by The Studio
She often wondered where it had all began. Had it been a genetically programmed fate: a trick of sperm or ovum? Both her parents had been big people, so the possibility had its merit. She also supposed that it had been her upbringing. Being the only child of two fat people who constantly rewarded her with food had definite consequences. Good grades would be answered with a warm pie. Birthdays were always filled with cakes and other fattening treats. Any achievements at all, even something as simple as 'good behavior', would be answered with some delectable morsel. But she couldn't give her parents all the credit. She'd always loved to eat. Even as a toddler, she was constantly asking her mother to bake another batch of cookies, begging her father to bring her candy when he came home from work, charming her way into another snack, quietly getting seconds and thirds at every meal. As far back as she could remember, she'd been fat. In fact, she was always the fattest. From kindergarten through high school, there's never been another boy or girl who surpassed her girth. By the time she graduated, she was even bigger than her mother or father, and they had been the fattest people in town. Where did it all begin? She didn't know, and when her wondering ceased, she didn't care. She was fat, and she was happy, and that's all that really mattered.
She snapped out of her daydream and glanced at the clock. It was almost time to go. She dabbed on a few drops of perfume, checked her blush and lipstick, and readied herself. She grabbed the remote beside her and pressed the "lift" button. The electric motor hummed loudly as it moved the chair upward, slanting it forward. She'd had the chair specially built, since her weight and dimensions were far beyond the capacity of commercial models. Even so, she was pushing it to capacity since she'd put on some weight recently. When the chair stopped, she grunted and moved her weight forward, tired slightly by the effort. She let out a sigh, wiped the sweat off her brow, adjusted her dress and admired herself in the mirror. She probably had the biggest breasts on the planet, she thought, as she thanked the photograph sitting beside her jewelry box. The picture was of her grandmother, the woman who'd made her breasts possible. Her mother hadn't been particularly busty but Helena, her grandmother, had possessed a pair of tits to be reckoned with. In the photo, they formed all of her body from armpit to waist and since she was also a big woman, their heft was markedly pronounced. As she looked at herself in the mirror, Helena thought of how appropriate it had been for her to be named after her grandmother. It was ironic that her mother couldn't have known that the resemblance would go beyond the name.
There was a knock on her door and a voice spoke. She answered, saying she'd be right out. Her attention returned to her breasts. In her travels, she'd seen quite a few other fat women - some nearly as big as herself. A few had equaled her belly, some had even bigger asses, but none had rivaled her in tit. As she reached up and adjusted the wide shoulder strap on her bra, she smiled at having exceeded commercial capacity. They'd been hard to find, but retail bras went all the way up to an M-cup, and when she outgrew them her only option was to order extensions. So to keep her mammoth breasts from drooping any more than nature demanded, she'd been forced to have her bras custom built - a distinction which filled her with pride, knowing that she'd transcended even her grandmothers majestic dimensions. She shuffled around sideways and appreciated their thickness as they projected outward. If she were a smaller woman, she noted, they'd have hung down to her hips, but her mighty rolls of belly fat held them comparatively high. Her belly...there was another subject altogether. Cradled deep within it, housed beneath massive sheaths of flesh, was the stomach that had made her body possible. It growled as she thought of it, beckoning for the massive amounts of food required to keep it satiated. Over the years, her stomach had become a beast with a mind of it's own. Sometimes she fought to restrain it's appetite, attempting to keep it from making her even fatter, but she never won. It perpetually managed to entreat her hands and mouth to stuff it to capacity. She giggled at the thought of personifying her organs, and steadied herself. As she turned toward the door, she also thanked fate that it had given her enough buttocks to somewhat counterbalance the weight of her tits and belly.
She began moving: a motion that couldn't be accurately described as walking or even waddling. She merely ambulated: arms outstretched, shifting her weight to one side, swinging one leg around the other as far as she could, re-shifting her weight to plant her foot firmly on the ground and then starting all over again. With her penguin-like gait, it took a few moments for her to reach the door. The floor of her trailer groaned its protest the entire way - it need to be reinforced, she thought, or one day she might fall straight through to the ground. She tripped a sensor as she neared the door and it slid to one side. She'd had the door put in herself, specially sized to allow her easy passage and automated to keep her from having to deal with maneuvering her bulk around it. She regarded it as one of her more intelligent purchases. After making her way through, the door closed silently behind her.
It was a day like any other, and she was heading to work. It was only a few short feet to the huge stool and table that were her place of business, but she made her way slowly, pacing herself. The table was filled, as usual, with an array of her favorite foods, and her mouth began to water as the aroma of pastries and other delicacies filled her nostrils. She positioned herself carefully, and sat. The stool was high enough that she could sit on it without having to drop very far, yet low enough that it supported her comfortably. Another smart purchase, she thought. She reached for an eclair and stuffed it in her mouth, relishing the flavor. Greg, the man who'd knocked at her door, appeared from behind a curtain and asked if she was ready. Unable to answer with her mouth full, she merely nodded her head. She listened to the murmuring of the crowd outside growing quiet as Greg barked out his standard pitch. The kind people were going to be treated to a rare and amazing spectacle, she heard him say, a sight so astounding that it would kindle the fires of even the most torpid. Greg loved his oblique words, she thought. As he reached her mark, she picked up a piece of chocolate cake and took a huge bite, allowing it to smear her face for effect.
