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  1. it is a pleasure!!! I love to get bigger and bigger and know about it. At my job, a guy came in wanting to see me eat and I really liked doing this for him. When I found out that it was a fetish, I started searching the internet for his name and his name and discovered that I had found a great treasure in my life. I come from a family where food is vital and we believe that it is better than what is missing, so I am to eat big. Going back to the topic, when I discovered feederism I was an immensely happy girl because it is everything I always wanted. I love to eat delicious and big and even more so that they admire me and my body for doing something that I love and enjoy as my greatest pleasure. I started with 57 kilos, today I have I'm over 100 than guys, thank you very much for viewing my content and enjoying something so special with me. I hope to continue sharing this with you XoXoXoXo❤🐽❤🐽❤🐽❤🐽❤
  2. "Behold!" the angel announced in my living room. "Your blighted spirit in its true form! Tread carefully on your destined path, and do not succumb to the temptations of the tongue. Lest this..." He swept his arm. "...become your future!" His silvery robes wafted up the empty plastic packets strewn all over the floor. A cold wind made me shiver. A girl with platinum blonde plaits clutched his arm tightly, her face a picture of fear. At first I thought she looked like me - then I realised she was me. Kirsten Dwight. But from like, four or five years ago. Back when I used to work out. "Oh, Angel! Save me from this horrible reality!" she squealed, her fingers pasty white. "Please, don't leave!" The angel left her. He clapped his hands and disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke. I coughed as I swigged my soda. Kirsten clasped the space he'd taken up in front of the TV, tremoring on the verge of tears. Her soft gasps fading to nothingness beneath the blare of the chat show I was trying to watch. “Mmmmppphhh,” I gulped down a mouthful of chips and flicked off the set with the remote. “What the fuck?” Kirsten – my previous self, so it appeared – looked petrified. She backed away into the corner, pointing, her voice reduced to a whisper. “What...happened...to me?” she gasped. “I’m literally right in front of you,” I said, wiping my lips. “Talk to me like a normal person.” “No, this can’t be real!” She put her head in her hands. “Seriously, I'm okay,” I stressed, guzzling another salty handful. I stretched out a hand and tried to sit up a little more straight. The couch creaked beneath me, the cushions flattened from where I'd sat feasting through noon. “But you’re....you’re...” She gestured round herself, arcing her arms side to side across her stomach. “Fat?” I rolled my eyes, chewed and swallowed. “Huge,” she breathed, pale and nervy. I groaned, shooting her an incredulous look. Her eyes were rooted to my softly heaving stomach. With a flicker of perturbance I lifted my tight shirt, baring my thick belly rolls freely. "Wow," I mocked. "Never noticed...oh no...my life is over...what do I do..." I gave my bulging gut a big slap. It gurgled, close to fullness. Past Kirsten winced at the noise, shrinking further into the corner. I glanced queerly at her skinny hips, her tightened thighs. I could hardly remember the last time I looked like she did. Sighing, I tugged down my shirt. The band strained around my belly button, then rode back up over my bloated belly's swell. I sighed some more. "I'm morbidly obese. So?" I mumbled. "Get over it. It's not the end of the world. I still have friends. I still got first class honours in my degree. Remember?" "You got a first in Demonology?" she said, in a low voice. "Hell yeah," I said, grinning. "Valedictorian too. And I scored a career out of it - I'm freelance. Granted the work's a little patchy but still, it pays the bills." I burped and crushed the empty can with my pudgy fingers, tossing it nonchalantly over my shoulder. I cracked open a fresh soda, shook back my hair and took a long glug. "Was it hard?" Skinny Kirsten asked, staring at the floor. I nodded gently, and offered her a smile. "It was tough," I admitted. "A lot of long nights, a lot of lonely days. Don't think you'll have time to make that gym membership worth it. And if you want to eat healthy, you'll need to find yourself a second job. My wage from the campus takeout barely covered my living expenses. Had to sell the bike, the blender, a lot of old clothes...and I could barely close the robe over me when I graduated, but hey - people laughed." Kirsten gulped. She twiddled with her fingernails, still not meeting me in the eye. "I know it's kinda shocking," I said, looking down at myself. "But you sort of get used to waking up a little fatter, every day. It's easy to make adjustments - putting the car seat back, finding a bigger desk, not taking stairs, you know? Fat is heavy, you have to make a couple changes. So you're not exhausted all the time, get what I mean? Phew..." I paused for breath, a case in point. My cheeks had reddened, and I realised I had found my way to the edge of my seat. My legs were straining. Grunting, I shuffled back onto the couch, letting my big breasts jostle a little. Kirsten hung on my every movement, and we were both drawn to gazing at her modest cups. Somehow we caught each other at the same time. Kirsten blushed deep red. "I'm an F, in case you were wondering" I said, grinning. I gave them a heft and a squeeze. "Don't think they're done growing yet, either." "What do you weigh?" Kirsten said suddenly. I shrugged my shoulders. "Dunno," "Can we weigh you?" "Is it that important?" I raised an eyebrow. My past self looked pensive, cogs whirring in her mind. "Yes," she said, simply. "Huh. Fine," I mumbled. I staggered up off the couch. It was a focused process that look anything but focused, as I eased my jiggling weight back onto my feet. My thighs rubbed together, and my hefty stomach flopped on top. I bent forward with a sharp intake of breath and gathered my hair into a tie. My arms throbbed at the sudden onset of activity. Exhaling, I stood up again, palming the slight ache in my back. Kirsten stared wordlessly, and I led her to my bathroom. Mentally, I prepped myself for the stairs, taking a firm grip on the balustrade. I swung my wide, chafing legs, thrusting my hips to counterbalance the weight in my ass. Following gingerly behind me, past Kirsten had the best seat in the house on how encumbered my bottom-heavy body had become. My stretchy pants paled from navy blue to straining teal with every step as fat slapped against fat. Loose crumbs tumbled from my haunches, the remnants of the stack of chocolate cookies I'd messily devoured before lunch. I hadn't had chance to take a shower that day and it showed, though it needn't have mattered. By time I reached the top, sweat was beading on my brow. I stopped for a deep breath. "Yeah, no." I shook my stomach and tried to crack a smile, giving myself a stitch in the process. "Ugghh...I should drink more water...owww...." Bent double, Kirsten crossed a comforting hand over my shoulder. Her touch was icy cold. I flinched, forgetting the pain, and motioned in the direction of the bathroom. She pulled the door to, and I gave her a nod. Recovering a little energy, I waddled after her, my hip brushing the doorframe as we bundled in together. With one final exhale, I retrieved the dusty scale from under the sink. There was the sound of a choirboy's aria. Another puff of smoke. The angel returned, his haloed head mere inches from the stirring ceiling fan. This time, he rose from a radiating hole in the ground. I peered through, glimpsing visions of gold and crimson light. The air filled with the searing smell of sulphur. "We have but little time!" he boomed. "Seek your answers, young one, before our needs necessitate our departure from this plane," I reached past him for the sink, and poured myself a nice cool glass of water. "You need to get on the scale," Kirsten insisted. "Quickly." "Yes!" echoed the angel. "See the weight of your sins! Confess to your gluttony, then you may join us on our righteous journey to heaven through that saintly portal of holy light next to your feet...errr...there." Kirsten bit her lip. I chugged the water, and gave my aching tummy a gentle rub. I set down the scale and adjusted my pants, freeing the soft skin from where my underwear was biting in. I clicked the button and the menu lit up. I dabbed the reset button with my slipper, then stepped on. The numbers racketed up rapidly. "Oooh. Two hundred and eighty-one pounds," I recorded, my eyebrows raised in surprise. "That’s kinda high. Though it's a big t-shirt I'm wearing. And a bra underneath. Call it two seventy-nine." "Oh god, how much will I gain?" Kirsten panicked. I gave her elevator eyes. My previous self was slender, even toned around her arms and shoulders, bare in her black halter top. Her hips were bony, her butt was firm and cute. Her face was striking, angular, her cheekbones high, her waist well placed. Her belly was nondescript, nonexistent, nothing like the bouncing barrel I was strapped to. "Only one way to find out" I said, thrusting my stomach back under my t-shirt with a curse under my breath. "You step on." Kirsten timidly planted her trainers on the scale's smooth glass face. The red numbers buzzed and flashed. I leaned over for a closer look. "666" I read from the screen. "Hmmm." The girl, who couldn't have been any more than a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet, was frozen on the spot. Her lips were unmoving. Slowly she raised her head, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come. "That's...interesting," said the angel. "But without further ado, you must step through the -" I groaned, then snatched and yanked on one of Kirsten's plaits. Her whole hairpiece came away, striking the floor and bursting into ashes. Two black horns emerged beneath. "Nice try," I exclaimed, with a wink. "But I think I would've remembered this if it really happened to me. Also, French plaits? Not my style, never has been." "Good god - an imposter!" yelled the angel. "Saints save me! Heaven is compromised, I will return forthwith! Kirsten - we must flee this house! Before this soul-stealer takes - " "Oh, shut up," the demon spat. In a haze of red his claws raked through the air, taking hold of the angel's face. With a gruesome rip his pale features were torn away, leaving redness and raging eyes. I took stock of his expression with placid glee. The face was not pained. It was angry. "Adipus, you swine!" the second demon bellowed, seizing the first by the scruff of his scraggly beard. "We're finished. You've ruined our plan!" "What plan, Lipidio? You'd never have shared her with me." He kicked himself free. His fellow's costume - wings and halo - slipped off his jagged back and fell forgotten on my bathroom floor. The punch came too quick for me to see. Black blood sprinkled the shower curtain. "There's plenty of her to go around!" said Lipidio."Kirsten, precious. Join me in hell - be my guest!" He beckoned to me in his white dress. "Don't you want to see what the other deadly sins taste like?" "Yeah, starting with wrath!" Adipus yelled. He tore off his halter top and leapt on his brethren's