by Wilson Barbers
Betty found the book at a Unitarian church rummage sale. Crammed between a series of titles that some thoughtful rummage organizer had labeled "Alternative Mysticism," sticking out between a set of Carlos Castenada and Edgar Cayce, was a well-worn paperback with a retro cubist cover and the title Fast Majicke nonchalantly angled near the bottom. Holding it open, a faint whiff of mildew hitting her nostrils, she scanned a passage and was about to put the book back on its table when her husband Max came up to her.
"Whatcha got there?" She held up the cover in answer. "Fast Majicke?" he read, stepping up to get a better look. "I thought sorcery was the product of years of studying. It is in every movie I've seen!"
"Sign o' the times," Betty answered. "Fast food, fast magic. Wonder who brought this thing to the sale, anyway?"
"Some would-be wiccan perhaps," Max said, grabbing the title. He looked around at the Saturday morning rummagers, mid-westerners who looked more at ease with a copy of Danielle Steele than a book of so-called magic spells. "So what kind of incantations are we talking about here?" He flipped the book open and smiled. "Whoa! Here's the one for me!"
Betty peered at the chapter heading, "Transmogrifications," and quizzically arched her eyebrows.
"Means 'body changing,'" Max explained. "Perfect for the nineties. Nobody's satisfied with the body they've got."
"Or the body their spouse has?" Betty added, arching her prominent right hip towards her hubby. "I know what you're thinking - if this really worked, you'd be donning them wizards' robes right now!" She laughed, tossed her long dark hair dramatically. "As if this magnificent bod weren't enough for you as is!"
Max eyed his zaftig wife's frame, gave it a Gomez Addams style leer. His appreciation of plump-to-larger women was a standing joke between the two of them.
"Like the r-and-b song says, 'Too much is not enough,'" he shot back. "Maybe I should buy this thing and see what we can do to your magnificent bod, eh? Says here that I could conjure up your ideal body form overnight!"
"Go ahead," she said, tweaking his chin. "Some husbands turn to sex manuals to spice up their marriage. Mine looks at the Necronomicon." Blowing him a kiss, she went off to examine the kitchen supplies table. Once she saw the table's prize, an unopened box of Vision Ware, she forgot all about the book.
Max watched his wife from across the room. Ten years of marriage, and he still found her exciting: she was lushly full-figured and had slowly been growing more lush over the years. Mid-sized, in a pair of stirrup pants and Venezia sweat-shirt, Betty had a well-fed look that belied years of active calorie counting. Max had been drawn by her fulsome frame initially and enjoyed the added poundage she'd accumulated over the years. When Betty walked, it was like her Rubenesque body wanted to jump out and show off every curve. Her face was round and dimpled like a turn of the century ingenue's; full-cheeked and wide-eyed, it was girlish without looking naive. Simply put, she was an explosive package.
This didn't stop Max from fantasizing about his wife growing even bigger, though. In this, perhaps, he was no different from other loving husbands who dreamed of wives with bigger breasts. He bought every plumper mag on the racks and read each issue's story avidly, particularly ones that focused on their heroines' weight gain. More recently, he'd hooked into those underground newsletters devoted to feeder fantasies, though this was something that he still kept from Betty.
Before he could let his wife kid him out of it, Max sneaked over to the rummage sale card table and plunked down two bits for the volume.
It wasn't until the two of them hit the sack, that Betty noticed his purchase. Neither Letterman nor Leno had any guests worth watching, so when the former's monologue had ended, Max pulled out the paperback and started reading the chapter that had first caught his eye.
"So you bought the book, after all," Betty noted. "Should I be insulted?"
"Not at all," Max assured her. "According to this, the body transformation spell is just a short-term deal. Sort of like trying a new hair style." He showed her the pertinent text. "Here's the incantation necessary to initiate it."
"So what you planning on doing?" Betty asked.
"This!" he shouted, jumping from his side of the bed, gesturing dramatically, and reading from the text. In his boxer shorts and socks, Max looked about as far from a sorcerer as you could get. Behind him, the teevee continued to flash its mundane images.
"No change," Betty said once he'd finished his performance. "Guess I've got your ideal body already!" She took another look at her would-be sorcerer hubby then collapsed into giggles. Max tossed the paperback to the floor, fell back into bed and grabbed his wife. Some of the best sex they ever had began with one or both of them giggling.
