by Wilson Barbers
Lew Baird's life changed the day he got his first fan letter.
It'd been mailed to one of his publishers, then passed unopened to Lew along with his latest check. Soon as he saw the envelope, he knew which set of stories had sparked the correspondence. The letter was addressed to one of his pen names, B. Lewis Barrons, the nom he used when he wrote for the fat girl magazines.
Ever since he was an undergrad, Lew'd been supplementing his income writing stroke tales for men's magazines. The money kept him in beer, and it occasionally knocked down a bill that his workaday salary couldn't topple. At any given time, Lew had at least a half dozen stories in the free lance zone, written to each mag's specifications. Though he considered himself a pretty mainstream tits-and-ass kinda guy, he prided himself on his ability to write hot for any number of hetero preferences. B. Lewis was just one of many pseudonyms of his, and in many ways it was the one least like him.
Ol' B. Lewis was a fat fancier - the fatter the better. His specialty was erotic fantasy revolving around women who magically grew fat. It was a fantasy that a good many real-life fat fanciers shared (though he was damned if he understood why), and Lew was inventive enough to come up with regular variations on this theme. He'd written half a dozen of these tales and sold every one.
Putting his check away, he slit open "B. Lewis'" envelope. The letter was brief and to the point:
"Dear B. Lewis:
"I've never written a fan letter before but after reading all of your stories I feel like I REALLY KNOW you. I get off on weight gain in a real big way and in fact I've been looking through all the magic and witchcraft books I can find to see if I can find a spell like you described in 'Something Ventured, Something Gained.' So far I have not been lucky. But I keep looking. Perhaps YOU could give me some direction?
"Sincerely,
"Tomas Godeven."
Now this, Lew thought, is weird. He'd always thought that these chubby chasers were bizarre, but this confirmed it in a big way. Imagine, thinking that the magic in one of his stories was based on real life! Unbelievable!
Pulling out a postcard and chuckling the whole time, he wrote a quick reply to Godeven's letter:
"Mr. Godeven:
"Re: your request for a lead on a weight gain spell. Unfortunately, all of my stories - and the magic inside them - are invented. If you ever find an effective means of conjuring weight gain, though, let me know.
"Best of luck,
"B. Lewis Barrons.
"P.S. Why not let the editors know you like my stories?"
He dropped the postcard in a mailbox on his way to the bank, and by the time he'd cashed his check, he'd put it out of his mind. He wouldn't think of Mr. Godeven until he got his second communication from the guy, months later.
It was a beautiful day, the kind of sunny Indian Summer noon that inspired sidewalk hot dog lunches. Lew'd left the office to find a card for his girlfriend, Rachel, little knowing how events would change his relationship with her and rest of the world of women. All he knew was he wanted to do something that would make Rachel smile.
They were at that state in the relationship where Lew was expected to remember goofy anniversaries. So he'd hit the drug store, looking for something that would approximate a "Six-Month-Anniversary-of-Our-First-Fuck" card. Standing among the American Greetings, Lew looked across the store and saw the kind of woman who never failed to get his attention. Tall, slim and stacked in a tight but professional business skirt and a blouse that strained against her fulsome breasts, she clipped down the aisle, her well-rounded hips swaying ever-so-slightly.
She's gorgeous, he thought, pulling off his glasses to quickly clean them and get a better look. But when he put them back on, he almost wished he hadn't. The woman was still there, but as she'd gotten closer, she'd changed.
She was plump now - at least fifty pounds heavier than the woman he'd first ogled. Her breasts looked to be about 44DD; her formerly flat stomach swelled in competition with her mams. As for her hips, they'd also widened to a size that most women would have been afraid to pack in a tight skirt. She stopped in front of the candy display and was eyeing it appreciatively, double chin deepening as she considered her options. By the time she made her selections, she looked about thirty pounds chubbier. Soon as she hit the cashiers, she was tearing open her first candy bar and polishing it off.
I must really be horny, Lew thought, imagining that a plumper like that could look even the least bit hot. He shook his head and went back to the card display, chuckling about the way his eyes had played tricks on him. Maybe he needed some new glasses.