shoulders, plug chain in hand, and wrapped it tight around his neck. The taller of the two scrabbled in crackling air, choking and wheezing. He stretched out a weakening leg and tried to pivot, but lost his balance. The two of them careened into the bathtub with a mighty thwack. "Be right back," I said to no-one, backing away slowly. "Just gonna check the oven...you guys just wait right there..." I slipped through as gracefully as I could and sealed the outward swinging door behind me. Sliding down, I blew the hair away from my face, crossed my legs, and kept my body weight firmly pressed against the woodwork while I fished in my pocket. Gently, I teased my little book of exorcist rites out from the tight material. The door rattled as the twosome locked horns, thundering back and forth, squealing and swearing. Elbows planted on my stomach, I thumbed through the pages until I found the line of the charm I wanted. "W-what?" shouted Lipidio. "Where is it?" "Stop blathering, what are you on about?" said Adipus. "The portal. It's gone!" There was a pregnant pause. Then one of them tried the handle. Then the lock. Then the handle again. He rattled it furiously. "Let us out!" they cried in unison. I giggled as they grew increasingly desperate, pawing through the pages for a curse to bind a feuding pair of hell-dwellers to my will. They pushed back to the toilet, preparing to charge. I leant back a little more against the door, spread my legs, undid my zipper, and puffed out my stomach to its full girth with a sigh of satisfaction, letting it crest on the carpet. The door quaked. Two demons groaned in bruised agony on one side, while my body shook and rippled softly on the other, from my knees to my double chin. I smiled, strangely proud of myself. "I've got maple syrup," I called out behind me, as my belly gurgled. "Who's good at making pancakes?"
  3. Maisy Pinkerton was rueing how tough her day would be. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and she took advantage of the lull in custom at the beef hot dog stand to talk to Bethany, who was manning the grill behind her. They wouldn’t get a chance later on. It was the day of the big race, and the place would be packed to the rafters. “See? Look at that. Look at that fat.” Maisy cursed the little roll of pudge that had appeared from her reliance on the meaty stock as her lunch, and sometimes her dinner, as she compared bellies with her best friend. “I don’t want to show up for spring break with a rubber ring.” she lamented. “You won’t,” Bethany assured her, laughing as she let her shirt drift down. “It’s a month away – you’d have to eat so many hot dogs.” “Doubt it – I think my metabolism’s packing up on me. I can’t shift any of this.” Maisy fingered her friendship bracelet and jumped. Her belly button quivered a little. She grit her teeth. “Don’t panic,” Bethany said. “Panic makes you stress. Stress makes you fat.” “And fat makes me panic…ughh…” Maisy pulled down her shirt. “Face it, you’re gonna have to roll me to Panama City.” “Hey, I’m still heavier than you, don’t forget.” “Yeah, but you’re three inches taller.” Maisy was fairly tall herself for a girl, at five foot eight, belied by the rush of wavy blonde hair that flowed half way down her back. But at five foot eleven, Beth towered a head over most of the rest of the girls in their cheer squad at college. “Stop worrying. You’re still going to be the flyer when we get back to practice,” said Beth. She wrapped Maisy in a hug and lifted her off her feet. “See. You’re not heavy. You’re a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet.” “A hundred and thirty-five.” Maisy said lowly as she was squeezed. Those five pounds had crept on to her from three weeks ago. She was fearful of what the future would bring. She did not soon expect to be fearing for her life. “Oooh. Customer!” said Bethany. “Look alive.” Maisy turned with a prizewinning smile to the stocky man on the other side of the counter. She immediately recognised him as one of the drivers. “Two please, m’lady.” he garbled through his helmet. He slapped down a twenty dollar note. Beth went to work at the grill behind her. “Lotta sauce,” he called. “I like ‘em sloppy.” He turned his back, stuck a finger through his visor, scratched his greasy nose, then pushed something up against his ear. “Y’ello? Can’t hear ya, buddy. Speak up.” Maisy ducked beneath the counter for some napkins. “Are you alone?” she heard a voice say. Above her, the driver looked over his shoulder. “Uh-huh. Oh, howdy Marco…yeah, yeah, we’ve got it covered. Framed, fixed, rigged, ready to go.” “Excellent. The room’s clear. The rest is up to you.” “Yee-haw, whatever. When do I get my money?” There was a buzz of static, then a pause on the line. “When you win, Mick.” the Italian-flecked voice said quietly. “When you win.” Maisy paused as her hand found the napkins. She stood up slowly and received the hotdogs from Beth. Mick looked in the eye as he held a hand out for his snack, before she’d even put the sauce on. “Thanks darlin’.’” he mumbled. “You’re welcome.” she said, quietly. He broke his stare first as he turned to walk away. Maisy stared at his purple and green striped racing suit as he strode across the food court, his paces wide and fast. “Could you mind the counter a minute?” Maisy asked Beth. “I’m gonna go check something out.” “What?” “That guy.” “Slick Mick Ovett? Seriously? You’ve just turned twenty. He’s like, forty. And greasy and….eeeww.” “Not like that…” she muttered. “I think he’s up to something. Wait here.” Maisy pushed her hands down on the counter and vaulted over in a flash, landing with barely a tap on her tiptoes. She tailed Mick quietly, out of the food court and around to the garages. He crammed his first hot dog in through the gap in his helmet, then dropped the napkin on the floor. He looked over his shoulder. Maisy froze in her step, then in a move from something she’d seen on TV, she bent down and pretended to retie her shoelace. Mick paid no notice to her. He carried on walking to the garages, approaching the open bonnet of a stock car. Maisy hid behind the corner of a wall. He said something to the voice inside his helmet. Maisy presumed the red and white car with the number 50 was his as he leaned in and tinkered around the engine. Then he reached deep inside, rattled his gloved hand, and ripped out a wire. Maisy heard herself gulp. Something was definitely wrong. Mick looked over his shoulder again, then carried on walking. Maisy fished her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it, and opened the camera. She pointed it at him as he carried on walking. He approached another car – the number 10 – and brushed past it, nipping a back tire with his boot. Maisy heard a hiss as it deflated, capturing the whole moment on video. She guessed there was a metal edge along his shoes. Mick finished off the last of his second hotdog, then threw the waste in a trash can, along with the oily wire. When he was a safe distance away, Maisy pelted over to the trash can and held her phone over the bag. Mick strode over to the number 12. Maisy whipped her phone back around. There was someone working on the car, tinkering on a slider under the chassis. She half expected Mick to throw a cold-clocker when she watched him put a boot on the wooden board and pull the mechanic back, but instead they bumped fists. Mick stroked a greasy hand over the roof as they chatted to each other. It looked like that car was his. Maisy committed the number to memory. The oily driver laughed as he held out a hand and helped his crewmate to their feet. She was a full-figured woman. Her brown hair was tied in a messy bun, with the flyaways held back by her thick-rimmed glasses. Maisy watched her flip a wrench in the air and catch it, then plant a foot on the slider and skate to another stock car. Deftly for a girl of her size, she crouched down, put her back on the board and slid perfectly through the gap between the tires with a wide smile. There was a clang as the wrench made contact with something underneath the chassis. Slick Mick guffawed. Maisy closed her phone. She had all the evidence she needed to prove that Mick and his team were manipulating the Daytona 500. She bit her lip as she saw her phone’s charge was just 2%. She knew if it ran out before she could let the cops see it, she’d have to go home to charge it up. She wouldn’t have enough time to get them to stop Mick racing. On instinct she stepped out from behind the trash can. Maisy didn’t know much about cars, but she knew they were easily broken. She tiptoed on her skinny feet to the number 12 and dipped her hands inside the open bonnet, feeling around for the wire Mick ripped from the 50. She reckoned it’d buy her time, and give him a taste of his own medicine. Maisy found a wire, wrapped her fingers around it and pulled. It came out with surprising ease. But in her haste, her friendship bracelet rattled along the engine coolant reservoir. “What in tarnation?” Slick Mick wrenched off his helmet and stared at her. Maisy looked back, the wire curling in her hand. Her face was a mask. Mick dropped his helmet, reached into his pocket and with an infuriated sneer, he drew a pistol from inside his racing leathers. Maisy screamed. The dirty driver fired straight from the hip. The bullet flew over Maisy’s shoulder, ricocheted off the bonnet and sunk into the engine. Mick swore viciously and fired again. Maisy ducked as the second bullet bounced off the windscreen. She ran, her loose blonde hair flapping out behind her. A third bullet zipped past her feet. The pit crewmate scrabbled to get out from under the other car. Mick snarled and took off running while she screamed for him to stop. He still had four bullets left. He fired again as Maisy escaped the garages, and missed by inches. Maisy sprinted out into the open air, running for the stands of the Daytona International Speedway. It was hours before the 500 would start, so the waves of seats were empty. She didn’t know where to go. She didn’t know what to do. She kept running. She crossed the track, slid through the metal wires of the catch nets, leapt a barrier on the stands and charged up the steps to the thirtieth row. She jumped over another barrier and pumped her sinewy legs past Row 36. She turned to see if he was following her. Suddenly, Maisy lost her footing. Her ankle twisted awkwardly half-way up a step, and she tumbled backwards. Her head reeled as it collided with the concrete, and she screamed in agony as she fell head over heels, her twisted ankle thumping on a step edge once, then twice. She landed on top of it as she came to a halt at the bottom of the section, moaning in pain. A medic heard her cries and dashed out from her station in the stands to collect her. Maisy was crying. The medic administered a painkiller then radioed in for more help. Her ankle was fixed in place with splints, and two guys helped bear her into a stretcher. Maisy was taken to an ambulance waiting in the car park outside. She tried to look up from her reclined position just as she left the stands. Slick Mick was nowhere to be seen. Maisy was driven to the Florida Hospital Memorial Medical Center. She recovered from the shock, but the doctors informed her breaks in her ankle would take far longer to fix, since they