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  1. ‘All Free Today’ My teeth chattered. I scraped open my sodden campus map. I locked eyes with the girl in the sandwich board by the window, grinning in her little red riding hood. Her speech bubble glowed in flowery pink. All free today? Seriously? I glared at the sign above the door. Grimm’s House of Sugar. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, looking at my map. I was so pathetically lost. The auditorium with the signups – that was ten minutes away. Residence halls were up the hill. I was somewhere in between. I could’ve gone to the cafeteria like a normal person. But that meant more lines, and tables, and chairs, and noise, and...ugghhh...more people. My starved muscles were chastising my stupid nerves. I bit my lip, trying to concentrate, scrying for a blob of pink – maybe, somewhere between the football field and the cafe I wanted, tucked away under a crease, or a fold. What’s the international sign for a sweetshop? I checked the grid. Nothing. Great. It wasn’t even on the map. First day of college, and so far all I was getting was a cold. And a drenched sweater. I squinted my eyes. I felt wet fabric bunching and shrinking under my arms. The wind howled down the avenue and the cold sucked on my bones. I cursed, clenching up my zipper jacket and pressed it tighter to my chest, dipping my chin as the gust hit, blowing my hair into a maelstrom. The map flew away behind the flash of blue. I swept my hair back and stretched a wispy arm, too late to stop it falling headlong into the gutter. Great I mumbled, weakly, watching the colours drain. Asking a stranger for directions while looking like a drowned rat. What could be worse? I swallowed. I practically curled up, shivering. I was skinny as a damn toothpick – another gust like that and I’d be carried to the clouds. The biting air breathed its last, and my arms ached as I regained my composure. I needed warmth. I needed fuel. I needed somewhere to just fall in a heap... Then the door opened, and the smell nearly swept me off my feet. A man, a woman and their two kids pealed past me beaming and smiling, laden with armfuls of boxes and bags, everything brightly stamped, all packed to bursting with pastries, muffins, cream cakes and chocolates. I widened my eyes. One of the kids had a golden-brown paper bag the size of his sister’s head. It was loaded with warm fudge, strawberry laces, love hearts and gumdrops in every color under the sun. Pick n’ mix. I burst through into the storefront. I gasped. You’re a long, long way from New Jersey, I wondered to myself. The colors were radiant. The whole room looked like it’d been lifted out of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. There were crowds and counters and helpers and makers of all kinds of crazy delectables. Everyone was dressed in Bavarian lace, the men in lederhosen, the women with flowers and ribbons in their hair. Grimm’s House of Sugar. It was like a palace for the tip of your tongue. I needed something. Anything. Something sweet. Sweets. A little old lady beckoned me from by the hot chocolate bar. Her basket almost glowed. Her soft hands parted the checkered covering to reveal a host of Mozartkugels. My cheeks lit up. “Hey, um. Can...can I try some?” I asked. “Of course!” she beamed, handing me the whole thing. “Take as much as you want, deary!” She turned on her heel and picked up another basket from the straining stand behind her. My mind buzzed. My arms buckled under the weight of the thing. I thanked her, smiled, and dipped hurriedly to a quiet spot by a bookshelf and a long, glassy window. There were tables and booths, then couches, beanbags, and lounge chairs collected in a cosy corner with a warm, tempestuous fire. I found a chaise-longue and eased myself down, slowly. I unwrapped my first sweet in years. I put it to my lips. I ate. And I ate. -------------- Two weeks was all it took for management to start recognizing my greedy ass as a regular. All my self-consciousness fell to the sidelines. To be honest, I might as well have left my credit card behind the counter – I couldn’t help myself. Two more weeks and they even reserved me a seat by the donut dispenser for my breakfasts. From there on in, I was hooked. Weirdly I guess I really could help myself – to chocolate cream and marble frosting, sprinkles, glazing and dashes of fluffy powder. Two became three, every single morning, then a box of five to snack through to lunch. I loved choosing the flavors. There were just so many that I couldn’t wait for my appetite to accommodate them all. I took a sizeable chunk out of every working day just to feed myself, massaging my belly beyond the point of fullness. It was otherworldly. And if I didn’t already have proof this place was literal magic, I even made a friend. Her name was Sally. She was a freshman like me. She was from England. I saw her on shift when I started dropping by for pancakes in the afternoons – she might’ve been five foot nothing but she wasn’t easy to miss. Her hair was pink ringlets, her eyes were forest green, she walked with a spring in her step and she had this gigantic smile. She wore her Dirndl with a burgundy apron; it brought out her rosy red cheeks. “Sakura, right?” she said, reading my name on the box I’d ordered. I nodded, murmuring my thanks, snaking my arms back through my jacket. I was late for my seminar. I had deadlines on my mind. It’d barely been a month and I was already falling behind on my studies. But all of that worry withered away the moment she pressed that slice of cake into my hands. “You should come over for Happy Hour,” She looked me dead in the eyes. “That cake’ll be half price.” “Really?” I said. “What time?” “Five o’clock until seven, every Wednesday afternoon,” “Oh...oh no, sorry – that's when my seminar group meets for our weekly discussion,” I cringed. I hated leaving strangers disappointed in me. “I can’t let them go – actually I've missed a few of the meetings already. I really need to catch up.” “That’s okay,” She tossed her hair, pouting, piling up my leftover plates on her platter. “We’ll wait. Would you like anything else?” I curled my toes. I lowered my gaze to the cake. A big commiseratory bite was bound to make her feel better. It sure would for me... Within seconds of me sinking in my teeth, that slice was devoured. Gone. It was orgasmic. I rolled my tongue. I half tugged off her arm of her shoulder begging for another. We sat down together. We drank pearly peach schnapps. I ate. We chatted about bands and concerts, then home life and family. I ate. Then we talked about cooking, and baking, and traditional recipes. I missed my goddamn meeting. Then I ate some more. Grimm’s House of Sugar. It soothed all the strain. Pretty soon I started bringing books from the library to study there instead. Sally joined me when she was off the clock. There was always something special to savour no matter how I felt. Happy? Blueberry pie and vanilla ice cream. Sad? A Jolly James gingerbread man with gumdrop buttons. Tired? Some tangy fructose strawberry whips. Too hot? A Silvretta Glacier slush, naturally. Winter melted into spring and I was already feeling warmer. And cramped. And even a little bloated, though nothing a Cracklepop Plum Soda couldn’t fix. It was getting close to Thanksgiving when I started to notice Sally’s eyes peering over my shoulder, every so often. At first I thought she reading my research, when she brought over her platterfuls of fruity pie. It took a while to see she was staring just a little lower. At my lap. At my jeans. Something about the shiny button drew her in like a magpie. I was curious. I started wearing them more. And washing them more. Which would explain why they were feeling a little snug every time I sat at the dispenser for my six of the best. I swapped fabric softeners but they were still feeling uncomfortable. I switched to plaid skirts for a few weeks before the winter weather stiffened its grip. A storm shorted out the electricity to half of campus midway through my laundry routine. My clothes were still damp the next day, and I was left with no other option but to claw through the bottom of my drawers. I blew the dust off my jeans and prized them over my thighs. They’d shrunk a size in the darkness. My struggles ate into my schedule. Thrusting on a tee and a duffer jacket I had to stagger to class with the button still undone, bustling the route with a carefully placed fanny pack until I could flop into my desk, worn out, and seal the two pieces whilst gasping for breath. I spent the next hour and half scribbling notes in shorthand in a mild amount of pain. Life was so unfair. Grimm’s, praise all goodness, hadn’t suffered any power cuts, which probably explained why it was twice as busy all of a sudden the moment I stumbled in for lunch. I bit my lip, a bag of nerves all over again, shifting through the crowds. So many voices. So much noise. But I swear, if they’d run out of donuts I was ready to scream... I had Sally to thank for keeping my tiny table reserved for me. Seats were scarce. My tummy began grumbling. I hopped up the last couple steps. I tapped the glowing green ticker on the flavour creator interface, and threw myself into the chair. In an instant my zipper exploded. The button pinged off the dispenser, bounced under the table, then rolled into the clamoring throngs of people. Twenty different stunned faces zeroed in on me. My belly gurgled. Soft, fatty flesh pooled into my lap, pressing down the zipper into a full-on rip down my inside thigh. My face drained to snow white. I tried to stand, and run, and the next thing I knew my hand was in Sally’s. She appeared out of nowhere. We ducked and dived through a grove of thick coats and jabbering customers, then suddenly she was leading me through oaken doors. We trotted up a wooden staircase with paintings lining the walls. The rip snickered and lengthened as I pounded my legs to keep pace. My heart raced. She took me through a curtain, a corridor, then a final door for which she kept a key in a pocket sewn subtly under her breast. “Oh my god. I don’t know what happened,” I babbled. “I must’ve dried them funny or something, this has never happened to me before, I -” “Sshhh,” Sally calmed me. “Shhhhh...” She opened the door of the room on the floor directly above. “Where are we?” I mumbled. “The Lips,” said Sally. “What you guys would call the second floor. It’s where we keep our makeup and wardrobe wings. And our advertising resources. You’ve gotta be quiet – the Brain’s the floor above us.” “Management?” “Yeah,” Sally whispered. “Let’s make this our little secret, okay?” She reached into one of the closets, and withdrew a pullout handrail. I saw rows of clean, sparkly, beautiful dresses on silvery hangers. She wafted through each with a prying hand, scanning for the sizes. “This should do,” she uttered, passing me one of the employee uniforms. The cotton was gossamer soft. The handiwork was exquisite. “No way,” I whispered. “I couldn’t possibly,” “Just so you can get home,” Sally unzipped the zipper and laid the dress by my feet. “You’ve got stuff that fits you, right?” I clasped a shielding hand over my stomach. I shrank into the pit beneath me. “I...” I choked on my words. “I don’t know...” The sound of footsteps curdled my blood. I heard business shoes. Men in suits, shaking hands in the corridor. Idle chatter. “Hurry up!” Sally hissed, crouching low. I peeled off my jacket and tee, and slipped into the dress. My skin bristled with softness. It sat prettily around my hips, the skirt poofing out a little, the apron a pristine hue of navy blue, like my hair. Sally drew close, kicking my discarded outfit under the floor-length mirror. She helped me ease in one of my shoulders, tensing my bra under the neckline. “Does it look a little big to you?” I mumbled, nervously twizzling my hair. “Do I look a little big, I mean?” The fabric had plenty of stretch, which I was glad for. It held up quite nicely. The apron covered up my gut. Yeah, my gut. My thick, chubby, fat girl gut that had stuck itself to my body without me realizing... “You look fantastic,” Sally insisted. “It really suits your figure,” I watched her cross her fingers in the mirror. “Sakura, do you wanna work here?” I paused. I looked at her. A queer expression formed on my face. “What, you mean like a waitress?” I asked. “I could teach you everything,” Sally offered. “It’ll be fun. You’ll love it,” “Um. Is there even an opening?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t know they were taking new hires.” “I can put a good word in for you,” Sally smiled, reaching into the wardrobe. “I could even speak to the guys outside. You could start tomorrow!” “You’re sure?” Sally spoke with her fingers. She helped me ease in my other arm under the frilly neckline, then grasped the zipper. Looking me in the eye through the mirror she pulled the corset tight, and ignoring my wince, she drew up the fastener. I let out a gasp as my boobs went up to my chin. Suddenly I found myself staring at cleavage I’d never had before. I looked like a temptress. I looked curvy. I looked big. “Sure, I’m sure,” she whispered into my ear. “You’ll fit right in.” -------------- Given a prod, I’m certain the shy girl I still was...deep down... might’ve made a quiet comeback. But you’d have had to prod me pretty hard. Turns out, I’d put on forty-six pounds in fewer than three months. No wonder I was struggling to tie my shoelaces. But becoming overweight wasn’t everything I expected. Somehow, I sort of became more energetic. My new job brought me a new personality to go with my new, voluptuous body. I was Sakura the epicurean. Sakura, the sugar-plump fairy. Sakura the slut, if I didn’t keep an eye on what my boobs were up to. They sewed my name along the bodice of my uniform in sapphire blue, my favorite color, but already I was beginning to overflow the cups. My breaks were spent tinkering with lace and tweezing my nipples – they were always so sore. Oh – not to forget eating, of course. Grimm’s granted its employees a budget of twenty dollars' worth of baked goods a day, and unlimited pick and mix. Most took the extras home to their families. But I chowed down on mine through the hours, and pretty soon Sally started offering her allowance to me too. I accepted. I grinned and I gorged. I was raking in the tips, the love, the extra inch...or two. I embraced it. It felt so nice to be somewhere where people looked so happy to see me all the time. I let my cheeks grow with my smile. It never budged, even when I started having to fasten my Dirndl dress with safety pins. Oooofff. Did someone say bigger buns? I marshalled my smirk as I tried on my new plus-sized panties. Sorta came with the territory, I guess. But that territory was getting smaller by the day. I kept continuing to eat, through every bust seam and broken zipper. My cravings were consuming me. A couple more weeks and I couldn’t pass the tables by the muffin maker without my hips giving battle. My waving curves were a breeding ground for nudges and bumps; my hitlist of glasses knocked off the tabletops only grew starker as I grew larger and wider. Nobody was complaining. I started getting comfortable with some of the regulars. Knickerbocker glory with an eyeful of ass? You betcha. Sweet churros with some sidefat on the side? Sure thing. Muffintops? Ohhh, coming right up... I never went home that summer. Strangely, things picked up while the students were gone – Grimm’s took a lot of trade from vacationers on their way to the Sound. They asked if I’d like to stay through to the next year, mostly serving ice cream. I barely needed convincing. I loved my job, the pay was great and...let’s face it, so were the perks. I couldn’t live without practically throwing my face under the soft scoop machine when my shift was up. I traded in for five unadulterated minutes every day after my takeout, letting Sally turn the crank while I gulped and slurped my dessert from the nozzle. It was heavenly. Of course I cleaned it afterward – I was the model employee – and it’d probably be baffling to the outward eye that my room in residency was a wreck. My roommate had moved back to Kansas and I was ashamed to say my trash was spilling over into her side. It had become nothing more than a pit for me to sleep in. I let the leftover muffin casings blanket my bed – sometimes I even napped on top of them, waking up and snacking through the time I was meant to be in lectures. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t make me feel delicious, but cross my heart, the walk up the hill was taking the wind right out of me. By time I hit my bedroom door I couldn’t be bothered to clear up. My energy just wasn’t there, physical or mental. If I wasn’t working, or sleeping, or eating, then pretty quickly I wasn’t interested. To no-one's surprise but my own, I’d plumped up another forty pounds by the week before term rolled around again. Not to mention the forty more I’d put on before we even broke up for summer vacation. Grimm’s House kinda marketed itself as a special trip out for the family – not some lazy student’s breakfast, lunch and dinner – and it was little surprise I was ballooning so massively. My skin took on a creamy shine, stretching over my fat. My cheeks became rounder. My chin grew thicker and thicker, filling out my face, but I was spared the shame of feeling it fold in on itself. I started to take on a very feminine shape – huge hips, thick thighs, a blossoming chest offset by a heaving, swelling stomach, and soft shoulders framed by my long blue hair. I got it dyed darker before freshman’s week, and I could hear the salon chair creaking underneath me. Sakura the student, Sakura the sophomore, Sakura the six stone overweight mockery of the slender girl who’d burst through Grimm’s front door the year before. “How do you do it?” I remember saying to Sally while she rifled through the deepest rack in the Lips. “How do you stay so petite?” “Diet and exercise,” she exclaimed, winding the tape over my jiggling waistline. Yeah. Right. There wasn’t the time to make any drastic adjustments. Freshman’s week meant ‘All Free Today’ - turns out it was an annual promotion. I bunched and bustled through shift after shift and by the end of the free stuff giveaway, I needed a bigger uniform all over again. Even my name tag was getting distended – the pink stitches slowly pulling free over my burgeoning boobs, fraying the lettering – though it was only when an elderly customer called me ‘Akuri’, that I swallowed my pride. I put on a smile and took their order. I wasn’t offended. I really had become a completely different person, after all. A quick, quiet word with the Lips assistants at closing and I was back to being Sakura again – in size XXL, the largest they carried. Any more expansion of my blubbery midriff and I’d have to put in a special request. It wasn’t a humiliation I was ready to face. But if the option meant giving up chocolate, and jelly tots, and marshmallows... It wasn’t my most mounting concern yet, anyway – that was my fitness level. The strength boost I got from swapping my thinness for thickness soon dissipated. The pounds kept piling on. The walk home after work was really starting to suck. My hips ached. My legs burned. Even my arms felt heavy. And my lungs felt like they were lathered in honey; probably a symptom of all the sugar I was inhaling. I could barely take a deep breath anymore and I kept coming to work ringed in sweat. I had to evaluate my options. The campus bus didn’t run through the avenue, only around it. You couldn’t get a car between the tightly squeezed streets up in residency. When my sister suggested a bicycle I had to laugh. I could barely squeeze into the desks in the lecture theatre, let alone fit my lardass on a bike seat. Most of my family hadn’t seen me since I’d started gourmandizing at Grimm’s, twelve or twenty dress sizes ago, depending where you shopped. For me, those options were growing limited; another couple of worries for the back of the drawer, another caramel-thickened fudge slice to take my mind away... Worst was that my sense of balance was creaming in all over the place. My belly had gotten huge and my thighs were like tree trunks, wobbling past one another. I wheezed and I waddled, and when Christmas came I couldn’t seem to stop chafing under my dress. By New Year's I was fighting the blubbery slap of my belly under my skirt line. I was morbidly obese before Valentine’s Day. And I felt it. “Sally,” I puffed, struggling into the kitchen, setting down my platter with a crinkle of clattering glass. “Could you cover me for five?” “Sure babes,” She squirted the last drop of icing on the dessert she was making. “You need a drink?” “Heh. I need.... phew.... I need to sit down,” I dropped my knees, panting, and