voice called from the front of the room as the door that Carl had just closed swung open once more, revealing a honey-skinned, rather tall girl with dark hair in a single ponytail clutching books to her chest, rather out-of-breath. A few students giggled, but at a glare from the latecomer, soon turned these into awkward coughs and silence. Raising his eyebrows, Carl Lorie looked to the girl and said, “You know, they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but only if you wake up in time to eat it. Don't worry, though. Oversleeping might mean you missed your morning toast, but here's a crumb of comfort…” A few chuckles rumble around the room once more, “Studies suggest extra sleep can actually improve your metabolism. So, in a way, you've just been giving your body a little extra nutritional support!” “I didn’t oversleep!” The girl exclaimed crossly, cheeks darkening, “I was on a run!” Carl raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, then offers a broad grin, "Ah, well, that changes everything! Running, you say? Excellent choice! In that case, you've kick-started your metabolism even before setting foot in class. Not to mention, you've just burned off the breakfast you didn't have time to eat. Efficiency at its finest! Just remember, folks, a good run can be like a morning coffee for your metabolism, and it seems our friend here is already a few steps ahead. Let's give her a round of applause for running the extra mile for nutrition!" The room filled with light applause, some more laughter, and finally earning a small smile from the flustered girl, “It’s the first day; just don’t make a habit of it, alright?” She nodded, muttering thanks, before heading towards the steps up the auditorium, dark eyes scanning each row for an empty spot, before they settled on the empty spot beside me, currently occupying my backpack. She then looked at me, offering the awkward smile that suggested she was about to break her own rules of introvertedness with the dilemma of needing to initiate human contact to be able to sit down in this class. Before she had to speak, though, I took the hint and offered her a cheerful smile back, removing my bag and setting it on the floor beside my legs. “Take a seat!” I exclaimed, pulling my legs back to allow the girl space to move by. I detected the scent of freshly sprayed perfume as she shimmied past, trying not to admire her taut and toned rear (not too much, at least) shifting past my face. The girl was athletic; it was obvious just by looking at her, as well as from her late arrival and choice of outfit. She was attractive, that’s for sure—more than her ass(ets), she had beautiful eyes and an expressive face. Plus, her boobs were great. I first discovered I was bisexual in my first year of sixth form college, and I actually hadn’t had a boyfriend since school. I went on a few dates over the two years of my A-Levels, a few less second dates, but nothing had stuck. “Thanks.” The girl said gratefully as she settled into the chair next to me, rustling around as she started preparing everything she needed for the lesson, lowering her voice so as to not disturb the rest of the class or Carl as he started talking again, “Nothing like all eyes on you for your first day of uni, huh?” I grinned, “It was quite an entrance, but don’t worry about it! One of the guys above us somewhere tripped on the second step and spilled coffee on his white designer shirt whilst flailing like a cartoon character. You’re good.” She snorted, a cute noise, “Ha. Thanks. I’m Roxana, by the way, Roxana Milsom.” “Belle Fletcher.” I smiled warmly, offering my hand for her to shake, “Feel free to be my next-door-seat-neighbour for the rest of the course, if you’d like.” Roxana smiled appreciatively, the flustered nature from her encounter with Carl fading as she relaxed. She was clearly relieved that she ended up next to somebody normal—a friend, maybe. “That sounds great.” She said softly, “Thank you.” “Cheers to the next three years, then!” I chirped, holding up my takeaway cup of mocha. Roxana chuckled, lifting her light blue sports water bottle to tap my cup as I continued, “May they be life-changing, nutritious, and... food-tastic, as Carl will surely say at least three times a class!” *** “Do… up!” I hissed in frustration, tugging fiercely at the material of my jeans. My tongue poked out to the side of my mouth in concentration as I sucked my stomach in; however, that did very little to help the paunch of my lower tummy, which stubbornly remained protruding out over the waistband that was blocking my view of even seeing the damn button that wouldn’t reach the hole on the other side, “Damn it!” I let go of the two flaps of material, releasing my breath and causing my belly to surge forward once again, pushing the flaps away again and forcing the zip back down to make way. I looked at myself in the mirror, grabbing a handful of my chub and giving it a pleasant shake, watching the ripples of flesh in the mirror. I looked hot, so much so that I was genuinely worried I was becoming a narcissist. Was it narcistic