The next morning, they learned just how real Max's transformation spell had been. Lying draped over the edge of their king-sized bed, the press of his wife's body forcing him out from under the covers, Max rolled over to gently prod her back to her side of the mattress. Soon as he got his first full look, he knew how unrealistic his efforts were.
Betty took up almost the entire bed.
Sleeping on her back, she loomed before him. The sheets, he saw, had risen to cover her breasts and belly but were insufficient to reach her sides. When he sat up on the mattress, he still was barely able to see over her swelling forefront.
Max gently removed the sheets and took a better look. Her most prominent feature was her belly, which was mountainous even when diffused by lying on her back. It radiated outwards from both sides, practically to the fingertips of her outstretched hands; it covered her legs, the base of her apron resting against the tops of her feet.
Next came her breasts, which separated and flowed over her arms, restricting their movement. Draped to the sides, they each were the size of a large firm pillow. They formed great curving hillocks about half the height of her paunch but still formidable by themselves.
Both legs and arms were largely obscured by Betty's forefront, though you could tell from the bulges of flesh squeezing out near the mattress that they'd all similarly widened to accompany her new size. Which left her head as the final focus of attention. Settled between her surging shoulders, neck lost beneath chins that ringed all the way back to her ears, Betty had the look of years of voluptuary eating. Sleeping, she periodically licked her newly fattened lips - as if she were partaking in unimaginable dream feasts.
Max sat there and watched his wife. Should he wake her? What would her reaction be when she saw what his spell had done to her? He didn't know what to do, so he just let her sleep. Each deep breath she took made her layers of bodyfat quiver provocatively. Was this the ideal body that he'd conjured for his wife? He'd never dreamed he'd see her so gigantic! And looking so gorgeous, so huge!
Finally, her eyes slowly opened. Yawning, Betty gave her husband a sleepy smile, than asked between deep pants, "Whatcha. . . looking at?"
Max didn't answer, but instead pointed towards the dresser mirror at the other end of the bedroom. He did not take into account his wife's new obstructions, though. As she attempted to follow his gesture, her ballooning belly blocked her vision. Betty made a motion as if to sit up, but there was too much flesh in the way for her to accomplish this by herself.
"What th-?" she gasped, and she lifted her right arm, pushing her breast up so it overshadowed her resting paunch. "My God. . ." She could only lift her arm to about a forty-five degree angle from the bed, Max noticed, and even then you saw no space between upper arm and mattress. Beneath her belly apron, Betty slowly tried to scoot her knees up, but even this seemed an insurmountable task. "What have. . . you done, Max?" she panted, after collapsing back into resting position.
What should he say? The next few seconds were fraught with peril. He took a deep breath and said, "I had no idea the book would work like this, Betty! Thank God, it's only a short-term spell."
She said nothing but turned her head away from him. Great, he thought, but then he saw that she wasn't turning away from him - she was rolling her body off the bed. Betty slowly shifted her weight to one side, and soon there was enough of her draped over the edge of the mattress for her to lie on her side. From there, gravity quickly pulled her the rest of the way to the floor. Once she was face down on the floor, amazingly, she was able to get her legs down and slowly lift herself upright.
Standing by the bed, his wife looked like a breathing icon, immovable and behemothic. Her belly swelled ahead of her, spanning past the length of her arms, resting on the floor before her feet. Her lower legs swelled in drooping bulges. Betty's upper arms were encompassed by rolls of pale flesh that sagged all the way to mid-torso and kept her hands from lowering to her sides.
"Short-term. . . spell," she said once she caught her breath enough to say a few words. "So this. . . is your ideal, eh?" Then she smiled at Max, sending creases through her lower chins and jowls. "Might as well. . . letcha. . . enjoy me like this!"
Twin surges of relief and arousal washed through Max. "It's only for twenty-four hours," he said. "What you want to do?"
"I'm starved. . . " Betty told him. "What's for. . . breakfast?"
"Anything you want," Max said, as he watched her take a slow dragging step with her right foot. When she lifted her heel, her belly rose enough off the floor to move along before her. Once she settled her foot back down, Betty did the same with its partner. In this way, she was slowly able to make her way towards the bedroom door. There, she had to angle sideways to go through; even then, it was a tight squeeze.
