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Old 04-05-2017, 06:36 PM   #1
Join Date: Jan 2013
Posts: 52
Vongola27 can now change their title
Default Revenge of Gluttox!

(Contains BBW and SSBBW, Massive and magic weight gain, and comic book nonsense)

Author's note: Okay, new story! With all comic books/movies all the rage these days, and with a lovely little story on Curvage as inspiration, I decided to make a story with some of my favorite, least-known heroines from DC Comics. Why the least-known? Because I like making people do research.
On that note, I hope you enjoy, and look forward to new updates every Wednesday!

Revenge of Gluttox!
by Vongola27

The lunch rush was in full swing at Steamer’s in downtown Central City. Everyone was packing into the steampunk-themed joint, which resembled the insides of a massive, classical machine. One or two members of the police department were there, as well as a few staff members of S.T.A.R. Labs, but the most unique visitors had yet to arrive.

In walked three young women who were quite well-known in their line of work: Maxine Hunkel, the wind-whipping Cyclone; Jesse Chambers-Tyler, the queen of quickness; Sonia Sato, the masterful martial artist Judomaster. All three were members of the granddaddy of superhero teams, the Justice Society of America, but they were not accompanied by any of their myriad teammates; in fact, their visit to Central City was strictly off the books.

Jesse, a lithe and toned young woman, approached the hostess at the front desk and smiled. “Hi, we’re meeting up with some people from work. I think the table’s under ‘Faith’?”

The hostess did not even have to look down at her reservation list. “The table for thirteen? We’ve got you set up already; a couple others got here before you did. Right this way!”

The trio followed after the co-ed, who guided them through the busy restaurant. Jesse and Maxine had a hard time avoiding all the customers and servers, but Sonia managed to dodge around them with the greatest of ease. The Kyoto-born woman never broke her stride as she kept pace with her colleagues.

“Thirteen people in the middle of the day? Must be something big you’re putting together,” the hostess remarked to Jesse.

“We like to brainstorm together,” the blonde answered. “And yeah, it’s something really big.”

“Like, world-ending big,” Maxine chimed in. “Threat level Demon, that type of stuff.”

Sonia gave the redhead a silent nudge, warning her to close her mouth before she spilt anything else. Jesse just chuckled as she took the lead again. “She means our office’s world. We’ve got this big merger coming up, and if it tanks, so do we.”

“Sounds serious,” their guide said with a shrug, just barely interested in their affairs. “You might want to get some thinking food. Want me to get you an order of wings or anything?”

“Actually,” came a melodic voice from the table, “I just placed an order for a few things. Thanks though.”

The voice came from a petite brunette, who was even shorter than the tiny Maxine. She wore a long-sleeved white blouse and a purple tank-top underneath, as well as a pair of silver overall shorts. Her brown hair was trimmed into a pixie cut, giving her an almost boyish look when combined with her fairly flat physique.

To the woman’s left was a slightly taller blonde girl dressed in purple and indigo. Her blonde locks flowed past her shoulders, and her clothes were somewhat snug on her apparently firm physique. She gave the arriving trio a wave as she sipped from a cup of green soda.

“Hey, ’sup?” she asked the girls.

“’Sup!” Maxine replied with enthusiasm to make up for her teammates. “I love your hoodie!”

The blonde fiddled with one of the drawstrings and grinned. “Thanks. I like your shirt.”

Maxine glanced down at her Wicked t-shirt, which was all green except for Elphaba’s black hair and hat, and Glinda’s pale skin and white clothes. The gangly redhead also sported a pair of white shorts, red and white striped socks, and white tennis shoes.

“Thank you! Have you seen the new movie because oh my gosh I love it and—”

“Maxine. Stop please.”

Sonia gave her teammate another soft nudge towards the table, which put a cork in Maxine’s mouth for another minute or two. The brunette at the head glanced over the martial artist who, despite being smaller than her chatty companion, seemed much more in control and assertive. Sonia was wearing a red and yellow tracksuit which was not especially flattering, but then, that did not seem to be a problem for her.

The woman’s eyes then turned to the assumedly leader of the group and gave Jesse a onceover. Miss Chambers-Tyler was wearing a maroon t-shirt and khaki capris, and her dusty blonde hair was done up in a professional ponytail. She seemed to pay her teammates no mind as she offered a hand to their host.

“Faith, I presume? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Miss—”

“Just call me Jesse. No need to stand on ceremony here.”

The tiny woman chuckled. “No, I suppose not. But may I say, I have admired your work with the JSA for quite some time.”

“Well, thanks!” Jesse happily replied. “I was actually a fan of yours when you were with the League; I always wondered why you left.”

“Personal reasons, that’s all. Come, sit down! I got us some good snacks to munch on while we wait for the others to arrive.”

They both sat down, and after placing drink orders, Maxine noticed a glass sitting at an empty seat. She asked, “Is someone else here?”

“Actually, I was the first one.”

The newcomers turned and saw a fiery-haired woman walk towards them. She had pale skin, which only emphasized her hair color, and the body of a tennis player. What’s more, she seemed to have an aura about her, but of what, who could say. The woman wore a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt.

“Lorraine Reilly,” she greeted the trio. “And I think I have a clue who you three are.”

“Yes, well, let’s save that for when our other guests arrive,” Faith told Lorraine.

No sooner had Lorraine sat down than the table was greeted by another woman: a meek little thing with platinum-white hair and skin, who wore a pair of denim short shorts and a tied-off shirt.

“Dolphin! So glad you could make it!” Faith exclaimed. The meek girl only waved before quickly sitting down beside Maxine.

“Dolphin? Wait, you mean you’re THE Dolphin?” the chatty girl asked. “Oh my gosh, that’s so incredible! I remember learning all about you in my marine biology class. What’s it like living out in the sea? Do you hang out with Aquaman much? What’s he like? Is Atlantis really nice? Is it—”

She was silenced when Sonia gave her a firmer nudge and nodded to Dolphin, who had begun to tear up. The silent woman hopped out of her seat and made her way to the very end of the table, where no one was near her. She let out a small sigh as she composed herself, but she still sniffled now and then.

“Maxine, Dolphin is something of an introvert; you need to go slow, otherwise she’ll shut down,” Faith told the gangly girl.

Maxine bit her lip and folded her hands in her lap. This was just another example of how much she needed to control herself around others. It was something she still struggled with after all these years.

After a moment of awkwardness, Jesse cleared her throat and asked, “So, um…who else is coming?”

“Oh, just a few more. They should be coming any second now…”

Sure enough, a few seconds passed and two more people walked up to the table. One was much taller and muscular than the other, though her companion made up for it by having silver skin. The tall woman looked to be Asian-American, and she had a thick crop of dyed red hair, tattoos up and down her arms, and what were basically work-out clothes. The silver woman was more conservative, but not by much; she wore a red tank-top, white capris, and thick sunglasses.

“Grace, Alix, meet everyone; everyone, meet Grace and Alix.”

The silver Alix nodded her head politely while Grace said, “Yo.”

When the two took a seat and placed their drinks (gin and tonic for Alix, beer for Grace), Jesse gave the two of them a smile. The mathematician remarked, “Haven’t seen you two in a while. What’s going on these days?”

“We’re partners,” Alix answered. “Heroes for hire, as it were.”

“Although we practically got sued by some comic company in New York for the name, so we’re still working on it,” Grace said as she leaned back in her chair. She glanced to Faith and asked, “We still waiting on the starlets?”

“And the internationals, yes,” Faith replied. “Though I think two of them are right—”

“Here we are, bitches!”

Everyone at the table glanced up to see not one but two celebrities before them. One was the problematic party girl Stormy Knight, and the other was the classy and classic Rita Farr. Miss Knight had dark black hair that ran halfway down her back and a yellow sundress that left little to the imagination. Rita, meanwhile, had her brown hair done up like Marilyn Monroe, and she wore a red blouse with blue jeans and a white scarf.

“How are my girls doing?” Stormy asked as she walked around the table, greeting each one in the same intrusive fashion. “Good? You doing good? Yeah, you are.”

Rita sighed. “I thought after flying all the way here, you’d have calmed down a bit, but no. This is just how you are, I suppose.”

“Can’t help it, stretch,” the party girl replied. “If there’s attention to be had, I’m right there in the center of it.”

The blonde in the hoodie shook her head. “Yeah, well, we’re not exactly supposed to be making a scene here. Dial it back, Real Life.”

Stormy rolled her eyes but acquiesced. She took a seat near Dolphin and drummed her fingers as she mulled over the drink menu. Rita, for her part, maintained an aura of grace and majesty as she waltzed to her seat and sipped at the available glass of water.

“I must say, this is a rather…unique establishment,” the movie star remarked. “Wherever did you find such a place?”

Faith shrugged her shoulders. “Good Yarp reviews, that’s all. I thought it would be most fitting for our unusual get-together.”

“Yes, this is quite the menagerie you’ve gathered,” the starlet murmured. “I don’t suppose you’d like to share why us in particular?”

“I thought you said this would lead to a job, Faith,” Grace grunted as she downed half her beer in one gulp.

“And it will, it will.” The tiny girl threw up her hands as she tried to reassure her guests. “All will be revealed as soon as the last of our party shows up, which should be riiiiiiight now!”

At the snap of her fingers, two women turned the corner and arrived at the table. One was a Japanese woman of modest height, perhaps a hair taller than Sonia, while the other was an Indian woman who was among the tallest at the table. The Japanese woman wore a black blouse and a pair of white slacks, while the Indian woman wore a dress of reds and blues.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a place so tacky before,” the Japanese woman huffed while tossing her black hair over her shoulder.

“I think it’s charming in its own way, Kimiyo,” the Indian woman retorted. Her dark locks were wrapped in a ponytail all the way to her waist.

Kimiyo glanced to her companion and scoffed. “There is a fine line between charming and gaudy, Chandi, and this place has long since crossed that line.”

When the two reached the table, Chandi gave a polite wave to everyone while Kimiyo glared at Jesse, who glared in return.



Maxine glanced back and forth between the two and asked, “Do you know each other?”

“We were briefly teammates on the Justice League,” Jesse groaned. “It didn’t go well.”

“Everything would have gone just fine if you had simply listened to my plans,” the haughty woman growled.

“Or maybe you could have listened to me, since I actually consider people’s strengths and weaknesses rather than giving everyone the same strategy.”

Once again, Faith stepped in. “Ladies, we can cover that some other time, but, since we’re all here, I thought it best we finally talk about why I’ve gathered you all here.”

Kimiyo and Chandi took their seats and, once everyone had something to drink, were all ears as Faith explained everything.

“My name is Jen Grey, but I think most of you know me by my super name, Faith. I was a member of the Justice League for a short time, but an injury forced me to leave.”

“What kind of injury was that?” asked Alix.

“Vampire bite,” Faith answered. “Anyway, since then, I’ve been doing some undercover work, investigating the threats no one knows are out there. I’ve seen a lot of horrible things along the way: M’nagalah, the Cancer God; the American Scream; A, Destroyer of the 5th Dimension; so many terrible, horrible creatures and concepts that threaten the fabric of reality itself. But there was one that I came across that dates back to the Golden Age of heroes: Gluttox, Devourer of All.”

Stormy snorted in laughter. “Wow, who named that bad boy? Anytime you want to make someone sound cool, just slap a X on their name.”

The hostess ignored her. “Gluttox attacked a small, Midwestern town and burrowed deep beneath the soil, where it took roots. It took a team of thirteen heroes to stop it, but they could not destroy it; they could only hope to contain it before it could unleash its full power. They had to evacuate the town and sanction off the area, turning it into a no man’s land.”

“Sounds pretty rough. What did this thing do?”

“Well, Grace, that’s where it gets weird. You see, it tried to fatten up the entire population of the town.”

There was a pregnant pause at the table before Sonia asked, “What?”