He found a card and returned to work, stopping to chat with Sharon, the first floor receptionist, a thirtyish blond with a figure that his girlfriend would kill for. Sharon was a health club junkie, and the only place her regular attendance at aerobics class hadn't firmed her up, thankfully, was her chest. Owning a pair of 44F tits that made more than one male visitor momentarily forget the reason for his appointment, Sharon had also served as a visual inspiration for more than one of his stories. Just the thought of those pendulous beauties was enough to spark Lew's creativity.
"How's it goin', Lew?" she smiled, as he hit the reception desk, her usual Ultra SlimFast lunch by the phone. "Still seein' Rachel?"
Lew nodded. "It's our six month anniversary," he said, stopping, casually taking in her mams then looking her in the eyes. "I went looking for something to commemorate it."
"That's sweet," Sharon said, sipping her shake, but as she did, Lew did a double take. Instead of her usual SlimFast cup, Sharon seemed to be drinking something from Dairy Queen.
The scent of hamburger drew his eyes back to the counter. There, he saw a triple cheeseburger, a half-eaten container of fries and the crumpled wrapper of a second burger! He'd never known Sharon to do anything but diet shakes for lunch: this was unfathomable. Lew turned back to the receptionist and saw an entirely different Sharon behind the desk.
This version still had the breasts to die for, but they were eclipsed by her paunch and thighs, which each exceeded fifty inches seated. Her face had filled in considerably, chins obscuring her neck, cheeks bulging out to line with her nose. The new Sharon was over twice her old weight, close to 300 pounds, and any trace of firmness had been buried about a hundred pounds ago; her breasts and belly jiggled 'neath her lightweight dress as she devoured her highly caloric lunch. She took a long sip on her large chocolate shake, smiled and then hefted up her super burger.
"My boyfriend never remembers anything like that," she said with her mouth full of burger. "Mebbe I should make up an anniversary, get him to take me out to dinner. He'd never know the difference." She paused, picked up a bunch of fries, and chuckled. "Any excuse to go out to eat's fine with me," she said, patting her blubbery belly. Lew had to go into his office and sit down after that.
Something's fucked, he thought. Ever since he'd first met her, Sharon had been fighting flab with a zeal that approached fat phobia. Now there she was, happily chowing down on a meal that she would have disdained only minutes earlier. It was nuts - more than nuts, it was like something out of a B. Lewis Barrons story!
He snuck out of work and headed for home. Two blocks away from his apartment, Lew hit some roadwork that slowed traffic to a crawl. As he waited to merge into the single working lane, he saw a shapely redhead in a sleeveless tee-shirt, behind the wheel of a convertible Metro. Nice, he thought. Once he merged behind her, however, she started to widen in the passenger seat.
As they hit two lanes again, he sped up alongside her: the redhead was super-sized now and barely able to fit in the tiny compact. A massive well-tanned arm draped along the edge of her open car window. She turned into a grocery store parking lot, probably to pick up munchables that she didn't even know she wanted ten minutes ago.
Something was happening to the women around him: an epidemic of sudden, ravenous obesity. One glimpse at the supermarket parking lot was enough to convince him it was taking place everywhere, as once slight silhouettes ballooned on the way to their cars. He tried to keep his eyes to himself, but he kept spying good looking females. On his way through the lobby of his apartment building, he passed a fortyish divorcee from down the hall. She was carrying a shopping bag, and when he turned in the elevator to press the button, he saw that not only had she grown from sylph-like to matronly, the logo on her shopping bag had changed from Bergner's to Lane Bryant.
Pressing the elevator buttons frantically, Lew breathed a sigh of relief as the door started to slide shut. But before they could fully close, a slender hand intercepted them and pushed the elevator back open. The hand belonged to one of three coeds who shared an apartment above him. Looked like the trio had been playing tennis on the complex's court; their white tennis outfits clung sweatily to their athletic frames.
Make that: formerly athletic frames. For as the door shut behind them, all three of the young girls started to swell in front of him. Their chins found friends; their stomachs became bellies and then settled into paunches; their breasts developed deeper and deeper cleavage. Further down, their thighs started bulging at the back of their knees; their calves grew rounder and rounder.