behaviour to look in the mirror and like what you saw? Or was it self-love, which was a big deal nowadays? I supposed a true narcissist wouldn’t question or worry that they were a narcissist. Maybe. Another day, another pair of jeans outgrown—these ones hurt almost as much as the day I had to retire my favourite canary yellow jeans, mainly because it felt like only yesterday when I bought them back in the store with that poor girl called Leah. They had been expensive, and I had been way too entranced by Roxana’s teasing and deliberate attempts to cram me into way-too-tiny outfits, to listen to the nagging voice in my brain telling me I definitely needed to size up considering my life goal right now was to reach a weight that was always going to be too soft and round for these size twelve jeans. A few wiggles and curses later, they lay discarded in a slump on our bed, never to be worn again as my descent into gluttony continued at an alarming weight. My thighs took a few moments to stop jiggling; I couldn’t help but notice, eventually settling back to their soft, permanent existence. I stepped towards the tall mirror, feeling all parts of me jiggle that I never even felt until recent weeks. I used to jog, jump, or simply walk, and apart from my boobs and my hips, everything else just stayed… still. Now, my belly, thighs, ass, and even my upper arms seemed to have minds of their own. I immediately turned to the side as I looked in the mirror, wearing nothing except a pair of panties that barely covered anything. The thin strap dug into my hip, pinching into enough fat that it almost disappeared, whilst a generous portion of my butt spilled above and below the already small amount of material at the back. As I turned to look over my shoulder, stretching my body slightly, I watched as the soft flesh of my lower butt dimpled and creased into what, as I discovered with shock recently, was a small patch of cellulite. I squeezed my behind; it could only be described as plump or maybe even full-on chubby now. As I kneaded the fat that had such fondness for accumulating around my lower half, it felt like squeezing a sponge, soft squishy flesh in my fingers before the hard resistance of my glutes that were becoming harder and harder to find, yet still present from years of hard training. My thighs were huge, or they felt that way, at least. I supposed it helped that, with how muscular they were to start with, adding on nine inches of fat to each thigh would make them look extremely impressive. They were starting to touch now, and I wondered if that was enough justification to call them ‘thunder thighs’. As I turned to face the mirror, examining my shape, my ‘pearness’ was blatant, the top of my thighs and my hips ballooning out noticeably wider than my shoulders and boobs, giving my top half a fairly triangular shape. My DD-Cup boobs continued to expand; the extra ‘D’ was a proud moment for me at my latest bra shopping, as well as increasing to a thirty-six. Although I was clearly a pear, I was fortunate enough to still be doing pretty damn well in the boob department! I still preferred my butt, though, the way it stretched my jeans, the way it felt, and just how feminine and sexy it made me feel. But looking at my boobs from the side was like looking at a stranger—in some ways, the way they remained perky despite going up several cup sizes in less than half-a-year. They looked so much softer, they jiggled more, and they just felt more like part of me. Thighs, boobs, and butt were all inferior to my centrepiece, though. I loved my tummy. Genuinely, I adored her. I was obsessed with staring at her. I was constantly pinching and rubbing her. Hell, I literally spoke to her often, as if she was a pet of mine or a sentient being. Although, with how loud she could be when there was a pause in my frequent stuffing sessions, she may as well have a voice and soul. I was chubby. I couldn’t deny it any more. I was a girl that gym-goers would look at walking into the gym and feel petty sympathy and thoughts that I should’ve turned up sooner. Rather than showing concern over my low weight and encouraging me to try and build my weight up to reach a healthy level, a doctor would now be expressing concern over my body fat percentage, my BMI, and my diet, encouraging me to reduce my calorie intake and increase my exercise. 