Weight Room Title Bar

Deep Undercover
By Lucas Casey and Christopher Ruiz


Puckers of flesh created a seemingly engraved bra outline on the baby blue shirt adorning Miss Christie Monterio. Her mountainous bust seemed to test the seams of her attire as much as your own ability to believe these truly enormous mammaries could possibly exist in a world of Newtonian Physics.

Christie Monterio's physique was one of the nature such that, one might think if they weren't careful enough, they might become just another part of it. This was beyond Christie's voluminous figure and considerable girth. Her mere presence was enough that you gave her your undivided attention. She was very well spoken, and deeply opinionated. She possessed a certain spirit that made you think her body's immense mass was only acting as a small shadow of that which was within. In so many words, being the subject of Christie's attention scared the crap out of you.

She adjusted herself in her seat, her butt and hips jutting prominently out of wherever the old oak offered no resistance; you might think if she stood right now the chair would come with her. Across from her a proper and frail looking woman with stern demeanor and formal dress sat, struggling to look more authoritative than Christie, this was the Headmistress of Francine Andrews', Miss Paxton. She lowered a brilliant crimson lipstick from her plush lips; she puckered, and then from those lips came the soft and commanding voice of a born leader.

“Miss Paxton,” the unsinkable miss Monterio started deliberately. “In front of you are the statistics of the school's student body. If you'll turn to page 16 of the file you'll see the basis for the subject at hand.”

Christie smiled knowingly, all the power in the world was at her hands it would seem. A dimpled elbow bent, and her stubby but nevertheless elegant hands brushed through her hair. She was oozing confidence. Headmistress Paxton licked her upper lip and frowned as she complied with the suggestion of unequivocal Christie.

“You'll see the composition of the female body has, over the course of the past few semesters, come to share a similar characteristic in the majority of we female students,” Christie started, pre-empting Headmistress Paxton's chance at an active dialogue.

“I think it should be obvious to you, that well over 40% of the female population weigh at least 200 lbs. Now, typically for special status for minority within the school requires a 20 to 25% composition of the student body. You'll therefore find, the larger female students within this student body now qualify for special consideration. I'm present the formal bid for a special minority class of 'BBW,' or Big Beautiful Women, to be headed by myself. I'm sure you'll find I'm more than qualified for the position, in every way.” Christie smiled commandingly.

Headmistress Paxton adjusted herself uncomfortably across the long oak desk. She closed the folder slowly and shifted her glasses higher upon her this nose. “Well… Miss Monterio, you know as well as any Francine Andrews cannot endorse any organizations or classes within its body that promote unhealthy lifestyle choices. I appreciate the effort, Miss Monterio, but this time it seems your efforts would best be focused elsewhere, yes?” Headmistress Paxton smiled. After a brief second her smile faded as she saw Christie was undaunted. This wasn't as over as she'd hoped.

“I was rather hoping that that wouldn't become an issue, Miss Paxton. It's been shown on numerous occasions that being overweight does not necessarily entail being unhealthy. I would have hoped for a more enlightened point of view from you Miss Paxton, especially given your approval of a Gay and Lesbian Community within the student body, a lifestyle that could be argued to be as unhealthy as you find being overweight to be. But both of those views are rather uneducated, don't you agree?”

Headmistress Paxton sat in quite, her eyes set upon Christie, who sat poised, her hands resting beside her multi-folded belly on her lap. Christie smiled as she stood up, the chair deciding to stay were it was for now.

“You have my bid, Miss Paxton. I'll hope for a more enlightened response in a week,” Christie said moving her massive frame deliberately, provocatively, out of Headmistress Paxton's office. She turned at the door and smiled. “Have a nice day!”

Miss Paxton let out a strained sigh and began to look through the bid again.

Two weeks later…

“Awfuckawfuckawfuckawfuckawfuck! AW FUCK!”

Matt Larson's grades were clenched tightly in the sweaty grip of Matt Larson. Go figure. It wasn't the best of news, for the second semester in a row Matt found himself failing. Failing very, very badly.

“No…” he groaned to himself lying back on his mattress. In the next few days his dad would undoubtedly call him, and undoubtedly ask about his grades, and undoubtedly Matt would be pretty screwed all considering.

It wasn't like Matt was dumb, that was never the problem. Matt was just lazy, lazy and easily distracted. Now, at another College it might have been a moot point, but at Francine Andrews, Matt had a bit of problem. He had always found himself attracted to the, shall we say… “ruebenesque” - well that's not entirely true, Matt had the hots for fat girls, in a major way. With more and more plumpers, chubbies, porkers, thick-girls, chunky-chicks, and big sexy mommas wandering about FA seemingly everyday, Matt had a snowball's chance in hell of keeping focused. As a result, his grades suffered, though he himself enjoyed it quite a bit… until his grades came in.