As the space in the elevator grew more cramped, the trio of fat girls chattered, oblivious to what was happening to them. It grew increasingly more difficult to keep from bumping into them. An ultra-padded 50-inch hip, a 60-plus belly, an upper arm that was wider than its owner's waistline had once been - they rubbed against him, flashed in front of his eyes. By the time he reached the floor, the trio had added more than six hundred pounds to their bodies, and Lew had an erection that would not quit. He passed through these super-sized beauties, their tennis outfits still plastered to their globular frames, and he was stunned at his response. What the hell was happening here?
Once inside the safety of his apartment, his dick calmed down. Lew flicked on the Panasonic to see if there was any news about this sudden strange outbreak and caught Ricki Lake instead. "Used to be fat yourself, didn't you?" he growled at the TV set. "You better hope that whatever's out there isn't catching, girl!" He hit the remote in search of Headline News, but the epidemic apparently hadn't reached national proportions yet. Shooting back down to local stations, he passed Ricki's show once more and stopped: the talk show hostess was her old fat self again, even bigger than Lew remembered seeing her.
"But this is on tape!" he shouted to no one in particular. "Shit like this doesn't happen!" He skipped to the next local channel, saw an Oprah grow to twice the size of her old fat weight, then a rerun of "I Dream of Jeanie" with a Barbara Eden looking like she'd spent ten years on the Moroccan Weight Gain Diet. Finally, he hit one of those two-minute local news blips. The newslady was pert and blond and grew huge immediately; she neither mentioned the change nor did anyone else in the studio.
Was he hallucinating? Going nuts? He didn't know, and he soon stopped caring: he couldn't look away - it was like he was hypnotized. Lew spent the rest of the afternoon channel surfing, watching women expand, and by the end of the work day, he was intensely horny. Actresses in cable flicks, talk show guests, housewives in commercials - they all grew massive in front of his eyes.
With each transformation, he found something new to focus on. At one point he thought it was the remains of their former slender beauty that had him captivated, but soon he saw he was spending more time on them fat than he would have if they were still thin. He watched an actress who'd inspired one of his first adolescent jerk-off fantasies inflate to circus fat lady size, and she never looked better. In fact, the longer he gazed upon these miraculous metamorphoses, the bigger he enjoyed watching these women get.
Lew was so involved in channel hopping that he didn't hear the door unlock behind him. "What's this?" he suddenly heard. "Why aren't you getting ready for our date?"
"Rachel?" he stammered, feeling like a kid who'd just been caught masturbating. Puling himself away from the tube, he turned towards his girlfriend.
"Got your mail," she said, tossing him a pack of letters and a large brown envelope. Rachel had the building's master keys: her family owned the apartment complex. "Looks like you got some fan mail. This 'un's addressed to one of your pseudonyms."
Because Lew's first instinct was to check his girlfriend out, it took several beats for him to put things together. First order of business was to glom Rachel: dark-eyed Rachel with the soft hourglass figure, dressed in cut-offs and a half tee-shirt, sandals on her feet, long black hair done up with a comb. She looked the same as ever, and Lew didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed. He only knew that no one could make him as hot as Rachel could: she had the classic fifties girlie mag shape and a mind almost as provocative.
What would she be like bigger? he wondered.
Christ, he was sounding just like one of B. Lewis' characters. It was then he thought to look at the mail: on the top of the heap was the legal sized envelope written to his other authorial identity. Name on the return address? Tomas Godeven.
"Holy shit!" he said, but before he could dig into this second correspondence from the man who was searchin' for a weight gain spell, Rachel started to expand in front of him.
It went a lot slower than every other transformation he'd seen. Like time-lapse photography on an opening flower, she started to widen in her clothes. Her breasts and hips were the first to benefit from her expansion: Rachel's mams had been in the 40D range, but now they were climbing up the alphabet, rounding out and growing pendulous until they hit the lower fifties. Her thighs and ass struggled to keep up, but they missed by at least four inches. No matter what size she was, Rachel would always have a pair of stupendous tits.
