by Wilson Barbers
"You into morphing?" the screen asked. Hal Remming felt a flush of excitement. He'd been surfing the Net every weeknight - his first solo forays into cyberspace - looking for sites that might be appealing to his FA sensitivities, and he'd stumbled across this question on a home page labeled "fst.mjck.com." He'd read references to this morph thing in several fat admirer newsgroups, and it seemed pretty cool. Computer animations that showed photos of attractive women adding weight to their bodies: sounded like something out of his deepest fantasies.
Out in the living room, Lisa was sitting in front of her sewing machine, Must See TV sending canned laughter throughout the house. She was working on new blouses, all slightly larger than her previous creations. "Just don't fit my old clothes," she'd explained, fingering the gap between two buttons that was created by her midriff. "Need to make some new tops." Five years of marriage had put forty pounds on her plump frame, and Hal enjoyed the sight and feel of every extra pound. Was he into morphing? Damn straight, he was!
If Lisa was bothered by her gain, she hadn't told Hal. One of the things that had initially attracted him to her was her seemingly nonchalant attitude towards her weight. He'd dated other girls her size - lower Lane Bryant range - and whenever he complimented them on their looks, inevitably, they'd answer: "Oh, I'm too fat!" Lisa'd merely blushed and taken the compliment without demurring.
She had a great appetite, Hal discovered, and while she favored healthy menus, she also favored healthy portions. It was not unusual to see her go through seconds on both main course and dessert; Lisa loved to cook and sample her work as she did it. One look at her family, and it was clear that she'd learned her love of things gustatory from her mother; Lena Smythe was as fat and matronly as a Victorian cook. You never heard the word "diet" at his in-laws' house, and from the way Lena put on a spread, you knew you never would. To the Smythes, cooking was a means of expression to be cherished: an old world attitude that Hal loved.
And Lisa was an old-fashioned girl: into her own sewing and cooking, a diligent housekeeper. When they married, she'd willingly quit her job as a day care worker to spend her days as a housewife. She transformed their home into a comfortable showplace over the years and never seemed to regret leaving the working world. His job at the insurance company paid well enough to keep them both living comfortably.
What did she do all day? Hal wasn't entirely certain, though every month or so, a girlfriend would call to invite her out for the evening. Whenever he tried to press her about these Girls' Nights Out, Lisa would smile and say, "Girl Stuff."
"Girl Stuff" - only Lisa would use so anachronistic an expression. Hal looked her way and smiled. She was dressed in a loose shift that still couldn't mask her 210 pound frame. Lisa may have been Miz Domesticity, but she had the full-blown hourglass curves of a men's mag cartoon. Her breasts were magnificent, as were her swelling hips. She'd kept her hair long and impeccably coifed over the years; it cascaded around her full-lipped face like something from a women's mag shampoo ad. Leaning forward, concentrating as she fed fabric through her Singer, her enviable chest pressed against the sewing table.
He loved his wife as she was, had never pressured her to be anything different. But that didn't keep him from having the periodic fantasy, from daydreaming about his wife growing even more voluptuous. Was he into morphing? Silly question.
Hal double-clicked and waited for the "fst.mjck" program to come onscreen. Perhaps it was his excitement, but it seemed to take longer than usual to connect. First thing he saw was a star-flecked background and the emblazoned logo, "Fast Majicke." Scrolling down to a series of icons, he picked one labeled "Weight Morph," then clicked it on. A six-inch color photo of a beautiful blond in a spandex exercise outfit appeared on his monitor. She looked vaguely familiar.
Below this figure were three icons that read "Go!," "Pause," and "Enough! Looked easy enough. Hal aimed his cursor towards the first and as he clicked his mouse, the figure's name came to him. Jeanie Razton. Used to do an exercise show, hadn't been heard from in years. Someone obviously had unearthed an old photo.
As he watched the screen, Jeanie's image began to transform. Spandex clad hips started to spread; her flat aerobicized belly began to bulge, Her open arms plumped out, and her calves grew sturdier. Within seconds, the image morphed from a slender, too-thin figure to an average weight woman. Hal let the program continue. After all, who wanted to see Jeanie Razton looking just average?
Another minute, and she looked a hundred pounds heavier. The animation was a bit jerky, he noticed, but perhaps that was due to his equipment. Each gain happened in fits and starts, not smoothly like he expected. As a mid-sized woman, Jeanie looked pretty hot, however. The attention to detail (a dimple on both sides of her deepening chinline, the sag at the bottom of each inner thigh) was marvelous. She looked like a living fat woman.