blobbed out on the stool by the bain-marie. My flesh hung over every side, softly jiggling. I lifted my dress to give it some relief, closed my eyes, placed a palm on my chest and breathed until my heart had stopped pounding relentlessly. Five tables cleared, four more to go. It was getting tough to keep up. Sally pried a glass of juice into my hands. I thanked her. “Maybe you could do some shifts behind the counter,” she said, her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure Mildred would be happy to swap with you,” “It’s not...phew, that’s great, that’s really kind of you...but it’s more than that,” I breathed slowly, dipping my head back, squinting my eyes in the light. “I’m getting so heavy. I’m leaving earlier and earlier for work because I’m taking longer to climb the stairs, and even then, I’m late sometimes. It’s getting hard for me to move.” I swung my legs, smiling weakly. Flab squeezed from the ladder in my stockings. Even my socks felt tight. A soft groan escaped my lips. “Then maybe you could move in with us,” Sally exclaimed after a pause. “Huh?” I mumbled. “You could live here. There’s rooms in the Brain. Didn’t you know?” I blinked. Grimm’s was huge. It made sense there’d be space on the top floors, near where the managers worked. But was it what I needed right now? “We’ll take care of everything,” Sally reassured me. “We’ll send our deliverymen to yours tonight to help you transfer your things across. You could save loads of money on rent,” The scent of liquorice wafted through the air. I nodded with a blank stare. “And you’d only have to walk a couple flights of stairs every morning,” she smiled. “That’ll help you out, won’t it?” “But I’m gaining weight like crazy,” I murmured, smoothing a hand over my stomach. “Sally - can't you see what’s happening to me?” I raised my eyebrows with a dumb smirk, feeling for my bellybutton under the dress. “I’m pushing three hundred pounds. I’m addicted to all the food in here. I’m always so hungry...” “Then maybe you could try some of my pecan pie,” Sally smiled sweetly. “I’m sure it’ll make you feel much better...” She dumped the warm pan on my stomach. My eyes bulged in awe. The pie sank into my fat, sitting level, as if it were on a shelf. I stroked my pinky finger around the edge, picking flecks of pasty into my chubby palm. “I’m not sure if this is what I need,” I said, concerned. “I made it myself,” said Sally. “It’s gorgeous,” I admitted. “But it looks so fattening. I don’t know. I really think I oughta be watching what I eat...” “I made it...” She seized my index finger. Her eyes were radiating. She planted it dead in the middle of the pie. My knuckle rose out, covered in butter and vanilla. “...myself.” She curled her lip. Sally let go. Her eyebrow remained arched. A chill and a warmth concocted within me both at once. I tried to form a smile. She waited, watching like a huntress. I placed my finger to my lips, looking her coyly in the eye, and sucked. Fireworks rocketed. My hairs tingled. My tongue surged. My soul yearned. I scraped up a great globby handful straight from the middle of the pan and ploughed it into my face. Staff sweeping back from the breakroom balked while I pigged out in front of them. I was insatiable. I groaned, drawing my tongue up and under the delicate toppings. My stomach billowed and swelled with every bite. “Good girl,” Sally praised me, though from which ear I could hardly tell. “Keep going...I’ll make you some more...” -------------- “You’re doing a great job down there,” “Mmmpphh,” I gulped, rolling my eyes with a grin. “Yeah, totally. Sure.” “No, honestly,” Sally trotted down the stairs. Her breath was sparkly in the refrigerated air. “Management sent me to tell you handling our excess stock is a vital role. It warms their hearts that you’re taking to it so well.” “Oooh,” I batted my eyes at her. “Do they say that to all their human dumpsters?” I burped. Guess it was as good a time as any. It freed up some space in my gurgling belly for me to wolf down a double chocolate éclair, smacking while lips while I got my grip back on the controls. I cranked up the heat of the oven stroke furnace, where we sent everything we couldn’t sell or recycle. The atmosphere was a glimmering haze. Even the smoke tasted sweet. “Don’t be silly. You’re more than that,” said Sally. I snorted. A couple hundred pounds more, if I could see what the scale even said. My tummy was quaking on my knees as another trough full of perfectly good stock tumbled down the chute into my chamber. They called it the Belly, unsurprisingly, and it was cold and colossal. I’d underestimated the depths of this place. I’d underestimated a lot of things. My appetite for sure, on the daily. How quickly the hours blitzed by while I sat in my reinforced chair. How little I could move after dinner. How much I’d have to concentrate just to place my pudgy fingers on the correct buttons. But Sally was right. I was doing a good job. I had everything – snacks and sweets and...well, I don’t really know what else. She was there to help though. She was good like that. She reached the edge of my chair and helped me put on a fresh napkin, tying it nice and snug under my pillowy chin. She stroked a droplet of cream off my cheek with a smile. “Hungry?” she asked me, her eyebrow raised facetiously. “It hurts,” I admitted. “I can’t let all this food go to waste. The thought of all those poor cinnabon swirls burning up in that thing...” I turned my eyes to the iron hulk by the conveyer belts, flicked a switch, then leaned on my blubbery paunch, grasping the travelling muffins with a greedy grin. Crumbs fell into my cleavage. I plucked them out, smirking. I’d kinda given up on wearing uniforms now I was working out of sight. My job at the counter had lasted about as long it’d taken me to become unable to squeeze behind the register. I’d said goodbye to most of my clothes. I’d resorted to a wintery jacket over a stretching wire vest, with the largest leggings I could find online. My mountainous belly was fully bared, heaving and pulling against me. “You’re so kind, Sakura,” she said, her voice almost like a song as she returned to the stairs. “So generous. So good to us.” “Mmmpphh. Thanks,” I called. “Wish you could write my appraisals – I don’t think my tutors are pleased with me...” I sighed. The rigours of the job, my physical exhaustion, my tendency to get pointed if I was any more than a couple hours gone from Grimm’s – it was starting to add up against my grades. I’d told my folks I was studying for a Master’s; in reality, I’d been forced to extend senior year. I’d fallen too far behind, and now I needed another twelve months to retake everything I’d failed. Luckily I had the savings – but my enthusiasm was waning. I hadn’t made it to the library in months. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if there were any chairs that could hold me anymore. “Hey, graduation’s boring,” Sally – the postgrad princess, answered. I couldn’t help but glare in envy. “And besides, they might not even get jobs. Especially not somewhere like Grimm’s.” “True,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “At least I’ve got my feet on the ground here.” Then I tried to get up. It was a long-winded process. My soft feet kicked. I pressed down with my arms. I tucked my chin to my chest and twisted my face with effort, grunting. My belly dropped between my thighs, bouncing on my chair with a weighty plop. I shot down a few inches, and yelped as I felt myself begin to slide. “No, no...wait...don’t hurt yourself. Let me help you!” Sally leapt the last two steps and ran toward me. Just as I was about to tumble off, she grabbed my arm, tucked under shoulder and hauled me back onto my seat with a surprising burst of strength. Sapped, glutted and stuffed, I felt the sweat travel down my spine as she settled me into place. Her arms held me tight. I caught my breath, smoothed back my hair, and stared. She wasn’t letting go. A crackle echoed from the innards of the belt-fed oven, and a spew of embers shot out onto the floor. “Hah,” I flicked my eyes back from the fire and winked. “Is this the part where you shove me in?” Sally turned her soft cheeks. Her green eyes seemed to glow. “Don’t be silly, Sakura,” she giggled. “You’re too wide.” I stopped breathing. My jaw would’ve dropped if It weren’t for my chin. It cushioned my shocked, fat face as I tried to find my words. Basically, it framed her point. “Thanks,” I mumbled, blinking. “I’m too heavy for you to lift as well. For the record...” “You’re not too heavy for me,” “Sally, I weighed myself on the industrial scale,” I scoffed incredulously. “I peeked over five hundred pounds yesterday.” “You’re not...” She put a finger to my lips. “...too heavy for me.” She stroked my hair, then my shoulder, then traced her fingernail down my napkin and onto my swelling chest. My muscles tensed all at once, the shiver shifting through my layers of fat. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing would come. Then she kissed me on the stomach. Slowly, she gripped my love handles and began to squeeze. I crinkled my toes as she fondled and groped. I found myself slipping back on the chair a little. She lifted the lowermost roll of my belly, wafting it up in her palms, like a pizza chef kneading his dough. “Umm.” I tilted my head. “Heh, err...plenty to go around down there, huh?” I said in a low voice, frozen in apprehension. “Mmmm...” she hummed. “More,” “More? Umm, okay. I thought maybe you’d wanna talk about this, but –” “More.” The éclair hit my tongue like a rocket. My cheeks bulged. The cream mushed on her fingers as she shoved it down my throat. The sugar rush warmed my brow, surging through my veins as she settled in my lap, smooching my neck, cooing as I munched and swallowed the chocolatey mass in my mouth between my moans. My eyes stayed rigidly open. “You’re beautiful, Sakura...” she murmured, spellbound by my sloshing stomach. “That’s...” I coughed with a gulp. “That’s...very kind of you Sally, but I -” “I know you don’t want me.” she pouted. I blanched. “Hey...err...it’s not like....I think you’re great... you’re pretty, you’re smart...” She turned her face away. She clasped her fingers round my thickened wrist, removing it from the controls. She punched a button, and twisted a dial. “But I know what you really want.” she breathed in my ear. Cogs whirred. I trembled. The sound of clanking ratcheted around the room as my secret little machine was brought to life. I began to pale. “This food,” she went on. “These sweets. I’ve seen what they’ve done to you.” She pinched my sausage-like finger. “I’ve seen it in your eyes. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing to yourself,” She took that same finger and guided it lower, and lower. Beneath my belly. Between my thighs. I winced. I moaned. I looked up at the cavernous rafters above, at the staircase that twisted to the lights of the shopfront beyond. I wasn't going to make it up that thing. Not tonight. Not without her help. Not that I wanted to. My secret was laid bare. My eyes caught up with two towers of delicious donuts, stacked on a set on approaching tongs, bowed in the direction of my quivering mouth. Suddenly I found myself licking my lips. Sally’s pupils grew shiny and wide. “We could help each other feel better,” she whispered. “You...and me...I think we could something work...” She rested her palm on my stomach. The machine hissed to a halt before us. “Now, would you like anything else?” Sally whispered. I was throbbing. I was whimpering. I was so, so hungry. I jabbed the red button. I moaned. The donuts surged toward me. I closed my eyes. I ate.
  2. “You’re going to get fat!” That’s what my roly-poly little sister said to me every time she spied me eating junk food (which was quite often). I felt sorry for her. I took after my Father--long lean and athletic--while she took after my Mother—short, stout and squatty--and no matter what we did it seemed we were destined to grow into their respective physiques. This, despite her hyper-awareness of what she put into her mouth and my adherence to the Epicurean variant of “if it feels good, do it.” I would puff my cheeks at her cajoling and make an orgasmic spectacle of the brownies, cookies, French Fries, cupcakes, or whatever else I was enjoying at the time. She would just smirk and shake her head. I tried not to flaunt it too much--it had to be hard to watch me gorge on donuts while she got fat eating apples–but what’s sisterhood without some good natured teasing? By eighth grade, I was the tallest kid in class and a ranked junior tennis player, while my stubby sister waddled through sixth grade and her weekly swim lessons. Nevertheless, she continued to heckle my eating habits, which had only gotten worse as I spent more time away from home. Whenever I returned with a post-practice burger, she would greet me with the same refrain-- “You’re going to get fat!” High School brought me boobs, bras and boys, but despite pizza-party sleepovers with girlfriends and Olive Garden dinners of pasta and breadsticks with boyfriends, my body remained as lean as ever. Still, whenever I’d get home late, my sister would creep downstairs in her PJs, spy my Styrofoam leftover container, and then, as she rubbed her eyes and doddered back to bed— “You’re going to get fat!” I would simply chuckle—then polish off whatever leftovers had survived in front of the TV before heading to bed. And why wouldn’t I laugh? The whole thing was amusing. Until the day it wasn’t. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting on the edge of my bed in my panties and, as I bent to put on socks, a roll of flesh spilled over the band. As I hunched further, a smaller roll formed above the first. I sprang upright like I’d seen a snake beneath my bed. The rolls disappeared, as if by magic, but the angry red crease running across my belly provided evidence they’d been making appearances for awhile. When did this happen? I had noticed my clothes were a bit snug, but I chalked it up to Spring humidity. I plied the softness around my middle. Maybe it was time to acknowledge the truth— I WAS getting fat. Still, no need to make a thing about a few pounds of pudge that were only noticeable to me. I would simply cut back a little and it would be gone before anyone else knew. For the next couple weeks it was my little secret. And, truth be told, I kind of dug it. I would absentmindedly rub my belly on the school bus, and even diddle the little roll during tests and lectures. Each time I caught myself I would whip my head around, embarrassed, but nobody seemed to notice. Except for my sister, of course. She was always watching and smiling. I made a point to suck in my stomach and mind what I ate when she was around, but that was even more conspicuous. At least she stopped with the “you’re going to get fat” shit, but her sideways smirk at my celery snacks and miniscule meals was almost as bad. To make matters worse, she looked like she had dropped a good ten pounds overnight. Around everyone else, however, it was business as usual…until the final day of Freshman year. It was so hot that the school relaxed our dress code, allowing us to wear shorts and T-shirts while the A/C labored to keep up. I donned a forgiving pair of cotton shorts with a drawstring waist and paired it with a navy blue tank top I wore for tennis, but it was still miserably uncomfortable as I sat in Mrs. Johnson’s first period Algebra class (by far my worst subject) taking my final. Solve for e: 9e+4=-5e+14+13e9e+4=−5e+14+13e Heat and anxiety-fueled sweat beads erupted across my brow. As I nibbled my pencil’s eraser, my free hand moved unconsciously to what had become my go-to stress reliever--the security blanket of flab covering my waist. Instead of easing tension, however, my heart raced faster. Despite weeks of watching my diet, the roll was bigger and thicker than ever! I looked to my lap. The pudge that had been percolating beneath blouses and shielded by sweaters was now pressed tight against the fitted fabric of my top, outlining a ridge of fat that ran hip-to-hip and protruded over my waistband a good inch. I quickly covered it with my arm. Fidgeting in my seat, I nervously bounced my legs up and down. It was then I noticed my thighs. They seemed tanned and toned when still, but as they shook the soft flab bubbling beneath bounded into view, rippling in waves across their surface like a disturbed pond. I jiggled them from side to side. Their meaty undersides swung like pendulums in opposite directions. I watched, fascinated, until the flab met in the middle with a loud ‘SLAP’. Horrified, I glanced around the room. My eyes met Judd Rumley’s in the row next to me. His flushed face was a mix of bemusement and arousal. “Eyes on your own paper, please!” Mrs. Johnson said. My eyes darted downward, but went straight back to my lap. I watched as my thighs spread against the rigid wooden seat. They melded together in the middle, and, with nowhere left to expand, oozed over the chair’s outer edges like an adipose avalanche. A drop of perspiration plopped atop what few notes I’d managed to scribble. I wiped it away, blurring my chicken-scratch in a soggy graphite smear. I looked to the clock. Ten minutes left! My pulse pounded inside my light head and not-so-light body. I was flush. I was dizzy. I was horny! The perspiration on my face was nothing compared to the flood of moisture building between my legs. I let my #2 pencil dangle in my hand until the eraser rested against my swollen crotch. As I pushed it against my labia, I writhed slowly in my seat, hoping my classmates would interpret it merely as uncomfortable squirming. Before long, however, I was grinding my legs together like I was trying to start a fire. And it was the thought of trying to start a fire with such soft and flabby ‘sticks’ that pushed me over the edge. My eyes closed and I let out a soft moan just as the bell rang. I think most kids assumed it was out of frustration, but a few, including Judd Rumley, couldn’t conceal their smiles as they handed Mrs. Johnson their test papers and funneled towards the exit. I lingered in my seat for a moment, physically drained but utterly relaxed. Then I gathered up my belongings and deposited my exam at the edge of Mrs. Johnson’s desk. She looked at me and smiled— “Did you finish, sweetie?” That night, I stopped by my Sister’s room. If I couldn’t beat her, I might as well join her. Maybe even get some workout and diet tips. She was in the middle of sit-ups and damn if it didn’t look like she’d dropped a few more pounds. I instinctively sucked in. Waiting for her to finish, I glanced around the room. On her desk was a picture of me holding a tennis racquet. “Why do you have my picture on your desk?” I said. “That’s not you,” she said without breaking form. “That’s mom.” I snatched up the photo. Mom once mentioned to me she used to play tennis, but I had dismissed it. I just couldn’t envision her Weeble-wobble form plodding around the court. Yet here she was. Beautiful. Tan. Fit. Had it not been for the Duran Duran T-shirt and 1986 verso timestamp I still might have argued it was me. Despite my failure with figures--algebra and now my own--I mustered the mental math to determine Mom was my age in the picture. “I keep it for inspiration,” my sister said as she completed a final rep. Her disposition was as rosy as her cheeks. “Want to see a picture of Dad?” I didn’t answer, but that didn’t stop Sis from standing and pushing past me like I was taking up the entire room. She opened the drawer in her desk and, as she rummaged through, jutted out her ass. It had a ways to go until it rivaled mine at its pert perfection peak, but it was well on its way to shapely. She turned around with a broad grin. “Here.” Extended in her hand was a Polaroid picture of a fat, acne-riddled boy with a bowl haircut. His belly hung over his belt so much a sliver of flesh was visible beneath his untucked blue IZOD. I took the photo from my Sister and flipped it over. 1986. Sis looked over my shoulder as I gawked. When had she gotten so tall? “Mom gave these to me a few years ago when I was really feeling down,” she said. “She told me—‘just because things are a certain way now, doesn’t mean that’s how they’ll always be.’” I flipped back to the boy. There was no trace of my tall handsome Father, but I knew he was buried in there somewhere. I handed the photo back to my sister and headed for the door. “I tried to warn you,” she called after me. That she had. I descended the stairs, hyper aware of the jiggling going on beneath my clothes. My mind screamed that I should grab a racquet and head for the courts, but my body stopped in front of the refrigerator. It knew what was in store for me. I was going to get fat. THE END
  3. "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?"