The curtains parted slowly and Helena continued to feed herself, seemingly oblivious of the crowd. It was a good crowd too, more than fifty people, and the sound of their gasps was like a quick, moaning wind. She looked towards them and jerked slightly, as though surprised by their presence. She reached for the napkin beside her and wiped the frosting off her face, feigning embarrassment at having been caught unaware. Men glared, children climbed atop their father's shoulders, women pretended that they couldn't stand the sight of her as they peered out of the sides of their eyes, and a rumbling sound rose as the crowd became animated. A child's voice yelled something about how unbelievably huge she was and another rumble rose and fell. Greg went into one of his several laudatory speeches about Madame Helena's vast appetite. This, possibly the fattest woman in the world, had once eaten an entire side of beef in a single setting; had single-handedly kept a hometown bakery in business; had by had been fined by city ordinance for cracking a sidewalk with her unbelievable poundage; and had once been struck by a speeding automobile without receiving so much as a bruise. He heralded her as perhaps one of the fattest women in history, weighing almost 1000 pounds of pure, virginal flesh.
Helena knew it was all hyperbole. The side of beef story had sprung from her winning a free meal and a trophy at a Texas restaurant for completely devouring the Ol' ninety-six Platter - a six pound steak with all the trimmings - and yes, she'd been the local bakery's best customer, but certainly didn't finance the entire operation; unarguably, she had broken off a loosened piece of sidewalk while crossing the street but the policeman let her go because he didn't know what to charge her with; and the truth was that the car had only bumped her and wasn't really going all that fast. As far as her weight was concerned she was just a little over 750 pounds, and despite her size she definitely shouldn't be wearing white at her wedding. It's a living, she thought, as she continued her theatrical eating and posturing.
After about five minutes of watching her partake while listening to Greg orate, the show ended with the customary sale of photographs which would be graciously signed by her to commemorate the occasion. She got up and slowly ambled over to the setup at the side of the stage. For seven bucks a pop, people could buy a picture of her which she would graciously autograph to commemorate the occasion. She disliked this part of the show because it required her to get on her feet, but the spectacle of watching her cross to the other stool always brought more customers, so she endured it. People would pay the price just to stand next to her - to experience her magnitude up-close. She signed the photos "Madame Helena Troy" which, barring the Madame, was actually her real name. Usually it was the kids who bought her pictures, sometimes the men, and rarely the women. She thought the breakdown had something to do with either acceptance or amazement. It didn't matter to her, she signed them all the same.
For her, it was the sweetest of deals. As a part of Dr. Fleischman's Fascinating Display of Human Curiosities she did ten shows a day when they weren't traveling, got a percentage of the ticket take, and kept almost all of the photo money. On a good day, she'd take in over 500 bucks for less than two hours of actual work. Of course, she had expenses. The food was her responsibility, and it was no small cost. The special chairs, stools, and her other custom furniture had also come out of her pocket. The upcoming, reinforced floor would be her bill too. But she didn't have to pay travel expenses or rent on her trailer, and after about two years of touring with the circus, she'd built a respectable bankroll. She used all her expenses for tax write-offs, including the food, and the show went on.
Sometimes, while on-stage, she'd reflect on how her unusual career had begun. She had just finished her vacation in Las Vegas and was on her way back to Texas when she saw the circus in a mall parking lot. Something about it appealed to her, the bright lights, the music, the crowds of people. She was a lot more mobile then, so she parked her van, bought a ticket, and made her way around. After winning a couple of stuffed animals at a ring-toss game, she happened upon Dr. Fleischman's show. Crowds of people exiting the huge tent stopped and stared at her, mumbling among themselves, but she was used to the unwanted attention. People had always regarded her size as an excuse for rudeness. She paid the entry fee and was quickly treated to a display of fascinating oddities. The Inflammable Man, the Queen of Contortion, the Indestructible Boy and others plied their amazing abilities to tantalize the crowds. But when she came upon the Colossal Woman's booth, she was in for a surprise like none she'd ever experienced. When the curtains parted, a hush fell over the crowd. The woman on-stage who rose and paraded for the audience was only about five feet tall, but Helena estimated that she weighed right around 500 pounds. She was truly a vast display of womanhood. The crowd watched, mesmerized, as she cut a huge slice of cake and devoured it in a single bite. Helena's shock, though, came when one of the boys beside her screamed that it was a rip-off. The crowd parted as he pointed straight at Helen, yelling that she was fatter than the woman on-stage. She stood embarrassed; like it or not, it was true. Helena was only a little taller than the woman on-stage, yet weighed in at just over 600 pounds and was big enough to make it undeniable. She shrugged as the people stared at her, blushing from the unwanted attention, and made her way to the exit. A man was trying to calm the crowd as the flaps closed behind her. Infuriated, she headed straight for her van, climbed in and started off. Lost in her embarrassed tantrum, it was only luck that kept her from running over the man who was trying to stop her. That's the first time she met Frank "Dr. Fleischman" Beckman. She stepped out of her van and waddled over to see if he was all right. He was panting, brushing himself off, and said he was fine - it was just a scrape and that, luckily, the pavement had broken his fall. He introduced himself, rambled about his embarrassment at her treatment back at the tent, spoke about being upstaged, and ultimately offered Helena a job as his new fat woman. Not knowing whether to take his offer as the height of insult or compliment, Helena turned him down flatly. Frank talked to her a while longer, used his charm and, by the time she was driving off again, she had one of his business cards.
Two months later, both her parents died tragically when a drunken driver came down the interstate the wrong way. Helena was devastated. With no parents and no siblings, she was alone for the first time in her life. She tried her best to cope with it, but ended up placating herself with food. Eating reminded her of the times they'd shared together as a family. During the following six months, she lived off of the insurance money, seldom left the house, bandaged her emotional wounds with bushels of food, and gained about 100 pounds. Her gluttonous solitude continued until one day, while digging through her purse for a pizza coupon, she found a wrinkled business card. The name wasn't familiar to her at first, but then she remembered the man and his offer. Needing a change, wanting to get away and not knowing what else to do, she called the next day. It was Frank's answering service and she left a message. Five days afterward, she started her new job.