“My thoughts exactly. It turns out that Gluttox is a beast from Apokolips, and it escaped to Earth when we seemed weak and defenseless. The thing is able to inspire ravenous hunger in people, as well as create an environment that will provide for said hunger. People gorge themselves full of food, which turns into fat almost instantly, which then gives Gluttox more power. Then, once it’s made a population too weak and slow to do anything, it conquers. It almost succeeded too, if it weren’t for thirteen heroines that gathered to defeat it. That’s why I’ve brought you all here: to end this menace once and for all.”

“Why reach out to us?” asked Kimiyo. “Surely there are other, actual teams out there who could defeat such a beast.”

Faith shook her head. “I wish it were that easy, but nothing is ever easy in our line of work. We need to have thirteen heroes, and we need to have people who best match up with the previous heroes. Since the originals were all women, this team is all women; since there were thirteen, we’re thirteen strong.”

One by one, she pointed to her guests, starting with Jesse. “Jesse, your mother, Liberty Belle, led the charge against the beast. Maxine, your grandmother, the original Red Tornado, was right by Belle’s side. Sonia, you represent the wit and agility of the original Harlequin. Chandi, you represent the Russian heroine Fireball, just as Lorraine represents the second wielder of flames, Firebrand. Dolphin, you represent the aquatic abilities of the oceanic one, Tsunami. Grace, like the original Fury, you will be our Amazon. Alix, you will stand in for the first metal mistress, Bulletgirl. Stephanie, you are a talented young trickster, therefore you will take Gimmick Girl’s place. Stormy, you will assume the role of your great-aunt, the first Phantom Lady. Rita, your size-changing powers make you the perfect legacy for Doll Girl. And Kimiyo, you will be taking the place of the team’s most powerful member, Miss America.”

The women mumbled among themselves, some excited and others confused, before returning their attention to their host. Chandi asked, “If these are our roles, then what does that make you, Faith?”

“I am taking the place of the first psychic heroine, Rose Psychic,” the young lady remarked with a swell of pride. “With that, we meet the cosmic rules and thus, we can beat Gluttox before he escapes and turns us into steamed dumplings for his enjoyment.”

Stephanie, the young blonde in the hoodie, raised the most important question. “What’s the catch? There’s always something people like you withhold from the rest of us, whether it’s not having enough supplies or understating how powerful these things are.”

When the others showed concern over this, Faith raised her hand to silence the table. “You’re right, there is one catch. And for some of you, it might be very important; almost enough to make you quit.”

“We’re not getting paid, is that it?” asked Grace.

The hostess shook her head. “Nothing like that. You will be paid and you will help save the world, but the experience will change you.”

“Define ‘change’, because I’ve seen a lot in my time,” Rita prodded.

“In trying to stop Gluttox, the thirteen heroines wound up under his spell and gorged themselves into obesity; some were even unable to walk after the incident. It wasn’t permanent and it didn’t exactly kill them, but that is a risk. If you do this, you might, no, will end up fat.”

There was another round of heavy silence before the ladies all burst out laughing, even the silent Dolphin. When Faith raised an eyebrow at the display, she was answered by Jesse. “Faith, if that’s the least of our problems, then I think we’ll be just fine!”

“I can think of far worse things to go through than getting fat,” Chandi chuckled.

“Yeah! Like getting crushed by a robot, getting fried by a dragon, getting—“

“What Maxine means is you’ve got nothing to worry about,” the speedster added.

Stormy softly elbowed Rita in the side. “You think this will hurt you on the red carpet?”

“Darling, I could be twenty pounds or five thousand pounds, but I would make it look good,” the starlet smirked as she leaned back.

Faith grinned as she felt a wave of relief come over her. She looked over her newfound allies and said, “Thank you all. I was afraid some of you would say no!”

“Please, like we’d let vanity get in the way of being heroes,” Grace snorted before letting out a modest belch.

“Well then, I think that’s enough talk about business,” the hostess declared. “I got us a table for thirteen, and we should probably use it before people get angry. We’ll talk about the details later, but for now—bon apetit!”

As the women all ate and drank heartily, the threat of Gluttox drifted to the back of their mind. Little did they know how much they underestimated the monstrosity…and how much they would grow from the experience…
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Old 04-06-2017, 02:56 PM   #2
fat hiker
Join Date: Oct 2005
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A cool start! Looking forward to the next installment.
"Eat, Eat! You will gain weight and be more attractive!"
- Russian Tour Hostess of the 1980s, as reported in National Geographic
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Old 04-12-2017, 05:00 AM   #3
Join Date: Jan 2013
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Vongola27 can now change their title

Part 2

After their meal together, all the heroines went their separate ways to rest up before their mission, as well as get some added confidence. This was not to say they were afraid of ruining their figures; there were much more dire threats that could occur, including losing an arm or being stabbed through the gut. No, more than anything else, they needed to know that they could do something so big with such a small team. There was no Power Girl, no Zatanna, no Wonder Woman, and not even Black Canary. They had all faced monumental menaces before, but this would be on an entirely new level.

So it was that the three Justice Society girls found themselves back at the Brownstone, where they spent the downtime with their loved ones. Each were in separate wings of the massive headquarters: Maxine in the kitchen, Jesse in one of the spare rooms, and Sonia in the gym.

The resident martial artist was running through her daily routine with her boyfriend Grant, better known to the world as the infamous, explosive Damage. While Sonia looked natural and could have passed at any other training hall, her lover looked like he belonged in a heist movie; from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep, Grant Emerson wore a navy blue mask that covered every inch of his head., leaving only eyeholes to reveal the man underneath.

“This sounds insane,” the brawny young man remarked as he dodged one of Sonia’s high kicks. “And you really believe this girl? It wouldn’t exactly be the first time a villain led heroes into a trap.”

“I believe her,” the lithe lady replied. She flipped out of the way of an atomic blast as she declared, “Jesse trusts her and I trust Jesse, so I trust her.”

Damage shook his head while he ducked away from a grab. “Still though, pretty crazy idea for a mission. Makes you wonder whatever happened to bank robberies and mad scientists.”

“Welcome to twenty-first century,” Sonia joked with a slight smirk on her lips.

They continued this way for a little while longer, with he evading her grasp and she dodging his explosive powers. Finally, after working up a powerful sweat, they called it quits and walked over to a nearby bench for some water. As they approached their gear, Sonia caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and furrowed her brow. Her shirt, now clinging to her, revealed a toned figure with slight muscles; in the next few days, those might vanish completely.

“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Grant as he placed his hands on her shoulders. When she looked at him with curiosity, he rephrased the question. “What’re you thinking?”

The quiet woman pondered the question for a moment before glancing back up at her boyfriend. “I may get fat. That is okay?”

The masked man chuckled underneath the face-covering fabric. “Babe, you have to wake up to my gruesome mug every day. I would be a tool if I started shouting ‘No fat chicks’ after that.”

“Even if I get a big belly?”

“Just gives me more of you to hold,” Grant whispered as he held her close. In that moment, he sounded not unlike a pair of lovebirds that were having much of the same discussion…


“And I thought I was putting on too much weight before the wedding,” Jesse quipped.

She and her husband, Rick Tyler, the dashing Hourman, were lounging in one of the quest rooms, enjoying a nice moment to themselves. They were the power couple of the JSA, for better or worse; they could be charming and delightful, but they could also be corny and insufferable. Neither one noticed or cared about what their friends had to say, so wrapped up in their love life were they. Even after so many crises on however many Earths on their honeymoon, having twins while the universe imploded on itself, and traveling all over time while on family vacation, they were still as crazy for each other as the day they had met.

“Nothing wrong with a little more Jesse in my life,” Rick sighed wistfully as he observed his wife observe herself in the full-length mirror by the bed. “Besides, you know how crazy I was about seeing you get plush while you were carrying Matthew and Libby.”

“Yeah, but that was just a few pounds, and they all went right to my behind,” the speedster replied as she gave her pert cheeks a squeeze. “From the way Faith was describing it, I think there’s going to be a whole lot more of me.”

She turned from the mirror and flashed a foxy grin at her husband. “Think you could handle all that?”

“Might need to pop some Miraclo, but after that, I’ll be raring to go,” Rick smirked as he reached out and tugged his wife back over to the bed, where she fell on him in a laughing pile.

The thick time-keeper sat his blushing bride so she straddled his hard, barrel-shaped body. While her hands fell to the side, his were exploring every inch of her trim figure. He imagined what it would be like when she got bigger, and he let her know that.

“These thick thighs of yours, you got that from running all day, every day, but maybe all that muscle will turn into soft, juicy fat. They’ll be so plush, so cushiony, it’ll be like you’re carrying two pillows. Or maybe you’ll finally dethrone Karen when it comes to the chest; maybe you’ll be the next big boobed boss on this team. Can’t you feel my hands sinking in as I squeeze them like they’re full of milk again?”

Jesse groaned and shifted on top of Rick as he spoke of the changes that would happen to her body on this mission; for some reason, it was actually exciting her. Whether it was simply because her husband could make anything sound appealing or she was looking forward to the changes, she could not say. All she knew was that she did not want him to stop.

“Rick, ah, baby,” she huffed in short breaths, “what about my, ooh, my tummy?”

“It won’t be a tummy for much longer, hon,” the muscular man chuckled as he circled his thumbs over her slight abs. “It’s going to grow and grow, until you’re sticking out further than when you had the twins. When you wear clothes, it’ll look like you’re carrying a beach ball under there; it’s going to keep peeking out no matter what, because you can’t contain something that massive.”

“How…how big will I get?” Jesse cooed while she gyrated atop her husband.

“So big…the biggest. You’ll be the biggest woman I’ve ever seen, and then beyond that. You’ll fill up three chairs, our bed, and maybe even a room. And when you’re that big, you can’t stop me from loving every precious inch of you all day and night.”

Anything else he might have said was cut off by his wife’s steaming lips, and they spent the rest of the morning wrapped in their strange, new fantasy…


Down in the kitchen, Maxine Hunkel was enjoying a light lunch with her dear friend, Courtney Whitmore, the sensational Stargirl. Their lunch came courtesy of the team’s resident matron, Abigail ‘Ma’ Hunkel, the best Red Tornado and Maxine’s grandmother. The gangly redhead slowly munched on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Courtney tossed a chip or two into her mouth as they listened to Ma rant about the mission.

“You’d have thought we beat that thing forty years ago, what with all how we fought and all,” the elderly woman grumbled as she chopped up vegetables for coleslaw. “I don’t see any reason why we’ve got to send people back and clean that sucker out once and for all.”

“Ma, how bad can it be?” asked Maxine in between bites of her sandwich. “We’ve got a pretty good team together, so we should come out fine. Right, Courtney?”

“Absolutely,” the blonde girl replied, flashing a smile that revealed the braces on her teeth. “I’ve met a few of those ladies, and some of them are bona fide professionals, so I think you’re in good hands.”

Ma scraped her cuttings into a mixing bowl and shook her head. “Sure, you don’t think it’ll be that bad, but just you wait. You’ll be lucky if you can waddle out of there; most of us had to wait until Miss America’s powers came back before shrinking down again.”

“What exactly does Gluttox do?”

“It does things to your body and mind; puts you into the right mood to eat yourself to the size of a blue whale. When we got there, the thing made us turn ravenous, like we could have eaten an actual cow and not gotten our fill. The townspeople, they were already under its spell, so they showed us to all these restaurants, eateries, and just piles of food they had made ready, and we fell right in. We were gorging ourselves like there was no tomorrow, and it didn’t take long for the effects to show. Those ladies were blowing up like balloons, whether it was Miss America stuffing herself with Fourth of July picnic food or Tsunami eating up an entire sushi joint.”

Maxine and Courtney glanced to each other, not wanting to be the first to ask the obvious question, but morbid curiosity got the better of them. Finally, the starry girl set her bag of chips down and asked, “What happened to you, Ma?”

The elderly woman groaned and stretched her back out. “You wanna know what that creep did? You really want to know?”