She rested on the couch, body drenched in sweat. Her skin shone, delineating each bulge and fold like oil on a body builder. "What a. . . work-out," she puffed, languidly lifting her arm to fan her face. Seated, her belly divided into a vertical fold that emphasized her navel.
Max threw on a bathrobe, then dashed into the kitchen to see what he could quickly rustle up. The counters, he saw, were crowded with wrapped pastries and cases of canned nutritional supplement. Grabbing a cheese Danish, he pulled out two cans of high calorie Ensure and carried this haul into his wife. Within the blink of an eye, she'd opened then scarfed down the entire pastry and chugged both cans. "More!" she simply said.
Setting up two teevee trays, one on each side of her, he started piling on the breakfast goodies. His wife devoured it all: two-pound Danishes, twelve-ounce six-packs of bagels, a loaf of sourdough toast, two dozen eggs and enough sugary breakfast cereal to feed a summer camp. By lunch time, she'd drunk close to three full cases of nutritional supplement. He'd never seen anything like it.
"All that. . . dieting," she said at one point, her mouth crammed full of buttered croissant. "Never been. . . able to eat. . . so much good food before!" She paused to wipe her lips, then she dabbed blueberry sauce off the top of her right breast.
To Max, it was as if he was in the throes of his deepest, most erotic dream. Each moment that he spent with his gormandizing wife was like prolonged foreplay. When she finally finished breakfasting, it was close to noon. Betty sat back and groaned. "Wish I could. . . rub my stomach," she said, and it was obvious that this task was out of reach. In answer, Max stepped forward and started gently massaging the sides of her paunch, a job he could only accomplish with outstretched arms.
"You want to. . . lie on me?" she asked.
"Thought you might be uncomfortable that way," he answered. "Too stuffed to take my weight."
No, his wife reassured him. The way she felt, she could never get full. The only reason she'd stopped eating was to rest her jaw. Besides, at her current weight, his body was about as heavy as a medium sized cat to her.
Falling against his wife's vast forefront, Max felt her flesh wobble beneath him. His head was between her voluminous breasts, while the rest of him sank into her cushiony midsection. Robe open, he prodded his manhood into her belly fold; they both groaned with arousal. It was almost as if each swaddled part of her anatomy had grown more erogenously sensitive to his touch.
He continued to stroke her body. Her skin was soft and warmed by her excitement; across it you could see the light striations that excess growth brought to human flesh. He started to reach his peak, but before he could, Betty touched him on the shoulder and said, "How about lunch?" Max didn't know whether to grit his teeth in frustration or burst into a sloppy grin. She was incredible!
Of course, there was more food in the kitchen, a part of the spell he hadn't expected. Made you wonder if the book's mysterious author hadn't included both unlimited appetite and sustenance in anticipation of a reader like him. Was the hidden author of Fast Majicke also a lover of mega-sized women?
By bedtime, Betty had put away a lunch and dinner that made her breakfast repast look paltry. Then she slid off the couch, rolled face down on the carpeted floor and opened herself to Max. Her belly held her a leg's length off the floor, so he barely had to kneel to get to her. It took some probing to get to her womanhood, but once there they quickly got into it. After a full day of teasing each other, it didn't take long for either of them to cap the day off properly.
They stayed up hours past their usual Sunday bedtime. Max's spell had been so much fun for the both of them that they were reluctant to lose any time of it to sleep. Eventually, though, matters were taken out of their hands. When the VCR clock struck 12:00, Betty started shrinking. Flesh disappearing all around her, she felt an unaccountable feeling of sadness.
When it all stopped, the plump wife stood and wrapped her arms around her husband. "Never thought I'd say this," she told him. "But this has been a fantastic day! Maybe we could try this spell again next weekend?"
"Could we?" Max crowed, kissing her lips. Though she was only a mote compared to her former self, he could have sworn she felt a little fuller in his arms. Probably a residual impression from the weight spell, he thought.
As the week passed, they regularly touched on their weekend experience. At one point, Max asked his wife whether she was bothered by her restricted mobility. "Not really," she told him. "Felt like I'd always been that way. As if I was used to moving slowly and carrying all that weight."
That Friday, Max took the day off from work and rearranged their home to make it more fat friendly, moving extraneous furniture into the garage, taking down doors, putting in a portable bidet. Betty hit the mall and purchased two silken king-sized bedsheets; from these, she fashioned a sleeveless robe. While there wasn't enough fabric for it to cover her completely once transformed, it fostered the illusion of modesty.