  4. Forum on weight gain on fictional characters in the world of video games or any 3d/animated character. Original or new characters.
  5. “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.
  6. Guest

    Gaining in College (BBW, WG)

    This is the true story of how my college girlfriend – at 5’2” – gained almost 50 pounds over a couple of years. I’ve tried to organize everything chronologically into chapters, but most of the below is just a compilation of observations from the gain. There is no plot to the ‘story’, just a recounting of how my girlfriend put on a lot of weight. I almost put this in the 'Lifestyle Discussion' section, but it seemed long enough to classify as a story instead. Most of what follows are my observations of her gaining, but some of the below is from things she shared with me later about her gain after I revealed I was so amazed by it. Feedback is welcome. I’m not much of a writer and this is my first time putting together something of this length. Chapter 1: Freshman Year My gf and I had our first date at the end of high school. Right off the bat, she was super open about the topic of weight. She told me – on our first date – that she weighed 120lbs but that she weighed only 113 the year before, and that this extra weight had forced her to add some size 6 clothing to her typical size 4 wardrobe. Even back then I found the topic fascinating and I was impressed that she was so casual about it. I always thought weight was a sort of taboo thing for girls, but not for her. Anyhow, we continued to date into college as we both went to nearby schools. She went to a community college and worked at an abused women’s shelter. I lived at a dorm while she continued to live at home. During freshman year, she took cardio kickboxing courses at her school in addition to working out a few nights a week at a local health club. As a result, she completely avoided the Freshman 15. If anything, she became more fit and maybe dropped a pound or two to get down to 118. She’d talk about trying to get back to 113lbs, but she was adding muscle during that year so that she was actually leaner at 118 than her high school 113lb self had been. She was in really good shape and made an effort to stay that way. With D cup breasts, long curly brown hair, and a 24” waist she looked good wearing just about anything – or not much at all. And after completely dodging the Freshman 15 getting fat might very well have been the furthest thing from her mind. But all of that changed at the end of freshman year. Three major changes took place at the start of that summer: 1. After a year of struggling in her regular classes, she switched majors and began to attend a different local school that catered to her new career path. Their program was accelerated and classes began that summer. The new school did not have a gym or offer any fitness classes, so her cardio kickboxing workouts ended. The stress of the more rigorous program, in addition to working almost full time, led to her nighttime workouts tapering off as well. 2. She had a major falling out with dad and moved into her own apartment. Her apartment became a sort of regular hang out for the two of us. It was much easier to order pizza or share a dessert without anybody around. In a way, it made every night feel more like a date night where splurging was acceptable. 3. Her eating habits during the day got a lot worse. She got into a bad habit of hitting McDonalds up for breakfast on many mornings. And what the new school lacked in gym facilities they made up for in dining options. There were many restaurants nearby the campus – and a few built into it - that she and her classmates would go to almost daily with a wide variety of high calorie options. All of these factors led to her gaining about 7 pounds that summer - pushing her weight to a new high of 125. She didn’t own a scale but would weigh herself when she could – typically at my mom’s house when we’d go over there once every few Sundays to eat and watch a baseball or football game. As before, she was never shy about letting me know what the scale read. The first seven pounds came on almost completely unnoticed. In talking to her about it later, she mentioned that she noticed the first few pounds as the slightest bit of extra smoosh on her lower tummy. But it was almost a non-issue given that her clothes still fit. The only time she mentioned her increasing weight that summer was once over at my mom’s house. My gf was getting a brownie and offered my mom one. My mom mentioned they were bad for her (my mom’s) diet, but that my gf had nothing to worry about. My gf replied by saying “I wouldn’t be so sure” as she pulled her shirt tight across her midsection. This revealed the slightest bit of a tummy curve as my gf said, “I’ve got something starting here.” I think she meant it as a silly joke. Little did she know a time was coming when her belly would be large enough to show itself off and pull many shirts tight all on its own. Looking back, the biggest issue that summer wasn’t the first few pounds themselves, but the fact that several bad habits were becoming entrenched over those months. She had started living the lifestyle of a much fatter girl, but her body had yet to catch up. Gaining seven pounds over 3 months was to prove a pattern she would hold with surprising consistency for a long time to come. Chapter 2: Autumn – Sophomore Year While the first seven pounds over the summer taking her from 118 to 125 pretty much came on without any consequences, the next 7 pounds over the autumn taking her into the low 130s were a bit different. On a girl as small as she was, she had now increased her weight by over 10%. The 14 pound gain pushed her out of her size 6 wardrobe and obviously wiped out the few size 4 holdovers from high school. Her new school required her to wear formal clothes to school every day (like pant suits or skirts and blouses). She started the school year with a few size 6 outfits, but her ongoing gain forced to buy an entire line-up of clothes in a size 8. Despite wearing an 8 for the first time in her life, she was not especially flustered by this and she never once tried to diet even for one day. She wasn’t even weighing herself regularly. Only the scale at my mom’s house provided updates as she would step on it whenever we went over there. She reported her weight as dispassionately as someone would report the weather. It was when she was in the low 130s that she started a behavior that was to become a regular thing. Whenever she sat down on the couch, she’d unbutton her pants to let her expanding belly out. I remember the first time she did this. More and more her skirts had looked like they were pinching her new belly fat, and finally one day she just popped it open as we stretched out to watch a movie. She could tell I saw her do this and she blew it off by saying she just needed some room to be comfortable. Most nights, she would sit sideways on the couch with her legs over me. With her pants unbuttoned, it gave me a regular opportunity to both ogle and feel her developing belly. Once I slipped my hands around her waist, it was easy enough to cup her budding hips and softening upper thighs as well. This gave me a daily chance to size up her weight as she steadily grew. The gain was clearly driven by overeating. One night she wanted to bake something yummy, so she baked some blueberry muffins and some sweet cornbread – this was on top of our meals. I remember us laying in front of the TV and eating all of them. She was eating and looking nothing like a fitness girl anymore. The extra weight has softened her rear to eliminate any look of firmness. Her hips and thighs had widened a good bit to give her a sedentary look. And her deepening belly fat and beginning love handles blurred her previously sharp hourglass figure. Her face was filling too but it wasn’t a big problem - yet. She had always been big on top (another reason that her former 118lbs looked thinner than it sounds), and it seemed as if the rest of her was slowly catching up. She also received her first comment about her weight. She worked at a shelter of sorts for distressed women with kids. One woman came back for a stint and hadn’t seen my gf since she was thin. The lady looked her over and curtly said, “Hey… you’re a little fat now”. My gf was taken aback by the forward comment and simply managed to say “Thanks”. I of course found all of this terribly sexy but I was very reserved about it – with the exception of excitedly groping and fondling her new chub as we kicked back on the couch or in the bedroom. I was scared telling her would seem perverse, or it would make her think losing weight with a guy with my attitude was hopeless and that would hurt our relationship. I had yet to discover Curvage or any similar sites at this point, so I kept most of my thoughts to myself.
  7. "So, does your sweetheart have a name?" said Ange, smiling as she took the signed contract in hand, and parting the shimmering curtain. “Daniel Brackwell,” Evelyn said for the first time, dipping under the manager's arm. His lock of hair was wound tightly round her ring finger, her hands clasped together protectively over her soft stomach. The knot deep inside was even tighter. "And you've known him how long?" "Ten months." She was addressing the carpet on the floor, rich and thick. Evelyn felt as if she was walking on clouds. "Although...err...really, we..." "Don't be shy, gorgeous. It's only us girls here," said Ange, offering a comforting smile. Her teeth sparkled, and her long blonde hair tumbled down her shoulder. "Uh huh," Her partner Devi stuck out her forked tongue insouciantly when they reached the end of the changing rooms. Ange threw her a piercing stare, then turned back to her customer with a warm glow. Evelyn returned a nervous smile. “What I'm trying to say is...umm..." she stumbled, her voice faltering. "We haven’t really met…yet.” “Then how do you know he's the one for you?” Ange asked. “I’ve err… I’ve been watching from afar,” said Evelyn, looking to her side. "Oh really? What's he like?" The student paused. A strange warmth tingled through her fingers, and she felt a small but immovable smile slip through her lips. “We take classes together, he sits two rows in front. Sometimes I see him when I'm queuing for lunch,” Evelyn found herself tickled with butterflies and blushed as she put one foot across the other. “He wears leather jackets, he listens to classic rock and he always smells really nice," she went on. "He's super smart but super humble, he says thank you to lecturers and it's so cute. And he plays basketball, like I did before my scholarship started last year. I feel warm when he’s in the room. I really want him to notice me. For him to maybe make the first move...but, I...I'm too embarrassed," She finished with a sigh. “He’s definitely single?” said Ange. “He sure is,” said Devi. “Look at her. She spent half of last night staring at his ex’s new relationship status.” Evelyn blanched white before her cheeks flushed to red again. “Devi, please…” said Ange. “Oooh. She and the ex don’t speak at all, but she added her so she could look at photos of her and Daniel together. She still hasn’t found the courage to friend request him yet. She dreams about it though.” “How…how do you know that?” said Evelyn. She found herself standing ramrod straight, rushing to arrange her defences “I’m good at guessing stuff you don’t like the fact you love. I’m a vice manager.” said Devi. "Hmm. You like leather too, huh?" The student opened her mouth, and forgot to close it. "Whoah, oh gosh." Devi's pupils grew as she gazed into the distance. "This is more recent. I see cakes, cookies, a lot of pizza - your favourite topping is...mushrooms? Weird, but cool I guess. Oooh, ice cream too, not bad for a student meal plan. Wow, your brain is delicious...okay, that came out wrong," said Devi. "I meant, you really enjoy your food. Heh, right?" Evelyn felt herself shrink a little inside. She pulled instinctively at her sweatshirt, turning a couple degrees from the spotlight in the corridor of curtains. "That...also came out wrong," Ange said plainly. "Forgive us. We're trying to help - we really are - and we'll give you all the support we can before, during and after. Oh! I’m getting your hopes and dreams. You're going to see him tomorrow!" Evelyn bit her lip. "First day of sophomore year," she said with a gentle smile. "Figured if this makeover was as big as I hope it is, I could tell people it happened over summer. I packed this morning, said goodbye to my parents; they won't see me until Christmas – that means I could tell them it happened when I was at college." "You're a smart cookie," said Ange. "But I wouldn't bet on anything drastic. Your Daniel sounds nice, and you already look adorable. We often find the greatest change our customers leave with is in their confidence. Would you me to remind you how it works around here?" "I only get one chance," said Evelyn. "Don't I?" "That's correct," said Ange. "One true love, one chance to change everything over. I'll ask you one more time, and don't worry if you have to think about it. In your heart of hearts, do you want to look like the person Daniel Brackwell dreams his soulmate to be?" Evelyn bit her lip. "I do," she said, clutching a smidgeon of confidence. "Then come this way," 'Changing Rooms' was merely what was printed on the sign. The chambers of the store hosted a whole wing of curtains, mirrors, stools, cushions and clothing racks. Watching Ange stroke a finger down the wall and open a secret door, Evelyn felt the deep expanse of the building as she followed the graceful blonde down a spiral staircase and through a second cavernous corridor, further and further through aisles and rows of empty parlours and benches. They came to a long, old and narrow wooden door, bound with aged iron and loosening nails. "This is your room," said Ange. "Once you enter, you can only leave once you have changed. Have you brought the essence of your visionary?" Evelyn gave her the lock of dark, curly hair she had whisked from Daniel's jacket when his backed was turned. Pursing her lithe fingers, Ange tied the hair around the handle of a key she produced from her necklace, and inserted it into the lock. Twisting it clockwise, she laid a hand on the shivering door handle. A golden haze streaked through the edges of the doorframe. "Are you ready?" Evelyn calmly tucked her sweatshirt back in to her jeans. "Yeah," she said, nodding. "I'm ready," Ange closed her pale blue eyes, and opened the door. She motioned for the student to go through. Evelyn walked into a wall of yellow light, brightening and darkening in sequence. Four ornate mirrors beamed in each corner. Her feet took her up one step, then another, before she realised there were no stairs there at all. She was slowly rising into the air. Taking stools on her left and right, Ange and Devi carefully watched her ascend in the central portal. When she was six feet up, bathed in the golden suspense, Ange snapped her fingers. Evelyn felt ethereal. She took a sharp breath, flinging back her hair. Her lungs filled with glowing air, then a thick. honeyed liquid. She gasped and spluttered. The honey danced in her veins, tantalising her, pumping round her heart. Her stomach felt cavernous, then leaden as it soaked up its surrounds. Suddenly, Evelyn began to rotate, her hips leading her in long, lazy circles. She spun faster and faster, until Ange and Devi's faces blurred into a stream of colours and hues, gold and black, white and red, seeping through the mirrors. She felt a pull from above on her shoulders, and an equal pull from her stomach below. Still spinning, her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she reached a terminal velocity, her hair floating in a radiance of brown. Ange snapped her fingers again and the forces switched in a split-second. Evelyn yelped, conscious to the sudden stretching of her skin as her body gained volume and mass. A peel of pure shock echoed as tightness manifested in her underclothes. Her gyration reached new heights as her weight began to rapidly increase. She gave a whimper as the back of her bra burst loose, her breasts floating in the shirt under her sweater until the material pulled tight across her chest. The stitches of her underwear retreated further and further, while her thighs pressed out against her leggings as they grew larger and larger. Her sweater slinked up her stomach, leaving her belly button exposed, the flesh soft and pliable. "Errmm. This....wasn't part of her inner wishlist..." said Devi, nervously twisting her corset’s black lace. "I'm trying!" said Ange, an arm raised to the light. "She's...oh goodness, she's not finished yet..." "What's happening to me?!" Evelyn cried, her pleas reduced to squeals by the speed of her spinning. The student felt her throat grow warm with adipose, while beads of sweat flew from her chubbier cheeks. Layer after layer piled on to her hips, her arms and shoulders growing pudgy and corpulent. She splayed her fingers as they puffed up in the turgid air, while a jiggling, blubbery roll wrapped its way round her waist. The student felt the first seams of her leggings blow open, and gasped as she felt fresh, soft flab pour over the tear in her waistband. Chins wobbling under her face, her voice was deeper, earthier than before. Her tongue was all she could control, tied past her plumpened lips. Ange stood on her tiptoes, marshalling the best of her abilities. Evelyn’s spinning began to decelerate as the towering blonde felt an ancient energy billow through her ivory sleeves. The student came to a lurching halt, her pulse racing while she surged in width. Her jeans tore at the zipper, the pale crack in the strained curves of blue inching up in length as she slowly descended to the ground. Sinking her head, Evelyn felt the golden liquid douse the edges of her heart. Her vision grew fuzzy, morphing to grey, then black as a final rush of thickening pressed another inch onto her stomach. The light flickered out. Hugely fat, Evelyn dropped the final two feet without ceremony. Dizzy and discombobulated, her legs bottomed out and she landed with a squishy thud, rolling flat on her heavy back with a moan. “Oh my goodness!” said Ange. She dashed to her knees to Evelyn’s shoulder and cradled her sweating face. “I’m so sorry!” “Pffft. Seriously?” said Devi, giving their newly colossal customer a gentle nudge with her foot. She knelt down and let her crimson fingernail softly interact with Evelyn's grossly engorged chest. "Wow. Wait until he gets a load of these," she whistled. "Uhhhhh....ooooohh...." Evelyn groaned, her belly wavering softly. “Stop it! Can’t you feel her pain?” Ange snapped. “Nothing we can’t turn into pleasure,” the redhead retorted. “Be quiet and help me pick her up." Devi raised an eyebrow. “Not like that,” Ange rolled her eyes. "She's in shock. I can’t do this alone, she’s too big. Are you going to help me?” Two hands under each of her arms, the twosome heaved her off the floor and dragged her feet to remove her from the room. Pivoting her heaving body through the doorway, they deposited her on a leather chaise-longue. “Ughhuhhh…” groaned Evelyn. “It’s alright beautiful,” said Ange, gracing her hands with a warm cup of chamomile tea she cast from thin air. “I feel so heavy…” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Ooofff...urghh...what happened?" Ange and Devi looked at each other. “We think..." Ange began. "...your future boyfriend might be attracted to women who are...a little on the larger side.” “A little?” Her partner turned to her incredulously, a hand on her little hip. “Devi...” she hissed. “No…I get it...” said Evelyn. “I’m massive, aren’t I?” She sighed, then sat up and softly slid a hand around her mountainous belly as it folded over her thighs. Acres of soft flesh were there for her to squeeze and stroke - she did so tentatively, reaching around her form in trepidation. She blinked, breathing in exhaustion, her mind dulled and her heart slowly settling down from the stress. She crossed her legs as best she could, gripping each of her ankles and pulling them to her rolling stomach. Facing the fading glow of the portal, she began to fathom how fat she had grown. "Is this real?" she breathed, finally. "Was this supposed to happen?" “If his name is Daniel Brackwell, then yes.” said Ange. “You are now the object of all his innate and most intimate desires.” “Some princes want a princess,” said Devi. “And some just want a bouncy castle.” Ange stomped her heel and punched her in the arm. Devi squeaked. “But what do I do?” said Evelyn, slapping her hands on her hefty sides. “Am I supposed to try and get it on with him? Even though I look like this?” “Well, you must try something. The days of Daniel not noticing you are over,” said Ange. “Yup. You can’t hide,” said Devi. “I don't think you can’t run much either. Hmmm. If he really admired you and wanted you to be happy I kinda woulda thought you’d have some stronger quads. Get ready to waddle down the aisle.” “What she's trying to say is - I don’t think he wants you to overexert yourself,” said Ange. “Yeah, if something's further away than your fridge or your bathroom, make it his job,” said Devi. "Relax, just chill on the couch." “But I'll just get fatter and fatter!” Evelyn wailed, staring down her barreling cleavage. Her big, sweaty chest laboured with her breaths. “I can't live like this. I'm a whale. How am I meant to go to college? How are we meant to go out together? I'm too fat for everything.” She pushed back her hair and attempted to stand up. It was an embarrassing struggle. She huffed as she rolled onto her side, freeing her legs. She got to one knee and threw a palm on the carpet, forced to steady her bulk. Quickly thrusting upward, Evelyn found her feet and brought her thighs together with a soft slap. She staggered half a step backward, her bottom wobbling, holding out her arms to stay level. Gasping for breath, Evelyn stared down at her body with an open jaw. “You can build up your strength, it'll get easier,” said Ange. “We'll help shape you a new lifestyle now you’ve got a lot more to carry around with you.” “Couldn't you just shrink me?” said Evelyn. “That would involve retracting your heart and giving it to someone else,” said Ange. “It’s a very painful process, hence why we only give out one chance to each person.” “Yeah, it's more painful than splitting your jeans at the supermarket,” said Devi. “More painful than the look the register girl gives you when you redeem your hundredth coupon for a free burger at Bronte-Cavendish.” “It’s not impossible,” said Ange. “But unwarranted jokes aside, I think we both believe you should at least give the new you a try,” said Ange. “Meet Daniel. Introduce yourself. Get to know him properly. Let him see you for who you are.” “You think he wants to see me like this?” said Evelyn, seizing handfuls of her bare belly fat and giving them a shake. "Of course." "But...oh no...oh god, it’s tomorrow! I must've outgrown my whole wardrobe. I have literally nothing to wear!” “There there,” said the manager. “You’re forgetting something, dear.” “Huh?” “You’re in a clothes store,” said Devi. “And ours is probably the greatest in eternity. The right style, the right walk, the right impression. We've got it all.” “There’s nothing we can’t cover.” said Ange. “Nothing we can’t accentuate.” said Devi, with a wink.