The girls both offered silent nods, which prompted the aged heroine on. “Let me tell you something first: I was dirt poor growing up; we never got any of that post-war boom out our way. Every penny was sacred, which meant we bought only the cheapest stuff available. Of course, we could only get a little bit, which we had to ration out until the folks got their paycheck in. Times were hard, and I was always wishing for more: more clothes, more toys, and more food. Eventually, I married your grandfather, Maxie, and things got better, but you never forget where you came from.

“Anyway, I tried to get away from those mind-controlled shmucks and I went hiding in a cheap townhouse. They passed on by, so I thought I was safe, but then I smelled something delicious in the kitchen. I tried to fight it, but my appetite got the better of me and I wandered out in search of the source. I tell you, it was like being right back in our old home: same tacky wallpaper, same crummy toys lying everywhere, and even the same dents in the wall that we could never afford to fix. Something was working its way into my head, like it knew what to show me, and it was working.

“Finally, I found myself at a little kitchen nook, which was stacked all the way to the ceiling with the foods I wished I could have as a kid. Burgers, apple pie, cheesecake, and pork chops; strawberry ice cream, chocolate pudding, sweet potatoes, and a ham hock the size of a man. It all looked so good, and I was so hungry, and all those memories came flooding back; not even Superman could fight that. I threw my helmet off and dove right in with a vengeance, skipping right over utensils most of the time.

“After about the tenth plate, I noticed that my costume was much tighter than I walked in, but I ignored it so I could enjoy some duck l’orange. Around the thirtieth plate, my shirt was riding right up my gut and seams were being tested all over. I forced myself to stop at the fiftieth plate, when the stitching ripped up and down my legs and arms, and even my gloves had grown tight. I shoved all the food to the floor and squeezed my way out of the nook, only for my trunks to rip right up the middle, and—”

Maxine held up her hands. “Okay, okay, Grandma! That’s good; that’s all I need to know.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” the matron chuckled. “You know how us Hunkels get; we never know when to shut up!”

The women in the room shared a laugh, but when Ma left the room to do some tidying up, Courtney and Maxine became deathly serious. The blonde asked her friend. “You seriously think this is a good idea? After hearing all that?”

“I know it’s pretty crazy and all, but I’ve got to be a part of this,” the redhead answered. “Now that I know a little more about this thing, maybe I can get around it somehow. I sure hope nothing like that happens to me; I can’t imagine myself that big.”

Her friend reached a hand out and patted her shoulder. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ll take you shopping for new clothes if anything happens.”

“Thanks, Court,” Maxine said with a smile. She returned her attention to her plate, only to stick her tongue out and push it away. “I don’t think I’ve got an appetite left.”

“Me either,” Courtney remarked as she slid her plate to the side. “Wanna go watch some bad TV?”

“Oh, absolutely!”


Over in fair Gotham City, a much different conversation was being had under much different circumstances. Stephanie Brown, the youngest member of the temporary team, was relaxing after a long night of work, which, in this case, meant pursuing and dismantling one of Joker’s hideouts. The blonde vigilante was hovering over an arcade machine, mashing buttons and waggling the joystick all over the place, as she matched wits with one of her teammates. This teammate was Cassandra Cain, the brutal Black Bat, who was a master of martial arts and weapons, and could literally fight blindfolded.

“For as badass as you are in the field, Cass, you sure do suck at fighting games,” Stephanie remarked. She wore a full-body purple suit and an indigo mask that covered her whole face, and a long, hooded cape. In this garb, she was the spectacular Spoiler.

“Games no good,” Cassandra grunted as she fought a losing battle. The words came out slowly, as if she carefully considered each word. This came from an entire childhood spent in silence, and her only exposure to language happening a few years back. “I read people, people make sense; I not read games, games no sense.”

Stephanie shook her head. “You can make however many excuses you want, it ain’t going to help you win.”

From across the room came two more members of their crew: Harper Row, the wild Bluebird, and Tim Drake, the mischievous Redwing. Both of them came over with armfuls of confiscated gadgets, such as exploding whoopee cushions and razor-sharp chattering teeth. The duo had Cheshire grins spread across their faces.

“Guess who was able to grab some stuff before the GCPD get here!” Harper sang as she loaded her find in the same bag she carried her weapons in.

“I wish we got to face Fun Joker more often,” Tim chuckled while adding in his own loot. “Way better than Serial Killer Joker, and much, much better than Damaged Joker.”

Stephanie shuddered and muttered, “I thought we agreed to never speak of that case again.”

Tim and Harper crowded around the arcade machine as they watched their friends fight it out in the virtual world. It went back and forth, and just when it seemed like Cassandra would finally take a match, the power went out on the machine. The resulting sound she made was not unlike a mother tiger defending her cub.

The source of the power outage was one Dick Grayson, the dynamic Nightwing. He swung a power cord in his gloved hands while whistling a happy tune. The acrobatic man playfully chided his wards, “Playtime’s over, kids. Tim, Harper, leave the Joker’s toys.”

“But I was going to use these on Jason when he comes this weekend!”

“We’ve got plenty of stuff you can use at the mansion, Tim. Let’s get a move on before the big guy starts to get angry.”

“Like he’s ever not angry?” asked Stephanie.

“More so,” Dick explained.

The team of vigilantes raced out of the building to vehicles hidden in a nearby alleyway. Tim and Harper had a pair of compact motorcycles; Dick had a chopper of a bike; Stephanie and Cassie shared a scooter. Each one nodded to the other as they made their way back to the mansion, with Tim and Harper trying to outrace each other. At the back of the pack, the pair of Spoiler and Black Bat were having a familiar conversation.

“Explain again,” Cass asked.

“It’s simple: I go out, fight some New God, maybe get fat, and I save the world,” the violet heroine reiterated. “Pretty standard superhero stuff, really.”

“Weird. Stupid.”

“Clearly you haven’t been catching up on your history. This stuff happened all the time like twenty years ago; Bruce calls it the ‘Silver Age’.”

The martial artist was silent for a moment before probing further. “You okay with fat?”

“Not really,” Stephanie shrugged, “but if that’s what they need, that’s what I’ll do.”

Another pause before Cassandra took her taped hands and put them around her teammate’s waist, despite not needing to before. “You fat. Funny. I like.”

“You’re so weird, Cass,” the blonde girl giggled as she leaned into her girlfriend’s arms.


In a much different scene in Washington, DC, Lorraine Reilly was resting at her loft apartment that she shared with her boyfriend. The redhead sipped from a cup of coffee as she sketched out costume designs on a piece of paper. She considered getting a wardrobe upgrade before heading out on this strange mission; the stylized bird design was so 80s.

Intense heat burst into the room, but Lorraine barely turned her head. “How was it out there, Ronnie?”

Her boyfriend, Ronnie Raymond, stood behind her; a sizzling aura radiated around him. He wore a crimson shirt that was practically painted onto his muscular physique and similar fitting jeans. His brown mop of hair was slick to the touch, as was his whole body; spending half the day with a flaming head would do that.

“You would not believe it, babe,” the jovial jock replied as he raided the fridge for a bottle of water. “Black Bison came back to town, so I worked with Super-Chief to cool his jets; then I got called to a JLA mission to help stop a team of ice villains brought together by Killer Frost; then Multiplex decided to plant bombs all over DC; now I just got back from stopping Slipknot when he tried to steal the remnants of the Gordian Knot.”

Lorraine yawned. “Sounds like you’ve had a full day.”

“What about you? I know you’ve got that big job coming up soon.”

“What’s to prepare for? I tried reading up on Gluttox in all the available records, but I get nothing. Apparently, the event was stricken from history and the land evacuated under reports of ‘extreme toxicity’.”

Ronnie ho-hummed, “Typical government talk. ‘Hey, we accidentally opened up a portal to Hell and we need to get people to never go there again.’”

“‘Let’s just say there’s radiation and call it a day,’” Lorraine continued in a puffy voice.

Ronnie chuckled through his bottle of water, which he downed in a few gulps before reaching for another one. “You’re sure you don’t want me to back you up on this?”

“Trust me, I’d bring you if I could, but these things are very specific,” the bookish woman explained. “You need to have at least seven people on a team; you need to have members who fill specific roles; you need to have ties to the Golden Age. It’s all pretty silly, but those are the cosmic rules.”

“I’d like to meet the guy who wrote those rules one day,” the young man sighed. He hopped the back of the couch and plopped down beside Lorraine, which allowed him to check out the designs in her sketchbook. “Those are pretty cool. You thinking of getting an upgrade?”

“Something like that,” Lorraine cooed as she laid back against Ronnie. “I figured I needed something new if I’m going into the field again, so why not?”

“That, and your bird might look like a Thanksgiving turkey after this,” he joked, which earned him a light slap on the arm.

“That’s not why, you goof,” she giggled.

Ronnie smirked as he pinched at her sides, catching just a trace amount of softness there. “Looks like you’re already getting started, babe. Maybe Gluttox has got a hold on you already.”

“If that’s true, I think he’s got you too, big boy,” Lorraine retorted. She swiveled around in his grasp and poked at some slight pudge in her boyfriend’s belly. “That’s what happens when your powers aren’t physical in the least.”

“I think you’ll have a good head start on me,” the jock quipped as he pulled her in for a soft kiss.

After catching a breath of air, the young woman winked and hummed, “Maybe I’ll bring you with me next time.”

The notebook was cast to the side as they writhed on the couch, enjoying being so young, dumb, and in love…


In the halls of Atlantis Academy, the lithe Dolphin reclined on a soft bed of seaweed while a jellyfish floated beside her bed. She was reading a magazine from the surface world, bought after her lunch in Central City, when there was a knock at the door.

“Dolly? It’s Tula. I’m coming in, okay?”

The silver-haired girl was quick to hide her magazine before her friend swam into the room. Tula, named for the first and fallen Aquagirl, had coral pink hair and a daisy yellow one piece on. She swam over and sat on Dolphin’s bed.

“So Miss Lemaris told me that you went to the surface world; she said it was for something important. What was it about?”

Dolphin fiddled with her fingers for a moment before leaning forward and whispering in Tula’s ear. The younger girl’s eyes went from curious to amazed to shocked as her older friend shared her story. When she was finally finished Dolphin lay back on her bed and Tula gazed at her with jaw dropped.

“That sounds like such an incredible adventure!” the pink-haired girl exclaimed. Dolphin smiled and nodded her head in agreement. To the youths of Atlantis, such an escapade, especially one on the surreal world of the surface, was something absolutely wonderful and exciting; since few ever got to experience the world above, they had to rely on stories from King Arthur and Queen Mera.

Tula glanced over her friend and asked, “Do you really think you’ll be able to handle this though? You don’t exactly have that much of an appetite.”

Dolphin ran a hand over the contours of her taut tummy and hummed in agreement. It was true that she did not eat as much as she should; it came from a life of scavenging for food in the ocean. Now that she was going to presumably eat a serious fork load, she had to consider if she really had it in her. Tula seemed to read her mind, and the young girl squeezed her foot.

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got you covered! I’ll see about making up some cuisine over the next few days so we can get your appetite up to speed. This will be great; I’ve got loads of surface recipes I’ve been meaning to try.”

She bolted off the bed before her friend could get a word in edgewise. The pink-haired girl turned back one time and sang, “I’ll be back with cookies!”

Just like that, Tula was gone, leaving Dolphin with her hand outstretched. The fishy female struggled to find the words and ultimately gave up. Trying to talk Tula out of something was near impossible; she was practically a force of nature. All she could do was hope that the coral-haired girl did not go too crazy, or she might put on weight a lot sooner than planned…
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Old 04-19-2017, 08:28 PM   #4
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Out in the city of Southside, Grace Choi was busy fixing dinner for herself and her wife, although her idea of ‘dinner’ was mostly reheated leftovers from the night before. She rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a pair of beers, waggling them at the other woman across the room.

“Babe, you want a drink?” the muscular madam asked. “My treat!”

“That joke got old ages ago, you dingus,” Anissa Pierce replied, albeit with a smile. “Sure, why not?”