Two years later she was still there, about fifty pounds heavier and remarkably happier. Somehow, becoming a sideshow fat woman had given her a sense of purpose. Before, her incredible fatness had only been an end product of her hunger; now it was part of her profession - the reason for her income. Her mournful binge had ceased the day she signed on with Frank, and it had only been the natural tendencies of her appetite that had brought the extra pounds since then. She readily excused them in the name of "insurance". She didn't want to be replaced by some woman who had outgrown her. So she did the shows, ate to her heart's content, kept getting fatter, and looked after her money. It had all become routine until, on a day like any other, he showed up.
It wasn't until the second show that she noticed him. He looked familiar. Black hair, stocky build, dressed like a businessman in a tan overcoat, somewhere between thirty and forty, and handsome in a rustic sort of way. It took her a moment for her to realize that she'd seen him during the first show that day. He'd even bought a picture...and now he was back for more. She knew that he might have just come back for one of the other shows, but regardless, she felt flattered and tossed back a few extra doughnuts while glancing at him. At the end of the show, he bought another picture. He looked down at her with kind eyes, smiling as he thanked her. She smiled back. When he reappeared for the next show and bought another photo, she really felt appreciated. That appreciation escalated to new heights when she saw him at the next show, and then the one after that. By the end of the day, he hadn't missed a single one, and he'd bought a picture every time.
Later that evening as she was eating in her trailer, Greg rapped on her door to tell her that someone wanted to see her. She raised her brows at the tone of his voice and took a sip of wine. To keep from being harassed, she had an arrangement where Greg would screen her would-be visitors. The minimum fee for admission was fifty dollars to be split between them. She'd had everything from diet gurus to the blatantly curious in her trailer over the years, and they all paid the price for a few scant minutes of her time. But the tone in Greg's voice this night was the one he used for the grand fee. The person who wanted to see her tonight had paid full price, one hundred cash, for the pleasure of her company. She pulled the small remote out of her pocket, pressed a button and told them to enter.
Greg showed the man in, waited for her nod, and then stepped outside. The door was usually left open for security reasons, but when she was who it was, Helena pushed the button that closed the door. It was her dark haired admirer, smiling handsomely as usual.
The man removed his hat, bowed slightly and apologized for interrupting her dinner. She laughed softly and waved a hand at the platter, saying that it was just a snack. She motioned him to the chair beside him and he pulled it over to face her and sat, crossing his legs and setting his hat on his knee. Helena offered him a cookie from a plate and he refused politely, adding that he'd rather she kept it for herself. She smiled at the comment, set plate down and then asked what she could do for him.
He took a deep breath, sighed, and then began. He started by asking for her tolerance when it came to his brevity. His bluntness was something he used to avoid wasting time. Helena leaned back in her chair and spread her fingertips over the great mound of her belly, listening intently. He introduced himself as Charles Gillespie, a broker of probabilities. He paused, waiting for Helena to interrupt, and then continued. He was a gambler, but not of a common sort; he was a man who created interesting situations upon which certain individuals would wager large sums of money. He said that his "customers" were individuals who had tired of conventional means of wagering. Bored with betting at casinos, races, sports events, etc., they yearned for something more...and he gave it to them. This is what he wanted to talk with her about. He wanted to give her a chance to make money, lots of money, doing something that she obviously enjoyed. Helena lifted a finger to stop him, asking how much money and for what. Charles tilted his head, licked his lips, and commented that her bluntness surpassed his own. He answered that he wanted to gamble on her appetite, and that how much money she made depended solely on how much she could eat.
Helena continued to meet his gaze as she reached over and grabbed a cookie. All this talk of eating and money was making her hungry. She asked him to elaborate and to be specific. He ran his fingers through his hair and answered that he lacked specifics because they would have be worked out, but he could present a hypothetical situation. He could set up a wager in which several people would bet money on, say, how many cookies she could eat - he gestured to the plate beside her - either by number or weight, in a certain number of hours, and then they would meet at a specified place and time to settle the bet. If she could eat the predetermined amount in the time agreed, she'd win a lot of money; if she couldn't, she'd win a lot less. He estimated that he could get her share of the winnings as high as ten to twenty thousand dollars for a single bet if she won, and no lower than a thousand if she lost. She could make even more if she bet on herself, and he hoped that she would since that could give her greater incentive, but that was entirely up to her. The amounts and kinds of foods involved would greatly influence the odds and therefore her income.
Helena chortled under her breath, both amazed by the man's strange proposition and suspect of his credibility. She asked what made him think of this arrangement and why had he come to her. He replied that it was just inspiration. He'd come to the circus to kill some time before meeting someone and, when he saw her, the idea just came to him. He'd actually missed his appointment so he could observe her throughout the day, just to assess her. He never bet on someone who's character didn't impress him, and he regarded himself as a good judge. Helena smirked and asked what had convinced him that she might remotely consider taking part in his preposterous scheme. Charles leaned back and smiled broadly, showing his flashy white teeth. He said he had a feeling. He had watched the delicate way she handled her food, the visceral way she chewed it, the sensual expression on her face as she felt it going down her throat, and the way she picked her next morsel like a cheetah chooses its prey. He'd observed the way she carried herself as she walked across the stage, bearing her weight with pride and style, remarkable qualities for someone as fat as she. He said that there were other things, but that he didn't want to lavish her with too many compliments on their first meeting - he had to save a few for later.