were in two places. She was given a local anaesthetic and the broken bone fragments were realigned. Her leg was immobilised for the rest of the night, through to the following morning. It ached a lot after she woke up. News of her tumble got around fast. Bethany was her first visitor – she brought a giant bag of M&Ms, and they shared them as she filled her in on what had happened. Mick Ovett did not race – he had been found and arrested for reckless endangerment with a firearm. Maisy wanted him in the dock for attempted murder too, and game-fixing, and damage to property, but Beth said there’d be no need – the local police chief had assured her that from that and his past offences, he’d likely be jailed for a very long time. The chief himself was the next of her visitors. He took off his hat, revealing a balding head and introduced himself as Kevin Kint. He made to light a cigar, until one of the nurses reminded him that he was in a hospital. He smiled and put it away. “Might I request we be left alone together?” he asked them both. “Maisy and I have important matters to discuss.” They murmured their acquiescence and left the room. Kint immediately rekindled his cigar. “Maisy Pinkerton,” he said, shaking her hand through a gentle puff of smoke. “It’s a pleasure. I understand you’ve been through a great deal very recently. There may be things that you might not wish to discuss. But it’s vital at this stage that you let the police know everything that you remember about what happened that day.” “The first thing we need to know is, were there any other witnesses to the event?” Maisy thought back. “There was nobody with me,” she said. Her concussion had hazed her up memory. “Not after I started following him. There was a woman who saw it, a mechanic in his pit crew.” She gave him a physical description, noting the hair, glasses, the shape of her body. Kint took it all in, and nodded. “Did you acquire any evidence from the scene of the incident?” “I had a video on my phone…ughh…I wish I could show it to you. I smashed it when I fell down those stairs.” “I see.” said Kint. “That’s unfortunate. Was there anything else?” “There was this wire he ripped out of somebody’s car. It had these two plasticky parts on the ends.” “A spark plug wire,” Kint nodded. “What happened to it?” “He threw it in a trash can by the garages – I don’t think it’ll be there now. Someone will have taken out all the trash after the race yesterday.” “Yes. A pity. So that’s all there was?” “That’s all I can think of. There’s just what I saw…and what I heard. Mick was getting messages from a guy through the radio in his helmet. I think he was telling him what to do. Who to sabotage.” Kint pursed his lips. He took a long puff on his cigar. Then he took a seat, and sighed. “That’s the main thing I’ve come to talk to you about, Maisy. We’ve reason to believe that Mick Ovett was in contact with a criminal organisation. A crime family, known as the Trafficones, led by a man known as the Commissioner. They have rogue business interests all over Florida, and plenty around Daytona. Because of what’s happened, and because of your involvement…we think you’re now in terrible danger.” Maisy’s face paled. “What are they going to do to me?” she asked. “That’s dependent on whether they find you,” Kint answered. “And I promise, they won’t find you if you enter our witness protection service. It would mean changing your name, changing your address and moving into a safe house, but the benefit’s right there. You’ll be kept safe, Maisy, for as long as it takes until the danger goes away. Then we’ll take you straight home.” He reached down, pulled up a briefcase and opened it up. “We’ve already done a lot of work to establish your new identity. Your name will be Hannah Selles. You’ll live in Eldora – it’s a little town not far from here. There is a lady there who hosts lodgers, and who’ll be happy to have you around as long as you’re happy there. You’ll be able to keep up with your classes at UCF. But you won’t be able to come back here until we’re resolutely sure that the threat to your life is gone. Do you understand?” “Yes.” Maisy said. “And whatever happens, whatever you say or do, you must not talk about what happened to you before the race. You never know who might be listening. Got that?” “Got it.” said Maisy. “Excellent,” said Kint. “I’ll be back to collect you when your ankle’s healed up. If you need me, or you think you’re in trouble, call 911. We’ll do whatever it takes.” The police installed a guard outside Maisy’s room to monitor her visitors. He wore thick black glasses, and he never spoke to her. The only time she saw anything other than the back of his head from the window was the morning of the next day, when he brought over a box of a dozen Bubbunut donuts ‘courtesy of the force’, as the note read on the box. She had those to eat along with her hospital meals, plus sweets from Beth, homemade cake slices from her mom, and a colossal ‘Get Well Soon’ cake moulded in the shape of the tri-oval from NASCAR, with her name and a kind message written in icing on the centre. Maisy was certainly well-fed throughout her week-long stay – an ankle break usually meant one or two days in hospital, but the extent of the damage warranted an extra five on top. The lack of physical activity left her tetchy at first, but food was an ample way to stave off her boredom. And there was certainly plenty of food around. It was of little surprise to Beth to see her friend a little larger on her last day. She gave Maisy’s jelly belly a teasing poke. Her finger sunk almost to an inch. “Well, you might not be able to make it to Panama, but I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.” she said, smirking. “Errr…you did this to me,” said Maisy. She breathed in, briefly finding the flat tummy of her former self, then breathed out, letting her puffy belly roll back. “Can’t you blame yourself?” Beth protested. “You’re the one who sat there and ate it all.” “Heh. I didn’t have much of a choice.” Maisy said, smiling, giving her tummy a pat. “Your fault, leaving me alone with chocolate…I think I heard the nurses say I’ve nearly put on a stone.” “Hey, look on the plus side,” Beth said. “Your boobs are bigger.” Maisy nudged her chin down, looked at her and smirked. “Really? You think?” “Yeah…I think it suits you, having more to play with. Don’t tell me you haven’t had a feel already?” “Err…no. Not with four-eyes outside the door.” Maisy said, shivering. “He gives me the creeps.” “Really? You mean Jojo? He gives me bubblegum.” “Jojo?” Maisy inquired. “It’s Giovanni, or something. He’s cool. You should take your top off and show him, it’ll really brighten up his day.” Before Maisy could grace that comment with a reply, a nurse informed Beth her time was up and escorted her away. Chief Kint returned that afternoon, and Maisy said goodbye to her parents from the bed. They wrapped her in a soft hug together, and told her to be strong like always. Her mom promised she’d keep her supported, since Maisy couldn’t go back to her job, while her dad pledged to keep her pet Bichon Frise company while she was away. Bethany’s goodbye after she walked out of the hospital on crutches left her nearly in tears, but she was sure they’d see each other again soon after spring break. She’d been told UCF had another location in Eldora – she’d be out of the scope of regular campus life, but they’d be able to keep in touch. Maisy’s parents helped pack her stuff into the boot and back seats of Kint’s cop car, and in the early hours of the morning he drove her from the hospital to her new home. Eldora was a pretty place – palm trees lined clean and tidy streets, and the houses were all pearly white. The house Maisy had been offered to stay in was bigger than her old home, with a wide porch and a grove of orange trees in the back yard. A plump old lady with a big grey perm answered the door when Kint knocked, and immediately invited the three of them in for milk and fresh-baked cookies, straight from the oven. Her name, as Kint told Maisy, was Anne Gretel. “Hannah, pumpkin, it’s so lovely to have you here!” she beamed, embracing her in a hug. Maisy was confused for a moment, until she remembered she had a new name now, as well as a new home. “Call me Annie. Grannie Annie, if you like, your Grandma number three. I’ve got a room upstairs right and ready just for you. Let me show you around!” Maisy took a tour of the house, hobbling around on her crutches. Her room was the most spacious in the house; the bed was a double, warm soft and inviting. The living room featured a huge plasma television, which made a strange contrast with the dated but plush-looking furniture. The kitchen was wide and sparkly. Annie opened the cupboards. They were stocked to the top with goodies – potato chips, chocolate bars, cakes and biscuits, box after box of Twinkies… “I wondered what your favourites were and I just couldn’t decide,” Annie told her. “I thought I’d go the whole hog and have fun figurin’ out!” Maisy smiled. She decided she’d like it here. The following morning Maisy got herself acclimatised with the rest of the town. Eldora had a bus service, and the lone driver was a kindly fellow who offered to pick her up from the sidewalk even before she’d hobbled anywhere near the stop. He’d find her whenever she was walking by and give her the ride to the plaza never for any more than fifty cents. Maisy noted that everything was really cheap in Eldora. Especially the food. Maisy put her crutches to one side, and then scrolled through her phone as she waited for her pizza at one of the local pizzerias. She looked out for messages from Bethany, but couldn’t find any. She was a little sad that she’d have to miss out on spring break, but with crutches, a foot in a cast and nascent new love handles, she reasoned that perhaps it was for the best. Bethany assured her that the next year would always be better. Maisy made pains to avoid calling her during the week she was in PCB – not out of any ill will, but because she knew hearing the inevitable tales about the wild partying from a bed in a sleepy little town miles and miles away would only make her feel worse. She kept off Facebook too, to avoid the inevitable flood of photos of towels and sand, cool cocktails and bronzed bodies lying in the sun. She visited just once, biting her lip as she saw a blissful crowd of tanned, toned bellies, and miserably compared them with her own – thicker, paler, rounder, doughier. She gave her flesh a soft, sad pat. She logged out, and had a thought to create an all new Facebook account, under her new name. It’d help her keep in touch with the friends she’d make in Eldora. She entered her details, then flipped her phone to take a profile picture of her on the couch. It took twenty tries before she settled on one she was relatively happy with. She rued the chubbiness of her cheeks, the little pocket of flesh that formed under her chin as she looked at the camera, smiling. Annie’s irresistible southern cooking – her fried chicken, her pork loin steaks, her wicked weekly barbecues – was taking its toll. Maisy Pinkerton had been skinny, slender and fit. Hannah Selles, it seemed, was blooming into a chubby young woman. For however much longer, Maisy was irksomely unsure. In a town with a