Grace closed the fridge with a hip check and crossed the room to sit beside Anissa. Ever since the two had retired from the Outsiders, they had enjoyed semi-retirement much more than they thought. Anissa still made the occasional jaunt into the city, while Grace helped supplement their income with her mercenary work. It was much less dangerous and time-consuming than their previous line of work, which gave them more time with each other.

This time off from active duty did have its downside though, mostly in the fact that neither woman got as much exercise as they used to. Grace was still immensely powerful and muscular thanks to her Amazonian blood, but there was a general thickness to her body that was not unlike an Olympian powerlifter. On the other hand, Anissa, being human, had not gotten off as easy; her new, plump physique could not fit into her old costumes. She never really let it get to her, especially since her powers did not rely on her being in peak condition, and Grace certainly enjoyed the extra cushion in the sack.

“One stout for me, and one lite for you,” Anissa’s musclebound muffin declared as she placed the beer down on her wife’s TV tray. “For that dainty figure of yours.”

The black woman rolled her eyes. “Laugh it up now, beefcake, because you’re going to need these a lot more than me soon enough.”

Grace chuckled after knocking back half her bottle. “We’ll see about that. I don’t know if I could stomach all that low-fat, low-carb, low-fun crap.”

“You say that now, but just wait until your belly gets this big,” Anissa retorted with a slap to her jelly belly, which set it quivering, “and then we’ll see how you feel about that stuff.”

The Amazon shook her head before waltzing back to the kitchen to empty out the microwave. “Life is too short and precious to watch what I eat. If I blow up like a balloon after this, it just means I’ll have more room for pizza.”

They settled into their normal evening routine, which mostly consisted of watching trashy TV and making fun of it. As they watched, Grace glanced over at her better half and watched as Anissa gobbled up a large forkful of chicken lo mein. Her lustful eyes drank in her wife’s body: the swell of her plump chest, the burgeoning belly that rested on pillowy thighs, and an expansive behind that ate up more of the couch every day. The beefy beauty bit her lip in desire, and that was when Anissa finally took notice of the leering. Even now, after knowing each other for so long, that gaze elicited a blush on her cheeks and a flutter in her heart.

“Have I got something on my face?” she asked rhetorically, knowing full well what Grace was looking at.

“Nah,” the other woman answered. “I’m just thinking what I should rip off first: that shirt that lets your cute tummy poke out, or those shorts that look like they fit about ten pounds ago.”

Anissa played along and ran her finger over the waistband of the tight shorts, over which her ebony skin flowed in abundance. “Ooh, get these shorts off me. They’re oh so tight on me.”

“It would be my pleasure. But you’ve got to be a good girl and finish your dinner, or you won’t get any ‘dessert’.”

The two of them finished their food with a gusto as they dreamed of what was to come afterwards. When both plates were clean, Grace immediately scooped Anissa up in her arms and carried her off to the bedroom. The Amazon dropped her wife down on the bed, which made her jiggle like gelatin.

“Mmm,” Grace rumbled with pleasure. “Little girl, you look good enough to eat.”

“What are you waiting for?” Anissa giggled as she beckoned with a finger. “Come get a taste.”

The mission was the last thing on the Amazon’s mind that night. The same could not be said for her metallic partner…


Alix Harrower, the Bulleteer, stood in front of her bedroom mirror and took a deep breath. She puffed her cheeks out, blew her stomach up, and held it for a moment before releasing. A squeak from across the room caught her attention, and she turned to a metal-skinned mouse in a nearby cage and sighed.

“Yeah, I don’t see it either, Mickey,” she groaned. “And I thought this smartskin crap was bad enough.”

The metal woman flopped back on her bed and gazed up at the ceiling as she counted the times her fan rotated around. She never could have imagined, not in a million years, that this was how her life would turn out: the entire surface of her body covered in metal; unable to work with special needs kids; forced into a career that she never wanted. Ever since her scumbag husband had accidentally turned her into a metal freak, her life had been one debacle after another; whether invaders from the future or the disenfranchised Wrath of God, she could never catch a break.

As the clock ticked away on the wall, she looked to the calendar and moaned. Two more days and she would be in the middle of nowhere, fighting some New God who used bizarre powers to fatten people up. Yet another example of her messed up life. She considered canceling, calling out at the last moment, but something, or rather someone, stopped her.

“Can’t keep running from everything, little lady,” a stern Texan man chided her.

Across the room, there stood Greg Saunders, the late Vigilante. He was exactly as she remembered when they had met in life: greying hair, handsome stubble, and a worn duster that had all color sapped out of it. It never failed; just when she was on the verge of quitting, he appeared.

“Why can’t I, Greg?” Alix asked, more annoyed than scared. “I can’t keep doing this. What’s next, I have to fight wizards from the Fifth Dimension? Or maybe I get wrapped up in the millionth crisis of infinite Earths. Give me a break!”

“We don’t get to choose what comes our way in life, Alix; all we can do is roll with the punches and do what we can.”

The chrome queen rolled her eyes. “Easy for you to say. You dove head-on into this world; I was dragged in, kicking and screaming. You think I ever wanted this? No! I just wanted to be a teacher, to do some actual good for society! And now I’m on the verge of getting fattened up like a prize pig! Spare me the platitudes, and tell me why I shouldn’t just back out of this!”

“Because you could be the one to save their lives,” a deep voice droned.

Jon Standing Bear, the Super-Chief, was leaning against the windowsill. He had been a muscular Algonquian man, though his face was now covered by the buffalo fur mask he wore in life. Tachyon particles glowed around him; they reminded Alix of how he died.

“I don’t blame you for my death, Alix,” Jon sighed, “but I know you do. You were inexperienced then, but now you have done so much more. You could be the one to turn the tide in this battle, the one who saves the day.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” asked a weary Bulleteer.

“You did the same thing when the Sheeda invaded.”

Alix huffed and hung her head. “Beginner’s luck.”

“But you’re no beginner anymore. You have faced worse than this, and you will face more; this will be no match for you.”

The metal heroine glanced back and forth between the two before sighing and placing a pillow over her face. In a muffled tone, she decided, “Fine, I’ll do this! I’ll go, get big as a house, and let my life go further off the deep end. Just do me a favor and go back to the afterlife you came from!”

There was a moment of silence, at which point Alix took the pillow down from her face and found the ‘ghosts’ were gone. She growled and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“After I see a trainer, I’m getting a psychiatrist.”


The bass was pumping hard at Club 52, where a small group of friends were gathered to dance the night away. There was Ray Terrill, whose luminous skin made him look like a giant glowstick; Andre Twist, who was quite possibly the worst dancer in the club; Jenna Raleigh, who had gotten dozens of compliments throughout the night for her rosy skin; and Stormy Knight, who danced like there was no tomorrow. They were taking the night off to be young and have fun, especially since one of them would soon be going on a most peculiar mission.

When they could dance no more, the quartet moved off the floor and over to a booth, where the last member of their party was waiting. John Trujillo, a Guatemalan man with a fierce mohawk and fiercer eyes, fidgeted in his seat; he was much more comfortable in the heat of battle than the heat of a nightclub.

“Thanks for watching the seats, John,” Ray said to the man, which earned him a nod in return.

“It’s the most I can do,” he explained. “I’m no good out there. Too many people”

“Aw, c’mon,” Stormy cooed as she sidled in beside John and cozied up to the stoic man, “you don’t think you could even save one dance for me?”

“Let me think about it no.”

Jenna snorted in laughter at that. “Denied!”

Stormy stuck her tongue out in return before she brushed her flowing black hair over her shoulder. “Dancing is thirsty work, and someone needs to get drinks. Anyone want to volunteer?”

“I’ll go,” Andre offered. “I think the bartender likes me.”

After taking everyone’s order, Andre hopped out of the booth and worked his way to the bar. While he was gone, Jenna leaned over and exclaimed, “I still can’t believe you’re actually going through with this job! It sounds so mental and cool!”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Stormy sneered. “The whole thing sounds fruity loops, but more than anything, I’m just wondering why Faith couldn’t get Miss America to do it again. She does know Joan’s out of retirement, right?”

“I think she’s still busy helping the Miss America of another Earth,” Ray pondered. “Something about stopping a superhero gone fascist.”

“What I wouldn’t give to take her place right now,” the party girl whined. “I can handle a New God because I am simply the greatest, but I shouldn’t have to risk my figure over that!”

John sighed. “Vanity is the weakness of many, Stormy; you cannot let it be yours.”

“Besides, you’d probably look good with a little meat on your bones!” Jenna remarked.

The senator’s daughter laughed haughtily at that. “Please, I could make anything look good. I just wish it wasn’t such a drastic change.”

Andre returned with the drinks just in time. “Well, maybe this will help make things better for you. A round of tasty beverages fit only for kings and queens.”

“Ah, liquor, my old friend!” Stormy chuckled as she took up a neon pink martini. “Here’s to being superheroes! May it never make any sense!”

All the clubbers, even John, clinked their glasses together before downing their drinks. Stormy knocked hers back with ease, but that was the only thing she felt confident about at that moment. More than getting fat, she worried that she could manage against this weird threat; she had never faced anything quite so bizarre before. She knew it would help save lives and maybe put an end to a threat once and for all, but she could not shake the feeling that this could go tits up at any point…


Out on the far shores of Oolong Island, Cliff Steele, the rough and tough Robotman, was clinking and clanking down the halls of the Doom Patrol’s headquarters when he had to do a double take in front of Rita Farr’s doorway. Normally, he expected to see a lithe, slender brunette modeling some new dress for a premiere, but this was different. The woman in Rita’s room was at least twice her size, if not more so, and she was posing by a mirror.

“Lady, I think you might be lost,” Cliff droned. “The island tour don’t go to personal quarters.”

The brunette turned, put her hands on her hips, and huffed. “Cliff Steele, you tactless tin can! This isn’t the first time I’ve morphed in front of you.”

The metalhead had to adjust his visual sensors once or twice before it really hit him. She had Rita’s bob, her button nose, and she even wore those corny earrings Negative Man had given her for Christmas. The summer dress stretched over her girth was the same one Mento bought her on their third honeymoon, and she still had that necklace Beast Boy made in junior high.

“Sorry, Rita, I just ain’t seen you this…big in a while,” he apologized.

The movie star rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror. “I know that I normally just grow in height, but I can do so much more with these powers of mine; I have many impressive ranges.”

“Sure, sure.” Cliff dawdled in the doorway while Rita returned her gaze to the mirror and struck another pose. “Dare I ask what brought this on?”

“I needed to see what I’d look like with some extra pounds, what with my new job and all,” the woman explained. “I mean, it could go all sorts of places. For instance, maybe I’ll come out really top-heavy.”

At those words, Rita’s rack swelled out like a balloon, stretching the limits of the dress as they fast reached the size of pumpkins. The rest of her body plumped up to help balance her out, but it was her impressive breasts that took the cake. She hefted them in her hands before shrinking back down to a general plumpness.

“Or maybe it all goes to my hips.”

This time, her lower body puffed out. The sundress rode up higher and higher as her caboose grew bigger and rounder, which revealed more and more of her thick thighs. When she finished, the flowing dress now resembled a cocktail number, hiding just enough to stay tantalizing.

“Or what if it all goes to my tummy?”

The weight redistributed to her stomach, which grew round and wide. She let it swell out until she could no longer reach her hands around the globular gut, at which point she stopped and gazed in the mirror. It was like she was pregnant, or rather, wearing a suit to simulate pregnancy; the real deal had much more heft and swell.

She shrank back down to her normal self and turned to Cliff, whose metal mouth dangled open like a screw had come loose. Rita asked, “Well? What do you think?”

“I think Steve Dayton is a lucky son of a gun,” the robotic ruffian grunted before walking away.


Doctor Kimiyo Hoshi was hard at work in her Osaka-based laboratory. Ever since the Crisis of Infinite Earths, she had sought to not only replicate the incidences that gave her immense power, but reconstruct some of the extraordinary technology she had encountered. If she could manage to duplicate even one of the myriad of miraculous machines, the world could take a massive leap into the future. And if she were to regain those temporary, cosmic-level powers, maybe people would stop comparing her to that scumbag loser, Arthur Light.