He let the figure grow until she was over three-hundred pounds: a super-sized vision so striking he had to stop it take a longer look. Clicking the "Pause!" icon, Hal examined the figure thoughtfully. Looked even more lifelike than its original incarnation, he thought. As a fat morph, Jeanie was prominently bellied, though there wasn't a part of her that hadn't grown huge through animation. Fast Majicke's computer artist obviously knew his stuff.
Clicking "Go!" a second time, he watched the figure inflate further. One glitch in the program: at 450 or so, her hair started to darken, making Jeanie look less like a fattened exercise guru and more like a chef he'd seen on teevee. Carla something or other. Maybe that's how they kept their morphs so lifelike, basing them on a series of real-life people. Still, you'd think they'd have done something about the hair color.
Eventually, the morph quit on its own. Standing onscreen, close to four inches wide, was a version of Jeanie Razton for Guinness Book of World Records ("World's Fattest Celebrity," perhaps.) Her torso had widened so much that it forced both her arms up; her belly hung in dual bulges halfway down her lower legs. She had the round-face, placid look of someone who'd been obese for years and come to terms with it.
Below the figure, a new legend had appeared: "Wanna see more?" it asked. Of course, he did.
Morph two was a prominent fashion model; number three a well-known talk show hostess. As far as Hal knew, neither woman was still working - probably made their images less expensive. Each image grew to more than twice the size of the finished Jeanie Razton. They both looked magnificently gorgeous.
When the third program ended, Hal was ready for more. Unfortunately, that appeared to be the extent of the series. "Interested in seeing others?" the screen asked. When he indicated his willingness, a screen of text appeared. It read: "Fast Majicke morphing is not for everyone. But if you love the idea of seeing someone you know transformed, then we have the technology to do it! Simply send a clear photo of the figure you wish morphed to. . . " Both email and snail mail addresses followed.
Hal looked around the office. The only photo he could find was a vacation snapshot of the two of them taken by the ocean. Lisa in a one-piece bathing suit with blouson, bent over and feeding him a coney dog. A good full side view of his wife, he thought, just what they needed. He wrote down the address - looked like "Fast Majicke" was h.q.ed in the city - jotted his net address on the back of the photo, and got it ready to mail.
Next few days found him returning to the FM website regularly. He'd even come home at lunch to fire up the Acer. "You've really gotten into that computer," Lisa would say with a smile, handing him two sandwiches as he flicked on the computer tower.
It wasn't until the weekend, though, that he got an email indicating that his pic was ready.
He'd woken before his wife, grabbed a can of Cherry Coke and hit the study. "You have mail!" the prompt said. Waiting for him was a single message: "Check 'Personal Morph' option," it said, so Hal quickly headed for that site.
When he called it up, a brief message appeared: "Personal Morph requires some software that isn't currently in your computer. Do you wish to download?"
Hal had gone this far, so, of course, he clicked, "Yes!" The computer screen flashed a bright green, then a color bar appeared: the process would take 4:45 minutes, he was told. Hal took the opportunity to brush his teeth and put on a pair of shorts. On the way back to the study, he grabbed a quick peak at Jeanie. He loved the way she looked when she slept, her full face innocent and sexy, full-blown curves swelling underneath the sheets.
Back in the study, the download had finished and the color bar disappeared. Hal sat back down in front of the screen, double clicked and watched as two figures appeared on the monitor.
It was both of them. Two swimsuited figures in an utterly neutral setting, hot dog still in the bending Lisa's hand. Damn! Should have written on the back just to do his wife - but it was too late now. A waste of screen space, but, hopefully, it wouldn't be too distracting.
There were, he noted, no icons to stop or pause the program. Another glitch, he thought. Still, the images looked sharper than most online pics, sharper than the original photo, in fact. Probably had to do that to get a clean outline to play with.
Another flash of green across the screen, and the process began.
First place you noticed any change was their bellies. In profile and leaning over, Lisa's full paunch lost its slight concavity and started to swell. At its side, you could see her midriff bulge in competition with her hips.
He hadn't paid much attention to his own pose before, but it was unavoidable now. Seated on a non-existent blanket, legs crossed and an open Hawaiian shirt protecting his shoulders, he faced his wife like a Buddha before a supplicant. Soon, he suspected, that Buddha comparison would be apt in more ways than one. Already, he could detect a hint of gut on his computer doppleganger.