But her belly seemed to making up for lost time. It swelled with twice the speed of the rest of Rachel, pushing her dangling breasts back up as it surged forward, widening the gap between cut-offs and half-tee. Her torso broadened, developing folds on both sides; her mammary fat spread back to add a third bulge under her swelling upper arms. Beneath the growing hang of her belly, Rachel's legs were growing to accommodate the rest of her. Her upper inner thighs started to segment; her calves grew even curvier.
By the time her paunch passed the rest of her, Rachel was a 300-pounder and showed no sign of slowing down. Tearing his eyes away from the sight of her, Lew tore open Godeven's letter. Quickly skimming, he got to the gist:
". . .so you see once I found the spell I thought I'd pass it to you. (Thanx for the postcard. It had enough of your VIBRATIONS to allow me to focus on you.) The spell gives you the power to make the women around you more attractive. Every time you see a gal with potential it kicks in and voila! In SECONDS they're made more attractive without they - or anyone else around them - knowing that they've changed! If at some time you decide you no longer WANT this power (ha! ha!) I've enclosed the incantation that will remove the spell of power. . ."
Picking up the incantation, Lew read it over twice to himself, then he turned his attention back to his girlfriend. She was seated on the couch, taking most of it up now, two times bigger than she'd been before he'd turned to Godeven's letter. Her mams were over seventy inches, impossible for any one person to successfully lift without them spilling over, while her belly was somewhere in the mid-nineties. It hung between her legs past her knees, draping over her cunt and her cut-offs, forcing her legs apart. Her calves had added their own segments to go along with what he could see of her thighs. At her sides, Rachel's arms rested atop her globular torso; her upper arms bulged impressively, looking as if they were struggling to escape to her lower arms. Her face had rounded to match the rest of her. Neckless, with a lower chin that dangled further than the distance between her first chin and mouth, and cheeks that forced her eyes into slits, it was the face of a woman who'd spent a lifetime unapologetically gormandizing.
God, she looked great!
He considered holding off on the incantation, seeing how far Godeven's spell took Rachel, but something told him he'd better not. Shakily reciting the words on the page, he felt a sudden surge through his body. Then he looked over at the television set. There was this skinny model shilling an expensive exercise apparatus. When she didn't grow any bigger, he almost wished he hadn't given up Godeven's gift.
But then there was still Rachel to consider. Shooting him a puzzled expression, the super-sized beauty took a chug from the 32 ounce bottle of All Sport that had somehow appeared by her side. "You okay?" she asked. "What was that gobbledegook?"
"Some poem that this fan sent me," Lew said, folding up both incantation and letter and tossing them in the general direction of his writing desk. "Didn't make any sense reading it, so I thought maybe speaking it out loud would help. It didn't." He leaned over Rachel's front and gave her fat pouty lips a kiss. "You seem pretty casually dressed for a woman planning on a date," he said.
"Been waiting for your call," she answered. "Saw your car in the lot and kept expecting to hear from you. Hope I wasn't being pushy."
"Of course not," Lew told her. "We had a date." He reached for his briefcase to pull out his card and found a five pound box of Fannie Mays. The way her eyes lit when he passed it to her, Lew knew that the box wasn't long for this world.
"We don't need to go anywhere," Rachel decided. She stood and carried her box into the bedroom. Lew watched her swaying hips, the way her arms swung with her waddling movement. Her shorts were visible from the back, and though they'd kept up with her growth, they didn't quite accommodate the change in body form. They rode up high, revealing the bottom of each dimpled, shifting cheek.
He followed her into the bedroom and quickly doffed his work clothes. By the time he'd gotten everything off, Rachel was already lying in bed undressed and deep into her chocolates. She'd placed two pillows and a cushion under her voluminous rear, arched her legs and looked dreamily up at her lover. "Box chocolate always makes me hot," she said, "but then, you knew that, didn't you?"
Not really, Lew thought, but he had a suspicion that he'd be learning a lot that was new about Rachel. He studied her naked body: the lightly textured stretchmarks on both sides of her belly, the crease emanating from her navel towards the bottom of her belly hang, the deeply veined breasts spreading towards her arms, the bulge 'neath her apron that hung over her twat like an incipient second paunch. With her rear raised by the pillows, her upper torso pushed her tits into fuller prominence; they both jutted within reach of her mouth.