She was reviewing the latest specs for a cosmic tuning fork when she felt her stomach rumble. The frustrated woman growled and gave herself a pinch in the side; this was no time to be thinking about food. Even though her kids had prepared a bento box for her, and it was sitting across the room, and it smelled so good.

Another, harder pinch brought her back to reality. Kimiyo cursed her new team leader for this newfound awareness of food; she had never craved nor feared the stuff as much as she did now. Before this mission came up, she only thought of her meals as nuisances, something she had to do but got in the way of work. Now, she struggled with the idea of food and whether she should gorge herself or toss it away.

The good doctor sighed before returning her focus on the task at hand. This mission could not be done with soon enough…


Meanwhile, at the Hall of Justice, Chandi Gupta, the mystical maiden Maya, was honing her craft in one of the many training rooms. It had been ages since she had used her powers in combat, and she needed to be ready if she were to perform on Faith’s mission. Thankfully, it was not hard to get back into the swing of things, especially when she considered her teacher.

She clapped her hands together and pulled them apart, summoning a bow between them. Once the bow had fully materialized, she took it up and created an arrow of scorching fire. The arrow was notched, pulled back, and released, unleashing a trail of searing heat. Though the arrow missed its mark by a touch, it incinerated the target all the same.

“Not bad, Chandi, but you’re aiming a little to the right,” said Connor Hawke, the Green Dragon. “Go a little to the left and slightly up.”

“Is it really necessary to aim perfectly if I can just vaporize the enemy with elemental blasts?” the Indian girl asked with a hint of frustration.

“Absolutely,” the young tutor answered. “Team Arrow has plenty of exploding arrows, but that doesn’t mean we rely on them. You may hurt your enemy with an area of effect, but you aim true, you can take them down with one shot.”

An arrow of ice formed at her fingertips. “Even if I can make arrows out of all the classical elements?”

“Child, please. I have arrows that can create a miniature gravity well; I know all about super arrows. You still need to aim. And maybe, just maybe, if you aim well, you walk away from this just a little overweight rather than massively obese.”

Chandi sighed. “How many people know about this silly task?”

“Everyone. And I do mean everyone,” Connor chuckled.

“Great. I come out of retirement just to be made the butt of a joke.”

Her teacher shrugged. “Could be worse. Could be going to the pits of Apokolips, the deepest circles of Hell, or Detroit. Now: chin up, back straight, and breathe from the center of your chest.”

Chandi mumbled a string of curses under her breath before following his instructions and letting loose another mystical arrow…


Faith walked into her modest apartment in Vanity City and breathed a sigh of relief. She had been gathering up more supplies for this mission, and after a day of walking around, she was ready to relax. The spry young woman kicked off her shoes, hung up her jacket, and released the telepathic image around her.

Suddenly, the tiny woman was replaced with a big, beautiful woman of titanic proportions. Her face and neck were so thick with fat that her head was round as a soccer ball; her arms were as meaty as most peoples’ thighs; her breasts looked and felt like two watermelons; her bountiful belly could have doubled as a beanbag chair; her rump stuck out into a sturdy shelf; her juicy legs were round as tires and tapered down to chunky ankles. It was as though someone had filled Faith like a water balloon, so rotund was she.

Whenever the psychic girl needed to go out in public, she would project a mental image in peoples’ minds so that rather than the hippopotamus she had become, they would see her in her prime. It helped to maintain low visibility, but it was also useful for getting around town.

After waddling through her apartment, she plopped down on the sofa and rested her sore feet. This weight was still something new to her; it took some getting used to. Faith had gained this after trying to stop Gluttox on her own, leaving the rules of the universe unheeded, and now she paid the price. She was always hungry, ravenously so, and she had swollen up into a weight class few could ever achieve. As she reached out to the fridge with her telepathic powers, she glanced at the calendar and grimaced.

Soon, very soon, she would have her rematch, and this time, she would not be alone. Gluttox would never know what was coming…
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Old 04-27-2017, 11:21 PM   #5
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((Well, that took longer than expected! Sorry to all two of you following this thread, but I promise that next week's will be posted on Wednesday, and as an added bonus, it'll be a twofer! But for now, enjoy!))

Finally, the day had come. One by one, the heroines showed up on the outskirts of Cooke, the town where Gluttox was defeated so many years previously. Like Centralia, the town had long since been abandoned and nature allowed to take control. The roads in and out of town were cracked and distorted from lack of care, the paths were covered with weeds, grass, and trees, and the welcoming sign outside Cooke had rusted and faded to the point of obscurity.

Faith was first to the town and looked like she was ready to take on the world. The tiny woman wore a pair of chrome pants and an ornate purple top with a ring of chrome wrapped around her chest. Her hands and feet were protected by matching gloves and boots.

The next ones to arrive were Cyclone, Jesse Quick, and Judomaster. Cyclone wore a flowing green dress, under which she wore a red leotard and matching stockings; her head was protected by a verdant witch’s hat, and her identity kept secure with a red domino mask. Jesse was much less conservative, sporting a sleeveless red shirt with a jagged Q in the center, golden running shorts, and matching gloves and boots. Judomaster was covered from tip to toe in an orange mask and bodysuit with a yellow sun stretching across from the left side. Only her eyes, mouth, and ponytailed hair were exposed.

Following them were Spoiler, Firehawk, and Dolphin. The Gotham girl was clad in a purple jumpsuit, gloves, boots, and cape, with an indigo mask that covered her entire face. Firehawk had changed completely: her skin now shined golden as the sun, her hair was a flaming mass of blue, and she wore a costume that had wings and a stylized hawk on the center. Conversely, Dolphin had not changed at all; she still wore the same tied-off white shirt and denim shorts she wore to the restaurant.

Then came Grace and Bulleteer. Like Dolphin, the Asian Amazon wore a very simple ‘costume’, which consisted of green camo pants, black combat boots and fingerless gloves, and a maroon training bra that showed off every inch of her thick abs. Her teammate was only slightly more reserved, sporting a bright red corset, matching gloves and boots, white jodhpurs, neon pink sunglasses, and a bullet shaped helmet that enabled her to fly.

After that, the starlets arrived. Phantom Lady looked like she was ready to go-go dance the night away, not stop an extraterrestrial threat; her outfit consisted of a skimpy top that covered little of her generous body, shorts that were practically painted onto her thick bottom half, black knee high boots, elbow gloves, green sunglasses, and a minicape. Elasti-Girl had opted for her classic uniform with the Doom Patrol, which meant a white and red top, matching miniskirt, and white gloves and boots; her brunette locks were done back with a coral hairband.

Last, but certainly not least, were the two Justice League representatives. Doctor Light wore a mostly black ensemble that covered all her body save for her head, on which she wore a white, elaborate tiara; added to that were white gloves and boots, and a sunburst on her chest. Maya wore an orange halter top underneath purple shoulder pads, a matching miniskirt underneath chainmail skirt, orange boots, and several gold adornments.

“Looking good, ladies!” Faith complimented everyone as they stood together. “You look like you’re all ready to kick butt and take names. I like it, I like it!”

“And I’d like getting this over with as soon as possible,” Bulleteer sighed. She removed her helmet to run a hand through her glistening hair. “This thing is hotter than holy hell.”

“Functionality comes before fashion, my friend,” Doctor Light remarked.

The metal woman grunted. “Easy for you to say when you’re wearing what’s basically a tiara.”

“We can talk about costume choices later,” Jesse Quick chimed in. “Faith, where do we start?”

The psychic girl projected a map of the area into their heads. It depicted the town as it was, in all its decayed glory; there were plenty of places to check out. Faith explained, “Gluttox has placed roots all over this town. If we split up, we can take care of them and regroup in the town square so we can take care of the source of this trouble.”

“We’re seriously splitting up?” asked Phantom Lady. “That sounds like something out of a horror movie, one of the bad ones.”

“Maybe, but we can’t risk everyone being grouped together and beaten. If we split up, we may be ambushed, but it also means that we’re not all taken out at once,” the team leader answered.

Cyclone pointed to a model palace near a park. “I’ll take the Enchanted Forest.”

“I’ll check out Cooke High School,” chose Jesse.

“Watson Gymnasium,” Judomaster mumbled.

Spoiler pondered for a moment before noticing something just down main street. “I’ll hit up Uncle Joe’s Arcade!”

“Town hall for me,” Firehawk picked out.

Dolphin said nothing, only pointed to the pond on the east side of Cooke.

“Guess I can check out Ri Ra’s,” Grace chuckled, nodding towards a bar not too far from town hall.

Bulleteer might as well have thrown a dart and gone with what stuck, because she could not care less where she went. The irritated woman picked at random and said, “Give me Kay Art Gallery.”

“I’ll investigate Space Oddity,” Phantom Lady decided after selecting what looked like a funky nightclub at one point.

Elasti-Girl tapped her chin in thought before saying, “I’ll go scope out Temple Theater.”

“There’s a science museum on the other end of town,” Doctor Light mentioned. “I’ll see what’s there.”

Maya shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I could look into the mall.”

“And I’ll be investigating Saint Vincent’s Church,” Faith announced.

With that out of the way, the leader clapped her hands together. “Okay, everyone! We’ll head out and look into our points. If you run into any trouble, just give me a telepathic holler and I’ll be there with cavalry.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Maya replied.

“Ain’t nothing we can’t handle, little lady,” Grace snorted with mirth. She flexed one of her beefy arms and kissed the bicep. “I’ve always wanted to test myself against a New God.”

Faith clapped her strongest teammate on the back. “Well, today’s your chance! Let’s head out there and get this pest off our planet once and for all!”

The heroines all went their separate ways, some flying and others running, all heading towards their strange fates…


Cyclone was carried by her namesake out to the Enchanted Forest, which was more than a little disappointing for the young dreamer. Once upon a time, it could have been a wonderful place to take the kids and play; now, it had been consumed by the elements and left to rot. The white castle gates that stood in front of the park were stained with muck, while the Old King Cole figure atop was bleached of virtually any color. It was a sad sight, but the winsome heroine had more important things to worry about.

“Okay, if I were a piece of an evil, cosmic machine, where would I be?” Cyclone asked herself as she flew over the entrance and settled on the other side. Beyond the castle gate was a modest square with a fountain and some shops, all run down and decrepit. Across from one of the shops was a park map, although the redheaded girl did not bother with it; time had worn away all details.

She glanced down past the fountain and noticed, much to her delight, a brick path painted in a mustard hue. The gusty girl put a skip in her step as she followed the yellow brick road into the park proper.

It was a shame the town had left everything abandoned; there was so much to enjoy in the little park. Statues of the Three Little Pigs and their houses; a giant beanstalk-esque slide; a merry-go-round comprised of unicorns, dragons, and birds; everywhere she looked, there was something fantastical to behold. There was a theater decorated with pictures of puppets, a boot the size of a cabin, a little blue girl staring at her from the trees—

“Wait, what?”

Cyclone spun around, saw the child staring at her from across the way, and had to rub her eyes to make sure she was seeing things clearly. Sure enough, the girl was still there, watching and waiting to see what the ginger girl would do.

“Um, hello?” the heroine awkwardly greeted the girl. “I’m visiting from out of town. Are you lost?”

The girl shook her head and replied in a voice as melodic as a windchime, “No, I’m not lost. I was looking for guests for my mummy and daddy’s tea party. Do you like tea?”

“Sometimes,” Cyclone answered somewhat more comfortably, “but I’m afraid I don’t have time for a tea party right now. I’m helping my friends look for something, so I’ve got to get going.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. ‘Cause mummy is using her special stove to make the tea and scones.”

That gave the hero pause. If civilians, especially strange ones, were talking about special machines, chances are they referred to some kind of alien or magical device. This might just be what she was looking for.

“You know what? I think I’d really love to see this special stove,” Cyclone told the girl. “Could you show me the way to your tea party?”

The child giggled. “That’s easy. Just follow the yellow brick road and you’ll get there in no time at all!”