Matt stretched a lanky arm under his mattress. This sort of stress called for a relief of tension. Underneath his mattress rested a treasure-trove of mid-eighties' imprints of any BBW mag you could think of: Juggs, Big Butts, Plumpers and Big Women, everything. This particular instance of stress however, called for Matt's personal favorite, Perennial, April 1988. This one held a special place in Matt's heart, as it was the one and only appearance of his favorite model in print; even his extensive searches on the internet and back issue bins bared no fruit. Her name was Angelina Thompson, and she was a vision.

The five page spread had been memorized by heart by Matt, a white fur rug sat in the middle of a brilliantly gleaming white marble floor, an onyx fireplace glowing softly in the background. Two white pillars of granite served as a bookend to each picture, and in the midst of this luxurious palace sat the most beautiful girl Matt had ever laid eyes on. Her porcelain skin was without a blemish, only a slight hint of blue veins beneath the taut skin of her rounded breasts. Her body wasn't the largest in the mags; in fact, it was a tad on the lighter side for Matt's usual tastes, Angelina having the printed stats of only two hundred and forty three pounds. But her form, her body, curved in upon itself so gently, giving a sense there was no edge to her body, only a series of curves and contours, rolls and spheres meeting each other in a perfect harmony of soft perfect skin.

In his favorite picture, which he was currently focusing intently on as his hand reached slowly down, had Angelina posed on her hands and knees, with only garters and fishnets wrapped about her thick thighs. Her stomach rounded down in a soft curve, ending at her belly button and beginning a new quicker curve before her thigh blocked the view. Her fulsome breasts rested in line with her belly, Angelina's arms, pressed them against each other soft and pale, their pink tips only just visible beside her upper arms. Her long golden tresses pulled back away from her face. Her face was soft and friendly, inviting and happy, too good looking for a girl next-door, but not so intimidating one would never think they'd have a chance, and her blue-eyed gaze was inviting above her pouting lips.

Matt was fist-deep into his fantasy when his phone rang.

“Dammit…” he cursed his phone. He picked up the receiver tossing sliding his magazine away for the moment, his meeting with Angelina temporarily postponed.

“This better be good,” he said into the phone.

“What sort of way to answer the phone is that, Matt? Christ, you should be thankful your mother wasn't the one calling you!” Matt's father scolded from a thousand miles away.

“Oh, dad, geez… Uh, sorry, I've uhh… just had some prank callers lately, didn't mean to be rude.” Matt stumbled over himself, pulling his pants back up and setting the magazine back under the bed, no rest for the weary yet.

“Uh-huh. Anyway, Matt, I was curious to see if the school has sent out grades yet. You recall our discussion last semester right?”

Matt cleared his throat. “Um, of course, dad. The school hasn't sent the grades out just yet; I heard there was a problem at admissions, some computer thing. But I think you'll be pleasantly surprised when they do get around to it.”

“You'd better hope so, if not you'll be spending the summer with your uncle Vincent, he needs some hands down at the dock. I'm serious, Matt, you took this last semester seriously didn't you?”

“Very,” Matt gulped.

“Good. Your mother sends her love, I'll be calling back in a week or so.”

Matt was about to say goodbye, reciprocate his mother's affections, something, but suddenly heard a dead line.

“Bye, dad…” Matt said, hanging his phone up.

He brushed his hand through his unkempt hair.


As Matt stood up thinking about what he could possibly do to save himself, there was suddenly a knock at the door. Matt walked over to the door, looking behind himself to make sure his mags weren't visible, and then opened the door. He was quickly greeted with the grinning face of his friend Greg.

“Hey, Matt,” Greg said as he pushed past Matt and hopped on his mattress. “Great, great news!” he said leaning over the side of the bed, holding the glasses to his face, his greasy looking black hair hanging over his forehead.

“Hey man, come on, mind my stash!” Matt said glumly shoving Greg further up his bed before sitting on the beanbag beside it.

Greg flipped haphazardly through the pages of a Juggs as Matt stared at him. Greg looked up at Matt. “What man?”

“You said you had 'great news,' you idiot! This better not be you just wanting to brag about Dean's List or some crap.”

“No way,” Greg said sitting up and tossing the Juggs at Matt. Matt carefully plucked it from the air and closed it carefully before returning it to its proper place. “This… this is great news for you, buddy!”

“Oh yeah?” Matt asked suddenly interested.

“Yeah, big time!” Greg said stretching out on the bed.

“Well, what is it?”

Greg just sat silently staring at the roof for a minute, and then turned to Matt. “I saw your grades, man; your dad is going to be pissed, major.”

“How is this great news, Greg? Come on already!”

Greg sat up and turned to Matt, he was smiling to himself so widely it looked like someone carved his face like a jack o' lantern. “Alright, man, this is big. I've got an amazing opportunity for you, offered by the one and only Headmistress Paxton! It's your chance to ace every course for this past semester, and get credits for next year too.” Greg laughed and tossed a pillow at Matt.