  8. Hall of Mirrors srorriM of llaH Shrubbery Logistic I tasted salt. Black smoke loomed in the air. The tongue of fire licked the lid of the glassy milk bottle beside me. Cressida looked up with a loaded grin. “Party time,” she sang. I dropped to my knees. I squeezed the life out of the flame with my leather glove. “Are you crazy?” I hissed, wincing through the pain. “They’ll use the Ripper on us!” “So? We’ve gotta break those shields somehow.” Cressida turned her eyes through the swirling crowds. The rows of police shifted and fidgeted on the stone stairwell. “Read the signs, you idiot!” I yelled, pointing my finger. The largest fluttered high against the moonlit sky, rocking with the chants and cheers. Bombing for Peace is like Fucking for Virginity. Talk to USZ !!! “Yeah, yeah, you can’t fight fire with fire. Whatever, Dani. Whatever.” Cressida rolled her eyes. Her silver ring glimmered from her lip. “We didn’t come here to make memes, for crying out loud.” She shoved the bottle back in her backpack with malice. “We’re here to send a message, and it’s not gonna work if they’re too busy stuffing their fat faces to even hear us.” I glared at the glint of the chandeliers through the triple-glazed windows. Guards marshalled past the long tables of the dining room inside, fingers on earpieces, radioing the leader of their fellow thugs outside. The suited guests began to filter in. The silky curtains were drawn to a close. “Think about it,” said Cressida. “How much damage could we do if we bust through and made it inside? We outnumber them ten to one. What are we waiting for?” “They’re arms dealers, Cray-Cray," I whispered. “Don’t give them the excuse.” I scoured the pulsing scene for the Ripper. The cops still hadn’t called for their precious WMD, but the option was getting close. Our protest was growing in numbers, and noise. Every shiver of the curtain – as waiters brushed by with platters and wine – sent spikes of rage through the masked front line; the punks, the draftees, the ones who’d already lost somebody. The metal barricade was rattling from its foundations, crumpling under feet and fists. The off-key thump of a hundred clattering batons was all that kept us back. A helicopter dipped beneath the façade of Zeldmann’s mansion, a spotlight blazing from the undercarriage. I switched my attentions from the gates to the doors – barricaded after the last perfumed guest departed their limousine. Then I traced the light, up four stories to the sneering statues on the rooftop. Suddenly, I saw it. “Second floor,” I gestured to Cressida. “Above the marble arch. The window’s open.” She squinted her eyes. She stretched to her full height, then her tiptoes, balancing on her steel-capped boots. “Huh. So it is,” she mumbled. “I dunno if I can throw that far.” “No – that’s our way in,” I reasoned. “If we dodge the riot squad, climb up on the pillars using those awnings for leverage, and then maybe if you gave me a boost – I think I could make it up there,” I crossed my fingers. A low wail echoed through the streets. “We’re gonna need a distraction,” she nodded. “Yeah,” I agreed, slipping out my phone. “I’m calling in the van,” “A dozen of us oughta get this crowd fired up,” Cressida smiled. “Actually, I’m thinking of just one.” I blew up my cheeks with a warm breath, grinning as I tapped out my text message. “Ellie?” Cressida scoffed. “Jelly belly Ellie? You serious?” “Uh-huh,” I mumbled, narrowing my eyes. “Dani, I don’t know if she can stand up, let alone fight. She’s useless!” “She’s distracting,” I raised my eyebrow. “Which is exactly what we need. We stick it her at the front of the arrowhead. She lures the cops, you and me break off round the side. We do what I said to get in the building, then...I don’t know. Profit?” “On other people’s misery?” Cressida twizzled her frazzly hair. “If it’s at a donor banquet for an illegal war, go figure. But Ellie Sanderson?” “We’ll make it up to her,” I said, turning on my heel. "Oh yeah? How are we meant to claw back our reputation?” Cressida followed me as we weaseled through the crowds. “She’s a mess. She hasn’t stopped putting on weight since we hit D-Corp last November,” “And your point is?” “It’s June.” We ducked under a banner and cut into a side street, disappearing down a corner of ragged bricks. For the first time all night I could breathe. I loosened the zipper on my leather jacket. “Also, cops have cameras,” my vice president went on. “People have phones. There’s definitely media there by now.” “Since when did you care what the media thinks about us?” I retorted. “Since we all started wearing this badge,” Cressida thumbed the image on her jacket pocket. Her painted nail blended with the spikes of the red seed planter. “S.O.W. What does that mean to you?” “Stop Overseas Wars,” I shrugged. “Wasn’t that what we voted for?” “It means respect,” Cressida stressed. “Respect for the U.S.Z., respect for the people. How are we supposed to get any if our prissy poster girl’s too fat for the goddamn uniform?” Headlamps dull in the fog, the black van trundled toward us. I clenched my gloved fist. “If you think that’s the case...” I said, dropping my tone. “...then you won’t have to worry about her sharing our emblem, will you?” I shot her an icy look, then nodded at the driver. I gripped the handle of the slider door. My nose wrinkled. Nobody talked about my cousin that way. Nobody. “But the point is, I – ” "You just concentrate on the plan,” I butted in, stamping my foot on the rolling step. “The next draft call’s coming next week. We’re all gonna have to band together if we want it to blow over. Don’t give me a reason to cut you off.” I threw open the slider. It hit the apex with a satisfying smack. Faces rose from the dark. I searched for my smile, and found it as I counted through the guys and girls around me. S.O.W. Twelve spanners in the works. Twelve guys and gals who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Twelve warriors, suited and booted and ready to go. And Ellie. She blinked in the starlight and wiped a smear of jam off her ruby-red lips, stirring from where she’d been passed out on the back seats. Her gut flobbed from under her blouse as she sat up straight. But then she smiled. She gave me her fullest attention. “Guys,” I cleared my throat. “It looks like they’re starting the first course without us,” I stripped off my glove and spat on my seared palm. “But don’t worry. We’ll make sure Zeldmann gets his just desserts!”
  9. Sadie Smith was not her sister. She saw her face a thousand times along the dock. Giggling smiles, white lace, hairpins, waving handkerchiefs while cresting waves lapped the wooden jetties, borne from the sixty steamers ploughing the bay. The men aboard were raucous. The cheers were deafening. Smoke blackened the cotton clouds around the sun-streaked sky. A long horn frenzied the crowds and they surged beyond the fence line, waving their homemade signs. Sadie read her boyfriend’s name over and over on half a hundred banners. ‘Welcome home George!’. And Johnny. And David. And Jimmy. And Sam. And the other twenty thousand guys who’d just got out of Korea. Her dress was itching. She pulled it down from where it was riding up her thighs. She pictured him leaning on the prow, his sleeves rolled up, his beret jaunty as always, cracking jokes, saying goodbye to his buddies while his eyes lay on the pier, searching the boards for his sweetheart. She hoped he wouldn’t see his name on one of those lipsticky placards, then go looking for whoever was holding it up. She wasn’t in the cheering crowd. She was not her sister. Sadie was in her boyfriend’s car, lodged in a sidestreet that faced the bay. A hurried mother might bustle by, or tightly wound couple would brush her door every now and again, stumbling home in each other's arms. But otherwise, it was quiet. She paid them no mind. When ten minutes grew to twenty, she produced the two Hershey’s bars she’d stashed in the glove compartment and peeled one open. She broke the bars into squares. “He still loves me.” She inhaled a piece. “He loves me...not.” She inhaled another. “He loves me.” One more. “He loves me not.” More, and more. The chocolate was sticky and sweet. Sadie licked her lips, and took another bite. She had a view of the ships as they spilled out their soldiers into the harbour, one by one. Barely two feet up on the edge, the marshal fought for his whistle, the back of his heels growing perilously close to the drop. The photographers buzzed like fireflies, yelling and clamoring between the troops and their dates for that next perfect shot. Times Square on V-J Day. It was eight years ago now, but Sadie could recall it like yesterday. Her beautiful older sister, walking on airs, falling backwards into her now-husband's embrace. The picture that would never fade away. She’d been too young to date, or so her father who’d accompanied her that day would remind her over and over, even into her twenties. Just as then, she was confined to a car – the back seat, palms against the glass, until her sister finally returned with her date in tow and shooed her to the front. She’d tried to look incredulous, but her father paid her no mind. She’d given them all the silent treatment for the rest of the afternoon, huffing double standards under her breath. The more things changed, the more things stayed the same, it seemed. Almost. Sadie paused to find her snack reduced to sugary smears. It was gone. Devoured. She licked her fingers clean, conscious not to stain her flowery dress. She scrunched up the first wrapper and threw it away. Her nose led her to the second. George’s chocolate called her from the inside. “I really shouldn’t,” Sadie mumbled to herself. But already it was in her hands. She parted the foil. Succulent cocoa drifted to her lips. Sadie closed her eyes. Her tongue swam in saccharine delight. Suddenly, the driver’s door clattered open. Sadie felt herself shudder. Her love handle parted from the door handle, teasing the seams of her straining outfit. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Her eyes bulged in surprise, and she swallowed hard. “Now, what’s my girl doing missing out on all the action?” The warm breeze, and the sound of his dulcet voice, wasn’t enough to keep her cheeks from paling. Sadie kept her line of sight ramrod straight. She wasn’t ready. Slowly, she lowered the chocolate from her mouth. “Sadiecakes...it’s me. I’m home,” said George. “I’m back. Just like I promised.” Ever so slowly, Sadie turned her head. She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding in. “Hey, darling, you...you found me...” “Hey yourself,” said George. “Can’t I get a hug? At least?” She saw her hand enveloped in his. A gentle pull brought her feet outside. Twisting, Sadie staggered to her feet, her vastness grazing the steering wheel as she popped out of the car into his arms, trembling, tensing what little she could. She trusted her dress to manage the rest. It hugged her wide form firmly, leaving nothing to his imagination. Sadie had let her hair fall around her shoulders, shrouding her cleavage. She had dabbled with taking a light jacket, but she was already so warm. “Sure I did, what were you trying to hide for?” George said with a grin. “Honey, even with the roof up I could see you from a mile away,” Sadie reddened. “Was that a compliment?” She clawed back some of her old confidence long enough to cock a hip. “Thanks... schmuck.” “I didn’t mean it like that.” said George, his turn to blush. “I meant, I still recognise you. You know, behind...” “You’re digging yourself a reeaaal big hole here.” Sadie folded her arms, trying not to smirk. She raised an eyebrow, locking her eyes with his. “Real big...” George murmured. He switched his gaze. Sadie masked her displeasure until she tracked his eyeline, and noticed how perfectly she was framing her chest. With nothing to hold them but the threads of her tested ensemble, her breasts heaved softly between her arms, harvesting both of their attention. She didn’t notice him take a step closer. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked. “What?” Sadie rose her head, directly into the path of his lips. Her breath was stolen. A surge of heat hummed from her heart as his arm closed round her waist, squeezing her tight. She felt her fears begin to slip away. He drew closer, his eyes closed, his other hand stroking her hair. Sadie felt herself grow weak. Her knees began to quiver. She stumbled back, until her bottom rested on the hood of the car. His touch turned from delicate to carnal as he lifted her leg, tilting her until she lay spread out and. His hand stroked the inside of her thigh. “George!” she squealed, batting his fingers away. Her boyfriend gave her an insouciant look, then bowed in for another deep, longing kiss. Her body pooling, Sadie couldn’t help but smile when he pulled away. George Miller redid the topmost button of his uniform, and skipped back to load his backpack in the trunk. Sadie lay planted on the hood, a zaftig picture of ecstasy. He loves me, she breathed to herself. “Behind...behind the steering wheel! That’s what I was trying to say,” Her boyfriend finally found his words as he planted the keys in the ignition. “Like - when did you learn to drive my car?” “When your dad taught me.” said Sadie, nonchalantly. She adjusted herself in the passenger’s side, wiggling her big hips to get cosy. “Aren’t you gonna do up your seatbelt?” “My what?” “Here, let me...” Sadie leant over his lap, and fished the male end of the belt from where it lodged by the door. She tugged it free, her belly spreading over her boyfriend’s thigh while she sourced the partner. His hand settled on her head, stroking her tresses of golden hair. “Oh. This is new...” mumbled George, letting her pull the belt tight across his waist. “What’s it do?” “It keeps you safe...” Sadie steadied herself on one arm, and smoothed back her hair. She stretched, and planted a kiss under his chin, then on his neck. She shuffled to sit up again, breasts jostling softly. George lent an arm to cradle her, then taking back the lead, she seized his shoulder, nails tracing his freshly ironed shirt. Sadie smiled. She lifted herself a little higher, digging into his muscle, then gave him one final kiss behind the ear. “You’re tough, Superman,” she whispered. “But you’re not invincible.” “Thanks, honey,” said George. “But doesn’t Wonder Woman need her seatbelt too?” Sadie eased herself away, and lifted her arms up. “Your turn,” she said with a wink. George stretched over her for the opposing end. She chuckled as his close-cropped hair titillated her thighs. He drew the cold metal buckle over her belly button, earning a soft gasp, then brought it closer to the centre. Sadie felt her waist constrict. She grunted, and shuffled to restore her comfort. Strands of her hair tingled as they brushed the roof of the car. She came to accept she’d been sitting a little higher, as of late. Sadie bit her lip. She was learning to embrace a lot of changes – her boyfriend the same. But what she couldn’t understand was how – or why – he was making her situation look natural. Sadie glared at what was keeping George busy with tepid unease. Two inches of her rolling hips separated one end of the seatbelt from the other. He tugged and pulled, digging into her waist. Sadie felt the stitches grind across her dress. “Oh...errmm. Doesn’t it go any further?” said George, veins throbbing on his forehead. “Never mind. Breathe in honey, I got this.” “I already am,” Sadie gulped, her lungs aching. He worked his biceps and the metal whined in protest. Sadie winced, trying to rein in her curves. Her hands held up the swell of her belly while her boyfriend worked from beneath, towing the fibers for every inch they were worth. She grit her teeth. Already she was as far back in her seat as her rear would allow. “This isn’t gonna happen,” she groaned, letting her stomach drop. “I’m sorry,” “No, I’m sorry,” said George, relenting. “I can’t do it. This is my fault...” He flicked the engine on. The Chevrolet Bel Air purred into life. He smiled at the long-forgotten sound, and at the humming heat that rose through the leather upholstery. He gripped the gearstick and thrust the car into reverse, deftly turning round a dark ‘51 Muntz. “I’ll just have to drive slow...” George reasoned, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Lucky my baby’s got her own personal padding, huh?” He yanked the clutch, then tickled her belly. Sadie cringed inside and out. She shrank in her seat - or she tried. There was no room. All of a sudden, the space she occupied felt fractured and contentious. It was not enough. Or was it too much? “Yeah...about that...” she mumbled quietly. “About what?” said George. “About me,” said Sadie. “You’re doing a great job of not being shocked...” “Shocked was what I was when the Chinese came for us on Chosin Reservoir,” George shrugged. “You’re my baby girl. You’ve put on a little weight...it’s no big deal.” “It’s not a little, George – it’s like someone hit me with the A-bomb.” Sadie whined, gripping the fold of her stomach. They turned a corner, and she pinched the yielding softness with nascent indignation. “Tell me the truth, won’t you? I’ve gotten huge. I so wanted to tell you what was happening. My letters...” “I didn’t care before, and I don’t now.” said George. “All I wanted to know you was if you were okay. Okay?” He leant across, hands still on the steering wheel, and kissed her on the forehead. Sadie felt colour creep back into her cheeks. “Dad wrote too, he always said how happy he was to have you round the place,” he continued. “You’re such a great cook, he told me. And Aunty June loved that you helped with the garden, and Mom was...well...Mom was...informative...” Sadie sniffed. “...so you knew,” she mumbled. “I told her to lay off on you,” Her boyfriend breathed out with a sigh. “Three years with no leave – I know it was hard back home too. You deserve the slack. She...she didn’t actually say anything to you, right?” Sadie shrugged. “Her face was a whole lot easier to deal with than my mother’s...” George’s grin countered her frown. “Well honey, I can’t wait to see their faces when your arm’s in mine for the homecoming party.” Sadie balked. “That was meant to be a surprise...” she whispered. “It can wait, Sadiecakes,” he said, simply. “I’m back, and all that matters is where I’m taking you tonight. Just you and me. Three years is a long time to keep a date waiting, don’t you think?” Sadie paused for thought. “There’s a new place open on the interstate,” she suggested. “They’re letting vets eat for free tonight.” “A new place, huh? Like a diner?” “Kinda,” said Sadie. “It’s a little different. You’re hungry, aren’t you?” “Sure am,” said George. He looked over his shoulder to reverse. “So hungry I can hardly think...” A newsboy swung wide as he pushed his rusty bicycle by the record store. With her boyfriend distracted, Sadie reached over and snatched the hat from the top of his head. “Taking my clothes away already?” George said with a wry smile. “Uh-huh,” said Sadie, adjusting the white fold over her shimmering hair. “Better get used to it. Mine don’t fit so well any more...” Her boyfriend revved the engine. The automobile filled the street, gleaming in storefronts as it peeled away from the ocean front, then deeper into the shining city on the hill. They swung round the speckled marble fountain, chocked with champagne-soaked and drunken revellers, then streamed eastward to the countryside. Stars and stripes fluttered high from the rooftops until the towers gave way to peaceful trees. A golden archway crowned the road beyond. “So that’s...ninety pounds, right?” George furrowed his brow. Sadie smiled as they pulled into the parking lot. Math was not her boyfriend’s strongest point. “Three stone every year, give or take a pound. For all three years,” she repeated to him. “That’s how much weight I’ve gained...” She lowered her head, and was quickly greeted with her rounded breasts. Her belly loomed wide over her thighs. Sadie stared at her hands, taking in the little crease on her wrists. Even her fingers were rounder, and thicker. “That’s a whole lotta woman...” George whistled. “It’s kinda hot to imagine...” “Me ballooning while you were gone?” Sadie exclaimed. “Seriously?” “You just...being