The redhead smiled. This was going much easier than she had anticipated. She waved goodbye to the kid and got back to the pathway; the spring in her step was even stronger now. Strangely enough, as she got deeper into the park, the attractions became more colorful and vibrant, as if time had not reached them yet. What’s more, she could smell the pleasant aroma of fresh-baked goods throughout the park. The scent was so intoxicating, so positively overwhelming, it seemed to cloud up her mind.

“Mmm…scones would really hit the spot right now,” she mumbled as she hopped along.

Eventually, Cyclone reached a split in the path, signified by a statue of a human-sized fork. She frowned as she tried to determine the best road to take, only to be entranced by the sounds of clinking plates and merry music hailing from the left path. With that made clear, she continued her trek through the park towards the delectable aromas awaiting her.

She soon came to a playground of sorts that was made to look like something out of Wonderland, but there was neither Mad Hatter nor March Hare at the serving table. Rather, a gaggle of blue people, at least a couple dozen, were milling about the area; some set plates on the table, some were playing croquet, and still others were throwing lawn darts hither and tither. Most curiously of all was a strange device that sat across the way: it was like a modern version of an old, firewood-powered oven, all sleek and black with great flames billowing from the back.

Cyclone shook the clouds from her head as she remembered that her job was to find a piece of Gluttox, not some bizarre tea party. She tentatively made her way across the lawn towards the oven, only to have her hand be taken by the little girl from before.

“You came! Come, you simply must meet Mama!” the child exclaimed as she dragged the heroine along.

“Ah, that’s okay, I’m only going to be here for a moment,” the redhead replied in a soft voice, not wanting to attract more attention to herself. All she had to do was go in, see about dismantling the oven, and then she could fly back to her friends.

The girl led her straight to the oven, where Cyclone was met by a matronly blue woman a good bit shorter than her. The mother, Mama, was hustling and bustling as she prepared a vast array of food and tea for the gathering; her silver hair was coming undone. When the girl tugged at the woman’s flowing black skirt, she whirled around and gawked at the heroine.

“Dorothy! What in tarnation have you brought here?”

“A visitor, Mama! She was walking through the park and I told her about our tea party!”

At that, the mother’s eyes brightened. “A visitor? Mercy me, but we haven’t had one in such a long time! Welcome to our fair home, miss! Care to join us for a spot of tea and some sweets?”

Cyclone apologetically shook her head. “Sorry, ma’am, but I can’t be staying long. I was really only wondering if I could take a look at your oven there.”

“Whatever for?”

“Oven inspection,” the gusty girl lied. “What with the disuse of this place, I figured I should check to make sure yours was still in working order.”

If the mother did not believe her, she did not show it. The older woman gave a hearty laugh before fixing her hair. “Well, you can certainly examine it, but I don’t think you’ll find anything wrong with it! I’ve been using this miracle worker for nigh on forty years!”

Before Cyclone could ask another question, Mama patted her on the shoulder and turned her towards a table made of giant playing cards. “We can talk more about this over snack. Surely you can stay long enough to try a few of my best dishes?”

“Well, I—”

Her reply was cut off by her growling stomach. Was she really that hungry already? She made sure to eat a hearty breakfast before they left the Brownstone, all so she would not fall prey to the evil god’s powers. Whether or not she had, this hunger was very real and playing tricks on her; she was finding it harder and harder to stay focused on the job.

“Well, I guess I could stay and try a few scones,” the heroine acquiesced.

Mama clapped her hands together and smiled from ear to ear. “Wonderful! Go ahead and take a seat at the head of the table, and we’ll bring you some goodies.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to cause a scene…”

“Nonsense! You’ll be our guest, so just let our magic do the rest.”

Cyclone again allowed herself to be guided around by the child, who led her to a chair with tin legs and a straw-filled cushion. When she sat down, the girl reached up and plucked the witch’s hat from her head, saying, “Mama doesn’t like hats at the table.”

One by one, people made their way to the table with arms full of dishes and tea pots. There were buttery crescent rolls, cucumber sandwiches oozing with cream cheese spread, scones filled with all sorts of fruit, Danishes loaded with jam, and muffins as fluffy as pillows. The teas were all so potent and aromatic, from sweet to savory, minty to spicy. It all smelled and looked so delicious, the heroine could not help but lick her lips.

“Gosh, I don’t know where to start,” she mumbled. No sooner had the words left her lips than one of the blue folk offered a blueberry scone to her. Cyclone glanced up from the dish and, noticing that all eyes were on her, picked the treat up and took a bite. Her eyes went wide and sparkling, and she took another, much bigger bite than before.

“God, that’s good!” she hummed with delight. Her praise was met with cheers and claps, and people were soon sliding more and more plates her way. It was as though everyone had brought something to the table and wanted the guest of honor to appraise their work.

“You must try the cucumber sandwiches; they are to die for!”

“Have a Danish! I made the jam myself!”

“Let the girl have something to drink. She’ll love my mint tea!”

“Pshaw! What she really wants is some of my sweeter than sweet honey tea!”

“Try the snozzberry scones. I got the ingredients straight from Oompa-Loompa Land!”

One treat became two, two became three, and three became a smorgasbord. Everyone was so nice, so eager to provide, that Cyclone could not help but gobble up what they gave her. It seemed all eyes were on her; no one wanted to eat so long as they could give food to their very special guest. In all the excitement, the heroine lost track of time and herself, which was beginning to show on her.

Though she had not been eating for long, her body was already showing the effects of all this rich food and sugary drinks. Her tummy, once slim and undefined, now puffed out before her, rounding into a gut the size of a basketball. Her breasts had swollen from petite bumps to round, ripe fruit, and her bottom became more and more cushiony as she consumed more dishes. The slit of her gown-like costume grew wider and wider as she expanded, revealing thickening thighs that poured out of her red leggings like a muffin top.

Speaking of, that was what she had her eyes on next. Cyclone reached out for a fluffy muffin as big as her hand and shoved half of it into her eager mouth. She cooed with delight as she tasted two or three kinds of chocolate in the mix, and before she was even close to finishing that massive bite, she crammed the rest in. The mound of dough, delicious as it was, was hard to get down, so she reached out for one of the tea cups. She forsook manners as she poured the drink past her lips, spilling a good bit on her costume in the process. When she could finally swallow the muffin, the heroine took a good couple of breaths before downing the rest of the tea cup.

“This is all so good,” she complimented the chefs through a mouthful of cucumber sandwich. She wiped a little cream cheese from her lips and sucked it from her fingertip.

Mama chuckled and explained, “We owe it all to our Splendiferous Stove. If it weren’t for that, I don’t know if we would ever make such good food as this.”

Cyclone, cheeks puffed with food and a growing softness, could only grunt in curiosity. The mention of the stove briefly reminded her why she was there and what she needed to take care of as soon as she finished all this delectable cuisine.

“Forty-some years ago, the people left this town behind, leaving us without any visitors,” the matron continued. “We could do nothing, were nothing, until that oven showed up and gave us a new purpose. Now, we can cook anything in any fashion you can imagine. I can only hope to one day take all this food on the road; if your reaction is any indication, I think we’ll be a hit!”

“What do you mean?” the heroine asked after clearing her pipes with a cup of earl gray.

She did not need to hear an explanation; she could feel one resting on her lap. A quick glance down at her swelling body revealed her gut had swollen out even further, to the point it now filled half of her lap and tested the limits of her dress. This was getting harder to ascertain though, as her breasts had plumped up considerably, enough that they were obscuring her vision. Her hips, she realized with a rough start, were close to the edges of the chair, and she was sitting a little higher on the straw cushion. Thanks to her bulging thighs and globular belly, nearly every inch of her legs was exposed, save for her inner thighs.

The sight brought a furious blush of shame and embarrassment to Cyclone’s cheeks, and she pushed her seat away from the table. “I’m, ooh, I’m so sorry, but I have to be going now. I’ve got things to do.”

“Leaving so soon? But we still have some more for you!” Mama tempted. She offered a slice of cake thick with frosting and mousse filling. “You must try my mother’s recipe.”

“Really, I shouldn’t. I have something to take care of.”

Mama sighed along with the other guests. “This could have been so much easier if you just went along with the fantasy.”

Suddenly, the chair scooted back to the table, placing it so close that one of the heroine’s growing rolls sat on the edge. When she tried to get up, tin cuffs sprouted from the chair and clamped down on her hands and legs. Cyclone struggled, but she could not get out of them no matter how hard she tried.

“Let me go!” the frustrated heroine panicked. “You can’t keep me here!”

“We can, and we will,” a deep voice boomed from across the yard.

Cyclone turned her attention to the oven, which now had something resembling a face in the grille. Great flames burst out in time with its words, and an angry cloud of smoke billowed from its stovepipe.

“Gluttox?” the heroine whispered, knowing full well the answer to the question.

“The same,” the insidious device answered. “You heroes, so desperate to fight and prevail, when it would be so easy to surrender and give in to a life of comfort and ease. I could have given that to your predecessors all those years ago, but they refused to accept my gift; they rejected my offer of eternal bliss and fulfillment.”

Cyclone furrowed her brow. “You were fattening people up like cattle, just so you could leave us ripe for invasion.”

“I do not know about any invasion. All that matters is feeding the world, which I could do very well. Imagine, a world where no one needed to go hungry, where everyone would live in a state of pleasantly stuffed all day long. No one could commit crime or wage wars; they would be too busy eating themselves into a blissful stupor. When I think of that, it stokes my fires and drives me to make that a reality.”

“We won’t let you do that! My team and I will—”

The heroine’s declaration was stifled by a slice of cake being shoved down her throat. Each one of the blue folk were getting up and crowding around her, pushing food and tea in her face. Cyclone could not push them aside with her hands bound, and with so many people, she could not move her face away from the offered food. When she finally finished chewing through the cake, her mouth was immediately filled with a cucumber sandwich.

“Allow my mimsy folk to feed you, make you happy, and help you forget about that pesky mission…”

More and more food was pushed down her unwilling gullet, followed by what felt like gallons of tea, until all the myriad flavors blended into one. Cyclone tried and tried again to test her restraints, find some weakness, but the mimsy people kept her in her place; any attempt to readjust herself was met with a blue hand forcing her back down. Her struggle had another unwanted effect on her: every movement, every jostle, made her blossoming body quiver, jiggle, and test the limits of her clothing.

Finally, a series of pops came from her side. The trapped woman turned her head as best she could and saw that her stomach had grown so much that her dress was coming apart at the seams. To her horror, she saw that it was so big and round that it not only covered her lap, but her hosts were able to use it as a table of sorts. Her heavy breasts, so round and soft, rested atop the doughy mound like two plump pumpkins. Down below, her tree trunk legs stretched her red stockings to the point that they were practically see-through, and they squeezed her pale flesh like an overstuffed sausage.

“Mmph! Mffhmrmph!” she grunted through a mouthful of muffin. She could even feel her face swelling with fat; it made itself known every time she looked down or turned her head. Soon, her thickening arms would rip through the sleeves of her costume, which would then lead to her tearing through the green gown and leave her in a far too tight leotard. After that, there was no telling what would come to pass, but she did not want to find out.

After so much panicking and clouded judgment, Cyclone worked to calm her anxious mind and focus on a solution, just as Stargirl had shown her. To the mimsy folk and Gluttox, it appeared as though the heroine had given in and allowed them to fatten her up like a pig, but no one could have suspected the truth. She was getting out, one way or the other.

The snap of her leggings was like a starting gun, and the gusty girl went to the races. She spun her fingers around as fast as she could, which produced small twisters that, while not destructive, were enough to blow the mimsy back. When she finally had some room to breathe and swallow the last of her food, she focused her attention on her feet, which she turned as best she could in her shackles. The slight rotations were enough to summon a gale, which grew and grew until she was actually lifted off the ground by a hair.