He took his hat off of his knee, stood, and slid the chair back in place. He said that he knew his proposal was both sudden and unusual, and that she'd need time to think about it. He only hoped that she wouldn't refuse him without first giving it complete consideration. He asked if he could return in a few days so that they could discuss the possibility further. She regarded him for a moment and commented that he was an eccentric man, that it would be fine if he dropped by again, but that he shouldn't expect anything. With that, he held his hand out, took her plump fingers gently when offered, then bent down to lightly kiss the back of her hand. He turned and walked toward the door, seemingly aware that it would open on its own. After he'd passed through, Greg poked his head in and asked if everything was okay. She waved him off, saying that she was fine. He reached into his pocket to take out her share of the entry fee, but she waved him off again, telling him to keep it. He stood frozen for a moment, seemingly stunned. Helena added that the next time Mr. Gillespie stopped by, his visit was gratis. Greg made a cooing sound as he backed out, letting the door close. Relaxing, Helena reached for another cookie and rubbed it to her lips. She felt a pleasant tingling all over her body she contemplated the strangeness of her evening.
Charles stopped by the very next evening and they spoke again. Like most of the other changes in her life, it happened fast. Four days later, she was sitting in a restaurant, surrounded by an audience, stuffed to the hilt with fettuccini alfredo, and still needing to devour a few more platters to win the bet. She'd been at it for just over three hours and had consumed almost eight pounds of the incredibly rich pasta, which left her just over two pounds to go. At this point, she was beginning to regret her decision. She felt as though she was about to explode, and the remaining food looked as formidable as a mountain. True, it was the best fettuccini she'd ever had, having been cooked by a gourmet chef at this high class restaurant, and it had been easy to pile it down at the beginning, but she was beginning to feel as though the thick cream and cheeses were oozing out of her every pore. Charles stood behind her, massaging her neck and whispering words of encouragement in her ear. She said that she couldn't go on, that she'd eaten so much that her arms were tired. Charles answered by twirling a generous mouthful of the pasta on a fork and feeding it to her gently.
As she chewed, Helena surveyed the crowd. The restaurant had been closed especially for this evening and it was easy to see how the present company warranted the extra consideration. The parking lot outside was filled almost exclusively with limousines, and the rest were Mercedes and Rolls, most with accompanying chauffeurs. There wasn't a suit in the place that hadn't been custom fit and cut from the finest of fabrics. The group of men, mostly past their fifties, all looked like big money. Most were gray-haired, with a few exceptions, and most were watching her intently. Charles had made it clear that the overwhelming majority of the house would be betting against her. By the looks on their faces, they fully expected to win. One face in particular stuck out. He was a big-nosed specimen, sitting directly in front of her, and was staring at her like she was an item on a menu. Peering at her over the rims of his glasses, he smiled with one side of his mouth, bending his thin mustache. Without taking his eyes off of her, he took a sip of wine and then lifted his glass in a mock toast. It was as though he was thanking her for losing.
Maybe that's what did it. Either it was the look on that man's face or the fact that she got her second wind, Helena didn't know. All she knew was that she had more food to eat. She reached up and snatched the forkful that Charles held to her mouth, shoveling it down with emphasis. She picked up the pace, grabbing a second fork so she could use both hands. The crowd stirred. Drinks were spilled, the otherwise quiet began chattering, and the few despondent faces in the crowd began to brighten as, simultaneously, the smug faces of the seeming victors began to wilt.
Ten minutes before her time expired, Helena reached down to her bib and picked up the last remaining strand of pasta. She held it up, dangling by her lips, and then sucked it down greedily. A small cluster of men clapped as others struck their fists to their tables and cursed. Immediately after, they all began filing from the room. During the next few minutes, there was the sound of automobiles starting in unison, then fading into the distance. Finally, the place was empty except for Charles, Helena, the young man who was cleaning up and a portly, older gentleman. Charles slipped the young man a c-note, saying that he'd done fine, and then turned to Helena to ask if she could walk. She belched, excused herself, and said that she'd try if he'd help her. It wasn't easy. After steadying herself, with one hand on the table and the other clenched by Charles, she lifted herself slowly upward. The chair had been comfortable, but she cursed it as she rose, wishing that it hadn't been set so low. When she finally got upright, she felt a new taughtness in her belly as it struggled to support the ten pounds of food housed within it. She arched her back to more comfortably support the weight, forcing her breasts and ass outward in the process. She moved very slowly to keep from sloshing the contents of her stomach as she looked toward the portly man. He was a hired observer, who would ensure that Helena didn't lose her meal within the next hour - a final condition of the bet. She knew that, at that very moment, a host of rich men were praying that she'd barf away her victory.
Charles steadied her the entire fifteen minutes it took for her to stroll to the van he had brought her in. To more comfortably accommodate her, he had procured one with an electric wheelchair lift in the side. He lowered the platform, helped her onto it and pressed the lever. There was a loud hum accompanied by sharp, ticking sounds as the van tilted and the lift rose. At the top, Helena faced the most daunting challenge of her evening. To get to her seat, she had to bend over. During that minute, her bloated stomach was terribly squashed between the poundage of her breasts and the thickness of her thighs as she shuffled towards her seat, which not only threatened to make her nauseous, but also made her balance awkward. Luckily, just as she was beginning to fall, her hand fell on the arm of the seat that would hold her. She swung around and dropped forcefully, causing the van to lurch back and forth. She felt a tightness in her throat and pressed her fingers to her mouth as Charles and the observer stood watching. After a few seconds, he smiled and wiped a tear from her eye, telling Charles that they could be going. The two men sat up front with Charles driving. He took it slow and easy to make the twenty mile journey comfortable for Helena, so it was over half an hour later by the time they reached her trailer. By then, her time was up. The observer pulled a cellular phone from his pocket, pushed a few buttons, and spoke a few words. After finishing, he shook hands with Charles, turned to congratulate Helena and then left.