you...” said George. “What happened to ‘so hungry I can hardly think’?” Sadie put on his voice. “Well...I sure am hungry,” Her boyfriend’s hand slid over her shoulder. Sadie coyly batted it away. “Save it. What would you like to eat?” “Uhhh. Burger, fries and a Coke” said George. He lowered the window and looked into the misty air. Night had ushered in, and speckled stars glittered between the leaves of the golden oak trees where they had parked. “Where’s the carhop?” he asked, glancing left and right. “Oh, there’s no carhops,” Sadie explained. “We’re supposed to go to the counter.” “I thought you said we were eating in the car,” said George, puzzled. “We are,” said Sadie. “But it’s self-service, so we collect our own meals.” “O-kayyy. So you go in, you don’t even sit down, and then you go back out again to your car? What’s the benefit in that?” he scoffed. “The food is good,” Sadie replied, pursing her lips. “And it’s not like a restaurant. They don’t keep you waiting after you order, it’s lightning fast.” “Fast food? Pffftt. No wonder it’s free tonight,” George rolled his eyes. “It’ll never catch on.” His gaze gravitated toward his girlfriend’s body, as she swung her legs out of his car. The suspension listed, and he found himself grinning. Heels on the ground, she tossed her hair and set off with a bounce in her step. “Burger, fries, coke for one war hero. Coming right up.” she called out. George’s eyes glimmered as she sashayed through the door, her ass beating to the sound of its own drum. Nothing broke her stride, not even the brush of her hips on the doorframe. He watched her greet the lucky guy on shift as if he were an old friend. Come to think of it, they maybe do know each other well... George wondered. Thirty minutes later his girlfriend had laden the front seats with an armful of paper bags. A meaty aroma wafted through the air. Sadie let her load crumple in the space between their seats. “Geez - is this everything off the menu?” said George. “Just wanted to give you a taste of what you’ve been missing out on,” Sadie smirked, sealing the door shut. “This one’s for you.” She produced the bag with the promised hamburger and fries. George brushed the paper away with a sceptical glare. He sniffed, then took a shy bite. He paused a moment. “Mmmm. Whoahh, screw what I said – this is awesome!” said George. He took another bite. Sadie beamed, sitting back with a burger of her own. She almost groaned as she filled up her cheeks. Delicious cheese danced on her tongue. She chewed and swallowed, and soon made it disappear. Her hands swiftly found a second cheeseburger. The taste was exquisite. Her stomach rumbled softly, and she gave it a soothing rub. A long sip of chocolate milkshake came next. “Mmmphh. Hey, you know what’d make this better? If we still didn’t have to get out to order.” George returned the bare wrapper to the bag. “What if they had a system where there was... I dunno, let’s say a vendor in the kitchen, but with a window facing the street outside? So people could drive through and get whatever they wanted?” “Oooh, you could take that to the bank,” said Sadie, winking. She slipped a hand inside to gather a portion of fries – one of several – and tucked in slowly and delicately under his approving glances. “Mmmpph. Always so gooood,” she hummed. Her breaths grew shallower and lighter. Soon, the little packet was empty. “More?” said George, a clutch more of the well-salted sides in hand. “More.” Sadie resolved, licking her lips. She held her mouth wide open. George leaned in to feed her slowly. She closed her eyes. Then in an instant, her zipper shot halfway down her back. Sadie yelped as her breasts tumbled onto her belly. Her face solidified. Creamy rolls of flesh burst out from her sides as the material tapered to her hips – two flapping swathes of overstretched cotton, exposing every inch of her curves beneath. Thrusting forward, she covered her nipples with a thickset arm, and lay a palm over her exposed belly button. A curtain of hair fell over her eyes. “No...” she whimpered. “No...no...” “Ssshhh,” George whispered. “Sshhhh...” He parted her hair and coaxed her arm away, and guided it to rest on his smooth shoulders. He closed in. Sadie shivered. Her breasts pooled up against his chest, where her nipples brushed his hardened muscle. A hand flashed around, and seized hold of the hem of her dress. “Don’t fix it,” Sadie stressed. “I think I burst it open, the zipper – it’s” “Sshhhhh...” He clutched her belly in his hands, and brought it free. Sadie moaned in pleasure, balked, then moaned again as he kneaded her folds, the sensation driving her wild. Her gossamer soft skin grew sensitive, then electric. She stroked his neck as she gave up more of herself, letting him have his way with her oodles of weight. “I’m sorry.” she whispered, tensing, laying a kiss on his ear. “Don’t be.” said George. “I’m sorry that I’m sorry,” said Sadie. “I was just... “...trying to be something you’re not?” George finished for her. “I think you need a bigger dress, honey...” “I just wanted it to be like the first time.” Sadie confessed. “Like it was with my sister. I wanted what she had. She was skinny, she had a flowery dress, and it was summer, and all the ships were coming home, and she was skinny, and her boyfriend picked her up, and...” “I didn’t pick your sister,” said George, looking her dead in the eyes. “Sadie - I picked you.” His touch was gentle, coursing from her cheek to her soft chin, down her delicate neck, over her chest to her belly, soft, dull, and full. “All of you.” he whispered. “I mean it.” Sadie’s eyes glazed over, half watery, half transcendent. She moaned as she fell back in her seat with the slightest shove, then further as her boyfriend wrenched it into a reclined position. Stuffed full, she could barely move. She could do little but jiggle and whimper as what strips that were left of her dress were peeled away. She wobbled. She was completely at his mercy. “You comfortable?” her boyfriend asked her. The big girl nodded. She was all the pillows and softness she needed. “No carhops, right?” “Uh-huh,” Sadie nodded again. Her stomach churned and her heart raced through the gears. “You wanna taste of what you’ve been missing out on?” Sadie watched him unbutton his shirt, growing warmer and warmer. The hardtop’s windows began to mist up. Her cheeks were rosy red in the dashboard light. George flicked it off. Deep in the trunk, a homecoming soldier’s rucksack slowly started to tremor. The first browning leaves fell from the oaks outside onto the roof of Chevrolet – but soon, they too were shaken away. Sgt. George Miller had never found waking up so hard. It was late on an autumn morning, his last day of leave, and he was duty bound to get his kit together ready for his next reveille, fifty miles away in Fort Bragg. He made a mental note to fill up his Chevy on gas, as he swung his legs out of the duvet and straightened the pillows, then lifted the sheets as he stood up and stretched his broad shoulders. A spry robin perched on the apple sapling in the garden outside, as a calm wind rustled the rose bushes. Smoothing his jet-black hair, George remade the bed, pulling out the creases from where his girlfriend had slept beside him last night. The sunken space lingered with her honeyed scent. The soldier smelled the air, and detected the faint hints of sizzling bacon. She was in the kitchen, making breakfast. He smiled, and made another mental note. Dinner at Colucci’s tonight. Her favourite. Throwing on a white shirt, George retrieved the iron from the top of the wardrobe and set about his second tasking of the day. He sourced the plug socket. The brown ironing board rested by the bookcase in the hall. His combat fatigues however, were absent without leave. “Sadiecakes?” he called into the hallway. “Honey? Where’s my uniform?” He heard the clatter of a drawer, the tap of bare, dainty feet on a checkered linoleum floor. George tossed the iron on the bed and padded to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Bright flowers greeted him from the coffee table. He heard the rustling of starched fabric and the shift of crockery. “Sadie? You there darling?” he yawned as he approached the doorway. He looked around the corner, and failed to close up his jaw again. Sadie shot him a vivacious smile from behind the cupboard door, mouth dotted with sugary sprinkles from the donut she had wolfed whilst frying her second meal of the morning. She was wearing his camouflage shirt, the sleeves stretched so tight that they looked painted, with the bottom buttons fit to burst between her thickened belly rolls. She had made use of one of his vests to wear as a bra, the material riding up off her middle, sheltering a bosom the higher buttons of the shirt simply could not contain. His three-chevron rank slide peeked from her cleavage, a loose cotton thread lightly tickling its length and depth. The collar was creased up, framing a cute chin below her beaming, rounded face. George’s eyes bulged as she took a step back. Sadie licked her lips, closing the cupboard and letting him drink in the sight of her lower half. The seams of his trousers were whitened and taut all the way up from her knees, from where her wide thighs kissed all the way to the docile hang of her stomach, thoroughly exposed by the splayed ends of a button and a hole that bore no hope of ever coming together whilst she was wearing them. Sadie jiggled her embonpoint, lightly laughing, giving her belly a slap, then a rub, and a long, sensuous squeeze. She moaned. George was almost salivating. His beret completed her look, holding back her curtain of lazy blonde curls. His boots were eschewed – they were simply too big for her, but his belt was simply too small. Sadie had liberated her huge hips, and had taken to winding the bolted leather strap around her fingers, dangling the edge like a pendulum in front of George’s dumbstruck face. She winked, and pulled it with a satisfying snap. “What do you think, babe?” Sadie purred with a smile, seizing a love handle and cocking her hip. “Do I look ready for the draft?” Her boyfriend stood motionless, frozen to the spot. Gravity nearly took him before his senses did. Striding towards her he answered the only way he knew how. In a split-second Sadie was locked in his embrace, her lips one with his. She heard birdsong, and the distant hum of violas as he brought her closer. She closed her eyes to the feeling of clouds buffering against her toes, and kissed deeper, and deeper. “Screw the bombs, the Air Force should’ve just dropped you instead,” her boyfriend finally mumbled. “You’d blow them all away...” “Huh,” Sadie raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You calling me heavy, you little punk?” “Nuh-uh,” George smirked. “I’m calling you out. On these.” Sadie felt a sudden flood of arousal as he laid out his hands on her breasts. She took a sharp intake of breath. Her heart began to race as he arced his fingers around her nipples, bursting static as they stiffened through his tightening shirt. Her face burned through deepening shades of pink, then soft, sultry red. “And these...have they...grown?” He turned his attention to her juicy, thick legs, and where they creamed over his beltline. George drew long, lazy circles along her tender skin, skirting with the tantalising edge of his knuckle. Sadie shivered as he extended a roughened finger, fluttering over the bulges of her thighs, winding closer and closer to the space between. “M-maybe a little...” she murmured, her voice low. It was only half a lie. “Oh,” said George, with a glint in his eye. “Then what about...this...?” He grabbed her ass, sinking his fingers into a surge of softness. Sadie mewled, then gasped as he took a firm hold. Her illusions disappeared. There was definitely more of her. Much more than she remembered. First it was cheeseburgers, and hot pizzas and pies, and now it was inches of plushness and pleasure in her handsome man’s kneading hands. She shifted her quivering stance, tensing her knees, churning up in ecstasy. Her panties were covering less and less. She twisted the band in her fingers, as the knot in her stomach turned. George took hold of the belt, stretched it taut, and laid it against her waist. He wrapped it around her sides – or at least, he tried. The edges were a sheer gulf short of where they could come together. “Forty pounds,” Sadie admitted, blushing as the belt bit into her flesh, as embarrassed as she was aroused. “I’ve put on another forty pounds since you came home, it’s crazy...” “You say that as if you don’t have a good explanation...” George noted. He flung the belt buckle, caught it and used it as a strap to bring her closer. “I love it...” “You’d better,” Sadie replied. “This is all you. All your cooking...all the snacks...uunnff...all the food you keep feeding me...” “Uh-huh. And now look at you...” He guided her into a slow, shifting twirl. “Sergeant Sadie Smith,” George whispered in her ear. “This is not regulation standard...” “Oh yeah?” Sadie breathed, shutting her eyes. Her golden hair tumbled loose over her shoulders as she closed on his cheek. “I’m over three hundred pounds now, Miller. What are you gonna do about it?” she whispered. “Report to the bedroom immediately,” George arched his shoulders, leaning up to his full, imposing height. “And that’s ‘sir’ - to you...” Sadie stroked a finger under his lightly-stubbled chin. “Sir, to me? The only commission you’re getting...is for a handmade pumpkin pie...and some whipped cream,” She widened her eyes and tilted her head. “Please, and thank you.” George smiled, took a step back, turned to the fridge and opened the door with a flick of his wrist. “Ooohhh...” Sadie moaned, her belly warming in anticipation. “Ohhhh....” “Way ahead of you, honey. I fixed this baby up yesterday,” He retrieved the dessert on its cold platter, rich, thick and laden with cinnamon. “Baked it while you were sleeping off that poundcake, right after those ribs....” “Uhhh...huhhhh...” Sadie swallowed, her mind a haze of flavours and tastes. “Can I...can I try a little?...” “Heck no,” George pinched her cheek. “You’re not off the hook, Sergeant Smith. You owe me a show parade...” He held the pie aloft above her head. “No!” she hissed. Sadie latched onto his elbow and pulled, uselessly. She grunted and tugged, quaking her belly against him, scrabbling in nascent frustration as he fended her back with a strong, single arm. George chuckled as he switched his grip, leaving her to pound her bunched fists softly on his stony chest. “...yup, a show parade...” he continued. “And maybe some remedial physical exercise...” Sadie stopped. She looked him in the eyes. She pushed back her hair. “What kind of physical exercise?” she questioned, her every word slow and yearning. Her eyebrow was raised. “If you look in,” George winked. “I’m sure I can give you a perfect demonstration...” Sadie licked her lips. Pumpkin pie in one hand, and the slip of her waist in the other, George led her into the bedroom. Tumbling onto the bed, she seized him by his collar, and plucked off the buttons on his shirt, one by one, sneaking intermittent bites of rich, spicy pastry between his kisses. George pushed gently on her shoulders, nudging her toward the pillows. Sadie smiled and pushed back, setting him supine over the freshly laid sheets. She peeled off his boxers, then her trousers, then took to the bed on her hands and knees, straddling his naked form. “You’ve changed...” George groaned as he hardened. “You’re not the same as when I left...” “Hmmpphh,” Sadie puffed up her cheeks with a huge handful from the pie. “Mmmpph. Obviously.” “No...not this...” George shook his head. “The way you move. The way you act lately, you’re so...so full on. You’ve gotten so...confident, since I’ve been gone...” “Uummpphh. Well, what did you expect me to do?” Sadie gyrated her vast hips, flashing him a wolfish smile while filling her face with succulent cream. “Go back to being part of the furniture?” She guided him inside her, quivering above his length. She bounced down hard, reaping a moan from her boyfriend in the process. “I never thought you could be so...such a go-getter...” George breathed. “Yeah? Heh...well, you weren’t around...” Sadie tightened her legs on his torso, rocking and riding. His broiling blood rushed down his body. “And those planes....unnfff...those planes weren’t gonna screw...oh god...screw - screw themselves, right?” She bit her lip as she felt him grow ever harder inside of her. Her hair lashed and flickered, a wild, hot, untempered mess. Moaning, she thrust more pie into her mouth. “You were a riveter?” George asked, his face a picture of paradise. “How could I not know?” “Hell no. The factory took me on as a clerk,” Sadie giggled, her legs beginning to ache from pain and pleasure in equal measure. She released herself and fell back onto her bottom with a squish. “Pheeww...you honestly think I got this big from being on my feet all day? Flexing my guns?” She pulled a kiss-me face and tensed her biceps over his knees, matching one of the poses she’d seen him do in the mirror, cream in hand. She stuck the nozzle in her mouth for another long, delicious draw. George blinked. From sinewy and slender, her arms had grown toneless, pillowy and large. He poked a finger deep into their swell. They felt just as she thought – smooth, silky, malleable like the rest of her. He constricted his fingers arounded the slightest, smallest bulge of muscle in the middle, cocooned in a coating thick with flesh. “Did I tell you that I love you?” George said, grinning. “Maybe...” said Sadie, with a wry smile and a playful shove. “Ready to show me how much?” She fell back, gripping the bedposts, spreading her legs wide. Her boyfriend needed no encouragement. Minutes later, Sadie’s body was pooled on the bed with him on top of her, swimming in her curves and rolls. She peered out to the sunlight, sated and sleepy, picturing the hazy dust on the windowsill. She felt ethereal. Inches away, George snoozed softly, using her breasts as a pillow. She gingerly stroked his jawline, coaxing him out of his slumber. “Well?” she whispered, as the bells chimed for midday. Nuzzling into her neck, George sighed and smiled. “That was...that was even better than forty pounds ago,” he breathed. “Your body – it’s...there’s so much more...” Sadie giggled, then fought for her breath as she guided him off her belly and breasts, and rocked herself to a sitting position. Then without warning, she rolled on top of his muscled frame. George gasped, the air forced out of his lungs. Sadie bucked her hips, thrusting and wobbling, leering and simpering. The mattress springs whined beneath her. “Feels good, huh?” she puffed, burying his face in her breasts. “All this weight...” George turned crimson, twitching, squishing her sides as he strained pitifully for release. She turned and twisted her rolls and folds, fighting the press of his arms, straining with her own until she could match his strength no longer. Sadie relented, rolling back onto her side of the bed. She lay back for a few seconds of peaceful, breathless bliss, before propping herself up on an elbow by the pillows. “Still...phewww...” She turned to her boyfriend and swept back her sweaty hair. “Ha. Unnfff...whew...I’ve still...still got it...right?” George was motionless, still gasping, his every muscle devoid of tension and stress. He cast his eyes around the room. The whipped cream can was hollow, and the pumpkin pie was reduced to a single slice and smatter of crumbs on the floorboards. His and his girlfriend’s clothes were twisted and mixed – his white shirt beside her uniform – the latter stretched so far out of proportion that he’d had no choice but to surrender it over to her. He gazed at his girlfriend’s big belly, heaving gently between her breaths. It was round. It was soft. And tomorrow, he knew, it would be even bigger. “I think ‘it’ got you, Sadiecakes...” he quipped. “Although, I sure ain’t complaining.” Sadie laughed. She grabbed his hand and settled it on her swelling stomach, and guided it to carefully caress the underside. As if on cue, George reached for the plate. The last slice of pumpkin pie sang her name from the air above. Sadie opened her mouth, and let him fill her up, and up...