2023 had been a crazy year, and it was still not over, although December was only a few days away. I had rocketed over the past five months from the cusp of underweight and cleared both the healthy and overweight ranges at record speed. That’s right, imaginary readers of my brain, Belle Fletcher is now obese! Obese… the word felt alien and harsh. Sure, I was chubby, but I was still so small. I didn’t draw attention and shocked looks for my size yet, just judgement from the skinny queens of the world. How many levels into obesity would I need to get to in order to actually feel like I was fat? This starter belly barely reflected my gluttony, the enormous quantities of food I was shoving down into her on a daily basis, especially over the past few weeks. Yesterday, I had deliberately cut back on my eating (despite the dangers involved in that with the looming deadline) because I was desperate to see myself this morning without a constantly bloated stomach, to give everything a chance to settle. I had been rewarded, stepping onto the scale, with the number ‘191’, just nine pounds from two hundred, eighty-four pounds of fat jiggling over my body. Still another sixteen to go, and another four weeks until Christmas Day. I grabbed my belly, easily clutching two handfuls of chub in my hands and jiggling it about; barely any discomfort felt as I squeezed it. She freely protruded now; I didn’t need to pinch and prise to try and find some fat on me; the fat was just there, hanging off of me. My side profile was sexy; my entire belly was probably three or four inches further forward than before I gained any weight, crescending into her furthest point just below my belly button, which now protruded further out (when empty!) than my boobs did, which felt… significant. I had clear love handles too, significant ones, and despite it being against all social etiquette, I loved being out and about with that delicious roll of fat hanging over the waistband of my few-sizes-too-small jeans. Roxana had developed a habit of squeezing and holding it as we walked, her arm around me. I wasn’t sure she even realised she was doing it. I felt so sexy and soft, especially when I walked past a shop window where my reflection was visible, my soft belly jiggling and bouncing as I walked past, the lower squeezable part often on show and dancing ahead of me like she was leading me to her next meal. My belly button was much deeper, too, and I tested the theory now by poking my finger into the dark cavern. At my skinniest, it was barely an indent as my forming abs almost blocked it from going any further—it was basically a circle in the centre of my stomach, going nowhere and uninteresting. Now, inches of flab surrounded it, presenting an inviting tunnel that you could not see the end of, mysterious and unknown. So yeah, 191 pounds! As well as my weight, my measurements had increased to 41.5”-36.5”-51”, with 27” thighs. Total increase of eighty-four pounds, ten-and-a-half inches of boob, eleven-and-a-half inches of belly, a massive fourteen inches of butt, and nine inches per thigh. I was definitely thick, probably similar in shape to what Autumn looked like when I first met her. A shiver went down my spine as I thought this, remembering how I viewed her as if she was huge when we met. And yet I looked at myself now as if I was still tiny. The joys of perception. *** “So what are you hoping to get from our course?” Roxana asked, sipping her glass of red wine as she looked to me, the nerves evidence in her face, hands trembling slightly as she accidentally knocked the glass against her plate as she lowered it, “What are you wanting to do after... as a career?” She was so beautiful; I couldn’t help but think for the hundredth time as I gazed at her over our small candlelit table. I liked to go ‘all out’ on a first date, and so my favourite restaurant seemed like a perfect fit for a girl as special as Roxana. Ever since the first day of term, it felt like I was spending every spare minute with the girl—not just in class but outside of it as well. "Actually, I have a bit of a dream to become a chef," I confessed, a little shy about revealing this ambition, "I want to combine my love for food with the knowledge we gain from our nutrition course to create meals that are delicious… and full of nutrition." I added the last few words as an afterthought. Roxana seemed super passionate about health and fitness after all; I didn’t want her thinking I was planning on making the next big fast-food chain! “That’s cute.” Roxana smiled at me kindly, “You look like you could be a chef; I’m not sure you’d be good at yelling at your lackeys to hurry up with the sauce, though.” She smirked playfully. I hesitated for a moment, wondering what exactly she meant by ‘I look like I could be a chef'—the stereotype for a chef was big and round, and I glanced down at myself self-consciously. I wasn’t overly skinny, but I didn’t think I was fat either; I was curvy, and I’d always got attention, especially from boys. I tried brushing the comment away; surely she didn’t mean it that way. “I want to open a gym, maybe even a chain of gyms.” Roxana explained thoughtfully, not noticing my self-conscious thought trail, “Or be a fitness influencer or something. Just a fitness name, y’know? Maybe we could work together!” She giggled to herself, “They can come to my gym to lose the weight from your restaurant—discount vouchers or something.” “They wouldn’t gain weight from my restaurant!” I laughed, although that comment bugged me for some reason, as if my concern about Roxana thinking I was going to be the next ‘Crispy Cluckers’ (a big fried chicken brand) was true, “My food will be full of lots of goodness and nutrition!” Roxana laughed, and I continued, “That sounds great, though. I can tell you’re a driven girl; I know