After helping her into her trailer, Charles returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. They toasted their victory and he drank his while Helena sipped hers. They talked for a few moments and then he produced a thick envelope from a pocket in his overcoat. He opened it carefully and pulled out a wad of green, said it was twelve thousand dollars and asked if she'd like to count it. She replied that she was too full to worry about it and that she'd trust him. He said he was glad to hear it. That if she trusted him, then this money was only the beginning. She belched, shaking her head and said she was through. She'd done it this once and that was all she wanted. He shrugged his shoulders and said that it was up to her, but that she might wait until she'd digested her food to make such an important decision. Helena giggled then moaned, holding her stomach. She told him not to make her laugh. He apologized and then rose to go. Before leaving, he bent to kiss her cheek and thanked her for a wonderful evening.
The next morning, she awoke to the sound of her alarm clock. She turned it off, then pressed a button tilted herself upward. The motorized bed was yet another smart purchase. When she slid her legs off the side of the bed, she felt a strange sensation. She felt...fatter. It was as though, during the eight hours she'd slept, her body had turned all that pasta into flesh. She knew it couldn't be true, but that didn't change the way she felt. Naked, she made her way to the bathroom which, like the other rooms in her trailer, had a curtain instead of a door. She enjoyed walking with no clothes on; the feel of her body swaying with each step, her breasts rubbing her belly, her belly rubbing her thighs, her thighs rubbing together as her ass rose and fell behind them. She liked the feeling her calves had as they quivered when she shifted her weight. She enjoyed the waves of motion that passed through her arms as she swung them to keep her balance. She stopped at the scale, a small platform on the floor connected to a digital readout mounted at eye-level on the wall. She pressed a button, then four zeroes flashed and disappeared. She didn't know the scale's capacity, but the salesman had said that it was designed for factory use, and that she'd never reach its limit. She wondered about that as the numbers appeared - 778 pounds. She had weighed herself less than a week ago, and she was almost twenty pounds lighter then. She exhaled forcefully and then turned around to see herself in the full length mirror. She made a mental note to pay more attention to her weight. She still admired her appearance; calves bigger than most women's thighs, her cheese-barrel thighs almost totally obscured by her heaping belly, her vein-laden pendulous breasts riding astride like two beached whales emerging from her chest in a tide of striated flesh; her arms, a collection of marshmallowy rolls piled one atop the other; her face, an attractive collection of cheeks and chins that served as a final testament to her wondrous vastness.
She posed for a few seconds, searching for where the new pounds had emerged. She decided that they'd distributed themselves evenly between all her body parts, barely noticeable additions. Content, she went to draw her bath. The "bathtub" represented her most extravagant outlay when it came to accommodating her fatness. She stepped into a large shower stall, closing a heavy glass door behind her and turning its handle twice. She turned the water on with a single lever and, satisfied with its temperature, pulled another lever. The water stopped draining and began filling the stall. After a few minutes, the water reached her hips and she sat down on the bench mounted to the wall behind her. When the water reached her upper chest, she turned it off and began washing herself. With so much water, she was almost buoyed up, which made getting clean much easier. She used several special soaps and oils contained in a hidden, cabinet-like recess in the wall.
This daily ceremony usually lasted an hour. At the end of it, she'd turn the water on again, letting the stall fill until it made it easy for her to stand, then she'd release the drain. This was always the hardest part of her morning ritual. As the water drained away, her weight gradually increased, finally yielding her enormous poundage entirely to gravity. Helena enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness and always felt sad when it faded away, leaving her laden with the weight that was a natural consequence of her appetite. She finished by rinsing off under the showerhead. After drying herself off with a sheet-sized towel and finishing the morning's other toiletries she'd put on her bra, doing up the multiple front hooks, then go to her closet to select the canopy of the day. Her dresses of different fabrics but were all cut virtually the same: parachute-like structures with a hole for her head and sleeves for her arms. As she was slipping one on, she saw a bright object on corner of her vanity. She ambled over to see that it was a business card. It was simple, bearing only the Initials C. G. and a phone number. She smiled and then slid the card into the top drawer.
It was a month later and another town when she finally called the number. While she was dialing it, she considered how important business cards were becoming in the course of her life. She expected an answering service but the voice that spoke was familiar. After passing a few moments with pleasantries, Charles asked how he could help her. Helena said that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about that night in the restaurant and that the more she thought about it, the fonder the memory became. She added that her appetite had gone out of control since then and that she was eating like never before. She was presently tipping the scales at 802 pounds and it seemed like there was no end in sight. After giving it careful consideration, she decided that if she was going to continue getting fatter, she might as well get paid extravagantly for it. He said that her timing was impeccable, that his clients had been licking their wounds for just long enough and would be itching for a rematch. He warned her that, by necessity, the next wager would be even more challenging than the first. Helena wasn't concerned. With her currently incredible appetite, she felt she could eat anything. He verified her location and told her that he'd be in touch the next day.
Two days later, he pulled up to the back of her trailer in a modified bread truck. It had a mechanical lift and a ceiling high enough that she didn't have to bend over. There was also a lift chair, just like the one she owned, sitting along one of the walls. It fit her perfectly and Helena was suitably impressed. It even had a seatbelt that fit. With a sneaking suspicion, she asked him when he had made arrangements for the truck and chair. He smiled, saying that he procured them both one week after her first event. She shook her head, chuckled, and said that he was quite a confident man. He repeated what he'd already told her, that was merely a good judge of character.