Eyes stuck on the screen, Hal barely noticed loosening his pants button. That download seemed to have done wonders for the process: no longer jerky, the morphing figures changed so subtly and smoothly you could barely see it. Yet it was obviously taking place; both he and Lisa looked twenty pounds heavier.
Lisa's hourglass shape was rearranging itself. Though her breasts and hips were developing nicely, she primarily filled in the middle. Her belly pushed ahead, and as it did, her figure started to lean back. First time he'd seen a morph adjust its position to accommodate its change. This was amazingly lifelike!
How lifelike, he was about to discover. A shock of cold suddenly pressed against his belly, and Hal broke away from the screen. For the first time since he'd clicked "Go!," he saw a lot more of himself than he expected to see.
He was pressing against the metal desk drawer. Though he hadn't shifted his desk chair, Hal's belly flattened against the work station. In the space of four or five minutes, his waist had grown by least ten inches.
He turned back to his own image onscreen. Legs crossed, still anticipating that coney dog, was a roly-poly guy in a barely visible swimsuit. His Hawaiian shirt pulled back on his puffy shoulders, exposing all of his Buddha belly and fat-swaddled pecs. It was a double for the torso that was growing against that desk top.
What was happening here? Futilely scanning the screen for a way to shut down the program, Hal caught the image of his wife and thought, Lisa! He stood suddenly, rebuttoned his shorts - they were tight but somehow still fit - then headed for the bedroom, knocking over the desk chair with his unfamiliar mass. He found her still asleep in bed, close to twice the size she'd been when he left her.
As she'd grown, the bedsheet had rolled off her. Lying on her side, facing him, was a super-sized version of the woman he loved. Three hundred pounds, if she was an ounce, her belly settled ahead of her majestically. Her hips and legs were starting to widen - the better to support her, Hal supposed. Lisa's face had developed two extra chin lines, her cheeks grown dimpled.
They were both morphing for real!
Stumbling back into the study, Hal once more scanned the screen, then did the only thing he knew to undo the program: he shut the computer down. Time to call the folks at "Fast Majicke," get them to reverse the process. Picking up the phone, he tried to dial the operator but heard the squack that told him he was still connected to his online service.
Shouldn't he have disconnected when he'd shut down his computer? Flicking it back on, he saw the still expanding figures reappear. Hal grabbed a 6X shirt and headed for the nearest pay phone a block away.
He could barely fit in the booth. Damn things weren't built for a man his size - somewhere up to 350 pounds by now - and when he dialed information, they were no help. "Fast Majicke?" the operator said. "Don't have 'em listed." He should have taken down more info before he'd entered the home page. Dejected, Hal squeezed his way out of the booth and returned home.
He was out of breath by the time he got to the door. At five hundred pounds, it was work just walking the city block. Once he got inside, Hal was struck by the scent of eggs and bacon. Waddling into the kitchen, he found his wife at the stove, two empty egg cartons and a two-pound package of bacon open.
"Gone to get the paper?" Lisa asked, tending to her skillets. Dressed in a silken robe, seated on a reinforced stool wide enough for her voluminous rear, she seemed totally oblivious to the way she'd changed. More than fifty pounds heavier than Hal to begin with, she'd shot ahead of him on the weight gain race by at least another hundred pounds. As she carefully turned each bacon strip, Lisa sipped from a quart carton of chocolate milk.
"Just takin' a walk to work up an appetite," he puffed, then he trudged back into the study. The two morphs were still growing and for the first time, he noticed a changing legend at the bottom of the screen. Soon as he grasped its significance, his heart sank. It read: "38%."
They were only a third of the way through?!?!
Back in the kitchen, Lisa was busy toasting a loaf of bread, slathering slices with jelly and butter, then quickly gobbling them down, chin quivering in delight. If he didn't stop this, neither of them would be able to leave the house! But how could he think with all those luscious breakfast scents distracting him?
Lisa had laid out breakfast for him: a plate with an eight-egg cheese and green pepper omelet, a second with at least a dozen strips of bacon and a large of pitcher of whole milk. Looked like she'd devoured close than twice that amount. A stack of empty plates ringed ahead of her eight-hundred pound figure. Her robe had fallen open to make way for her belly, which hung in bulges halfway down the stool. As she tilted her head back to swallow yet another carton of chocolate milk, her mams hung to both sides of her globular paunch.
Just the sight of this immense beauty was enough to spark another kind of hunger. But Hal shook it off and dashed back into the study.
Or rather: he tried to dash back. At his current weight, just the act of standing off the stool was work. His legs felt rubbery holding up his weight; every step he took was a deliberate effort. He had to arch his back big time just to maintain even the shakiest balance. By the time Hal returned to the keyboard, he was drenched in sweat. He sank onto his chair, which immediately fell apart beneath his bulk.