you’ll succeed one day.” Roxana smiled gratefully, "Aw, thanks, Belle... and thank you for agreeing to go on a date with me. I’ve only recently... come out, you know? So you’re the first…” she broke off uncomfortably, and I gave her a reassuring smile, not wanting to hasten her on this important note. Finally, she finished, “The first girl I’ve ever been on a date with. Th-The first girl I’ve ever openly… liked.” Roxana's admission hung in the air, delicate and vulnerable, like the flicker of the candle flame between us. The warmth of her gratitude was palpable, even as her voice trailed off, leaving unspoken words suspended in the intimate space of our table. It was one of those moments where the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of us, the background hum of the restaurant fading into a distant murmur. "I'm really glad you did," I replied, my own voice soft, a smile spreading across my face, "I've felt a connection with you since the first day we met. Your passion, your drive... it's inspiring." I meant every word, and I hoped she could see the sincerity in my eyes. Roxana had this incredible energy about her, a radiant positivity that drew me in from the moment we first exchanged smiles over textbooks and lecture notes. "I felt the same." She confessed, her gaze dropping to her glass before courage brought her eyes back to mine, "There's something about you, Belle. Your energy, your smile, your eyes… it’s infectious. You’re infectious. I know it’s a corny thing to say, but I’ve absolutely no idea how you’re single—especially if you like guys, too.” I buried my face in my wine glass to hide my bashful expression, taking a moment, “W-Well, I only realised I was bisexual a couple of years ago, and I wanted more time to explore that, you know? You could say I took a break from boys, and at college, I used the time to explore girls. …That sounded a bit creepy, but you know what I mean!” Roxana gave me a look, smirking nervously, and I could just tell she was wishing she had the confidence to make a flirtatious joke in response to that, but she couldn’t follow through with it. Our laughter mingled and danced in the air, easy and genuine. The evening unfolded with effortless conversation, touching on everything from our favourite foods and childhood memories to ambitious dreams and the fears that occasionally shadowed them. With each shared story and disclosed secret, the initial layer of nervousness peeled away, revealing a profound connection that neither of us could deny. As the night wore on, the restaurant's ambiance shifted; the lights dimmed further, and the tables around us began to empty. But in our little bubble, time seemed irrelevant. Our initial awkwardness had transformed into a comfortable familiarity, as if we had known each other for many years, and sat through many restaurant meals together rather than two girls on their first date. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the awkward feeling of my stomach pressing against my tight dress as I put down my knife and fork halfway through my dessert. I hadn’t planned on having a dessert, but Roxana had insisted it was okay after seeing my excitement that the restaurant had added one of my favourite puddings of all time to the menu—a salted caramel cheesecake! I was disappointed to stop, in all honesty, but I just couldn’t bear the fitness enthusiast in front of me thinking I was a pig. “You full?” My date questioned me, raising her eyebrows slightly. Wait, was she surprised? Did she think I had a huge appetite or something? “…Getting there.” I laughed weakly, looking at the annoyingly delicious half-a-cheesecake remaining. Roxana chuckled slightly, before reaching over to grab the spoon. I assumed she was going to try some herself as she scooped a piece off and lifted it, ensuring none of the caramel drizzle escaped. But then instead, she lifted the spoon up towards my lips, a bright smile on her face, “C’mon, I could see the disappointment in your face as you stopped eating it. I know you can fit it in; go for it.” Fit it in…? Did my belly just look big enough to fit two courses of food in without a problem? Did I look bigger than I thought? Was this some kind of test for her to tell if I’m too greedy or something? These and several other thoughts swam around my brain as my heart raced, but despite that, I found myself really wanting to let Roxana feed me the rest of my pudding. It was… cute? So I opened my mouth, and the sweet, gooey goodness of the dessert tasted so much sweeter as Roxana delicately spooned it past my lips. *** “Damn, you look big.” Roxana commented with raised eyebrows as I finally entered the living room. I’d given up on any form of jeans, none of them even close to fastening. Instead, I’d resorted to the latest gym bottoms I’d purchased a few weeks ago but had yet to actually use. I was shocked at how much I filled them now, having to loosen the drawstrings quite a bit to accommodate my tummy. I then threw a fleecy cream jumper on, which pulled off quite a cute look. Last winter, the jumper was baggy, comfy, and