Helena had assumed that they had a long drive ahead of them, but forty minutes later, they pulled up to their destination. As he she was being lowered off the truck and looking at the building, Helena commented at how Charles must be an exceptional man to get his 'clients' to travel so far. Charles merely replied that the men he dealt with went where the action was; it was as simple as that. Two men in white rushed out to meet them, pushing a wheelchair between them. With their help, Helena squeezed herself into the chair and the two men wheeled her off. The entrance they went through was deserted as were the hallways they pushed her through. Helena was to learn later that this building was a theater that was going to be opened later that month. All the construction hadn't been completed, but it would be adequate to meet their needs.
Her journey ended in the middle of a large stage. It was completely bare except for a large chair shining in a spotlight. As her eyes adjusted, she noted that the seats were occupied with familiar faces from the restaurant. The men helped her move from the wheelchair to the softer chair. It was a recliner and they slowly leaned her back until she said she was fine. Less than a minute later, over the mound of her stomach and breasts, she saw Charles entering through a side door, followed by the same two men pushing a cart. On a stand was a cylindrical cooler like she'd seen at large outdoor parties, which they pushed to within arms-reach of her. It was designed to hold several gallons of fluid which flowed out from a spigot at its base. There were several other containers on the cart and, as Charles supervised, the men emptied them into the cooler. He called out their contents as each was emptied; heavy cream, almond extract, melted butter, sugar, chocolate syrup, and vanilla ice cream. When all the containers were emptied, the same portly man who'd observed her at the restaurant, appeared and looked into the cooler. He nodded and, in a loud voice, said that it was full. Charles stirred it carefully for a few minutes with a huge whisk, then handed Helena a large mug. She held it out and Charles pressed the lever on the spigot. filling the mug with a thick, frothy beverage.
As Helena tilted it to her lips and drank, she was almost stunned by it's richness. The flavor was so permeating that she felt as if she was tasting it with her entire mouth, not just with her tongue. She gulped it down and quickly held the mug out again. Charles whispered for her to take it slow, that she had three hours and should pace herself. Heedless of his words, she tossed back the mug, followed it with another, and another, and another. It was as if she was in a trance, seduced by this magic beverage that tasted like a gift from the gods. She relished its creaminess as she felt it flowing down her throat, gradually filling her belly with its fattening bounty. She drank relentlessly, yet was so careful with her treasure that she didn't spill a single drop.
Two and a half hours later, Charles steadied her hand as she reached out with the mug. Still lost in her ecstatic stupor, she felt that something was different about this mug. She tilted her head forward and, from beneath her drooping eyelids, examined it. It was different; it was only half full. She looked up at Charles and, in a drunken, slurring voice, asked what he was trying to pull. He was shining like an angel with the spotlight behind his head as he told her to drink. She did as she was told. When the mug was drained, Charles made a gesture, the portly man reappeared again, checked the cooler and spoke one word: empty. The cheers and curses came simultaneously from the audience. She thought she was hearing more cheers than last time, but that could have been the acoustics. This was her last thought before she blacked out.
She awoke suddenly, staring at a familiar wall. As she emerged from the shadow of sleep, realizing that she was in her trailer, her first thought was that her previous night had been an incredibly vivid dream. Two things dismissed the thought simultaneously - the sight of Charles asleep in a chair beside her and the bloated feeling in her stomach. Her bed was in its semi-reclining position and she could feel her breasts sitting on her arms to either side of her. Reaching up with one of her bloated arms, she pulled the sheets back with a jerk. She was completely naked. Embarrassed, she tried to cover herself, then sighed at the futility of the gesture. She pushed a button to lift her more upright then slowly moved her legs to the side of the bed while trying to cover most of herself with one of the sheets. The sound of the steel creaking and groaning woke Charles. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and then looked at her sitting there, pebbled belly hanging off the side of the bed, left breast exposed showing her stretched aureole and a thick nipple, arms bulging outward as she held her self upright, and her fleshy face blushed red from the awkwardness of the moment. He broke the tension by smiling, then pointed to the robe draped over the head of the bed and asked how she felt.
Helena continued sitting there, adjusted the sheet, and asked him what had happened. He said that she passed out after winning the bet, that he paid the two men to help bring her home, that he undressed her himself by cutting off her dress, and that he had stayed to make sure that she was okay. He said that he only took her clothes off because it looked like she might breathe easier without her dress binding around her and her bra holding her breasts on top of her chest and belly. He added that he'd gladly replace the dress. Helena chuckled and her body shook with the gesture. She asked what he thought about what he saw. Charles leaned back and scratched his chin, replying that she could stand to fill out a bit more, but that otherwise she was fine. He also said that she looked remarkably well for a woman who'd just consumed an entire cooler of the most fattening substance he'd ever seen. Helena reached forward with a plump hand and rubbed the bottom roll of her belly, cradling her breast as she did. She stated that he was just saying nice things to her because she was his latest stakehorse.
Charles scowled and said that he wasn't so insensitive as that. During their short working relationship, had he told her a single lie? Had one situation or circumstance been different than he had described to her? Had the money been green? He added that there were plenty of men who liked their women extremely fat, and that she'd be considered a crown jewel to anyone with those desires. Helena started to say something, swallowed it, then asked if he was one of those men. He smiled a reply and shook a finger in her direction. One thing at a time he said. They were business partners, and he never made the mistake of mixing business with pleasure. With that, he rose and grabbed his coat. He asked if she was okay, and she said she was fine. He said he'd be in touch, bowed to wish her a good morning, and tilted his head toward a bulging envelope on the corner of her vanity. As he was heading for the door, he paused to say that he'd given her a bonus for a job well done - her take for the event was twenty thousand. He stopped for a second, as if he had something to add, but shook it off. A moment later, he was gone.