  10. “So, who’s excited for our special guest tonight?” The audience whooped. “You can just feel it, can’t you?” Jimmy Brisket clutched the edge of his rigid lapel. “That teensy-weensy tingle in the air, you know, right before you get starstruck? Oh, I can’t wait any longer!” He threw out his arm. “All the way from sunny Los Angeles, already with two Oscar nominations to her name, and here tonight on the Daily Double Dip to promote her latest film, please welcome, the gorgeous, the wonderful – Fallon Leslie!” Ohhhhhhh...you gonna take me home tonight... The spotlight glowed gold. Ohhhhhhh...down beside that red fire light... The red curtain rustled. Ohhhhhhh...you gonna let it all hang out... Then opened wide. Fat bottomed girls, you make the rocking world go round... Fallon waved, soaking in the applause, totting up the lingering looks on her burgeoning rear end with a smirk as she strode out to shake Jimmy’s hand. He gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. His blue eyes were as bright as his smile. Fat bottomed girls, you make the rocking world go round... The waddling starlet returned the kiss, then planted herself down on the famous blue chaise longue. The cushions puffed out with a whoosh where she landed, her tummy bouncing ever so slightly. Fallon swished her hair, letting it rest over her shoulders while she scooted over to the armrest. Her figure bulged and shifted under her shirt. Teasing and adjusting, she let herself settle, her soft sides spreading amongst the pillows. The last bars of the song echoed around the studio, and the clapping slowly filtered away. Fallon gave the host a cheeky wink. “Thanks Jimmy,” she grinned, reclining. “That was quite the entrance...” “I’ll say! You’re quite honestly...” The larger-than-life host eased into his office chair. “...twice the woman you used to be. Are you glad to be back on the sofa?” “One hundred percent. I’m a big girl, I get winded way more easily these days,” said Fallon, a palm on her chest. “It’s such a long way from backstage...whew...” “But you’re happy – as I’m sure we all are –” He stopped for the burst of applause “– to see you back on the show again?” “Yeah! I’ve got your couch to myself this time!” She gave the space beside her a cheery pat. “Probably for the best. I can feel my producer screaming in my ear – Fallon, he wants you to know, if it breaks, he’s not responsible.” More laughter. Fallon felt her chin crease as she smiled. “Of course, speaking of last time – that was, what two years ago? You’ve clearly become an even bigger star – first there was Electra, then you had your role in Wannabe Queen, the pageant drama,” Jimmy counted on his fingers. “Then after that you starred in Uncharted Territory and only just lost out to Olivia Colman in The Favourite... “I know, but she’s great. I was lucky just to be there, at the Academy Awards that night – it was the same night where Barry Squires – you know, the producer – leaned way over my table with me and my agent, handed me this script he said he loved and asked if I’d consider” “And just to clarify – because we've been hearing all the goss – it’s definitely, definitely not a remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?” Fallon laughed. “Definitely, definitely not, no. I’m playing the main character in Weight of Gold. That’s what the movie’s called, it’s more of a feelgood, sports drama.” “And you have – if you mind me saying so – been undergoing something rather dramatic yourself?” “Oh, I’m not even done yet,” said Fallon, smiling and cupping her belly. “We’re still filming – well, technically, we’re going back to filming once I reach my goal weight, then we shoot one more fat scene, and after that we go back to a regular schedule.” “A fat scene?” “I’ve put on at least a hundred pounds,” Fallon announced, to a collective gasp. She could almost feel the press plunge into the paper, the glaring headline in thick black ink. “One hundred pounds?” “At least. Yeah.” she nodded. “Let’s see – just to reiterate that – let's see if we can get a picture up on the big screen. Right. Okay, so here’s what you used to look like.” Jimmy gestured at the giant projection. Fallon blushed at herself. The photo showed them together – albeit eighteen months, and many, many pounds ago – with her sitting sandwiched between the buxom director and Brody, her burly male co-star. She wore a strapless purple minidress, a mix of festival bracelets donned along her skinny wrists, the smooth angles of her face brought out with a shadowy blush. She looked rail-thin, waifish, pixie-like – a free spirit, airy and ethereal. “And now...no, wait for it...this was you, two days ago on the beach in Malibu.” Fallon blanched, clapping her hands over her mouth the moment the picture flashed onscreen. She dodged her moon-faced smile, dimples dipping where her cheekbones used to be, her gawping eyes skipping straight to the voluminous belly cresting on the deckchair. For a split second, she struggled to fathom it was truly hers. It demanded attention; fully bared, stuffed and taut, slung proudly over the waistband of her bikini bottoms, bronzing in the California sunshine. True to her Irish roots, her top displayed a shamrock over each breast - but they were pulled so tight they barely looked recognisable. A splatter of ice-cream rested above her belly button, and her finger lay poised to scoop it past her plump, greedy lips. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, emphasising the swell of her jawline. Her every nourished fibre looked chunky, and round. “I mean, what can I say?” Jimmy shrugged. “Spot the difference?” “Um, I grew my hair out?” Fallon offered, smiling as she brushed aside her ebony locks. “It’d be harder to pick what didn’t grow out.” “Yeah, it kinda surprised me too,” the star agreed. “I mean – I've never been big before, and I was thinking before it happened that...because I was doing so much training to build up my glutes and leg muscles for gymnastics, I’d be bottom heavy? But then, once I gained the first thirty pounds and I started losing all that muscle, I realised all the weight was going right here.” She gave her belly roll a rub, then a squeeze. Thick and doughy, it wrapped around her, peeking over her pants. The host’s eyes widened at the sight. “And...err...ahem...here.” She gave her bosom a little push up, her cleavage deepening with a loving squeeze. Jimmy blinked. “Whoops. Sorry – missed that one.” he garbled. “Must be all the stardust in the air. Would you mind doing it again, but this time really slowly?” “Nooo,” Fallon smirked coyly. “You’ll have to wait until the premiere.” “Oh! You don’t mean... wait, you do mean?” “I have a couple scenes where – uhh, how do I put this...everything’s laid...bare?” Fallon quipped, her voice rising in pitch as she matched the host’s arched eyebrow. “I mean, it’s all about exploring new changes, and acceptance, and loving yourself – it's really crucial to the plot.” “Why? Remind us – what’s all this about?” “So I’m portraying Natalie Quartermain, she’s an Olympic gold medal winning athlete.” “Uh-huh,” the host spread his arms out from his body. “I totally see it.” “No – hush, you,” Fallon giggled, jiggling her chest as she put a finger to her lips. “Like, her story’s way more known in the U.S. She’s famous because she rose out of a poor background to become a collegiate champion, then an All-American elite gymnast, but during an Olympic trial she came off on a vault the wrong way – it was her final event – and she broke both her legs.” “Oh my goodness.” “I know. It was terrible," Fallon explained. "Then, obviously she couldn’t go to London with the team, she couldn’t train because she had to heal, and then her funding got cut because she wasn’t competing – and after that, part of her just gave up. She said in her autobiography that food was her only friend, and because she couldn’t exercise, after a couple years she became morbidly obese.” “Owch. That’s gotta hurt.” “Yeah, it completely blew up her life. She wrote that her breaking point was when some friends she hadn’t seen in months asked her out, she rolled out of bed on the day and discovered she couldn’t paint her toenails any more. When you think of how much pride...you know, how much gymnasts put in their fitness and their flexibility, and now she’s at a stage where she’s too big to reach her feet – that's where the reality sinks in.” “I see,” said Jimmy. “Although obviously, it’s not like you’d mind, you can just get a runner to do it for you.” The ice broke. The audience tittered again. “Ughh, it’s tempting,” Fallon smirked, leaning back on the sofa. “Just to totally lie around all day and be like – excuse me, why aren’t you helping me? Where’s my pedicure? Where’s my tub of vanilla ice cream?” She sat up again with a little grunt of effort and a giggle. “I’m kidding...chocolate’s my favourite.” The audience laughed. Then, they cheered and applauded. The spotlight shot across the studio to the curtain, tracing the waves from the other side. “Oh, you don’t say? What a lovely coincidence!” said Jimmy, as a PA parted the veil to reveal a glittering service cart, laden with a huge bowl of sprinkled ice cream. Fallon’s eyes shone as he rolled it over to the host’s desk, and set it carefully next to her. She leant forward to accept a hefty silver spoon, and plummeted it into the bowl with a gracious smile. Her first bite was cold, creamy and delicious. “You know, I’ve often thought of diversifying the show, include those things they do online with the food – what's it called?” said Jimmy. “When you talk when you’re eating?” He put a finger to his ear. “No! Not bad manners! The other thing.” “Mmmpphh!” Fallon laughed, her cheeks full with icy goodness. “Mmmphh...Mukbang!” “I beg your pardon?!” shouted Jimmy. The audience howled with amusement. Fallon nearly choked on her spoon. “Haha! I’m...mmmpphh...I’m - I’ve been vlogging my transition since I started, a lot of the time when I’m giving people updates...” She swallowed. "Like, when I'm showing them my progress, I'm also eating, that’s how I connect with people. Like, everyone’s asking me, do I do ASMR now? And I’m lying around in bed like – I don’t even know what that is? I just see food and then I eat it, that’s all I do every day.” “You must’ve had time to sample a few new places? Maybe some new recipes?” “Oh my god, I’m addicted to penne alle vodka. And crispy oysters. My chef has been such a hero throughout this whole thing,” Fallon beamed, inhaling another spoonful. “I’ve been touring restaurants too, like fast-food places, and I’m developing a weakness for cheeseburger omelette with pancakes. It’s my favourite.” “That’s wonderful. I’ve got to ask – and don’t take this the wrong way, you’re practically glowing with positivity – but I’ve got to ask, what one aspect, if there is one, has surprised you the most, going from where you were, to where you are now? Have you experienced any big shocks since, you know, becoming bigger?” “No, like, genuinely,” Fallon lowered the spoon. “What’s surprised me the most, is how supportive my circle of friends and family have been for me. They’re the most important thing for me, they’re like a whole squad of cheerleaders, I’m really open around them and... yeah, at the beginning everyone told me, why not wear a fat suit? Why not just do it with CGI? But I said to them that I couldn’t expect normal people to embrace Natalie’s story if...I wasn’t gonna embrace it myself. That’s why before we started shooting, I got super into gymnastics, I had a world class coach, I had a diet plan, I had a training schedule...” “Wait – so, I’m guessing – start of the film’s all about big gymnastics contests, it’s bound to be full of jumps and flips and cartwheels and so-on. And all of that’s you?” said Jimmy. “Yeah. That’s really me.” Fallon smiled. “No CGI, no stunt doubles, nothing?” “Nothing but hard work and determination,” she beamed. “I got myself down to thirteen percent body fat, I had abs, I had these really toned thighs, I had guns,” Fallon lifted and tensed her flabby arms. “I was in the gym three times a day, I was sooo fit, it was insane. And now my....mmpphhhh...” She dipped her spoon back in the bowl for another mouthful. “Now my....mmm...my stunt doubles are all looking at me like – jesus, do we still have jobs? You’re huge! Do we have to pig out too? It’s definitely been a life changing experience for a lot of people. But everyone’s been uber supportive. My friends are constantly handing me their leftovers – like, that’s how they greet me now. They’re like, ‘Hey Fallon, could you finish these fries for me? I’m full’ or ‘You’ve gotta try some of my mom’s poundcake’ – I’m practically breathing in calories. Mmm...” “But the sooner we hit your goal, the sooner we get to see you in the film, right?” “Uh-huh.” Fallon let out a little burp. “Ooh, excuse me.” She licked a chocolatey drop off her lips. “I got a nutritionist and set myself a target to put on four pounds a week for a month, then five a week for two months, and now I’m just seeing what my limits are and pushing them a little further every day. This ice cream's so good, by the way.” “Fallon. You know what I’m about to ask next.” “Hmm?” “How much do you weigh?” “Mmmpphh,” Fallon swallowed, flicking her eyelashes. “Well, my end goal is two-hundred and forty pounds, but right now I actually don’t know. I haven’t weighed myself in a long time, ‘cause I love surprises, but I know I hit two hundred over summer. That was a hell of a day, man. Secretly I’m hoping for two thirty by November – I know it’s a lot, but hey.” She gave her tummy a slap. “I think I’ll get there.” “In style too, by the looks of things. But to quote another, immensely popular leading lady, it’s October Third,” said Jimmy. “Which in the wonderful world of the Daily Double Dip, can only mean one thing...” The lights dimmed to a pale, pulsing glow. Fallon heard tubas. The imposing chords of Oncoming Menace permeated the thick, heavy atmosphere. The spotlight shimmered over a rising, hissing platform. Dense smoke rose from the floor, shrouding the steely machine. “You can close your eyes if you want to,” Jimmy announced. “Because it’s Weigh-in Day!” Rapturous applause broke out as the smoke blew away to reveal a shiny digital scale. On the big screen, the blank figures sparkled in piercing red. 0.0LBS. “Seriously, is this the part where I hide behind your couch?” said Fallon, laughing whilst crossing, then uncrossing her legs. “I’m scared. Oh my god, why am I so scared? All I have to do is get up...” “If it’s too much of a tall order, I’m sure we can help.” Jimmy reassured her. “Oy, Dave – did you save the forklift from the challenge last week?” The audience chuckled. Even Fallon had to smile. “No, it’s true, I’m sinking into this sofa,” the actress admitted, laughing. “Like, I feel like I’m a few inches lower than last time. But because my butt’s bigger, I’m sitting taller – so you don’t notice. Like my head’s higher somehow, if that makes sense? But then when I stand up – brace yourself.” Jimmy grabbed on to the edges of his desk, veins sticking comically out from his forehead. “Not you, I'm talking to me,” Fallon groaned. “Ughhh, lost my breathing, okay...in one...in two...god, quit staring at me like that!” She shrieked at the host, giggling. “You’re making me nervous!” “Do you need a hand?” Jimmy leaned forward. “I don’t know!” Fallon cried out. “What if I don’t make it in one go?” “Is that the attitude of future gold medal winning gymnast Natalie Quartermain?” Yet more laughter. Fallon reddened. “It’s just super embarrassing right now. I've got a lot of changes to embrace – I put this weight on so quickly, I don’t think my body’s had time to adapt,” She flapped her hands. “You promise you won’t laugh, okay?” “No they won’t, here. Let me give you a boost,” Jimmy walked round his desk, offering an arm. “You ready?” He took her hand. “One, two, three!” He heaved. Suddenly he shot a palm to the space behind his hip. “Oh god...my back, my back!” he yelled, his grip fading, his body faltering. Fallon yelped as his face sunk over her shoulder, shoving him back up with a firm press. Chortling, the hosted lifted her arms and hailed her up with him, turning to the crowd with a wave. “I’m kidding! A round of applause, ladies and gentlemen. It’s Weigh-in Day!” Jimmy sported a wolfish simper, leading Fallon the distance from his desk to the scale. Carefully making sure her shirt was tucked in round the back, the actress followed on. She tapped her heels in front of the sport marked with a gratuitous 'X', flanked by the trio of cameras. “Now, we usually have more elaborate games on the show, but let me tell you, I’ve got goosebumps, my hairs are standing up, I literally cannot hold it a second longer. Moment of truth. Fallon, are you ready?” “Ready,” she nodded. "Your goal is?" "Two hundred and thirty by November 30th" she recounted. “Close your eyes, step forward...” The starlet did so. She heard the metalled springs crunch. Her stomach wobbled. A timid sensation tingled through her toes. “And...oh, oh my goodness!” Fallon’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes blazed open at the numbers. 