That height was enough to wreck the chair when Cyclone released the wind that held her aloft. She came crashing down to Earth with a powerful slam, which sent ripples through her soft, yielding body. Before any of the blue people could react, the redhead directed her gaze to the blazing oven and glared daggers at it. Powerful gusts of wind concentrated in her hands, and when the miniature whirlwind grew so potent as to be visible, she released it in one massive burst. The condensed storm collided with the oven and wreaked all sorts of havoc on it: it tore through the metal, choked away the flames, and any smoke that escaped the stove pipe was immediately dissipated in the maelstrom.

A mighty and furious roar came from the device, and Cyclone had to force herself to not clap her hands over her ears. She winced through the pain as she piled on more and more wind, until she was blasting the furnace with all the power of a F5 tornado. Finally, just when she thought her massive body was going to give out, the machine broke into so many pieces.

“Good riddance,” the heroine muttered.

She glanced around to see if any of the blue folk were still around, but they had gone with the machine; the power of Gluttox was what gave them life and allowed them to exist. Now that the machine was gone, so were they, and Cyclone was just as alone as before. The rotund woman took hold of the tabletop and combined it with a powerful gust of wind to get her on her feet. With dread in her heart, she looked down to assess the damage.

For starters, she might as well discard her gown; the verdant outfit had all but given up the ghost in the fight with her blubber. Her tremendous tummy drooped down almost to her knees, even though she was standing up. At the same time, her breasts puffed out from her body and looked big enough to hold a small child inside. A look at her hands and arms showed that they were swollen with fat as well, now so bulbous that they were now packed into the green sleeves. She took her plush hands and squeezed at her backside, which, now free, had plumped up to the point of forming a shelf behind her.

Cyclone put a hand to her cheek and sighed. “Well, at least I managed to get rid of that awful machine. I just hope Jesse and Sonia are having better luck than me.”

When she pulled her hand away, she realized there was still some jam on her round face. Without even thinking, she licked the strawberry treat away and hummed with delight as she lifted herself into the air.

“I really should have asked them for the recipe before they vanished…”
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Old 05-03-2017, 07:02 AM   #6
Join Date: Jan 2013
Posts: 52
Vongola27 can now change their title

Jesse Quick arrived outside the town’s lone high school and gave it a quick glance over. It was a single-story building with an attached gymnasium, a football field, and a modest parking lot. Everything was dilapidated: the windows were all boarded up with plywood, the gym was covered with graffiti, and the football field was covered in knee-deep weeds and grass. With her super-speed, the sporty woman would be in and out in a second.

She arrived at the front door, which was chained shut and sealed with an iron padlock. A smirk played at her lips as she solved that problem by vibrating her hand at a terrific speed. Her whirring hand sawed through the metal like it was paper, and one swift boot to the door sent the withered panels flying.

“This is going to be a cinch,” Jesse mumbled as she cracked the joints in her neck. She bent down in a crouching position and summoned the Speed Formula, the source of her power, to mind.

Except she could not remember it. The blonde’s eyes went wide and she shot to her feet, only to pace back and forth in the school’s lobby. She had used it for years, called on it countless times; how could she have forgotten it so easily? Every time she plumbed the depths of her brain for it, she came up with nothing, as though it had simply been erased from her memory.

Suddenly, a switch flipped in her head. She remembered now!

“Guess I just got a little antsy,” she muttered after a sigh of relief.

Jesse got back down into her starting position, shut her eyes, and said, “7N3(6RQ)8F!”

She shot off, only to discover that there was no speed to her step. Panic filled her as she tried to vibrate, fly, or even run, but nothing happened. It was the wrong formula, or ‘cheat code’ as her husband called it, and now she was left without her speed. The question then became: if the formula she recited was not the Speed Formula, then what was it?

The answer came from literally nowhere. A mass of food appeared in midair, hovering just outside her reach: crispy chicken sandwiches, gooey cheeseburgers, and salty French fries; bubbling soda, steaming chocolate chip cookies, and syrupy cobbler. Jesse wondered for a spell where the food had come from, but her thoughts were put on hold when one of the cheeseburgers flew at her rosy lips. She tried to dodge away, duck, or do anything, but her body refused to cooperate; it simply stood still and opened her mouth. The cheeseburger hit her like a snowball, splattering cheese and ketchup on her cheeks, but the rest crammed itself inside.

Jesse was screaming in her head as she tried to stop herself, but there was nothing she could do; she was eating that cheeseburger whether she liked it or not. And just when she had finished that, a cup of soda danced her way and tilted up to greet her lips. Her body eagerly accepted the beverage and gulped it down as if it were water. This process was repeated again and again, with the food forcing its way into her gullet and the soda quenching her impossible thirst, until she had finally finished the meal for five that had appeared before her. The speedster finally had a moment to breathe and let out a relieving belch.

“Sweet golden glider, what was that?” she groaned as she wiped away the remnants around her mouth.

“That would be my doing,” came a stern, deep voice from the intercom.

Jesse glanced around and found a speaker mounted across from her. The runner frowned as she demanded, “And just who are you?”

“Oh, you know who I am, Quick. I am the reason you’re here; the reason for your current predicament. And I am an old friend of your mother’s.”

“Gluttox,” she realized.

“Precisely. I have warped your perception of reality just as I am your friends and teammates; that pesky Faith should have warned you how dangerous I was.”

The blonde pointed a finger at the speaker. “What did you do to me?”

“I played with your memory, just a touch,” the malevolent entity replied. “You derive your powers from a piece of the Universal Equation, the formula that controls all of existence; by realizing that Speed Formula, you temporarily gain immense speed.”

“I know my own powers, you basket case! I want to know what you replaced them with.”

Gluttox continued, “I blocked out the Speed Formula from your mind and replaced it with one of my own creation. I call it the ‘Feed’ Formula: with it, you can summon food to your body; it replenishes nutrients you’ve wasted and bolsters your body. Observe yourself and you will see.”

Jesse hesitantly turned to one of the reflective windows by the front office and gasped at what she saw. After just one meal, her body had begun to change: every inch of her had softened up, covering any muscles she had and giving her a very undefined physique. To the average eye, she would have appeared like any other woman, but she knew how she was supposed to look and it was not like this.

“This? This is nothing,” the speedster taunted the wicked machine. “I put on like twice this much when I was pregnant with twins.”

“This is only the beginning, Quick,” Gluttox replied. “My engine is somewhere in this building, and you need to find out where. Meanwhile, every five minutes, I will recite the Feed Formula, forcing you to consume as much food as I can summon. As time goes by, the feedings will grow bigger and bigger, until I stuff you with enough food to feed an entire school.”

A vein throbbed in Jesse’s head. Of course the job would never be so easy; of course the cosmic machine had some game to play. Regardless of how she felt about it, she had to play the game, at least until she managed to break through Gluttox’s mental trap.

“If you still wish to proceed, I will begin the countdown to your next feeding.”

The blonde cracked her knuckles and clapped her fists together. “Ready when you are.”

The sound of an airhorn sent Jesse running into the nearby office. She jogged through the dated rooms, checking out every nook and cranny she came across. The principal’s, assistant principal’s, dean’s, and even the guidance counselor’s office all turned up nothing; the only things she found were moldy files and desks coated in a thick layer of dust. Just as she dashed back out to the lobby, she heard another airhorn and covered her ears, hoping that would be enough to block out the effect of the Feed Formula.

It was only wishful thinking. Once again, her body froze in place and food appeared in front of her: a swarm of chicken nuggets, each doused in condiments; square slices of greasy pepperoni pizza the size of a record; a frosty gallon jug of whole milk. The nuggets shot at her in rapid fire, filling her mouth until she could close it just enough to chew. Jesse’s body worked on autopilot and managed to choke down the salty, tangy mass before the gallon of milk plugged itself in her lips and tipped back. The chilly beverage spilled out of her lips and down her top, sending a shiver up her spine as she cursed Gluttox. Then the pizzas floated her way and stacked on top of each other, until they formed a triple-decker sandwich of flavor. The greasy treat slithered its way down her throat, and just when she caught a breath, the milk came back.

Finally, when every last morsel was gone, Jesse released another relieving belch and placed her hand on her stomach to try and alleviate the bloated feeling. When she touched it, she found that it had grown much bigger; it now puffed over her shorts and created a modest muffin top of tummy. Her red shirt rode higher now, revealing a good stripe of her thickening stomach pooch. The stained garment was also being eaten up by her swelling breasts, which were now as big as they were when she was pregnant; she would soon be putting Power Girl to shame. She winced when she saw that her once toned arms were thickening up quite nicely, covering up any hint of definition she might have had. Her shorts now felt quite tight on her, and she saw that her thighs, once large from muscle, were now fluffy as pillows. She reached a hand behind her to tug at her shorts, which were being drawn into the swell of her rump.

“If you are quite ready, we will try again. Unless you’d rather give up and abandon your duty?” asked the machine in something close to a taunting tone.

Jesse scowled and wiped away the stains on her soft cheeks. “If you think I’m giving up from this, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m finding your power source, and when I do, I’m going to shut you down for good.”

Her only reply was another air horn, which sent her running down the hall. This time, it was much more difficult, as her softening body gave a slight bounce with every step she took. On top of that, it was not easy to run in such tight clothes; she had to fight the urge to deal with the wedgie developing behind her. The not-so-speedy speedster shook her head and focused on the task at hand: finding Gluttox’s engine and blowing it into a million pieces…


This proved to be a far more daunting task, and not just because Jesse had no idea what she was actually looking for. The real challenge came from the damned five minute penalty: if she failed, she was fed; the more she failed, the more she was fed; the more she was fed, the more she failed. Her ever fattening body was becoming cumbersome and clumsy, which made running from room to room to be that much more difficult. Every extra inch quivered and jiggled like gelatin, creating a feeling that was entirely new to her. What was worse was the fact that all this food Gluttox summoned was weakening her: she felt like she was lugging a bowling ball around at all times; her breasts felt puffy and swollen again; her legs, so strong an hour ago, now felt like cement.

If the speedster had looked in a mirror, she would have been shocked at her dramatic change in appearance. First was the fact that this sloppy stuffing act had turned her into a canvas; sauce, soda, and other assorted stains covered her face and costume. And in regards to her costume, the once decent running gear had turned into something comical: her tanktop covered not a single inch of her belly and could barely contain her breasts; her fat thighs had torn her shorts to the waistband; the back of the tattered shorts was swallowed up by her greedy behind. As she crested the forty minute mark, even her gloves and running boots were getting tight on her.

Just as she reached the cafeteria, Jesse Quick froze at the sound of another blasted airhorn. She placed a hand on the wall and took several desperate gulps of air; it was hard to imagine she had run clear from New York to Nowhere, Kansas not an hour ago. When she heard the Feed Formula recited over the intercom, she groaned as her body straightened out against her will and opened her mouth for another feeding.

The meal this time was a medley of everything that had come before, and she swore that it lasted an eternity; despite the length of time and how much eating she had done, her jaw was not tired in the least. After the last of the food vanished down her throat, the blonde woman put a hand on her pudgy paunch and tried to massage the gut bomb lying inside. Her belly was split into two pieces by her shorts: one a massive roll that covered her waistband, and the other drooping down enough to cover her nether regions. She readjusted her top around her melon-sized breasts and tugged at her waistband, only to find it was practically painted on.

“You’ve done quite well, Jesse,” the voice of Gluttox droned through the building. “I must admit, when I stuffed the students and staff here so many years ago, they lost their will to fight almost immediately. But you’re different; you’re made of sterner stuff. That will make it all the sweeter when you can no longer move and I can fatten you to proportions you can only imagine.”

“Keep talking like that, it’s only going to make it worse for you,” Jesse grunted in between hiccups.

This time, when the airhorn blared, she was not even close to ready; she was still weak and discombobulated from all the food. Still, she pressed on, knowing full well that it would only get worse the longer she waited. Jesse shoved the door of the cafeteria open and took a glance around. The room was dilapidated like the rest of the school: the tables were rusting, breaking, and covered in mold, the floor was filthy with dust and stains, and a broken pipe in the wall left a pool of water around the room. It looked like this would be another dead end, but then, on the far side of the room, there was a sign of hope!