Months passed and more pounds appeared. Perhaps it was the result of having her stomach stretched to the limit by her two "events" - that's what Charles called them - but regardless, Helena's appetite had grown from incredible to insatiable. Accordingly, she was eating more during her sideshow appearances and spending more of her waking hours eating in her trailer. As her intake increased, her tastes also changed. Her inclinations turned towards richer, more fat laden foods. Butter, heavy creams, lard, cheeses: these became the staples of her diet. She often ate meals composed solely of fried fat trimmed from cuts of meat. She knew that she was absolutely out of control and yet reveled in the experience. She justified her objectionable cravings as part of a calculated career move. The fatter she got, the more her reputation grew, more people came to see her, and she made more money. Aside from her reasons, one fact remained undeniable, she was putting on the pounds with reckless abandon.
Throughout those months, she called Charles repeatedly, but he was unable to set up any events for her. During their last wager, most of the crowd had lost and lost big, and it would be a while before they regained their courage. He let her know that he was working on something, but there was no telling when it would go through. In the meantime, she should just take care of herself and keep her stomach ready.
That's exactly what she did. She took care to eat as much food as she possibly could each and every day. Consumed by her incredible fat-lust, her already mammoth body continued to expand at an exponential rate. Huge chunks of her earnings were spent on a new wardrobe to contain her increasing bulk. She had to have the motors on her chair and bed upgraded to more powerful models. The long-awaited floor reinforcing became an absolute necessity. As her body continued to metamorphosize from it's increasing poundage, she found her bulk becoming increasingly difficult to manage. She felt that it wasn't the weight, but rather where the weight was going, that was making it so difficult for her. Her breasts were serving as the primary storehouse for her newly acquired burden. They had grown so huge that wearing a bra became as senseless as it was impractical. Their weight made it impossible to support them comfortably with shoulder straps and their undulating mass rendered them nearly unmanageable. Her thighs had bloated into tightly crushed, massive barrels of fat, and her belly had swollen down to well past her knees and consequently, when these traits were combined, they required her to lean farther to either side when she was walking. This movement made her free-hanging breasts swim across her belly in great, pendulant arcs, which threw off her balance. Combined with the fact that her belly would also be swaying back and forth, her legs would be quivering up and down, her fat arms would be wagging haphazardly, her ass would be pitching from side to side - her entire body shaking like one huge mound of jello - walking was no easy task. She was reduced to taking one step at a time; regaining her balance after each one then steadying herself before taking another. Luckily, Helena had always been strong, so her gait wasn't so much a strain as an inconvenience.
Her eating rampage went unabated until one evening, while she was sitting in her trailer eating a platter full of biscuits, bacon, sausage, eggs, cheese and gravy, she heard a knock and a familiar voice. It had been over three months since she'd seen Mr. Charles Gillespie, so she fumbled excitedly for the remote to open the door. He entered with hat in hand and a smile on his face and when he saw her, came to an immediate stop. He spoke her name as a question. She smiled, her fat cheeks forcing her eyes into slits, and then laughed out loud. He stood staring at her, feeling the brim of his hat, speechless. Helena said that, during their last meeting, he had mentioned that she could "stand to fill out", and that's exactly what she had done. He stammered a few words and asked what she'd been up to. Helena looked upward, pursed her lips, tapped her chin with a finger, and replied that she didn't know. She reached over, pushed her platter aside, and turned on the lift motor in her chair. After getting to her feet, she held out an inviting hand which Charles readily took. He helped her steady herself as the two silently made their way into her bathroom. Through the curtain, Helena turned to her left and made her way onto the scale. She pressed the button and looked at Charles with one brow raised. When the numbers appeared, she said that she'd been "up to" 967 pounds. He looked at the display, seemingly mesmerized. She tapped his chest, gesturing for him to allow her to pass, saying that she didn't like to be on her feet any longer than necessary. She felt his eyes on her as she pushed her way through the curtain, intentionally brushing the door jamb with her hips.
A few minutes later, Helena resumed her bout with the platter - at Charles's suggestion- while he explained the reason for his visit. There was an unfamiliar tone of excitement in his voice as he talked about the next "event" he'd been working on. He couldn't take all the credit, but he considered it a groundbreaking achievement, one of unparalleled theatricality and promise. Helena tried to look unimpressed as she polished off a biscuit with a single bite. She almost choked on it, though, when he told her how much money she stood to make: $150,000 for a single event. He handed her a glass of buttermilk as he continued to explain the details. She listened intently and then had him repeat himself because she couldn't believe what she was hearing. When he finished, he asked her what she thought. She said it sounded crazy. He agreed with a smile. She said she'd have to think about it. He said everything was set to go. She said maybe. He said please.
Six days later, she found herself being wheeled into a massively ornate ballroom, shocked to see how large the crowd was. There were at least 150 people this time, and they weren't all men. More than a few women, clad in fur coats and decked with diamonds, were scattered throughout the assemblage. The room got quiet and people began wandering to their tables as she was wheeled toward the contraption: a thick, ten foot tall, concrete pillar crossed by a long, metal I-beam to form a huge "T". On either side of the beam, suspended about two feet above the floor by logging chains, were identical sofa-like seats. She was wheeled over to the seat on her right and helped into it. No sooner had she gotten comfortable when the crowd rumbled, signaling her opponents approach.
Clad in overalls that couldn't keep his body from spilling over the sides of the wheelchair, he was the fattest man she'd ever seen. His hair was black, covering a head that seemed to merge into his chest in one fatty mass. His arms were being held upward and outward by a tractor-tire sized roll of fat around his chest. His gut was so huge that it rubbed the floor as the assistants wheeled him over to his sofa-chair. When they got him situated, it took four men to help him get up and over, into his seat. As he fell into it with a thud, Helena felt her own chair wobble. As they sat there facing each other, a burly man then walked up to the concrete pillar and pulled down on a large lever. Immediately, Helena felt herself floating up into the air. Simultaneously, the fat man sunk down to the floor. The two men who'd brought her in pulled down on Helena's chair, as another began hooking weights on the side. After he attached over 100 pounds, she and the fat man were balanced.