pizzeria, a burger bar and an ice cream parlour – but no gym – Maisy could only sit, eat and sigh. She knew her body was softening in her slow recovery. Arms that were tense with twine like muscles now wobbled a little when she tried to make her biceps bulge. Legs that once carried a lithe figure now carried weight – fat weight – above them and around them. Maisy was pining for a return to jogging on the beach, to shift the rubbing sensation she was feeling between her thighs when she hobbled from her comfy bed in the mornings. But that required an all-clear from the doctor on her ankle. To measure her progress healing, she had an appointment with him every two weeks. But much to her dissatisfaction, the only progress she seemed to be making was found on the reader above the little white square on the floor. “One hundred and sixty-nine pounds,” the doctor said, writing the number in his notes. Three other numbers were in the margins of a file page that bore her name, each a little higher than the last. “That’s a gain of eight pounds since your last visit.” Maisy grimaced. She fingered the roll of flesh that hung over her underpants, bought a size larger than what she normally wore. She thought most of the weight had gone to her belly, but then looked down at her legs. Fat was beginning to cocoon around her knees. “Err…how soon can I go running again?” she asked, flinching a little. “Judging by your most recent bone scans, not for another month,” the doctor said. “And that’s dependent on you allowing yourself time to rest, Hannah. I can see you’ve been putting excessive stress on fractures that haven’t fully healed yet. You need to stop exercising on your leg.” “But I have stopped exercising,” Maisy said. “It’s my…it’s my weight gain doing this. I’m getting heavier and heavier because I’m moving less, because of my ankle. But it’s hurting my ankle anyway.” “Then you need to stop moving it completely,” said the doctor. “You need to give it some proper rest. No exercising. No long walks. Prop it up in bed, and maybe it’ll have chance to recover from the stress.” Maisy wondered if she’d recover from her stress, of spending the next day cooped up on the couch, feeling her fitness further go to waste. The only distractions from her pointless self-criticism were television and food. She asked Annie for ice cream; her theory was that dairy would help her recovery, as milk was good for the bones. The little old lady put on her apron, and a while later wowed her with a huge triple milk chocolate sundae, smothered in whipped cream. The day after that, Maisy asked for another, and she soon fell into the routine of having one after every dinner, She’d have a chocolate milkshake when she relaxed on the porch through the warmth of noon, a hot chocolate and cream before bed, cookies and milk after breakfast in the morning. However fast her bones were getting stronger from all the extra milk she couldn’t really tell, for the other effects of her excessive dairy consumption were becoming increasingly apparent. Maisy’s shinier smile was becoming ever more laced with concern as she lathered her body in the shower every morning. She realised there was more of herself to soap up and scrub, more flesh to rub and dry, then slide into her clothes. Her jeans were feeling pinchy, so she forewent them on the morning of her thirtieth day of rest in favour of her underwear and an oversized tee. Annie was out, so she made herself a hearty breakfast on the grill, then slaked her thirst with two big glasses of milk. Maisy retrieved a big pack of mini chocolatey brownies from the top of the cupboard and opened them on the couch. Two by two, she popped them in her mouth. The Florida sun was shining through the windows, and her treats were beginning to melt in her hands. Undaunted, Maisy simply sped up her consumption as her eyes remained fixed to the TV. She scowled as the chocolate smeared over her cheeks as she ate – a little dropped on to her shirt, a little more on her thighs. She stuck out her tongue to lick it off her nose, then Annie arrived back and bustled into the living room. Her eyes shone when she saw Maisy. “Gosh, darling, I didn’t recognise you a moment there. My, my, haven’t you blossomed?” Maisy’s thicker cheeks flushed red as she smiled. Is it that noticeable already? she wondered. “Err…hello to you too, Annie.” “My, my, those college boys ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em. C’mere, let me get a look at you.” Maisy’s awkward smile stayed plastered to her face, like the chocolate, which was all over her hands too. Wanting to avoid smearing it on the upholstery she tried to stand up with using the armrests. She immediately flopped back down. Maisy felt her belly jiggle, then jiggle some more as Annie hoisted her up off the couch from her elbows. “Oooh, my gorgeous girl’s gotten so healthy. Heck, it’s like someone rigged you up to a garden hose and turned the pressure on high. Just like the cheaters do to the pumpkins at the state fair. Do you want waffles? I brought you some waffles.” “I’ve err…I’ve just had cookies.” Maisy said sheepishly. “Oh, give them a try. They’re delicious. You don’t want ‘em when they’re cold now, do you?” Maisy reluctantly had her waffles. Caving to the sweet homely tastes she had bacon sandwiches, a milkshake, steak, another sundae and another box of cookies all before she saw the doctor again the next morning. Once more she tripped to her underclothes in his office, though this time she did so slowly. Her pinchy jeans had left marks on her sides, and her shirt was bunching her boobs uncomfortably. The regular scan on her ankle was performed, and the doctor returned with a readout. “Good news,” he chimed. “You’re well on the road to recovery. You’ve no new fractures, your old ones are fixed up, and your breaks are finally unbroken.” “Yes!” Maisy shouted with a joyful bounce. “Does that mean I can run again?” “If you really want to, you’ll have to take it easy. It’s still early days.” the doctor said. “Don’t go too far or too fast. And don’t over-exert yourself. In your present condition, I wouldn’t recommend any more than thirty minutes of physical activity. Per week.” Maisy frowned. “Well…it’s something, I guess.” she said. Her hand massaged her belly softly, then she gave it a slap. It rippled, far more than what she would have allowed. Catching the doctor’s eye, she nervously pulled down the hem of her shirt. “Miss Selles…if you’d mind me asking this question…” he said. “How have you been keeping with your weight?” “Umm…fine, I think,” Maisy said. “I might have put on a few more pounds. Is that bad?” “It’s perfectly normal for patients that have suffered debilitating skeletal damage to gain weight over the course of their treatment.” he said. “But you’re a special case, and from looking at you now after last month…let’s say I feel a few pounds may be an understatement. Would you mind stepping on the scale?” “Oh. Um…not at all.” Maisy said. She bit her lip. These were words that she was not used to hearing. She stood by the scale, then tentatively stepped on, a finger pursed over her concerned pout. “A hundred and ninety nine pounds.” the doctor read. “Okay, Hannah, take a seat.” Maisy stepped off and planted her bottom on the cold steel of a chair. It spread over the smooth surface. She felt rather rotund. “You’ve put on thirty pounds since the last time we saw each other,” the doctor explained. “Like I said, it’s perfectly normal for people in your situation to put on weight.” Maisy nodded. “But this has come on quite rapidly, and unfortunately, it does look like you’ve ventured into overweight territory. You’re two stones above the upper line of what a girl your height and age should ideally be.” “Okay” Maisy said, unblinkingly. “There are steps you can take to help reduce your weight, but you don’t need the whole shebang. You were in great shape before your accident. I’m confident you’ll be able to get your body back to how it was. If you’d like to book another appointment in a month’s time to measure your progress, that’d be fine.” “Sure.” mumbled Maisy. She arranged a date, thanked him without looking him in the eye and left, hastily. With her ankle fixed, Maisy could walk normally again. But the bounce was gone from her step. She walked out the doctors red-faced, painfully aware of her softly shifting paunch, and the rolls that squished over her hips as her legs shifted. I broke my ankle. I’ve been out of training a while. It’s normal. Just like he said. Normal. As she felt her breaths begin to shorten, she began to wonder just how normal suddenly being thirty pounds overweight really was. It felt completely alien to her. A little chubbiness she could tolerate – an extra cup size, a smoother curve around her hips. But this, she knew, was fatness. This was pinchy, jiggly, pot-bellied fatness. Maisy decided there and then that something had to be done. She couldn’t go back home to her parents, to college, to work as a fat girl. Out on the sidewalk she tied up her hair and broke into a run. Her little feet pounded the street in their sneakers, aching from lack of recent use. Her softly swinging belly began to hop and bounce over the waistband of her sweats. I’ll do the circuit the bus does Maisy decided. I think it’s three miles. Just an easy-peasy three miles. Her body felt like it’d gotten to the three mile mark after just three hundred metres. It felt like years since she’d last done some running. Sweat emerged from under her arms, under her neck, and around her wobbly paunch. As she got close to Annie’s house, Maisy felt a stitch throbbing along her side. She clutched herself as she hobbled on, pressing into the fat. Annie was out on the porch, wearing big pink baking gloves. She gave her a wave. “Is that you darling?” she called. “You’re right on time, I’ve got poundcake in the oven!” Maisy groaned as her aches and pains brought her to a plod. The last thing she needed in her condition was more cake. “Whatcha say, you comin’ in?” Annie asked her. “Sure…Annie,” Maisy huffed. She put her hands on her knees and looked out to the road in front of her. “I’ll have some right after…right after I take a shower.” She pushed back the loose strands of her sweaty hair and hobbled inside, feeling breathless and weak. She didn’t want to give up so easily. But the doctor did say take it easy, after all she told herself. You’ve run a mile, almost. That’s worth a slice of cake, right? Maisy’s belly gurgled. She did feel hungry. “I’ve got whipped cream and chocolate sauce too. I’ll leave it in your room” Annie chimed. “Great,” Maisy puffed. “Thanks….ughhh…” She passed the kitchen on the way to her room, stripped off her clothes, showered, then slumped on the bed in a dressing gown. She spooned herself cake, numbly, as she nursed out the cramp in her soft thighs. Maisy decided to finish off her three miles the day after next. She wanted just a little more rest.