He couldn't believe how turned on he was. Rachel looked sexier than ever. In the course of one day, he'd changed into the kind of fat fancier that B. Lewis had always pretended to be.
His stiffened dick bumping into mattress edge, Lew started to massage Rachel's inner thighs. Wherever he touched her, she started quivering. As he got closer to her crotch, she lifted her belly apron out of the way. Her fingers smelled of chocolate; Lew licked them as he started to explore her pubic area with his own fingers. She was already moist. Box chocolate really did get her hot.
Plunging two fingers of his right hand past her pubic covering, Lew began to explore her. He traced her mountainous paunch with his free hand. It felt soft and voluptuous, this mound of trembling womanhood. Just the thought that he could make and keep this stunning massive mama aroused sent a major buzz through him.
"Deeper!" Rachel suddenly insisted, "you're almost near it!" Lifting a hand to grab a fistful of chocolates, she moaned happily as Lew touched then pinched her clit. "That's it!" Widening her legs further, she shook with orgasmic glee, as Lew worked at multiplying her pleasure.
Finally, he took his hand back and prepared to enter her. Rachel took a deep breath and grabbed another helping of chocolate, tiny brown paper fluttering all around her. She was tight but welcoming, and as he kneeled on the mattress, Lew reached for both mams. Even with his hands over her nipples, her aureolae spread beyond his palms. Thrusting happily, he watched her jiggle beneath him, felt her belly slap against his. Her nipples stiffened beneath his palms. Lew felt himself grow even larger - as if he was swelling to accommodate Rachel's extra layers of avoirdupois - and then shoot into her. They both happily shouted their acknowledgment of this fact.
"A lovely anniversary celebration," Rachel said, once they'd both calmed and separated. "Think we could do this again later?"
"Certainly," Lew promised. "But we should probably stoke up on some dinner first. Care for a pizza?"
"You know the way to a girl's heart," Rachel said, patting her tremendous belly. "Better make it pizzas, though. I could do with a refueling." She lifted her candy box, dumped the remaining pieces on the space between her breasts and popped one into her mouth. Though he knew that most fat folk didn't really eat like this, all the women he'd seen today did. It came with the spell, apparently. He never realized how truly erotic a woman's unfettered gluttony could be. Rising to make their dinner order, he wondered what the coming years and Rachel's appetite would bring.
More inspiration for B. Lewis Barrons, he thought with a smile.
And he was right. The rest of the decade was Lew's most prolific period of writing, and it was almost all exclusively done under the B. Lewis banner. His life with Rachel and newfound appreciation of size added a conviction to his stories that made them even stronger, sexier. If Rachel had been remade by Godeven's spell, so had he.
As for his super-sized love, she never lost her appetite or her lusty appreciation of chocolate. She grew even bigger, of course, just like a heroine in one of his stories; eventually, her folks remodeled the first floor of the building to build a space fitted for both her and Lew. Despite her tremendous size, Rachel got around without much difficulty. She moved with ponderous grace through apartment, eight-hundred-and-seventy-three pounds of gorgeous fat woman in tailored cut-offs and blouse. Lew never tired of watching her.
Occasionally, Lew caught sight of one of the other beneficiaries of Godeven's magic at a restaurant. They were always with a companion, always appeared relaxed and happy, unbothered by their obesity as they indulgently dug into their multi-course dinners. If only, he'd think, those fat women and men untouched by the spell could also be as care free.
He hinted at this one night to Rachel, as they prepared to go out. "You're so unself-conscious about your size," he said, as he watched her squeeze into a form-fitting dress. "Sometimes I wish I could snap my fingers and make the rest of the world as comfortable with themselves as you."
"You and your writer's fantasies," she chuckled, body punctuating every chortle. She stood to adjust the seam of her dress. "You want to suddenly, magically make everyone happy and satisfied with themselves," she said, shaking her head. "Real life doesn't work that way."
How could he argue with that?
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