A spotlight came on and the crowd went absolutely silent as Charles appeared beside her. Speaking into a microphone, he welcomed the crowd began the buildup for the event. The ladies and gentlemen present were going to witness a "Battle of the Bellies" between Helena Troy of El Paso, Texas and Earnest G. Barnes of Mobile, Alabama - all for their wagering pleasure. The contest was simple, both individuals would be stuffing themselves with as much food as possible in an attempt to upset the balance in their favor. The first one to take on enough weight to make their chair touch the floor would be declared the victor. He motioned to the back of the hall and the spotlight swung to two men pushing in carts loaded down with food. They were filled with a plethora of fattening selections: fried chicken, mashed potatoes swimming in butter, sausage links, cheesecakes, pitchers of cream - all her favorite foods. Helena noticed that the contents of each were identical, all in the interest of fairness, she supposed. After they were positioned, Charles bellowed that the contest had begun. Helena and her foe reached out simultaneously and began shoveling the food to where it belonged.
It only took a few minutes for Helena to realize that she was facing a worthy adversary. The fat man was stuffing himself so fast that it seemed like he wasn't even chewing. She tried to keep pace, keeping her mouth filled to capacity and swallowing in great lumps, but she couldn't keep up. She watched as he plowed into the contents of his tray at an assembly line pace. He'd grab chicken legs, pop them in his mouth, and suck all the meat off in one movement. Washing his food down, he could toss back an entire mug in a single gulp. After about five minutes, she felt her toes lifting slowly off the floor. Panic stricken, she tried to pick up her pace. She grabbed a handful of brownies and popped them into her mouth, washed them down with great draughts from her pitcher of milk like they were pills. Her opponent paid no heed, seemingly oblivious to her attempts to match his gluttonous power.
Half an hour into the contest, Helena couldn't touch the floor with her feet and was in the unwelcome position of looking down on the fat Mr. Barnes. Swinging back and forth slightly, Helena was starting to feel full even though her opponent was digging in as if he'd just gotten started. Her cart had been raised a few inches to keep her food within reach, and she was beginning to realize that her defeat was imminent unless she could somehow outmatch this man with the bottomless stomach. Just as she was reaching for another piece of cake, she got her first glimmer of hope. The fat man paused and then patted his chest with his fist, seemingly trying to dislodge some gas. His belch was strained and he twisted his neck as though he was uncomfortable. Helena seized the opportunity and dug into a bowl of cheese soup with newfound vigor. For the first time since the beginning of the contest, the fat man looked her in the eye. She met his gaze as a stream of cheese trickled down her chin. He grinned at her and resumed his marathon pace. It had been a ruse. Helena felt her spirits sink as she imagined that she'd felt her chair rise slightly.
An hour later, the fat man's seat was hovering a few scant inches above the floor while Helena' was suspended in mid-air. Both of them had slowed their paces considerably, allowing for digestion. Charles came up to her and asked how she was doing. She said she'd never been so full in her life. He nodded and looked toward her opposition and then looked back to her with puppy-dog eyes. She returned his expression with an apologetic sigh. He reached over for a napkin, wiped off her mouth with it, stood on his toes and bent over toward her. His mouth met hers and their tongues caressed. A wave of murmurs ran through the crowd as he leaned back. Helena looked at him, sleepy eyed and stunned. It's was okay, he said, she'd tried her best and he couldn't ask for any more than that. A warm, tingling breeze washed over her and then she jerked back in her seat, her chubby fingers gripping her armrests tightly. She felt a wave of nausea pass through her and the room seemed to spin. Then she felt a sensation in her stomach unlike any shed known before. It flushed; that's the only way she could describe it. It was as though a plug had been pulled and some of the contents of her stomach had gone down the drain. Charles looked concerned as she turned to him with a smile. She'd just gotten her second wind.
Earnest G. Barnes looked befuddled as she returned to her cart like a pig to the trough. She grabbed a bunch of thick sausages and deep-throated them without batting an eyelash. She grabbed a bowl of gravy and tossed it back while reaching for a plate of cheese. She was dumping food down her mouth like she was pouring it into a bucket. The fat man tried to match her pace but, after only a few minutes, went pale and started sweating. As if by instinct, Helena knew that he was full to the brim. She looked down at him mockingly as she kept throwing food into her mouth.
Ninety minutes later, his chair was hanging in mid-air and hers had just touched the floor. She was leaning back with her hands behind her head, basking in the afterglow of her victory. Her belly was so bloated that it had forced her legs far apart and shoved her breasts over onto her hips. The fabric of her dress was stretched taut as her great, rolling mounds threatened to burst the stitches with her every breath. Charles was kneeling beside her, petting her belly like it was a cat. She was looking at the fat man as he hung their looking ridiculous, his face a bloated mask of disbelief. Life is wonderful, Helena thought.
She passed the half-ton mark a few days later. Charles was there to help commemorate the occasion with wine and a gift. The gift was a ring. He said that it wasn't and engagement ring, it was just a 'I want to get to know you better' gift. She accepted it graciously and returned the sentiment by asking him to help remove her clothes. He complied with sensual enthusiasm.
As she felt the warmth of his bare skin against hers, she wondered where it had all began. She thought about the genes, the upbringing, the tragedy, the sideshow and Charles. As always, theories whirled through her head and, as usual, she didn't care about any of them. As he licked her right nipple, then sucked it gently causing her to groan with pleasure, one thought displaced the others. Out of all the things she could have been, she was glad to be a sideshow girl.