From the floor, he still could see the monitor. Their counterparts continued to morph, though his accumulation was significantly behind his wife's. His onscreen belly ballooned ahead of him, forcing his feet apart, flattening against the invisible blanket. His right arm rested ineffably against his side, while his left was bringing the coney dog to his eager mouth. At the thought of it, Hal's mouth started to water, appetite reasserting itself. What was he thinking of, skipping out on breakfast like that?
Good thing his screen persona had the dog now because standing face on, Lisa couldn't have handed it to him. Her belly stuck out too far past the length of arms grown too fat to reach straightforwardly.
She was elephantine onscreen, yet somehow still feminine. The closest parallel he could come up with was a circus fat lady photo he'd once seen: a six-hundred pound beauty named Alice Dunbar, who had the striking long curly hair and dimpled smile of a kewpie doll. Standing in a swimsuit that dug into her bulging flesh, leg line showing the inner hang of her belly apron, she stood majestically, holding a tray packed with summer foodstuff, eyeing it with a frankly acquisitive look on her great moon face. Her back had filled in, eliminating any trace of an arch, while her rear protruded like paired medicine balls. Lisa's legs maintained their shapeliness, though the backs of them drooped at opportune junctures. Her breasts had to weigh more than sixty pounds apiece.
And then there was her belly, hanging within inches of her feet, a draping exemplar of gluttony. He almost could see it jiggling onscreen, burgeoning and beautiful. She was like a vision from his wildest fantasies, fully twice his size. Was this the way his wife was meant to look?
Why on Earth should he try to stop it?
The legend at the bottom of the screen said, "84%." With a sigh, Hal struggled to his feet and watched it reach completion. At a full ton, Lisa's belly settled all the way to the ground; her rear hung to her calves. Without his turning it on, the bubblejet started printing. As Hal watched the image slide out of the printer, he could swear he tasted coney dog.
"Thank you for trying 'Fast Majicke,'" the screen was saying. "If you're utilized this program to its maximum capacity, we recommend clicking, 'Help!'"
He had to reach the mouse sidesaddle, but he did as instructed. Instantly, a full color photo of both he and Lisa in their home appeared. Below it was a list of specs: present weight (at 2062, Lisa outweighed him by about 800 pounds!), daily caloric requirements (astronomical), measurements and a small floor plan. Before his eyes, this last started to change, combining master bedroom and guest into one large room, significantly widening every doorway, altering the entire floor plan into one that was friendlier to them.
A box suddenly appeared over the entire scene. "We at Fast Majicke believe in meeting our models' needs," it read. "If you would to read more about becoming part of the FM family, click, 'Yes!'"
Below this statement were two icons: "Yes" and "Cancel Program." Would that reverse the morphing process? Or just leave them stranded in an untransformed building? Hal was torn with indecision until he felt his wife breathe against his back.
"Lisa!" he gasped, turning to face his wife. Their voluminous paunches mashed against each other. "I didn't hear you!"
"You must. . . have been deep in thought," she puffed. She'd changed, he saw, into the swimsuit from the morphing sequence. (Had he changed, too? He couldn't see beneath the hang of his belly.) "Lost the ability. . . to sneak up. . . on anyone. . . hundreds of pounds ago." She slowly lifted a sports bottle to her bee-stung lips to replenish all the fluids she'd lost crossing the house, then continued. "You didn't eat. . . your breakfast," she said. "Something wrong?"
He took a good long look at his fully transformed wife. Her swimsuit clung to her torso like Saran Wrap on a Jell-O sculpture; every breath she took sent waves beneath her suit. Lisa's paunch hung to the floor and swelled ahead of her imperially. Her burgeoning thighs pushed out from behind this impressive edifice in a series of bulges. Atop her forefront, her breasts pulled her swimsuit top into cleavage that had to span two feet. Her nipples had stiffened underneath her suit; like every other part of her, they'd obviously benefited from her accumulation.
Lisa's rear was pressed against the bookcase, which made her hips even more provocatively prominent. Her arms were almost as round as her thighs, held up by upper arm rolls that hung halfway down her sides. Her face was so chin heavy that it pushed her head back, hair sweeping across her blubbery shoulders luxuriantly.
She was even more beautiful than her morphic image.
"Not a thing," he said, turning back to click on the "Yes!" icon.