  4. “Is it Eye-way or Eee-way?” Lauren asked as she studied the sign above the office door. “I’ve been calling it both in my head. I don’t know which is right.” The sign read ‘Tim Maxim’ in white, and a little further down were the words ‘CEO, Eyway Patisseries’. “It’s Eh-way, actually.” the secretary said. “Oh, right…” said Lauren. “Was the founder Canadian or something?” “British.” A light flickered green on her desk, on a box by her computer keyboard. “I believe he’s ready to see you now.” “Oh so, the boss and the guy who started the company – they’re the same guy?” “Yeah, they’re both the man you’re about to see. Is that news to you too?” “Uhh…now it’s not.” “Wonderful. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you’ve done your research. His name’s Tim, by the way, in case you didn’t read the sign either.” “Okayyy....” Lauren muttered as she shimmied past the secretary. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” she whispered to herself. The secretary raised an eyebrow over her horn-rimmed glasses. Lauren tried to look away as she walked by, but her eyes were drawn to the cat brooch on her jacket, right next to her name tag. “Thanks…Ursula…” Lauren smiled inwardly. “It’s Ms. Newman.” the secretary snapped, not looking from her laptop. Lauren could only cross her fingers and hope her boss wasn’t as narky. She gave herself a quick look in the reflection on the window. Her soft reddish brown hair, which fell down her shoulders into long, tumbling curls, looked perfect. She smoothed out the little creases in her dress, running her hands down her slender waist, and back over her hourglass form. Fresh out of college and away from the late night parties, she had managed to shed a stone that had never made her look anything more than slim anyway. She never really had to obsess over her body, and never really did as a result. She opened up her folder and nervously skimmed through her printouts, checking all of them were there. This was the first graphic design job she’d applied for, and the first interview she’d faced since she’d got into college. She’d rehearsed her answers, but after the dressing down Ursula had given her she had no idea what to expect. She pushed open the door and was filled with the aroma of warm, swirling chocolate. The office she was in looked like it had been pulled out of a scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Tim Maxim, a swarthy fortysomething man in a purple suit, shook her hand firmly and offered her a seat shaped like a toadstool. Her little legs dangled over the edge. He sat behind a desk with two brightly painted vases on a giant pink cushion shaped like Turkish Delight. “You had a pleasant journey here, I hope?” “I did, thank you.” said Lauren. She lived in a flat just ten minutes away. The day had been warm and bright; the walk over the Market Street Bridge to the centre of Harrisburg had refreshed her. “Excellent. I’d better introduce myself – Tim Maxim of Eyway Patisseries. I’m alone up here today, usually I’d have my friends downstairs up to say hello as well, but they’re all busy doing business. I guess you’ve met Ursula, though, how was she?” “Yeah” said Lauren, straining a smile “She’s…yeah…she’s fine…she’s – “– a bitch?” Tim offered. He laughed. “Tell me about it…no, no, please don’t, it’s just the way she is, really. Can you believe the first time I met her here she was applying for a job in market research? Basically in talking to people about our products? “Really? How’d that go?” “It went nowhere, I didn’t give her the job,” Tim exhaled. “I kindly suggested she’d be better at sorting my letters, speaking to the board and shareholders over the phone, telling them I don’t run this business for their money and I don’t really know or care what the stocks are… yeah, she’s good at all that bullshit.” He sighed again. “Don’t try to get in her good books,” he suggested. “She hardly keeps any anymore. I think I might have had a page once that fell out the day I said I wouldn’t let her bring Jezebel into the office.” “Jezebel’s her…daughter?” “Cat.” Tim said with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t mind except I’m deathly allergic. I can barely be in the same room as her – sneak a look at her jacket when you go, it’s always covered in hairs. I swear she sleeps wearing all the clothes she wears to go to work the next day, with the cat in her bed, just to spite me.” “That’s crazy…” “I know! I still try, I still give her the first dibs on everything I dream up in here, but I’m still dreaming of something that might melt her heart. Syrupsuckle? Melbas? Swampmallows? She threw them all away.” Lauren gaped. “How can anyone hate something that’s marshmallow and chocolate fudge?” “I know, right? You like them?” “I love them!” “Then try these,” Maxim smiled, nudging a plate filled with a stack miniature muffins across his desk. “One of my latest, I call them Fluffytops.” “That’s cute!” Lauren smiled, as she pried the one at the top of the stack. She daintily separated it from its casing and took a soft bite from the edge. “Mmm!” she squealed. “These are incredible!” She bit into the delicious gooey centre, letting it drift along her tongue. She wiped the crumbs off her cheek with her finger, then licked them up. “You like them?” “They’re the best thing ever!” Lauren licked her lips again. “You’re sure?” “Of course I’m sure!” “Fantastic! You’re hired.” “Thank you! Wait – what?” Lauren nearly spat the rest of the muffin out in surprise. “Well, honestly, I’ve never met a model before and I had a couple reservations, I’ll admit.” said Tim. “But you seem like an honest, genuine person and you’ve really blown me away. I’d be delighted to give you the job. Are you free to shoot this Thursday?” “Shoot?” “Modelling. Photo shoot. This Thursday.” “But…I’m sorry, this can’t be right. I’m not a model.” Tim gave her a puzzled look. “What do you mean you’re not a model? You’re beautiful.” “I…” Lauren blushed. “…I thought this was an interview for a graphic designer.” Tim shrugged. “Are you a graphic designer?” “Yeah…err…here’s some of my stuff.” Lauren grinned nervously as she handed him a folder containing her work. Maxim thumbed the corner, buzzed through the portfolio like a flickbook then threw the whole thing over his shoulder. The papers flew out across the room. “Great,” He clapped his hands. “You’re hired for that too. Like I said, are you free to start this Thursday?” Lauren stared at him, trying not to let her jaw go slack. What was happening to her? “Umm…sure,” she finally said. “Do I have to bring anything?” “Yep. Yourself. That’s all.” “Ok, great. Is there anything I need to wear?” “Wear anything you like for the desk job, we don’t care.” said Tim. “We’ve got costuming for the model stuff. We start at ten am every day because early starts are for the wrong kind of people. We go on to six in the evening but it’s not so bad because you get free dinner at five. You’re on the third floor, your supervisor is Sarah.” Tim pushed his Turkish Delight seat – there were tiny wheels underneath – over to an intercom box. He pushed a button and a little green light flashed. “Ursula darling, tell whoever’s supposed to be here later that there’s no need, we’ve filled the positions. Thank you.” He stretched his arms. “Everything good?” “Yeah…everything’s awesome” said Lauren, beaming. “Good, I’ll see you soon. Would you like another Fluffytop?” Lauren arrived at the third floor ten minutes early on the Thursday morning. Upon entering she was engulfed in a hug. Sarah, her curly-haired, bubbly supervisor, gave her a quick tour of the office. There were no doors, no cubicles, not even any panes between the wide windows. Sarah introduced her to Darren, her ‘cubemate’, as they were known. Eyway operated a buddy system at all levels to promote friendship and ‘joyful efficiency’, as it said in the visitor’s guidebook. Darren was married and twenty years older than herself; as it turned out, they’d studied art and design at the same college. They got on like a house on fire. It was from him that she learned that employees got a colossal discount on Eyway’s products. “It’s something like sixty to seventy-five percent,” he said at their lunch break. He bit into an apple, which mushed on his bushy beard. “Rises the longer you stay on the books. Though after three years I called it there and then. I was struggling to get into my suits!” Lauren smiled and nodded. She was getting to know how it felt. After just a couple weeks of free cafeteria food at dinner she’d regained the stone she’d lost over the holidays. Clothes that once hung loosely went back to feeling a little tighter. Still, she was happy to begin her first modelling shoot at one hundred and twenty six pounds. She felt good. Lauren was a little nervous about having no experience in the industry, but the photographer reassured her that it was fine. He just wanted pictures of her enjoying Eyway, which was easy enough. She did a kitchen set with Fluffytops, a scene on greenscreen that showed her on a beach with Eyway’s famed Napoleone Supremo melts, another set of her and some extras standing in line at a queue in a cinema. Rather than queuing for a movie however, they were queuing at the snack bar for Eyway’s Delectable Doughnuts. It was there where she first tasted one. “Oh my goodness, this is fantastic!” she almost screamed. The chocolate was luscious and succulent, the dough was like a heavenly cloud. “Please, tell me you’ve got more!” she begged the extras playing the movie theatre staff. “Right here.” said the photographer, opening a box. Her reaction became the centrepiece of Eyway’s first television advert, filmed a few weeks later. It premiered primetime in the ad break between the first and second quarters of the Super Bowl. Watching it over again, Lauren wondered if she was enjoying those doughnuts a little too much. She cast a sceptical eye over the swell of her ass, and the chubbiness of her cheeks. The camera adds ten pounds she told herself, though she knew she’d already added ten pounds onto her one-hundred and twenty six pound frame, bringing her to one thirty-six, and that had been three weeks ago. Lauren lifted her shirt. A little layer of fat creased over her jeans button. She gave it a tentative squeeze. It was warm, soft and squishy. With her modelling commitments and her hours in graphic design combined, coupled with the fact that she often got home at half six and wanted to do little more than watch TV, eat and sleep, she found little time to hit the gym. Her workout clothes found the way to the cobwebbed shadows of her wardrobe. Replacing them on the hangers were new dresses, blouses, shirts and pants bought with her new earnings – some in slightly larger sizes than before. Lauren thought nothing of it. The advertising campaign was finishing soon, and once she’d done the shoots, she’d have time to get back in shape. Social commitments were undermining her drive, however. Office parties were a regular thing under Sarah’s stewardship – she celebrated every holiday, regardless of who it was supposed to be important to. Fancy dress was mandatory, and snacks courtesy of the boss were always in abundance. Meanwhile Lauren lost a day she’d saved at the end of the month as her workout day attending the christening of Darren’s baby daughter, Maria. That day she agreed to help babysit every weekend night for a few months for his other daughter, Anna, a five year old who loved baking cookies, and loved making Lauren try her latest icing strewn creations. She would sit on the couch, say what an amazing little baker she was, and munch, weekend after weekend. A meetup with her college girlfriends at