Matt caught the pillow. “No shit, man! Why'd Paxton want to help me out? I don't think she even knows who I am…”

“That's the point, dude! Besides me, who knows who you are on campus?”


“No seriously! This is a crazy assignment though. I've already been working at it over at the Science Building for a while now. It's a very good thing that you're an unknown in this case.”

Matt suddenly got suspicious. “Wait, what exactly are we talking about here? Paxton doesn't want a lay or anything right? That's just… sick.”

“Not at all, though I'm sure you'd give Paxton the once over to save your ass. This is more… political.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Political?”

Greg briefly explained how two weeks ago Christie Monterio placed a bid for an officially recognized community to the tune of BBWs on campus. Reluctantly, last week Miss Paxton approved of the community, much to her behest.

“Monterio, Christ, she's damn fine,” Matt sighed.

“Well, if you take this assignment you'll definitely get to see a lot more of her.”

Matt was even more interested now.

“What are you talking about, man?” Matt asked.

“Maybe we should start heading over to the Science building. I'll explain the rest there.” Greg said as he sat up and ran his hands down his leg in an attempt to un-wrinkle his jeans, it was rather pointless. Matt shrugged and followed out him out of the dorm.

Several minutes later Greg was walking down the polished tile halls of the Science building, looking about nervously. Matt noticed this earlier and also took up looking around; making sure no one followed them. Greg stopped by a seemingly random door, as all the Science Building looked like one identical maze of rooms and doors. As Greg pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, Matt took another quick glance around.

“What's with the secrecy?” Matt whispered.

“You don't have to whisper, I was just screwing with you, and the building was closed an hour ago,” Greg said laughing as he opened the door. Matt punched Greg in the arm.

Greg flipped on a light switch and the giant room was lit in a dull florescence. Greg walked habitually over to a desk and tossed his keys on it. He sat in a chair beside it and spun around.

“Hey, could you make sure the door's locked?” he asked Matt as he fired up a somewhat outdated looking computer. Matt turned and closed the door, making sure he heard a click as he did so.

“So… what's this big secret assignment Paxton's got for me already? And for that matter, what does the Science Building have to do with any of it?” Matt said, leaning over Greg to get a view of the computer screen.

“Man, you sound like some poorly written exposition device, you know?” Greg said, shoo-ing Matt from the screen.

“Alright, but this'll knock your socks off, man,” Greg said, typing furiously at the computer. Suddenly a hissing came from the center of the room, and a metal tube slid up from out of the ground.

“How… Sci-Fi…” Matt mused.

Greg stood up and walked over to the tube, turning back around to face Matt. He took a deep breath and motioned for Matt to sit where he had been sitting.

“Alright, man, you remember how I explained Monterio forced Paxton into giving the fat girls on campus 'recognized community' status?”

Matt nodded.

“Well, Paxton had to do it, true, but she has the power to rescind the appointment if she discovers the founder partaking in any conduct inappropriate for a Student Body leader,” Greg said smiling.

Matt just stared blankly. “Meaning what?”

Greg sighed. “Meaning if Paxton can get proof of Christie misbehaving according to the conduct guides, she can cancel the BBW campus community. Which is what she's aiming for.”

“Ooohh… But, where do I come into all of this?” Matt asked suspiciously.

Greg walked around to the other side of the tube. “Well, in order to spy on Christie, Miss Paxton needs someone to be in the BBW Community House with Christie. The problem is, the rest of the BBW Community is in favor of the special status, so she's been unable to find a sleeper-agent to spy on Christie.”

“So she wants me to?” Matt said confused. “How would I be any help?”

With that Greg smiled and pushed open the door of the tube. A soft mist filled the air and blurred Matt's vision. A soft hissing could be heard from the door opening.

“Well, when Paxton couldn't find any willing legitimate BBW's to help, she asked me to make one. Problem being, it'd be hard to explain any missing students with even a moderately high social status…”

Matt was beginning to understand. “So that's why she wanted me right, because hardly anyone besides you recognizes me? Because my grades would be a bargaining chip for me?”

The mist settled and a vague form appeared in the tube, the lights mounted behind it hiding any specific detail.

“Yep, that's why you were chosen. Miss Paxton wants you go undercover in the BBW Community House, get some info on Christie and give it to me to give to her. It'll take a while, but you're grades will be covered, so school should hardly be a problem, just act like another one of the girls.”

“But how am I supposed to do that?”

“With this.” Greg said pointing to the figure in the tube. A fine mist kept it moisturized and lights shifted around for Matt to get a clear look. Inside the tube appeared to be Angelina Thompson, down to every detail. Greg walked over to Matt, who now was visibly an odd mix of turned on and scared witless.

“Matt, I give you, the world's most advanced Fat-Suit, and also your new skin.”