"Your morphing image will be stored for other FM customers to view," the screen said. "As a Fast Majicke model, you are entitled to all the privileges (reconfigured environment, food and clothing, personal support services) that are available to FM personnel. If you wish these services, click 'Yes.'" As before, the screen left him a "Cancel Program" option.
"Press 'Yes,'" his wife told him. "Hear the way the floor's creaking? Don't think it's gonna hold us much longer."
Hal turned back to his wife, in amazement. "You know what's going on?" he gasped.
Lisa nodded, then patted her spreading self contentedly. "Fat Majicke's been around since before the computer age," she said with a smile. "It has a long and elegant history. You knew I had a strong old country background when you married me!
"You didn't think you were the only one turned on by weight gain fantasies, did you? Press the button, Hal!"
She moved alongside him, barely squeezing into the space available, and put a pursy hand atop his.
"Better yet," she grinned. "Let's do this together. Then we can spend some time getting to know our morphed selves better."
The feel of her overpowering body was erotic as hell. They clicked the mouse as one and watched the house around them transform. First thing it did was eliminate the basement.
By the time the transformation finished, they were both ready to lie down. Together, they ponderously moved through their mega-fat friendly home, grabbing handfuls of chocolate from strategically placed serving dishes as they went. Hal let his wife go first just so he could watch each swaying step.
Their new home was packed with wonderful features. The elevated, ultra-wide seats with a mechanism that lifted you part way into standing position. The triple-sized sliding doors. The bathroom with a tub the size of a jumbo Jacuzzi. The kitchen with its walk-in fridge stocked full of comestibles.
Which left their bedroom, a room you could practically live in: with two reinforced king-size adjustable beds alongside each other, a wall that was nothing but open closet (twice as deep as the old to fit their ultra-wide hangers), mounted television and mini-fridges on either side of the beds. At the head of the bed was a room-length mirror. He stared at their reflections.
They were the swimsuit couple from his computer screen: brobdinagian and magnificent. It was going to take some time to get to know each other's new bodies - the ways they felt and connected - but that'd be time well spent. Though it took tremendous effort to carry themselves, their morphed forms obviously had changed enough to sustain their weight. Anyone else would have been pinned on their backs, he thought.
They had to help each other peel off their swimsuits, but that was plenty stimulating by itself.
"So how'd you know about this?" Hal asked at one point.
"My woman's group," she said. "You've always wondered what we were up to - well, maybe this will give you a clue. We've been studying Fat Majicke for years. Waited all week for you to link to that site."
"So you set this all up?"
Lisa smiled, her multitude of chins smiling with her. A lusty light flashed across her deeply embedded eyes, as she patted her husband's belly. "You were married to a girl before," she said. "I'm a woman now - a woman attuned to forces that only the truly obese can detect. I've worked up to this since our wedding day. How could I not bring you along?"
Hal nodded, then he fell against his wife and began to explore her in earnest. They spent the rest of the day in bed, stopping every few minutes to grab something from one of the fridges.
By weekend's finish, Hall called the insurance company to tender his resignation. With that, he settled into their revamped home with his mega-sized wife. Now that he was living the real thing, Hal's interest in weight gain fantasies went the way of yesterday's software.
He did enjoy watching other Fast Majicke morphs, but more from a point of comparison than anything else.
Their own recorded morphing became one of the Fast Majicke site's most popular offerings, perhaps because both figures looked so obviously pleased by their change. Once a month, Lisa's friends would come over en masse to visit; Hal tried to stay out of the way, but they'd always come into the study and ask to see the sequence.
His wife's friends divided up responsibility for helping her out in the kitchen during the week - doing all the legwork, putting together the mega-meals they both craved daily - while Lisa sat back and directed them. In attaining her ton-plus size, she'd taken on the mantle of central figure in the group, and she accepted this with her characteristic frankness and modesty.
"Comes of having a husband who likes me like this," she'd say, indicating the layers of feminine fat that surrounded her. She looked so lovely, so powerfully sensual, that it was impossible to imagine her looking any other way. She'd tilt her head towards the living room, chins readjusting as she did.
There, Hal would be viewing something on the Food Channel or Web TV, polishing off a tray full of freshly made cookies. Watching him, she'd feel a combination of love and hunger that was like nothing she'd experienced as her thin self. In those twin urges, she knew, were the foundations of the life force.
"Couldn't have done it without him," she'd conclude, "without all those years of fantasizing. For magic to work, you've got to will it to work.
"Lucky for me, I have a husband who was 'into morphing.'"
Copyright (c) 1996 - OakHaus Designs