239.8lbs. Her mind rolled with the epiphany - she had gained a hundred and twenty-five pounds in little under a year and a half. Her legs suddenly felt very heavy. Stumbling, she stepped backwards off the scale, descending into Jimmy's arms. "Fallon, how do you feel?" Fallon felt her heart galloping. A deep flush surfaced on her brow. She gasped deeply, sealing her eyes, feeling her stomach flutter beneath its sheath of soft fat. “I feel...amazing,” she breathed. “This is exactly what I wanted. I set myself a target...and I thought it was crazy, but it's happened to me. Oh my god. I feel so...so...” “You getting this?” Jimmy had his finger in his ear. “Yeah – sorry, we were just getting that down for you to read out when you win the Oscar next year." The audience cheered their approval. “I mean, is there anyone you’d like to thank? McDonald’s? Wendys?” “Ha-ha-ha," Fallon laughed, soothing herself away from her state of nirvana. "I'm sure I Can put in a word for my sponsors myself." They returned to their seats. “Like I said...” she plopped down. “...it’s humbling to have the physical and emotional support I’ve been getting, even if it’s just to egg you through that twentieth slice of pizza. It reminds me of the relationship Natalie had with her long-time coach, he helped shape her, he helped motivate her to do bigger and better things, he was there when she was at her lowest point, and it’s a relationship we’re looking to explore a lot more in the film.” “The coach, played by no less than Brody Kilpatrick...” Jimmy mouthed, to the sound of wolf whistles. “Brody’s a babe,” Fallon agreed. “I know he looks all rough and tumble but he’s so gentle...” “Whoah, say no more, we haven’t made it to the watershed!” The host pointed to the face of his Rolex. “Pardon us, we're British... although it's not to say we won’t have time, you’re perfectly welcome to share all the details with me later.” “He certainly knows how to handle a bigger girl...” Fallon raised a wry eyebrow, feeling the warmth along her pinkening cheeks. “But my point was...he’s done way more than just play the romantic interest. He’s been an ally to me from day one. At first, I was afraid for him to see me like this,” She indicated toward her stomach. “...but his reaction helped me accept that my size is only gonna be as big a problem as I allow it to be.” She swept back her hair. “Which is not at all. Like, that reminds me, I never have to worry about my wardrobe, Valkyrie Mountain stepped in to replace the clothes I outgrew, so no more malfunctions. I’m getting regular check-ups, even though I’ve gotten really unfit my doctor’s making sure I get all the nutrition I need to stay healthy.” “That’s good to hear.” Jimmy nodded. “Yeah. So, my mantra is, enjoy it while it lasts,” Fallon looked down at herself. “Like, how many more times in my career am I gonna get paid to stuff my face? And plus, we’ve still got the end of the movie to make where I’m meant to be skinny again so clearly I’m gonna have a mountain to climb pretty soon, you know, like Natalie did when she finally started losing weight and returning to the team.” “And then winning gold, I presume?” “Whoah, whoah – don't spoil it!” Fallon raised up her hands. “But you said it at the beginning! The film’s literally called ‘Weight in Gold’?” “I know – wait. I was gonna say something else. Hang on – wait, was I?” “I don’t know,” Jimmy motioned. “Maybe more ice cream might jog your memory?” “Oooh, yeah, let’s have some more,” She picked up the spoon and downed another sugary mouthful. “Ugghhh, it's incredible. Thanks...phew, oh man, I forgot what I was saying again. Damn” “It’s fine. Take a deep breath,” said Jimmy. Fallon sucked in. “And now think fast, because we’ve only got five seconds left!” he shouted to the crowd. A drum roll flared up out of nowhere. The room descended into darkness. The spotlight returned. “Oh god, umm...oh my god. No, wait...no...errr....errrmm!” Fallon dropped the spoon and clutched her tresses. The snare drum rattled relentlessly. She shut her eyes. “I’m...errr...I’m...” She glared at the palms of her hands. “I’m fat?” Ba-dumm tsss.... “Fallon Leslie everybody!” Jimmy yelled, waving as he stood up. “That’s all we’ve got time for, tune in for your Double Daily Dip tomorrow!” Far, far away, someone hit the pause button on the remote. The screen was frozen on the credits. Stained fingers clenched the edges of the sofa. A rustle of plastic, then the sound of impassioned chewing broke the silence of the musky, secreted, garbage-strewn lounge. The occupant breathed in. The first grunt was effort, the second perturbance, the third pure fury as she hauled her gargantuan figure off the flattened pillows, her tank top peeling from the upholstery with a loathsome rip. Two crunching, staggering steps took her bloated body to the coffee table. Sucking in, she reached down her side for her phone, wiping her fingers on her sweatpants before dabbing in the passcode. Knees creaking, she bent down, nudging shut the door of the minifridge to get the perfect light. Grimacing, she took the picture. Her sofa wailed through the thump of her return, her laboured wheezing dulling her mind to the splitting woodwork. She pushed a slither of chocolate past her slowly growing smile. Finally, she had what she wanted. She took stock of her work. The studio name, the address and postcode. The sponsor list. Her gaze narrowed at the last words, her mood drifting through every darkened hue. With thanks to Fallon Leslie. Hands sticky, she quaffed a malicious fistful of potato chips in a single, slobbering bite.
  11. The alarm clankered off the bedside shelf and smacked the floor, still ringing. Jenny groaned. She slid a leg from the duvet and fumbled for it with her toes. Eventually, she nudged the off switch, and lay on the bed in peaceful quiet a little more. It didn’t change anything. She was awake, though not willingly so, and it was past seven am on a sunny Saturday morning. Her Freshman year of college was over, and her summer had just begun. So too, had the start of her lousy summer job. “This sucks.” Jenny said, to the reflection in her bedroom mirror. She brushed her tousled hair away from her eyes. Pouting back at her was a skinny redhead on the cusp of her twenties. “This sucks so hard…” She gazed pitifully at the cheer outfit hung over the mirror’s corner. She’d gotten through tryouts three months before – the first time she’d ever made it onto a cheerleading squad. It was three months more till summer camp – three months of hard grind so she could pay her way to get there. Out of sheer longing she slipped off her pyjama pants and eased the silky red, white and blue number over her body. The smiley sequin-eyed dolphin in the centre billowed. Over last Christmas she had banished the pesky five pounds from her belly and thighs, finally cementing her transition from a somewhat chubby little girl to a slender and sexy young woman. She smiled as she brushed her hands across the loose half inch of material along her side, then frowned as she found another half inch running across her chest. Losing a cup size had been a bummer, but it was no big deal. She had finally dropped down to two pounds within her goal of weighing one hundred and twenty. She’d never think herself perfect, she knew, but in her eyes that was pretty damn close. She turned and put her alarm clock back on the shelf, then paled when she saw it read 7:50. How long had she snoozed for? She hurriedly stripped off her cheerleading outfit and threw it at the mirror. The shoulder strap caught the corner, then it teetered over and struck the floor with a smash, shedding a sprinkly cloud of glass over the rug. “Shit,” she muttered. “There goes my first paycheck.” She didn’t have time to sweep up the thousand broken pieces. Instead Jenny found a place for her cheer outfit to hang at the back of her wardrobe, and threw on a dark blouse, her favourite jeans and blue Converse. She took the stairs down two at a time, shouted a hasty goodbye to her mother, then burst through the door and made a run for the bus stop. She had seen an advertisement for her new workplace on the bus she caught, just on time. It was an ice cream parlour called Toni’s, they were newly opened and they were in need of new waitresses. She thought she’d be in contention with hundreds of other cash-strapped teens for a job at somewhere so central, but to her surprise she’d been the first to call, and the first to get hired. She made it there ten minutes late. The building looked small on the outside, with its pink tinted windows obscuring the vast interior. Jenny looked around in wonderment. The setup was like a sushi bar, but for bowls of ice cream – a conveyor belt stretched to a kitchen and back, spanning the length the room. To the side one could buy choc-ices, ice-cream sandwiches and cream sodas. Everything was pristine, and eerily quiet, though Jenny quickly remembered they didn’t open till noon. “Jenny, right?” The redhead spun to face a kindly old lady in sharp red heels. “That’s me” she smiled. “Toni Delacroiss. I’m so glad to meet you. I hope you had a safe journey here?” “Yeah, I got a little stuck in traffic…” In truth she’d gotten off at an earlier stop to hit a café. There she heartily made up for the breakfast she’d missed. She ran a hand through her hair and down over her face, quickly checking she hadn’t left any lingering crumbs from the delicious deluxe blueberry muffin for her new manager to see. It had been so good she’d stopped a few moments more to enter their number into her phone. The place was called Beauregarde’s, and as it turned out, they did deliveries. She took a quick tour of the place and got a brief on her duties. It was pretty simple – all she had to do was go round and collect empty bowls every ten minutes or so. The conveyer belt did all the serving for her. Pretty soon she knew all she needed to know, and it was only half eight. Still three and a half hours till opening. “You might be wondering why I asked you here early,” Toni smiled. “It’s because I need somebody I can trust. I’m new to this town, this state, this whole country. I had to move on outta the old country last year, and honestly I’ve barely shared a word with anybody since.” Jenny raised an eyebrow as she heard the words, and picked up the flecks of a southern Italian upbringing in her boss’ voice. Is this a place a front? she wondered. She’d read enough crime novels to get her spidey senses tingling. Seriously? Is this lady from the Mafia? “What I’m asking is if you’ll help me test some of my latest produce,” Toni smiled. “I’m paying you to eat ice cream, basically.” “Oh…” said Jenny, a little loudly. “So that’s a yes?” “Yeah yeah. Sure!” she nodded. Jenny was all up for the idea. Who’d turn down free ice cream? Or ice cream you got paid to eat, even? Maybe this job won’t suck so hard after all. As well as waitressing, Jenny arrived at nine every weekday and Saturday morning to sample Toni’s latest ice cream flavours. She served them three scoops each in a bowl, and there were usually five or six to get through. Toni was full of ideas for new flavours and combinations, as she puzzled her way to selecting which to promote in her advertisements. In Jenny’s mind, the Treble Napoleone Supremo was a massive hit. Testing flavour after flavour in Toni’s company had let Jenny get to know her a little better. She was half Italian, half French, and she’d owned ice cream parlours all over Europe before switching to the States. “I got tired of all the red tape,” she said, when Jenny asked her about the move. “They’re not so nitpicky about GMO over here.” “Genetically modified ice cream?” said Jenny, a little bemused. “No, no, dear. It’s the milk. It comes from my own little herd of cows from out of town. They’re such darlings. They make twenty times more than your regular Holstein-Friesian. And it’s twenty times as tasty – more myristics and oleics, you see.” Toni talked a lot of science, and Jenny smiled a lot and pretended to understand. It had never been her favourite class but learning a little more about her food was interesting enough. The chocolate sauce was sourced from Venezuela, the cones from Belgium, the sprinkles from England. All of it tasted exquisitely good. Better yet, Jenny got to take a carton of her favourite of the week home with her. It made an excellent dessert after every dinner. Midway through another shift of taste testing Jenny got a call. It was Hayley, her best friend. “Up for practice?” she asked. “No…gotta finish work…” Her bank balance had slipped out of four figures even before the last semester, and she desperately needed the money for California. “I don’t get why you guy are going there,” said Hayley. She was a cheerleader too, but they went to different colleges. “There’s coaches, beaches, gym halls all in Florida, right?” “I know…” said Jenny. But Costa Mesa, CA was where her newfound friends were going to be, and having worked so hard to get into the cheer squad, she didn’t want to risk alienating herself by missing out on their annual summer camp. It would mean three whole months of work to pay her way to get there, but it’d be worth it. Especially with it being so delicious. Jenny agreed to do a practice the following week. Then she licked her lips and tucked into another bowl. Two weeks passed, and Jenny woke up again one Saturday morning to find herself every bit as lethargic as before, if not more so. Coupled with her morning malaise was her discovery that putting on her size eight jeans was getting more than a little finicky. The two halves of the button simply would not meet. “Come on…fit…” Jenny mumbled. “I wore you last week. Why can’t you just do as I say?” A finger’s width of flesh spilled out from her sides with each determined pull. She paid it no notice. “Stupid pants.” She finally breathed out. Her bellybutton peeked out again, but her eyes were scanning the creases along the legs. They had been washed recently. Which meant they could easily have been shrunk. Jenny made a mental note to tell her mom to switch washing powder, then slipped out of her size eights and into a spare set of tens. They felt a little snug, but were otherwise ok. Another two weeks changed the scenario. Her mother had switched washing powders, but now it was her size tens that were giving her trouble. She put that down to poor stitching – they barely looked bigger than her eights anyway. Her size twelves, the largest she had, awaited her in the back of her wardrobe by the cheer outfit. Two weeks more and even they were testing her patience. Her quest for appropriate pants finally brought her to Hayley’s door, after she’d offered to lend her some sixteens belonging to her older sister. She’d insisted on putting Jenny on the scale first though, out of curiosity. “One hundred and seventy-seven pounds. Whoah.” Hayley whistled. “That’s not fat,” said Jenny, shrugging. Her softer shoulders wiggled just a little. “That’s not like, two hundred.” “It’s getting close.” Hayley said in a low voice. “What are they putting in the ice-cream you’re eating?” “All natural ingredients…” said Jenny, quietly. I mean, the cows may or may not have been grown in a test tube, but they’re cows. They’re still natural, right? she thought to herself. “Aren’t you worried?” said Hayley. “It’s been a month and a half and you’ve put on like, forty pounds.” “It’s more like fifty,” said Jenny, in a low voice. “But I don’t wanna focus on it.” She stepped off the scale. “I can lose weight at Costa Mesa. That’s what summer camp is all about. Training. So I can be in tip-top shape for nationals.” “I don’t get it.” said Hayley. “Last year you were fretting about getting under one-thirty. Now you’re fifty pounds up and it’s like it doesn’t even bother you.” “It doesn’t,” Jenny replied, truthfully. “I know a couple girls my weight on the cheer squad.” “Yeah, the girls who are six foot plus. Not five foot six.” “Shut up. My weight’s just a number. Getting to one-thirty was my goal last summer. My goal this summer is getting to camp. That’s all that matters.” “You can’t just ignore what’s going on around you,” said Hayley, her eyes skimming Jenny’s rounded hips. “Tunnel vision is never a good thing.” “Says who?” Jenny grinned. “There’s a light at the end of this tunnel, and I’m gonna make it there.” “Yeah” Hayley mumbled quietly as they packed up. “Not unless you get stuck there along the way…” Jenny worked overtime at Toni’s through to the end of the month, and was rewarded with a tasty paycheck on the weekend. She had accepted Hayley’s invite to her mother’s fiftieth at an Italian restaurant in the centre of town, and as a treat to herself she clandestinely ordered a big bottle of succulent rosé wine from over the bar. At midnight they’d eloped for a night out, hitting a string of bars, before crashing back at Hayley’s, snacking on potato chips right through to the morning. That had been a month ago, and while they’d spoken on the phone they hadn’t seen each other since. Besides Toni and her mother, Jenny hadn’t seen much of anyone else at all. But what she had been seeing was a lot more of herself. Still half asleep, Jenny staggered down the stairs to breakfast. She grimaced as they creaked with every heavy footfall. She made a fleeting effort to tug her shirt down from under her jiggling breasts, then groaned as it rolled up again to expose her bulging waistline. She used her other hand to steady herself along the balustrade. The tug and pull of her newfound weight was a foreign feeling to her – no longer could she glide gracefully, but only awkwardly waddle as her fattened frame shifted from side to side. Her belly carried her downwards, quite literally leading her to the kitchen, and preceding her as she waddled through the doorway. Jenny’s mother looked on with concern as her chubby daughter rifled through the breakfast cupboard. Her occasional comments about her eating habits were proving ineffective. Since taking up her job her appetite had grown threefold. She didn’t even wait to find a bowl, spoon and some milk before tucking into her chocolatey cereal, seizing fistfuls straight from the box and cramming them into her mouth. With her cheeks filled up with crispy goodness she found a bowl and poured herself a colossal portion, on which she poured a whole pint and a half of full-fat milk. She ate messily – flecks of milk stained her pyjama shirt. When she finished her first bowl and poured another, her mother was moved to say something. “Jennifer, how’s cheer practice going?” “Great.” she mumbled as she slurped up the chocolatey milk. “Hayley came by yesterday when you were out working” she said. “She wondered where you were. I said you’d be free today. How about you go practice at the gym together” Jenny grunted. Cheering wasn’t her idea of fun at this time in the morning, and especially not on an increasingly full stomach. “I’ll call her.” she said. Her mom gave her a soft smile. Eventually, after finishing her breakfast, nipping out for a muffin, eating an extended lunch and letting it all digest, Jenny got her on the phone. She packed her cheer outfit and a chocolate bar and got on the bus to a gym just two blocks from Toni’s. She found Hayley browsing a magazine inside. Hayley