cosy. Now, the growth of my upper half pulled it up, where the front now reached just above my belly button, the shape of my boobs prominent above. Sadly, my current mood didn’t reflect the excitement and thrill of my ongoing weight gain, instead reflecting stress and frustration. It wasn’t enough. I had left the restaurant following Autumn’s blackmail at the start of the month excited, and terrified, beyond belief. Now, nearly four weeks later, I was just terrified. November wasn’t even fully finished, and yet I had already had a record-breaking month in terms of the ridiculous amount of weight I’d gained. My waist and hips had both grown three inches just this month alone; it was ludicrous. Despite the constant stuffing of my stomach to inhumane bloated sizes, it frustrated me that I hadn’t even gained any extra weight than my current record back in September. There were literally three human beings determined to fatten me up: Roxana, eager to dominate and keep me happy whenever possible. Autumn, seeking to fatten me up to the same weight as an average female polar bear (thanks, Wikipedia). And myself, desperate to keep her life in tact and the two women in her life happy and not hating her. It felt like I ate all day, twenty-four seven. I’d barely been at work the last few weeks; Autumn was paying me anyway, ordering takeaways and shovelling as much food as I could down my throat. I’d been eating so much that on multiple occasions, I’d overdone it and ended up throwing my guts up into the toilet. I’d overdone it so much that, for a couple of days, I couldn’t even get out of bed from very painful tummy aches. Maybe it was those days that screwed me over; I couldn’t afford to fail like that. All the weight I’d gained since that conversation, I needed to do again in another four weeks. That should suggest I was on track, but there was too much riding on making this to assume I’d be okay. And the thought of another four weeks of belly aches, indigestion, trying not to puke... that sounded like torture. This stupid deal I made had sucked the fun and thrill out of it for me. I just hoped that if I met Autumn’s deadline, she would see that I was serious about sticking to the deal and ease up on me a bit. Or maybe I’d successfully destroy my metabolism and could just look at a cake and put on a stone. Or, I did the decent thing and just confessed to Roxana. No. I forced a smile towards my girlfriend, looking down at the slither of belly peeking out from my too-small jumper, “I feel it. 191 pounds this morning.” I watched the cogs turn in Roxana’s brain as she digested that, her dark eyes fixed on my round belly, probably questioning how the 107-pound skinny blonde could possibly be the same as the plump girl standing here now, not far off double the weight. “Wow… fatty.” She smirked deviously at me. Despite my bad mood, the word still sent that tingle through me, but it was dulled. The choice of my body had been taken away from me yet again, just in the opposite direction. Whilst before I felt caged, not allowed to ever indulge, to ever gain a pound… now I felt as if I was attached to some evil device, a tube stuck down my throat, swelling me up no matter what I wanted. Seeing the frown on my face, Roxana’s smirk faded, “Are you alright, Baby Belle?” I shrugged, tugging the jumper back down as the simple gesture tugged it up another inch, before throwing myself onto the sofa. A loud thump and a creak surprised me in response. I barely even imprinted into the seat when I was skinny, and now the weight of me threatened the structure of the whole sofa, “I’m great; I’m so close to two hundred pounds... I’m hoping to reach my goal by Christmas.” No harm in being honest, I needed all the help I could get, so if Roxana knew that, then she could help me get there. “Yet you don’t sound excited…” She commented, moving to be next to me, kneeling sideways on the middle seat of the sofa, facing towards me. Her voice was filled with concern, with the desire for me to just be happy, “I’m excited.” She reached over, her cool hand soon meeting the soft fat of my stomach as she slipped under my jumper, stroking the pliable flesh. My tummy growled in response, having essentially been starved yesterday, “Oh wow, it’s actually quite remarkable how soft you are... you’ve usually got a mountain of food in there.” Genuinely seeming surprised, she stared at my stomach, both hands now testing the squishy, empty organ, covered in inches of greedy fat. “…Why are you excited?” I asked with a frown, closing my eyes and leaning back as I used my own hands to tug my jumper up, offering my full belly for Roxana to play with. “It’s like I said before, my Squish-a-belle,” she purred, and I allowed a reluctant giggle to escape my lips at the new nickname she’d started using for me, “I’m attracted to your confidence; it’s a literal turn-on. And… I dunno, I picture the day you hit two hundred in my mind, and I picture your excitement…” She swung herself onto my lap, her powerful thighs pressing down against my soft ones, quite literally sinking into the fat. She