Their second weekend was a reprise of the first: a day of non-stop feeding followed by explosive sex. Sunday, Betty woke late in the a.m. to find herself once more diminished. What she didn't notice, though, were some twenty extra pounds on her body. Considering all the food she was devouring, it was inevitable that some of it would stay behind.
None of her outfits revealed this fact, but this time Max could tell. What underlined it was the sudden shift in Betty's attitude towards dining the following week. The former calorie counter did an about-face in her regular eating regimen, ordering lunches with three times the caloric value of her earlier meals, going for seconds and thirds at dinner. Now that she'd experienced the joy of unrestricted gluttony, Betty was unable to go back to her old lifestyle. They made a date to use the Fast Majicke text a third time, and in so doing, it became a weekly routine.
Between the weekend gorging and her weekday overeating, Betty ballooned tremendously. Their grocery bills quadrupled, but since Max made good money, even this barely registered with Betty. By month's end, she'd added over a hundred and twenty pounds to her body, putting her in the mid-300 range. Proudly fat, she took to wearing knit slacks around the house that accentuated her belly hang; when she waddled across the room, you saw its dual bulges wax and wane beneath the fabric. The sight drove Max wild.
Two months of weekly spell-casting, and Betty was up to 525 pounds. She couldn't fit in her old desk chair at work and was having trouble concentrating on the job: all she could think about was what she wanted to eat on the weekend. She'd found that if she concentrated on these items while Max read his spell, they'd appear in bulk next day. So many good meals to choose from: there weren't many moments when she didn't think about popping something into her mouth. Small wonder that her job receded in importance.
Betty gave two weeks' notice that month and settled into their home. She spent her weekdays watching cooking shows on The Learning Channel and Discovery, than working on whichever menu struck her fancy. Sitting on a reinforced stool, her kitchen island filled with items that she had Max buy in family-sized quantities, idly snacking as she lost herself in food preparation, Betty embarked on her new life course.
As the weeks passed, the difference between the weekend Betty and her weekday self grew smaller and smaller. By mid-year, she passed the thousand pound mark, a great globe of a woman with a belly that hung past her knees when seated. Her basic wardrobe consisted of a set of sun dresses that fell mid-calf and only barely covered the lowermost hang of her apron.
Betty's time in the kitchen was mainly restricted to grabbing packages of convenience food. The counters were covered with pre-made food, and at times just being in the midst of all this plenty made her feel at ease. Sitting alongside the island for easier reach - her belly made a more direct approach prohibitive - she'd stuff herself past repleteness. Increasingly, this practice lead her into sexual frenzy and culmination as profound as anything she'd experienced with Max. Afterwards, she'd slowly waddle into the living room and rest until it was time for her next meal.
In the past when he read men's mag weight gain fantasies, Max had wondered about the restricted lives that their characters lived. The protagonists who did nothing but eat all day: what kind of a life was that? Yet when he saw the endless grades of rapture in his wife as she glutted herself on meal after meal, when he sat beside her in the living room as she snacked her way through prime time television, when he watched the way her movements modified to meet her burgeoning body's growth, Max knew there was no way that mere fiction could capture the wealth of sensual pleasure in their lives.
There were moments when Betty herself flashed on how much her life had changed, but these were fleeting. She'd grown so used to her gluttonous lifestyle that she would have been appalled at the suggestion that she change it. When she saw the look on her husband's face as he carried in some a new entree, when she felt his trembling joy exploring her ever new body, when she just sat back and felt her womanly form all around her, Betty knew she was in tune with something so primal and sexual that she couldn't turn her back on it. She hadn't left the house in months, but like her clothes, their home slowly changed to accommodate her new size.
When Summer arrived, Max started taking Wednesdays off, and with this new schedule, he began casting the transmogrification spell twice a week. The results of this stepped up schedule were ineluctable: Betty started gaining weight at twice the speed.
Once they finally got within range of her transformed size, Max took two weeks' vacation. He conjured up her ideal size every other day, taking a day to rest between each magically enhanced binge. Soon, they were on the verge of making that ideal a reality.
"Thought of what you want to eat tomorrow?" Max asked preparing to read the words he now knew by heart. As she'd gotten closer to her ideal body size, a sense of sadness periodically hit him.