the Rubicon Bar had been awkward to say the least. One had got a job as a lifeguard, another as a consultant, most of the rest were in the middle of work experience, but all of them had stayed skinny. The look that said she’d been letting herself go was written on all of their faces, but none of them mentioned it. Lauren smiled and tried to calm her nerves with pizza. She ate and ate. After a few cocktails the mood changed a little, when one of her friends got a bit too friendly and straight up tried to shove a hand under Lauren’s tight top on the dance floor, whispering something about curves into her ear. The rest of the night was spent looking after her – later they crashed at a house belonging to one of their fathers. Staggering around the morning after, the girls breakfasted, showered, then changed – they had the benefit that the girl whose house it was had moved her whole wardrobe back from her college room. Since they were all within one size of each other, they could pick out an outfit for the day. For Lauren however, this was no longer the case. She had advanced into the plus sizes. She wrestled some pants partway up her legs, then decided to spare herself the embarrassment of potentially ripping the clothes she once could have fit into, and put her ones from the night before back on. She reluctantly confessed that she’d have to leave early and get back to hers for fresh clothing. They nodded in tacit understanding and said their goodbyes, and Lauren spent an awkward hour sat in a crowded carriage on the train, trying not to let her beer-stained tee hike up over her tummy. She wondered what working life was doing to her. This weight gain thing did happen to everybody eventually, right? Lauren coveted the feel of fresh, loose fabric on her skin when she returned to her apartment with takeout in a taxi. But the feeling was getting harder to find. Morning after morning, shirt buttons gapped too much, and blouses pushed out too far. Lauren winced wearing her old jeans – for a time she released the button and hid the gap with a designer belt, but the strain of the seams on her chunkier bottom was getting untenable. The thought of cutting back hit her hardest when she wrested them up on a Sunday and found them ramrod stiff just halfway up her widened thighs. She shunned a takeout meal from the mall after she scoured the shelves for some size sixteens. But her resolve crumbled on Monday morning with the mere whiff of chocolate-scented creamy dessert bagels – or Changelrings, as Tim termed his latest treat. By the end of the week, her jeans no longer felt comfortable. By the end of the month, neither did she. She studied her puffed up cheeks in the mirror with increasing consternation. Her ass, as she’d grown to expect, was fattening the most. Lauren could handle a little ballooning behind her. Yet the features of her face – her model good looks – were suddenly softening up. Between the coppery strands of her rich long hair that framed her dancing green eyes she was a rare beauty – but she was a rounded beauty now. Lauren poked the pooch of flesh that had formed around her neck. “A double chin? Geez, Lauren…” she mumbled. “Someone’s getting fat.” There still was one place in the world where she could feel at ease with all of herself, and that was on the forty-fourth floor. Every time she made the journey up, she’d receive a scowl from the secretary, usually accompanied by a catty suggestion. “Maybe take the stairs next time?” was one of them. “Maybe you need to rethink your measurements?” was another, soon after Lauren felt her upsized bra start to pinch. Ursula clearly found her growing belly offensive, so Lauren swiftly decided that it was cute. She would wear shirts a couple sizes too small to accentuate it when they came to see each other, usually on Thursdays. Sometimes she would wear a shirt in her own rising size, but leave the second and third to bottom buttons undone, letting Ursula get a glimpse of her deepening bellybutton. “What sort of model binges on cake twice a day?” she muttered as Lauren arrived to pick up some papers. “What sort of model would I be if I didn’t try the produce?” Lauren smiled, pushing her fingers under the swell of her chubbier belly and letting it hang a little over her beltline. “I call it brand loyalty.” “I call it two-hundred pounds.” Ursula retorted. Lauren raised a hand to her open mouth and pretended to be offended. “It’s a hundred and eighty, for your information!” She gave her belly a jiggle and a slap before stuffing it back under her skirt. She collected the results of the Eyway website customer satisfaction survey. A lot of people felt underwhelmed by what was on display there, so she was needed to give it a snazzy new feel to capture the spirit of the company. She got to work on new borders, textures and headings and a month later Tim called her back to discuss her progress. “Two hundred pounds calling!” Lauren declared with a wicked smile when the elevator doors opened up. She’d found herself eating extra just for the chance to say it to Ursula. Her body had readily obliged. The weight piled on thick and fast. Lauren struck a sexy innocent pose with her knees pressed and a finger curled between her lips, then walked backwards, spun, and ground her backside up against the wall, purring and softly moaning as she fondled her fat. Ursula raised her eyes over her glasses. “I don’t recall ordering a kissogram from FetishFinders Anonymous.” she muttered. Lauren brushed her hair put of her eyes. “No, but your boss did.” she said. She strut to the table, rolling her hips in a languid circle, then planted her thickened thigh over the desk. “I trust you’ve warmed him up for me?” Ursula’s mouth hung open. Her face went white, then the blood rushed to her cheeks. She struggled for something to say as Lauren sauntered through to the office. She was just toying with her. Tim in her mind had never struck her as being into fat chicks, as she’d had to admit she’d become, or even skinny chicks for that matter. The signs weren’t quite all there, but she didn’t think he was straight. In any case Maxim still fawned over her and the work she’d been doing. He loved the new site and its interactive features, and commissioned her to design a new logo. She made hundreds of potential designs, showing them to him, rehashing them and showing them again. Whenever she went up to Tim’s office she made sure to bring a snack on her journey to the forty-fourth floor. She’d save it right until she met Ursula, whereupon she’d eat it all right in front of her. She got as much pleasure from the reaction as the taste. Every blissful bite felt like sticking her middle finger up at that icy toad. After spending a month agonising over which design he loved the most, he finally settled on one of Lauren’s earliest, a cute smiling cupcake wearing a doughnut rubber ring in a pool of chocolate and sprinkles. Then she had to work with the uniform makers, the label designers, even a bunch of steelworkers for the rebrand; with her guidance they recreated a thirty-foot square version of her logo to put right at the top of the tower, replacing the Eyway ‘E’. Darren surprised her with a minor office party for the switch on ‘ceremony’ the night after it was put up by a crane. There were nibbles, wine, and naturally plenty of doughnuts. When the sun went down they left the building to watch the logo take its place amongst the lights in the skyline. Lauren smiled as it lit up, watching it reflect off the windscreen of her brand new Nissan Micra. Her bank balance was climbing undented by her impulse buys – like her new black dress, beneath which her boobs had been growing. She looked curvy, spunky, daring and ravishingly buxom. Life was good. A few more months of vigorous eating passed before she was asked up to Tim’s office again. Sarah asked her up from her desk and put her hands on her shoulders when they came to the elevator. Lauren noticed that they were shaking. “Are you ok?” she asked her supervisor. “I’m fine, just a little shell-shocked. I’ve just been to see the boss. He wants to see you after lunch.” “Why?” “I’m not meant to tell you.” Sarah’s auburn curls swung as she glanced over her shoulder. “You’ll see why when you hear from him yourself. Good luck.” Lauren puzzled over what she’d meant at the cafeteria with a coffee and a sandwich. She couldn’t figure out what it was. Five minutes before lunch finished, she got in the elevator and made her way up. The doors pinged open. It was time for some fun. She clicked open her handbag and whipped out her present for Ursula – one Deluxe Delectable doughnut. Lauren made eye contact with the secretary as she brushed past the desk, smiled, then crammed it into her mouth all at once, pushing it past her lips with her fingers. “Mmm…” she moaned. “So so good…” She produced another from her handbag and stuffed it into her puffed-up cheeks. “Mmmphh…” A squirt of chocolate cream settled on her chin. She tried to ease her tongue free from the mass of soft doughy goodness to lick it up. With her other hand she rubbed her swelling tummy through her dress. She giggled as Ursula balked in disgust, then gulped down her snack and patted her stomach tenderly. “Urpp…ooofff…excuse me, I’ve someone to go see…” Smirking, Lauren swung her ample hips around and sashayed off in the direction of Tim’s office, giving his secretary an eyeful of her swaying derriere. She stopped, winked at herself in the window, then rapped the door. “Come in” said Tim. His voice sounded a little strained. Lauren took her familiar seat on the toadstool, but found it felt less familiar this time. She sank a little lower as her ass spread out across the top. Her heels now touched the honey coloured carpet rather than dangling over. Her boss swung around on his Turkish Delight, clutching a hank of crumpled papers in each hand. His hair was dark, but she noticed just a little fleck of grey on the sides. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here?” said Maxim. “Yeah, is everything ok?” said Lauren. She felt a hint of concern. “Not quite. We’ve discovered we’ve a rather large problem. It’s not something to do with you, I don’t think. I certainly don’t hope so. It’s a mole. A corporate mole. Someone’s been selling our secret recipes to our rivals.” Lauren was stunned to silence. “We’ve got a detective agency on the case,” Tim continued. “I just wanted to let you know they’ll be accessing your account on our intranet here. They’ll be searching your desk too – as we speak, I expect. It’s not just you, it’s everybody. They’re going through every floor, one by one, from the bottom to the top. I just brought you here to say I’m very sorry to have to do this.” Maxim chipped away at one of his thumbnails. He looked the picture of worry. “It’s fine,” said Lauren. She offered him a comforting smile. “I get it.” “Great,” he said. “Could you fetch Darren for me when you get back? I’m so sorry to disturb you all, but well…you know what I mean.” “Sure. I’ll do that.” Lauren left Maxim’s office with a strange and unwanted feeling inside. She was surprised to find herself alone in the foyer. A note was left on Ursula’s empty desk with her name on. She reached over and opened it up. I’ve booked a table for two at Gabriella’s at quarter to seven tonight. Be there. We’ve much to discuss. P.S. Put this in the shredder. And don’t let him know where you’re going. Gabriella’s was an Italian restaurant where Walnut Street met Jonestown Road, about ten minutes away from the office. Lauren’s thoughts were filled with that note, which she didn’t shred, but kept in her breast pocket, taking it out and reading it again periodically as she finished the rest of the day’s work. She left at six, said her goodbyes to Sarah and Darren (who still looked visibly shaken after his meeting with the boss), got some cash out from an ATM and hailed a cab. Hungry even after dinner in the cafeteria, Lauren ordered a Black Angus New York Strip, with a side of meatballs and gnocchi marinara. Ursula rolled her eyes at her as she ordered sauted mussels. “You don’t have to embrace it.” the secretary stressed after the waiter had left with their menus. “Yeah? Well you don’t have to be so bitchy.” said Lauren. Ursula slapped a hand on the table. “Look, when we first met, I thought you were an airhead. I didn’t think you’d stand a chance at getting a job there and that’s why I let you go in. So you’d embarrass yourself and never come back.” “Okaayyy…” said Lauren, munching on a breadstick. “But now, I’ve realised I was wrong,” said Ursula. “I shouldn’t have let you see him. I should have come up with an excuse and turned you away like all the other girls. I even switched the appointments that morning for the model and the graphic designer because I didn’t want you to get that job. I didn’t want anybody to get it!” The waiter brought back a bottle of red wine and poured each of them a glass. Ursula thanked him as he left, then to Lauren’s surprise she seized the glass and downed it in one. “I wanted Tim to have a load of shitty interviews with all the wrong people, get frustrated, throw in the towel and just outsource the graphics for his stupid advert,” she ranted. “Instead, you walk in, bowl him over, get the job, become all his Muses at once, and then you become his favourite.” “What?” said Lauren. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Tim doesn’t have a wife,” said Ursula. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. He doesn’t even have anybody he has a crush on, I don’t think. But he has favourites. You’re one of his favourites. And if you’re one of his favourites, you start to feel it here.” Ursula placed her hands on her bony hips. “Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. And I still think you’re an airhead, because clearly, you can’t see it happening to you. You’ve doubled in size, you’ve…” “Whoah, whoah, hold it right there” said Lauren, her anger mounting. “I know I’ve put some weight on. You remind me literally every time I see you. I’m a big girl now, I get it, okay?” “You’re getting huge…” “Geez, I see why Tim threw the door in your face for that job in market research…” Ursula’s lip wobbled. Lauren sensed she’d struck a tender nerve. She decided not to go in for the kill, and swung the conversation back to herself. “Look, like we both know, I’m fatter now. And I know that’s because I’ve been eating a lot more. But the food is delicious, and if it feels so good, it can’t be a bad thing, right?” Ursula cooled down and shook her head. “Honey, crack cocaine feels good. But I’m pretty sure it’s still a bad thing. And while we’re on the topic of drugs, you might want to check this out.” Ursula glanced over her shoulder, then produced a briefcase from underneath the table. She put it on the desk, clicked it open and showed her a crinkled paper with splodges of ink. “That’s a list of every chemical I’ve found in Eyway’s Extravagant doughnuts. Half of them got banned in Europe after the Creamgate scandal. And there’s a couple illegal in the U.S.” “But they’re made from all-natural ingredients,” said Lauren. “It says on the box…” “Look, cocaine is all-natural, if you think about it…forget I said cocaine again, the point is, Eyway likes to be economic with the rules when it comes to these things. They’re sneaking all these dangerous additives into their chocolate and cream. They’re making people fat and dependent. They’re becoming the biggest pillar of the obesity epidemic.” She fidgeted with the buckle of her belt as she spoke. “Lauren, please.” she pleaded. “You’ve got to help me bring them down.” Lauren’s faced paled as she registered what she’d heard. The waiter laid her food down in front of her and she didn’t even notice. “You’re the mole.” she whispered. “Please…” Ursula begged. There were tears in her eyes. “You have to help me. There’s a detective’s, it’s called Aviary P.I., they’re compiling all the evidence. We’re getting closer to what we want. I just need someone on the inside. I need someone close to Tim to finally root him out and show the world what he is.” Lauren struggled to find words to say. “If what you’re saying is all real…why didn’t you tell me before? Why didn’t you warn me?” “He’s planted bugs in my office,” said Ursula. “He listens to everything I say. He has spies everywhere. That’s why I could only meet you here. Otherwise he’ll destroy us both.” “Ursula…” Lauren bit her lip. “Ursula…I’m sorry, but this really doesn’t sound like Tim. I don’t think he’s capable of destroying anything.” “You don’t know who he is!” she screamed. “His name isn’t even Tim! He’s ruthless. He’s vicious. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants!” Lauren looked over her shoulder. The other customers looked concerned. “Ok,” she said. “Maybe he hurt you once. Maybe you haven’t forgiven him and maybe you never will. But I can’t let you do what you’re doing to this company. There are a lot of people’s jobs at stake here, not just his, not just mine. I mean yours, Ursula – do you really think this is worth throwing your life away?” Ursula tightened her fists, seething. “I only got a job at Eyway to bring him down. You don’t know how far we go back together. My name…my name isn’t Ursula…” Her phone buzzed and she pressed it to her ear. She listened for ten seconds. Then her face dropped. “Oh my god,” she mumbled. “Oh my god. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get out of here.” Ursula pushed out of her seat, threw her bag over her shoulder and hurriedly fled the restaurant, letting the door slam on the way out. The customers had all gone quiet. The waiters looked baffled. “Well…that was weird.” Lauren mumbled to herself. She felt the stares and tried to pretend nothing had happened. Her steak was starting to cool, so she cut a piece and ate it. “Mmm…” she said. She quickly started chewing her way through. After ten minutes, she looked over her shoulder. It looked like Ursula wasn’t coming back. She shrugged, picked up her plate of sauted mushrooms, and dumped them onto her meal. Then she resumed her eating. Lauren was called to Maxim’s office almost the first thing the next morning. Strangely, Ursula wasn’t at the desk to greet her. Tim sat her down and leaving every detail murky, quietly explained that she’d left on her own terms, leaving her job open. He then went on to say since they were so chuffed with her graphic design work, and that there now wouldn’t be all much more for her to do in that department for the time being, he was wondering if she’d consider leaving Floor Three and joining him as his new secretary. Lauren took a while to make her decision, but after a big lunch and a hefty prodding from Sarah, who insisted she’d never live it down if she threw away a chance to see all the inner workings of the company, she graciously accepted. “You can start right now, if you like.” Tim smiled as he took her hand in his and shook. “Sure thing.” said Lauren. She spun on the spot, and felt her ass collide with something cool and smooth. There was a spine-chilling crash. They looked down to see the remnants of one of Tim’s vases scattered in a thousand pieces on the floor. “Oh my god,” said Lauren, clapping her hands to her mouth. “I am so sorry. Was it expensive?” Tim forced a smile. “Don’t worry, darling. It wasn’t irreplaceable.” He found a dustpan and brush by the little trash can in the corner and swept up the pieces while Lauren stood there, paralysed by awkwardness. “It’s no worry,” he said, dumping the porcelain chards unceremoniously into the trash. “The Ming Dynasty existed in China for nearly three hundred years. I’m sure they must’ve made lots of other vases.” Lauren agreed, left, then after a temp had brought up her things from Floor Three she threw herself into her new work, her face still a mask. She snacked unconsciously for days on end to try and take her mind off the incident. She worked solidly ten till six, even though she knew it’d probably take her twenty years of the same to pay off the damage. Tim was fine with it, but it was two weeks before she could look him in the eye again and smile genuinely. She was glad to have rebuilt the bridges she’d nearly torched, because without Tim she was quite lonely up in Floor Forty-Four, with just the strangers on the phone to keep her company. Only on occasion did she meet Darren in her new role, and Sarah rarely if ever. She daydreamed about them a lot, and Ursula too. She fantasised about what it would be like if they both still had their old jobs. Her getting up the morning of the day of an appointment with Tim, squeezing on a pair of jeans a couple sizes too small, prepping herself in the elevator, practicing her moves for when the doors opened up… The phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello, two hundred and sixty pounds calling.” Lauren smiled. Then she froze. Shit, what did I just say? The person down the other end of the line coughed. He then said he was a prospective chocolatier looking to make a start-up in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and that he was wondering if Mister Maxim was available to answer his questions about founding a confectionary business. Lauren started breathing again. She quickly said that he wasn’t present (he’d actually gone to the bathroom) then offered to answer his questions for him. They talked a lot about staffing, pay and perks. They thanked each other and then Lauren put the phone down. She breathed out again. Beyond the phone calls a lot of what she did in her new role was fairly similar to what she did before. She worked with her own laptop, and she had her Bonsai tree and her picture of her mom on her desk. But her comfy Floor Three chair remained where it was, and she was left to deal with Ursula’s steely, sharp cornered and non-reclinable seat. She desperately wanted to switch it around, but that would mean leaving it to Marty, the new hire on the graphic design team. Pulling her superior position to make him use a chair that looked like an antique from a Spanish Inquisition torture chamber wasn’t fair in her mind, because he was only eighteen, and moreover she found him kind of cute. When Tim called him up to see him he’d march in a straight line from the elevator to his office, his head rigidly fixed between his skinny shoulders, his eyes focused on the door as he strode with his long legs. Lauren soon sussed that he was trying to avoid eye contact with her, or more properly, avoid staring at her bulging breasts. With no-one else to fool around with now that Ursula had gone, Marty fast became her new favourite playmate. When