grabbed my love handles, using them to pull herself close to me so our bodies were touching. I winced slightly as she tugged and pinched the rolls of chub, but her ploy to cheer me up was working, my arousal fighting against my stress for control, “I thought we could do something special.” My rate of breath was increasing as I placed my hands over Roxana’s own, encouraging her to continue to squeeze, rub, and play with me, “…Special? Like what?” “You’ll see.” Despite my eyes being shut, I could hear the smirk on Roxy’s lips, “Be a good piggy and eat your way up to it, and you can find out!” Unfortunately, that had the opposite effect of what Roxy intended, as the reminder of my predicament flooded me once more. “…Belle? I… don’t want to presume your feelings or anything like that, but... are you okay? With your weight?” I opened my eyes, smiling slightly at her, “Yeah… sorry, I… guess I’ve been trying really hard to hit my goal this year, that I’ve put a lot of pressure on myself. I know that sounds pathetic; after all, it’s not at all important. Or… it shouldn’t be important. But it’s kinda… taken a lot of the fun out of it, y’know?” “It’s not pathetic, babe.” Roxana reassured me, gently playing with my tummy as she smiled to me kindly, “It’s important to you. Your body image and self-confidence is not a small thing, being happy is one of the most important things ever. So… no, Belle, it’s not pathetic, and it is very important. It’s been a journey for both of us, and I dunno, I just feel so much… closer to you since this started. If it wasn’t for you chubbing up,” I blushed at the wording, and Roxy laughed, “Then I’d still have all of that guilt on top of me from how I’ve treated you. I still do, of course, but it’s a lot easier to deal with now that I’ve told you about it all. And I still don’t think you believe me, but even though it’s for different reasons than yourself, I’ve genuinely found your weight gain sexy as fuck.” “…Really?” I asked, blinking, “I mean, you’ve… hinted at that, but I don’t think you’ve said it so… er… directly.” “Every pound you’ve gained, it’s like you’ve gained a pound of confidence.” Roxana answered, nodding, “I love feeding you; I love being hugely responsible for your growing body; I love feeling you grow heavier each day... I love when you overeat yourself to pain; you’re so helpless to your gluttony and desires that I have total control over you…” I couldn’t even remember how we ended up naked, but apparently during that incredibly sexy speech, we’d been wrestling ourselves out of our clothes. My belly wasn’t empty for much longer. *** “I had such a nice time tonight.” I said softly in the cool, early autumnal night air as we continued our walk back to campus, “Thank you.” “It was my pleasure.” Roxy replied, squeezing my hand. It felt so surreal to be walking through the streets holding a girl’s hand, and I knew she was thinking exactly the same thing, “I really enjoyed it, and I’d… love to go out with you again. I-If you want, that is.” It was so cute seeing the normally assertive and self-assured Roxana stammering and nervous. I couldn’t help but smile widely as I paused in walking, turning to her and saying, “I want nothing more.” The night was a canvas of inky blues and silvery moonlight, the quiet streets of the town bathed in a serene glow. Roxana's confession, simple yet loaded with the weight of new beginnings, hung between us, a tender moment of mutual vulnerability. Her hand in mine felt like a promise, a silent pledge of possibilities yet to be explored. Our steps had slowed, and as I turned to face her, the world seemed to pause, holding its breath along with us. Roxana's eyes, usually so full of determination and fire, now shimmered with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. The soft glow of the streetlamp above us cast delicate shadows across her features, highlighting the gentle curve of her cheek and the fullness of her lips. "I want nothing more," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, infused with a sincerity that resonated deeply within me. In that moment, I saw the walls Roxana had built around herself begin to crumble, her usual armour of confidence momentarily set aside, revealing the genuine, raw emotion beneath. She stepped closer, the distance between us shrinking until I could feel the warmth radiating from her body. The cool night air seemed to hold a charge, electric and pulsing, as if the universe itself was urging us closer. Roxana's gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. A silent question asked and answered without a single word spoken. And then, with a courage that must have taken her every ounce of resolve, Roxana leaned in. Her breath was a warm caress against my skin, a whisper of mint and red wine that made my heart race. The initial contact was hesitant, a fleeting touch that spoke volumes about the significance of this moment for both of us, especially for her. It was her first kiss with a girl—a boundary crossed, a line redrawn in the narrative of her life. But the hesitance was quickly replaced by