failed to recognise her friend at first. She’d known Jenny since her chubby junior school days, but she’d never seen her so round. Hayley quickly glanced down at her feet and took her in from her toe to the top of her head. Her widened thighs touched from her knees up, even though her knees themselves weren’t touching. Her waist was lost under a ring of wobbling fat, merging with her equally voluminous hips. Her newly developed boobs rested on her paunch of a stomach, gently rising and falling as she breathed. Chubby cheeks framed plump, luscious lips, which parted into a puzzled smile. Hayley though back to the girl Jenny had been. The nascent muscles she had worked so hard to forge had melted away beneath a soft layer of fat. She had surpassed two hundred, easily. “Yeah…” she stuttered. “Hey. Let’s err…let’s go inside”. They found the changing rooms and Jenny locked the plastic door of a booth. She peeled off her home clothes there and produced her cheerleading outfit. She picked off the specks of dust then lifted it over her head. She was surprised - but allowed herself a little smile - when it jammed along her bosom. Over the last month she had suddenly found herself blessed with a burgeoning rack – it had made getting into her bras a pain, but she wasn’t complaining. Her satisfaction simmered down though when she found the tightness heightened as she pulled the outfit further and further down her body. Her breathing grew shallow as she pressed in her paunch, trying to slip the sequin-eyed dolphin over the top. She felt the pressure along her ribs. Her fingers slipped as she wrenched down harder. The outfit was still stuck annoyingly above her belly button. Frustrated, she crouched down and pinned the edges of the skirt down with the balls of her feet. She grunted as she slowly stood up. Her outfit, pinned down, slowly shuddered over her jiggling belly. She bit her lip as she felt it clench around her hips. She pulled it down at the back so it covered up her ass, then stood up. She heard the unmistakeable sound of a seam splitting. She gave her outfit a quick check, then found the source of the noise. She fingered the little tear, the size of a quarter, just beneath her left breast. She lowered her arm to cover it, then unlocked her booth and made for the door. No sooner had she put one foot in front of the other than the outfit tore with a giant scratch. “Shit!” Jenny spun in panic. Soft, supple fat burst through a tear that stretched down her side, exposing her from her hip to her shoulder. She clamped a hand over the cleaved material before it could explode off her, and hurriedly shuffled back into the changing rooms before Hayley could see. There she pulled off the outfit and brushed her hair out of her eyes and inspected the catastrophic damage. She nearly cried. Half the stitching had ripped, and the seams on the other side had been tested to the max. The dolphin in the middle had been stretched out of its proportions. The slender sea creature now looked, in Jenny’s eyes, kind of fat. She put her clothes back on, grunting as even though she’d come to the gym in leggings, her belly was getting in the way of her bending down. What’s happening to me? She pulled the pants over her sides, still red and angry where the cheer outfit had pressed them most. She wondered there and then that she might have overdone the eating that day. Clearly, she was a little bloated. She made another mental note to skip her ice cream dessert that night, and maybe the muffin the next morning. In the meantime she was sure a little practice would soon get her back to normal. “Let’s start with some stretching.” said Hayley after Jenny tied up her hair and joined her outside. They did their forearms and shoulders first, which were fairly easy, then got to work on the legs. Jenny felt her butt and hips pool along the floor as she lay down and lifted a thickening thigh into the air. “Hnnnghh….hhnnghhh…” She struggled to reach her toes – just like before, rolls of fat bunched up around her midsection. Hayley saw her straining and helped her by pushing her foot downwards. Hayley stared spellbound as the fat creased up on Jenny’s middle, as she finally tapped her toe with a chubby finger. They went on to cat and camel stretches. Jenny rolled back onto her knees, stretched out her arms then turned crimson as she passed a little gas. She quickly kneeled up and pressed on her ass. Another fart escaped, muffled by the floor. I’m definitely too bloated… Jenny thought to herself. Hayley, her face down, pretended not to hear anything. She led the way when they practiced jumps. They went through hurdlers, spread eagles and T’s before she caught sight of Jenny gasping, and decided it’d be better to ask her what she wanted to do. “Cartwheels.” she said, resolutely. Jenny was sick of jumping. She’d worn herself out practicing low Herkies, and had no desire to add to the burn in her thighs. “Ok,” Hayley agreed. “I’ll go first.” She readied herself, then skipped, jumped and executed a perfect tumble, landing each arm and leg silently, with poise and grace. She raised her arms in a finished position. It was Jenny’s turn. She took a deep breath, then jumped and turned, catching herself with her left arm, then her right. She spun one hundred and eighty degrees, and suddenly got a faceful of her own boobs as they flopped in their bra to her chin. Knocked off balance, her elbow buckled. Her face hit the floor first with her breasts, then the rest of her body tumbled after with a heavy thud. Her butt jiggled and shook upon impact. “Ughh…” Jenny moaned. “Owww…” The pressure on her belly left her winded. She gasped for breath as she squirmed, nursing the pain in her knee. “Are you ok?” Hayley asked worriedly. She dashed over to her friend and grabbed her arm. Jenny rolled onto her back. Her belly had escaped the confines of her stretchy top, wobbling over her waistband. Hayley pulled against her wrist then juddered forward as her strength failed her. Jenny was a little heftier than she’d thought. “You’re too hea - …sweaty…” she stuttered, saving herself. “Here, let me get a better grip.” Hayley took hold of both of Jenny’s arms and with a grunt from both of them she got her back to her feet. Jenny groaned as she briefly set her weight on her knee. Hayley offered her a shoulder and Jenny lifted a pudgy arm on top. “It’s not broken, is it?” said Hayley. “No…I think it’s just bruised…” Jenny huffed. Kinda like my pride she thought to herself. How had she screwed up something so simple so badly? “We’ll try again tomorrow, ok?” Hayley said, trying to sound cheerful. “I might need some time to recover.” said Jenny. She knew her knee would still hurt the next morning, and she had no desire to be sent sprawling on the floor again. “Maybe the day after?” “Maybe next week.” Jenny had a double shift at Toni’s that day. That meant double the dollars. And crucially, double the ice cream. “Um…ok. Sure. Are you ok getting home?” “Yeah yeah. I’m fine.” They said their goodbyes and Hayley left the gym room. Jenny hobbled out, but not before setting her sights on a vending machine. She stocked up on enough chocolate to satiate her for the bus ride home. The day had felt long, the stairs to her room were doubly hard with just one good knee and despite the lingering sugar buzz, Jenny napped through to dinner the moment she cosied up in her bed. Jenny used her bruised knee as an excuse to partake in no real movement whatsoever. The next morning it had swollen to twice its size. She stayed cooped up in bed for a whole week, and after a phone call to Toni, arranged for her ice cream to be delivered to her door. Her mother brought up the rest of her meals, and the occasional box of Beauregarde muffins on request. Seeing her daughter hurt had soothed her attitude towards her rising weight. Once the swelling had gone down Jenny became a little more mobile, just enough in her mind to trek from her bedroom to the kitchen and back. When the bruising had vanished completely she made a return to work. She had to ask for a larger uniform first though – a week of virtual immobility followed by a week of reclusiveness had rendered another skirt useless. A new work outfit was shipped to her house, and Jenny was pleased to see that her hips no longer creamed over the beltline. Her other clothes were another story. Having bought a whole new wardrobe at the start of summer, Jenny could not budget for anything new if she wanted to get to summer camp too. Thus after rolling out of bed on her days off, Jenny would stubbornly shift her fat into the old clothes. Each week the ordeal was taking her longer. What had started as few minor adjustments to sooth slight pangs of tightness became an awkward shuffle over jiggling boobs and thighs. Then it became an unwanted workout – sucking her belly in, pushing it out whilst bouncing, squeezing, straining and cursing until finally, the routine turned into a full-blown wrestling match, pitting her sprawling, softening figure against relentlessly unforgiving clothing. Dabbing the sweat off her chubby face, Jenny peered over her breasts and pressed down her belly to get a better look at one of her increasingly few and far between victories from her bathroom. After a long fight her jeans button had burst off, leaving her waist to splay out the zipper. Her voluminous hips were keeping them up – keeping them taut and tight. Elsewhere her bra had snapped at the back. Only the pressure of the overfull cups against her painfully tight T-shirt was holding it in place. “Well…two out of four…ain’t bad.” she huffed with a shrug. Her shirt rolled up from her thick waist to expose the shadow of her panty line. She’d lost sight of it as soon as she’d finished pulling it up her thighs, when she let go with a snap and watched it disappear between her rolls of fat. What was she saying? It had taken her the better part of an hour just to get to this state, and not just because the clothes were too small. Months of unchecked weight gain had drained her stamina to almost nothing. Every bounce, every bend, every squeeze had pushed her further into exhaustion, so much so that midway through she’d stopped just to hit the pillows and rest, gulping air in greedily. Even now her cheeks were red, her brow was sweaty and her breathing was still ridiculously heavy. She bit her lip as her eyes caught sight of the scale. Something was wrong and she couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to know. Her belly bunched up against her as she bent over and laid the scale on the bathroom floor. She took a deep breath and stepped on. Another ten pounds…she resolved. Maybe twelve… She realised she couldn’t see it. Her breasts and belly filled up the view of her feet. She shuffled and shifted her boobs apart, then sucked in her belly. Then she titled her head down, pressing her double chin on her chest. At last, she could see. The needle was teetering on two hundred and fifty-five pounds. Jenny whimpered and let go of her fat, reburying the hard truth between her chubby feet. It was still there, though. She had piled nearly seventy more pounds on to an already voluptuous frame. In one summer, she had doubled her size. There was no denying now that she’d gotten huge. “How did I let this happen…” she whispered. The thought of summer camp, once a hive of excitement, now filled her with fear. How could she perform looking like this? She thought of the cheer outfit she’d have to wear, a size goodness-knows-what, the sequins popping off as she hopped and twirled. How could she perform like this? She thought of the pyramid, of a dozen hands pressing into the squishy fat on her butt and sides as half a dozen girls struggled to raise her weighty body. She thought of collapsing onto the bleachers, feeling them creak as she gasped for breath, while the other girls gossiped, giggled and pointed at her overflowing bulk. Jenny shook her head and let her long red hair tumble back into her eyes. She didn’t want to see any more of herself. She felt nervous and scared. But more than that, she still felt hungry. “Fuck it” she mumbled. “Just…fuck it…” She was a fat girl now, and there was no going back – not in this summer. She kicked the scale away and waddled into the kitchen for another snack. She ignored her mom’s protests that it was nearly time for lunch, and soon she was back on her bed, stuffing her face with bacon and cheese. The day of reckoning came sooner than Jenny would have liked. She was spared a journey to California on the plane because her mother had offered to drive her there, all the way across the country. She pictured the tight squeeze through the aisle, the awkwardness of having maybe to ask for a seatbelt extender, the even greater awkwardness of having someone sit next to her and being unable to avoid spilling out onto their lap, and hastily agreed. With the money she saved, she’d finally managed to buy herself some bigger clothes. She packed them into the trunk of car, and herself in the front seat, with a little wiggling. The car was no more comfortable than the plane would have been. It was an old model Chrysler, and the seatbelt was cutting into her. Every so often she would feel her mom’s hand brush her side as she adjusted the stick-shift, and earn a stern tut. “It’s not my fault…” Jenny groaned. She couldn’t press any more of herself against the passenger door. The Arizona sun was hotting up the metal, and heating up her body in turn. Even with the air con on full blast, her heavy curves were warm and sweaty. Her auburn bangs were matted to her brow. The shower she’d had at the motel en route had felt like nirvana, even more so than the huge barbecue meal she’d amassed for herself at a local steakhouse at dinner time. But both felt like they were ages ago. She was damp, she was uncomfortable, and even though she’d done nothing but sit in the car all day, she was tired. Of course, she was hungry too. Her body wobbled as the car veered off the highway onto a dirt track. She was closing in on Costa Mesa. Her humiliation was just heartbeats away. She weighed as much as any two of them put together, and probably more. Her mother made her get back on the scale three days before the journey and told her, as she had no chance of seeing herself, that the reading was two hundred and eighty-eight pounds. “The diet starts right now.” she declared. Jenny was too numb with shock to protest. Her mother left her standing there, rooted to the spot with embarrassment. She smoothed a reluctant hand across a belly bigger than a basketball, and pinched at her doughy love handles. They filled up her palms and more. Eventually, the standing left her back aching and she sat down, and a little while later she quietly recovered some ice cream to spend her afternoon with. There was no way she could lose all ten stones plus of her added bulk in that time, so she saw no point in trying to start shedding even a little part of it. Even if she cut her weight gain back by half, her friends’ shock would be all the same. Jenny decided her diet could start once she’d passed the camp sign – till then she could splurge to stave off the thought of the moment. She’d since packed another seven pounds on to her overburdened body, though by now she’d gotten so big she could barely notice a difference. Saying goodbye to Toni had added at least five of those pounds. She had never bothered to inquire about the ice-cream, though she quickly sussed the funky milk had definitely swallowed up her metabolism. As a parting gift she’d been left with the month’s remaining stock – a whole crate’s worth of mouth-watering dairy goodness. To save it melting away, she’d had to stuff herself with it practically all in one go. When it inevitably sunk into liquid, Jenny took a glass and drank it up. Over two days she had gotten through half – the rest she managed to cram into the freezer for later. She pushed one last double bar of sticky, melted chocolate halfway into her mouth as she saw the shadow of a sign loom in the distance. She pushed it the full way in, chewed and swallowed. The glint on the sun flashed behind the wooden board as the car trundled underneath. Jenny stared at the multi-coloured lettering. It read ‘Wellspring La Jolla’. “Huh?” She gulped down the rest of her snack. “Mom, this isn’t Costa Mesa.” “I know honey. This is a different sort of camp.” “Where are we?” “Don’t worry,” her mom said, blankly. “You’ll feel right at home with your new friends, I’m sure.” They drove through a tunnel cut into the mountainside, and Jenny whipped out her phone. In the darkness realised the truth. Anger and denial coursed through her first. “Fat camp?!” “It’s for your own good, sweetie,” he mother said immediately. “You’re to stay here for one month, I’ll be in touch. And if you think about leaving, remember they’ve already debited your bank account, so you might as well stay. I gave them your details yesterday.” “Mom!” “Jennifer…please…” “I can’t believe this. How could you do this to me?” Her rage was tempered by sheer humiliation. Not even four months ago she was a cheerleader, sleek, fit and beautiful, on the road to grace and glory. And then summer happened – muffins, takeout, chocolate, Toni and whatever the hell she was putting into that deliciously addictive ice cream… And then split seams, and burst buttons, and stretchy tops, and huffing and puffing and growing…and growing... And now, fat camp. “Jennifer, how you could do this to yourself? Haven’t you looked in the mirror lately?” Jenny hadn’t looked in a mirror since the first day of summer, all those months ago. As the car neared the tunnel’s end she miserably pulled down the visor to shield her eyes from the light. Then she slowly flicked open the little mirror on the inside. She tried to look defiant, but the girl who looked back at her simply looked overindulgent. But it was her, and she knew she had to accept it. She looked at the mirror, then her body, fattened up beyond her imagination. Then she looked at the chocolate wrappers screwed up in her hand. Finally, she looked at her mother. And as the car cruised out into the sunlight she smiled as she set her new goal.
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