She shook her head, sending ripples through her copious forefront. With over a ton of womanfat surrounding her, it didn't take much to get her whole body quivering. "Had so many. . . great meals lately. . . " she gasped. "I'm willing. . . to be surprised."
"Like the first time I cast this thing," Max said, and he patted her belly affectionately. She was seated in their modified king-size bed, wearing her hand-made robe, cushions propping her up. In her fat right hand was a mug of chamomile tea, within her reach a plate piled with Double Stuf Oreos. She took a long swig, then grabbed a handful of cookies and started stuffing them into her overfed face.
Max read the incantation, then climbed upon his wife. Body wavering beneath him, Betty continued to pack cookies into her insatiable maw. The combination of gustatory and sexual stimulation was so satisfying to her that it had supplanted anything else.
He woke early in the morning, startled into consciousness by the clunk of the air conditioner and the sudden awareness that he was alone in bed. He'd been dreaming of his wife again; his extant erection testified to it. Just the thought of her overflowing body, her near insatiable appetite, was enough to get him excited. Rolling out of bed, Max stretched and idly wondered what would be waiting for him in the kitchen. He headed for the bathroom, but as soon as he saw his wife in the living room, he stopped in his tracks.
Betty was seated in the living room watching television, naked, more than twice the size of her ton-plus self.
It took some heavy duty eye work to get her all in. Surrounded by so many overlays of fat that she left little room for anything else in the room, she sat because that was the only position her body would allow her. Betty's legs snuggled between her front and rear, incapable of moving between the avoirdupois pushing from both sides. Each limb was the width of a circus fat lady, Beneath their sagging lower calves her feet were only barely detectable by the tip of her toes. The legs rested at a slight angle to the floor, rather like a normal sized person standing on a small incline.
Betty was on a dais about six inches high. Her rear cheeks filled the space and flattened against the platform, spreading back about a yard. Her paunch hung off the rise, taking up five square feet ahead of her. Atop this blubbery mound, her breasts rose magnificently, reaching Betty's eye level at their apex. Her nipples were almost as wide as her invisible palms.
Her head sank between her spreading chins and back roll, placidly held in position. Betty's large eyes were mere slits behind her rising cheeks, yet they retained their girlish liveliness. Her long hair fanned behind her on hilly rolls of back. "Morn-in'," she said, enunciating each syllable slowly, her voice made deeper by the vessel containing it. She smiled sleepily, and the sight sent an erotic jolt through Max.
Betty's ideal body size had changed once she'd grown close to attaining it. Perhaps, Max thought, an ideal was only something you could briefly attain. It had to stay mutable to keep men and women working towards it.
"Hungry?" Max asked. Betty's eyes and mouth lowered and rose in what had to be a nod. Then Max was struck by the magnitude of his task. Her arms were so swaddled in rolls of flesh that they stuck out ineffectually, unsuited for even so simple a task as lifting food to mouth. She was so wide that her hips stretched two feet past her splayed fingertips. He was going to have to climb over this mountain of flesh to get her meals to her. He knew how strong her appetite had been before; there was no way he could do this quick enough to suit her.
Racing into the kitchen, Max discovered a very different offering from their previous weekend meals. The kitchen floor was covered with rows of metal kegs; attached to the closest was a small pump and a large translucent tube. Wheeling the keg into the living room, he aimed the tube towards his wife's mouth. When she clasped her lips around it, he started up the pump and watched a thick white fluid make its way to his elephantine wife. Soon as it did, she started happily feeding.
Max kissed his wife's jiggling side, then sat beside her. In a basket nearby, he saw a plastic container containing Handi Wipes the size of an auto chamois. At his feet, he could see a metal drain; within reach was a hand-held shower nozzle. Beneath his wife, no doubt, was some additional helpful plumbing. For this day, the house was readily accommodating the needs of his two-ton spouse.
Leaning against her, he sank several inches into her flesh. He wondered how long it would take Betty to reach this state for real, and wondered about the stages she'd reach along the way. The moment she'd outgrow her bed. The moment she'd realize that she could no longer walk. Or bend her arms. The day he'd introduce feeding tubes as a regular feeding mechanism. . .
It was only a short-term transformation spell, but as
Max now realized: once you were touched by real magic, your
life was changed forever. He rose to get another keg of
doubtless very-high cal liquid nutrition for Betty. From
the way her tube was starting to sputter, it looked like she
was about ready for a refill.