a burgeoning curiosity, a desire to explore the new and unknown. Her lips pressed more firmly against mine, a gentle but determined exploration that sent a jolt of warmth through my entire body. My response was instinctive: a natural gravitation towards her, hands finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Time seemed irrelevant, lost in the softness of her lips against mine, the tentative brush of her tongue, the mingling of our breaths. The kiss was a dance, tentative steps followed by a harmonious rhythm, as if our bodies had known each other for lifetimes. The world around us faded into obscurity; the only reality that mattered was the connection between us, a bond sealed with a kiss that was both an ending and a beginning. The only thing that was ruining this magical, perfect moment, as Roxana pulled me closer to her, was when my bloated stomach brushed against hers, perfectly flat and toned as always—as if nothing had been consumed by the girl. Instinctively, I sucked in as much as I could, allowing my date to tug me an inch or so closer. Did she notice? I hoped not. The only other thing that could ruin it was a loud wolf whistle cutting through the night, followed by the chuckles of drunken men. Roxana pulled away from me immediately, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, as we both turned to the group of four men staggering down the street opposite us, “Yeahhh, ladies!! Don’t stop on our account!” He whistled again as his friends cackled as if the funniest joke in the world had been told. I rolled my eyes, shouting, “Whatever, guys, has no one told you we’re in the 21st century now?!” “Hey, it’s a compliment!” He shouted back, “You’re like, seriously hot!” I gave him the middle finger, before turning away and grabbing Roxana’s hand again, “C’mon, ignore them. Let’s go.” “Damn, that ass!” Jerk-face then shouted, “Hey, muscle girl, get the heck out the way! Blocking the view!” I felt Roxana’s grip on my hand tighten, and I looked at her, just catching a glimpse of the hurt crossing her face at the remark. I felt extremely uncomfortable too, not just at the unwanted attention towards me but also because I assumed the whistling and harassment was aimed at both of us—two girls kissing and all that. I wondered if Roxana had felt the same, and a pang of sympathy and also guilt filled me. What could I say to that? How could I comfort the girl next to me without drawing attention to the fact that those dicks only found me attractive? They were crazy anyway; Roxana was hot as hell and could probably floor that entire group of idiots one-handed. “I totally get you being a lesbian.” I commented as we left the drunken fools behind, trying to lighten the mood, “Boys are dicks.” “Tell me about it.” Roxana chuckled half-heartedly, her subdued tone confirming the change of atmosphere as we continued back in silence. The rest of the walk was filled with reflective silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. The initial exhilaration of our connection, which was so vibrant and alive in the privacy of our bubble, now faced the sobering light of external judgement and the realisation that our journey together would be fraught with challenges both personal and societal. As we reached the campus, the silhouette of our dorms outlined against the starry sky, Roxana stopped and faced me, "I really did have a great time tonight, Belle. Despite... everything." Her voice was firmer now, with a determined edge to it that I had come to admire. "Me too," I agreed, my heart aching for her, for us, for the simplicity of the moments before the interruption, "Let's not let them spoil it, okay?" Roxana nodded, the resolve in her eyes a clear indication that she was already moving past the incident, even if the emotional residue would linger. "Okay," she affirmed, "Goodnight, Belle. And thank you for a memorable first date." With that, she leaned in for a brief, chaste kiss on my cheek, a gesture that, while lacking the intensity of our first, carried a depth of affection and a promise of more to come. Then, with a final squeeze of my hand, she turned and walked away, her figure gradually merging with the shadows until she was out of sight. Left alone, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me. The events of the evening had peeled back layers of complexity in our budding relationship, revealing insecurities and societal pressures I hadn't anticipated. And as I made my way back to my dorm, the exhilaration of our kiss now tempered by the reality of the challenges ahead, I couldn't help but wonder how these early tests would shape us, both as individuals and as a couple. What I didn't know then was how deeply the incident would affect Roxana, planting seeds of resentment and insecurity that would grow, in the shadows of her psyche, into a compelling need to control and manipulate. Our journey of love and discovery had just begun, and the path, it seemed, would be far from smooth. A/N: Hope you enjoyed the flashback! Or if not, let me know why haha
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