she knew which days he was due to see the boss, she’d select a shirt with the deepest plunging neckline she could get away with to greet the boy when he arrived. She’d drop pens underneath her chair and pretend to be unable to see them, goading him into getting right next to her to pick them up, giving him an eyeful of her bosom as she sat up straight again. Her favourite moment had come not long after a board meeting, when Tim had announced Eyway’s was hitting the Mexican market and had ordered a new logo to promote its range of ices. Marty was summoned to floor forty-four, arriving with a sweaty brow and a satchel crammed with designs. His shirt and trousers were pressed and his tie was wound tightly around his neck. “Hey Maaaarty…” Lauren cooed. “Hey Lauren…Miss Wilson, I mean…sorry…” “Lauren is fine,” she insisted. “Would you like some cake?” She lifted the lid on a faux silver platter, where a deep and rich Eyway Kaykay carrot cake rested. She took a knife and cut each of them a small slice. Marty held his piece tentatively while Lauren crammed half of hers into her mouth. “Are you sure Mr. Maxim is ok with this?” he stuttered. “Mmmphhh…it’s fine, we get free food up here. Did you know that?” “N-…No.” Lauren hadn’t known herself until she was a week into the secretary job. She and Tim could order anything they liked, in any quantity, fresh from the factory out of town in Lancaster County. Ursula unsurprisingly had never made use of the privilege. Marty took a small, shaky bite. “Are you feeling ok?” Lauren asked him. Marty nodded his head. “I’m just kinda nervous…that’s all.” “Don’t be,” Lauren smiled. “Just relax…” She calmly wrapped her fingers around his tie and pulled. Marty staggered forward to the desk and bent over. She flicked the top button off his collar. Lauren locked her eyes with his flickering blue ones as she pulled him closer. She pressed her boobs against his chest. She undid the knot, slowly. The green light began to flicker on her intercom box. She gently pushed him back and let the tie slip away. “Oh. I think the boss wants to see you now. Mmm…” she licked a few crumbs of carrot cake off her cheek. “…good luck.” Beet red in the face, Marty stumbled as she picked up his satchel and bounded to the door, his knees weakened. Lauren giggled, then turned her attention to the cake. This was where the fun really began. She flicked off her screensaver, opened Google and found Stevie Wonder’s Superstition on Youtube. She plugged her earphones in and started listening. Then she minimised the browser and got back to her work, but not before she’d cut herself a generous slice of cake. Lauren rubbed her big belly and started eating. Marty’s meeting lasted thirty minutes. She heard him stammer through a profuse chorus of thank yous while Tim held open the door. There was a rushed rustling as Marty scrunched his scattered papers back into his satchel. Then he walked past Lauren’s desk, and stopped dead in his tracks. Lauren was laid back, her head resting on the top of the chair, her hair a long, blowsy mess, her eyes delirious. One chubby arm dangled while the other softly massaged her drum tight stomach. It had grown so stuffed that it was riding up her shirt, and fallen over her belt buckle and the button of her skirt. “Sorry Marty,” she groaned. “I wanted to save you some more, but it was…it was so good…so delicious…” “It’s ok,” he stammered. “It’s fine.” His eyes barely registered the empty platter. He couldn’t take them off the bloated beauty softly groaning in front of him. “How’d it go in there?” Lauren mumbled, half dozing. She burped loudly and Marty pretended not to hear. “Yeah…he really liked my pictures. He’s narrowing it down to his favourite three, he told me he wants to see me again...” “I knew you’d pull it off.” she said warmly, giving her stomach a pat. Marty’s lips quivered as he smiled. “There’s just one more thing before you go. Please, could you get me a cup of water?” Lauren gestured lazily to the dispenser in the corner of the office. “I’d get it myself but I…I just can’t move out of this chair…so stuffed…” Marty got a plastic cup and filled it up. He stepped around the desk and put it in her open hand. Lauren took a long gulp. She felt the tightness of her shirt ratchet up a notch. “Ooooh…” she groaned, half in pain, half in pleasure. She raised her head and tried to take her stomach in her eyes. Her double chin creased on her neck. Her boobs obscured her view. Lauren huffed and tried to sit straight. Her aching belly made her desist. “Could you….ufff…could you give me a little hand?” Marty nodded in dumb disbelief. She found his skinny wrist with her chubby fingers. “Undo my buttons.” she commanded, sweetly. She pressed his hand against her stomach. His thumb hurriedly fumbled for the whining piece of plastic over her bellybutton. He chipped it away from its cotton confines. The flaps of Lauren’s shirt parted a few inches. Marty shivered and pulled away as a swell of belly fat rolled onto his fingers. “Aaaah...” she sighed, as her belly flopped out to its full extent. “So much better. Thank you Marty. Come back here soon, won’t you?” Marty smiled dumbly as he walked away. The elevator doors opened and closed, and Lauren swore she heard him do a little dance on the way down. She grinned. The work was done and the day was almost over. Lauren listened to some more music, drank her water, shut down her laptop, put the silver platter back on the plate then screwed up the cake casing and threw it at the bin. She scowled as her throw fell short. She planted her feet back on the ground and stood up to retrieve it. To her surprise, the chair came up with her. Her love handles always spilled over the steely armrests, but now they looked close to engulfing them. The seat of the chair was firmly fused to her ass. Lauren sat back down, fixed her hair and smoothed her shirt. With a little struggle, she got to her feet again. The chair remained stuck around her backside. She tried to wiggle it loose, but it wouldn’t budge. She pushed on the armrests with her chubby hands, but she couldn’t get the right angle. “Well, this is embarrassing.” Lauren mumbled to herself. She jostled and wobbled and strained, and soon she was exhausted. The chair was still stubbornly stuck to her rear. It could get worse. She certainly did not want to let Tim see what had happened to her. She looked to the elevator for sanctuary, and then she had an idea. Lauren picked the third floor, as she knew there would be no-one left there to see her in this state. She shuffled into the elevator like a turtle, watched the doors close and silently prayed for no-one to press the buttons from the floors in between. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. She shuffled out onto the third floor, but stopped just when the edges of her heels left the metal plate at the bottom. She crouched and lifted her ass into the air. The sleek doors sealed on the bar that connected the seat to the six little sets of wheels. Once the chair was firmly in place, Lauren tried to walk out of her predicament. Her heels scraped the floor, but she didn’t move. She snatched at the air for some invisible rope to grab on to. She heaved and pushed, but got no further. Suddenly, she felt herself begin to rise. Her chunky love handles were being pinched more and more, and as her feet left the floor she suddenly realised what was happening. Lauren squealed. The elevator was starting a slow ascent back to her floor while she was still trapped in the doorway. “Help! Hnghhh….Hnggh…somebody, please…help!” She kicked and kicked, and tried to twist. She swung left and right, dropping her handbag, still trapped in the spinning seat while she climbed higher and higher. She thrust herself forward as the bar made contact with the ceiling. There was a crunch, and finally she fell out. Lauren crumbled belly first onto the floor, briefly a jiggling heap. The chair snapped in two above her – the top half missed her side by an inch as it landed loudly. Lauren breathed deeply, burying her face in her plump arms as she recovered from the shock. Her chest throbbed and she softly whimpered. That was close she thought. But at least she was free now. She lay on the ground a few moments more to gather herself. Suddenly, the elevator pinged, and the metal doors opened up. Tim strode out, holding the wheeled half of the chair somewhat bemusedly. “Lauren? Are you alright?” Lauren turned red as she pulled down her skirt and tried to get to her feet again. Tim put down the wheels and offered her a hand and helped pick her up. She let out a gasp as she stood up again; glad to be in one piece. “If you mind me asking…” Tim said, looking down at the wheels. “What exactly happened to you?” Lauren bit her lip. “Uhh…I disapparated” she said, without knowing why. “Like in Harry Potter. And I apparated here.” “Oh, I see. And the chair got split in two because you splinched it in the attempt.” said Tim, clapping his hands together. “It all makes sense now, you being a witch. What else explains the sense of happiness and joy cast over us all in your prescence?” Lauren couldn’t help but giggle. “You always know the right thing to say, Tim.” She sighed. “…I’m sorry.” “What for?” “I’m sorry about the chair.” “I don’t mind about the chair. Honestly, are you sure you’re alright?” “Yeah, yeah. Good. Totally.” “Shall I accompany you to your car?” “I’m fine. I’m not actually taking the elevator down.” Not after that near death experience, she thought to herself. She didn’t want to be at the mercy of those doors ever again. “Then should I help you descend the stairs?” he asked. “Really Tim, I’m ok.” she said. “Then I shall see you tomorrow!” He got back in the elevator and waved as he let the doors shudder shut between them. Lauren picked her handbag back up, checked that she hadn’t broken her laptop, then found the stairs on the other side of the room. The elevator experience had been bad, but the stairs were nearly another nightmare. Unable to see where she was placing her feet over her stuffed stomach, Lauren had to crane her neck, nudging her chin into her cleavage. She clung to the bannister for support, wobbling like blancmange while she shuffled down step by step. By time she got to her car she was winded again. Her ribs felt bruised and her boobs hurt. She got in and tutted when she noticed she’d smudged her makeup. How had Tim not said anything? How had he not said anything about her snapping her office chair – unless he genuinely believed in magic? That was just Tim being Tim. At least since Ursula got outed he was back to his usual self now. Weirdly gentlemanly, gentlemanly weird. But what had he said about helping her downstairs? Who even needs help to get down a flight of stairs? Me, apparently. Lauren glared at her double chin in the wing mirror as she caught the rest of her breath. He knows exactly what happened. He knows I’m struggling with being a fatass. Lauren grunted as she got in and slipped the seatbelt over herself. “If only there was a spell to stop packing it on.” she groaned, pushing her jelly roll under the steering wheel. Or maybe one to stop the doughnuts going to my hips. She started the ignition, reversed out of her spot, and drove away.
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