From what she could only assume was the kitchen, there came a hideous orange glow. It somehow beckoned to her, and she felt compelled to race to it. That had to be it; that had to be where Gluttox had hidden its part. With hope so close in sight, Jesse took off in a sprint, although in her state, it was more like a power waddle. Her tremendous thighs rippled and shook against each other down to the knee, and her belly wobbled to and fro with each step, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was making it to the kitchen and smashing the machine with whatever blunt instrument she could find.

Unfortunately, in all her excitement, the quivering woman never noticed the trickle of water on the floor. Once her foot made contact, that was it; she slipped and crashed down on the tile floor below. Her breasts made a decent cushion for her chin, though they still smarted like hell, but her ankle and knees took the worst of it. A singing pain raced up from her foot, where they met with the agony forming in her knees, and then the two combined to create a howl of hurt and frustration that Jesse bellowed out.

“No, no, no,” she winced as she clutched a close-by table. When she attempted to lift herself up, her knees gave out again, which sent her sprawling back onto the floor. “Not like this. Please no, not like this.”

With nothing else to do, the desperate woman crawled along the floor. Her jelly belly spread out under her and became irritated at being dragged against the aged tiles, but she ignored that and all the other pain she felt. The light was so close now; just a hop and a skip would free her from this torture. Sadly, that hope was dashed by the sound of another airhorn.

“No, God, please, no!” she rumbled with panic and frustration. “Just a little further, come on!”

But her body was no longer hers. It froze for a spell and then flipped over onto her back. Jesse could see nothing over the swell of her breasts and gigantic gut, but the smell told her that all the food had made its return. She wanted to crawl away, kick at the meal, or swat it out of the air, but she knew how pointless that was; she could only lay there like a beached whale.

First, a salad filled her mouth, followed by a bottle of thick ranch dressing that filled the space between the veggies. Just when she choked that down, sickly sweet soda in a variety of flavors poured down her gullet, which gave her a massive head rush and a rumbling feeling in her swollen stomach. Before she could even realize it, a mass of cheap spaghetti and chunky tomato sauce plugged up her lips, only to be replaced by a cookie pie the size of a dinner plate. After chomping down on that, there came another angry swarm of chicken nuggets that dive-bombed her eager mouth. Then came another round of drinks, followed by sloppy joes, burgers, soda, chicken sandwiches, milk, a poor attempt at General Tso’s chicken, juice, and on and on and on.

Her belly showed the most effects from this cavalcade of cuisine. It blew up further and further, becoming a veritable mountain of taut tummy and supple skin, but it did not reach its full potential until the waistband of her shorts slipped down. Jesse’s spare tire spilled out onto her thighs and filled out with the rest of her generous gut. Her breasts fattened further until they were all but released from their containment. Likewise, her legs were almost free from the tyranny of her shorts, and she could feel her plush behind lifting her higher off the ground. It was like a hose was stuck in her mouth and she was filling out with no end in sight.

The morbid curiosity over her body was gone now, replaced by boredom and impatience that wished for this humiliation to end. To pass the time, she fumbled with equations and mathematical conundrums in her head; it was the same thing she had done in school when she was bored in class. The sluggish speedster assembled and disassembled formulas piece by piece until one stuck out in her mind. Once she had it together, she held onto it tight for fear it would disappear into the caverns of memory again.

She wanted desperately to shout it, sing it, do something with it, but the food kept coming on; there was no way she could recite the formula. It took time, far more time than Jesse cared to, but she had to wait until the food was finished. Her body fattened up like a dumpling being stuffed, and she paid it not a single heed.

Finally, when the last crumb passed her lips, she had enough. She released a thunderous belch that seemed to shake the crumbling ceiling tiles, and then she cried out, “3X2(9YZ)4A!”

That old, familiar rush washed over her body, like a spark of electricity. Jeese Quick felt the Speed Force coursing through her body once more, bringing with it a healing energy to her body. Her ankle and knees both repaired themselves faster than it took to think, and from there, she flopped over onto her side and hoisted herself to her feet. Where her body had felt so sluggish and bloated before, she now felt as light as a feather. This change was only mental though; she was still very much the size of a baby hippo.

When she raced for the kitchen again, she rocketed across the floor, pools of water be damned. Though she still could only waddle, her super-speed made her immensely fast and far more destructive than before; in this way, she was very much like a hippopotamus. She crashed through table after table, took out the check-out counters, and smashed through the doorway that would otherwise have been impossible to get through. When she came to a skidding stop, Jesse spotted the source of all her trouble and the victim of her frustration. It was a giant toaster oven, the kind used at sandwich shops; the only difference was this was made with obsidian metal and emanated gluttony.

“You don’t want to do this,” the machine pleaded in a neutral tone. “I could give you all the food you’ll ever need.”

“If this is the kind of food I could expect, I’ll take my chances.”

Jesse placed her hands on the side of the oven and vibrated her palms. The vibrations resonated from her body into the machine, causing it to tremble and shake at a terrific rate. Bolts shot off and sparks flew, but the vengeful woman was nowhere close to stopping. She pressed on, using a trick she had gained from her mentor, Wally West, until the piece of Gluttox whined like a teapot ready to go. The blonde dashed back out to the cafeteria in the nick of time, as the toaster oven exploded in a blaze of fury.

Despite the odds, she had come out victorious. As her father would say, “Score one for the good guys.” It was a tough point, but Jesse won it all the same.

Now that her twisted game with Gluttox was finished, Jesse took a chance to really examine herself. Her top was more or less painted on at this point, and her shorts were useless. The thighs that her husband loved so much were as big around as the average man’s waist, while her rump was so rotund, a child could sit on top quite comfortably. Meanwhile, her heavy breasts were big enough to use as bed pillows, but they were nowhere close to her titanic tummy. The bulbous beast jutted out well in front of her to the point that she could not see a single pace, much less her feet. It drooped down to the middle of her thighs, enough to protect her intimates should her shorts break before long.

“I am never setting foot in a school again,” Jesse grumbled before racing off to find the others and see how they fared…
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Old 05-06-2017, 05:16 AM   #7
Join Date: Jan 2013
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Before she flew off to the Enchanted Forest, Cyclone had deposited her teammate Judomaster at the Watson Gymnasium. The Japanese martial artist had read up on the town so that she could be prepared anywhere she went; an ounce of prevention is worth something-something, she remembered one of the older members of the team saying. The gymnasium was an all-purpose training facility used by everyone in the town, from the athletes to the average joes, and it really came into its own just before Gluttox appeared. Now, it was just another ramshackle building waiting for demolition.

Judomaster took a deep breath as she waited by the door. Her mind entered a light meditative state, where she entered into a sort of trance and activated her latent ability to repel any direct attack. When her mind was focused on battle, her body seemed to project an aura that made every shot aimed at her miss by a mile; not even a sniper’s bullet could touch her. The one drawback was that there was no way for her to defend against indirect attacks, like an explosion or shrapnel. That was why she needed to be on her A-game at all times, to make sure she never left herself open to such an attack.

Finally, her mental state was ready. She readjusted her orange mask and chopped through the iron chains sealing the gym shut. Step by quiet step, she made her way into the aged building, which was thick with dust. The woman coughed once and then covered her mouth with the neck of her costume.

The entrance to the building, once a modest lobby with chairs and magazines from the 50s, had managed to stay mostly the same, save for a heavy coating of dust and dirt on every available surface. Judomaster swept a finger over one of the chair arms and peeled away the accumulated mess like lint from a dryer. She shook her head and carried on; she was not here to clean, but to destroy a piece of Gluttox.

She searched room by room, from the small offices to the dingy locker rooms, but nothing came up. The fact that she had been searching for quite some time only set her more on edge; she knew all too well that something could be waiting around the next corner. And what lay behind that very corner? The entrance to the gym floor proper. And what was waiting for her on the gym floor? A stranger sight she had never seen.

Standing against the far wall, with arms crossed and brows furrowed, was an army of gi-clad gingerbread men, one hundred strong. The cookie fighters were quite tall, head and shoulders above Judomaster, and they were thick as dinner plates. They had facial features made up of frosting and candy dots, gi made from icing and sprinkles, and belts of black licorice. To anyone else, this might have been hilarious, but to the stoic woman, this was one more problem to deal with.

“Greetings, Judomaster,” a deep, Osaka voice called out from behind the gingerbread crew.

The army parted as one to reveal a device behind them. It was sleek, shiny, and unlike anything the martial artist had ever seen on Earth. If she had to put a word to it, she would have to say it looked like an oven, the kind Ma Hunkel used day in and day out. And if that were an oven, that could only mean one thing.


“One and the same,” the machine acknowledged its opponent. “I have awoken so that I might challenge you and your teammates. Already, I am engaging each around this town; it is now your turn to face me. I know you are a woman of few words, therefore, I will make this brief: I am presenting you with a challenge to test your endurance.”

Judomaster was silent, so the metal menace continued. “I have created this army of gingerbread black belts so that they might face you in a hundred-man kumite. You will face them one by one, and when you have beaten the last opponent, you will have free access to me.”

“Or I could break you now and save myself the trouble,” the stoic woman growled. She had no patience for such nonsense; it would be better to get it done with now than play along with this device.

“You could, but you might find yourself overwhelmed by my army,” Gluttox replied. To emphasize the strength of his forces, the gingerbread men formed back around their creator. They stomped at the same time, which sent a terrible quake throughout the decrepit building.

Judomaster weighted the options in her head. Sure, she had faced countless thugs and goons before, but one hundred at once? That could prove troublesome, especially if she still had to fight the culinary constructor behind this challenge. Better to play along and then strike when the numbers had dwindled.

“Fine,” she decided. “I will break your warriors into crumbs, and then I will do the same to you.”

“We shall see. Now, let the first match begin!”

One of the gingerbread men click-clacked across the floor towards Judomaster, clapping its stub hands together as if they were fists. As soon as it reached its opponent, the baked brute swung out with a high kick, which the woman ducked away from with the greatest of ease. When it went for a chop, she side-stepped it with a roll of the eyes; children were better fighters than this. Then, when it made to grab her, she swung low, grabbed it by the waist, and flipped it into the air. She let out a yell as she threw her opponent to the side, where it exploded into bits and pieces.

When she walked through the crumbled cookie, she passed through a cloud of dust and powder and gagged. This was different than when she walked through the lobby; it was like a mass had gone down her throat. She shook it off and waved to the gathered enemies, egging on the next fighter.

This process was repeated a few more times: an awkward antagonist would take a clumsy swing at her, she would throw it to the ground, and then she would fall into a coughing fit for a moment before recovering. So focused was Judomaster on this fight that she paid no mind to what the clouds of sugar and sweet powder were doing to her. Imperceptible to the naked eye, a wafer-thin layer of fat covered her body; it did nothing to impede her however, and it only served to smooth out her appearance. But that was just five fighters in; what would it be like if she kept going?

The first sense that something was wrong came in around the tenth fallen foe. As she waited for her next opponent, the martial artist rocked her head from side to side and noticed that her suit was feeling stiffer than usual, as if it were tighter than when she put it on that morning. She was too wrapped up in her kumite to consider that something peculiar was going on, and that was why she did not notice her softer physique.
Again, Judomaster could not be described as fat or even chubby; she was still hovering around the average weight range. The problem lay in the fact that unlike her JSA teammates, the martial artist wore a skintight bodysuit that clung to every inch of her supple body. On a normal day, this meant that her lean muscles were on full display; today, it meant that anybody could tell those muscles were losing their definition.

The athlete finished her coughing fit and glared at the remaining gingerbread men. Gluttox met her glare by commending her. “You have done well so far, but that was just the beginning, Judomaster. From here on, my creations will only get harder and harder to defeat.”

“Show me,” she taunted.

As if to prove a point, the eleventh fighter made its way to the mat and came at her with fire in its eyes. This one was different than those that came before, but only by a bit; she could still avoid each of its blows. Still, she did make a note of how it was faster and likely stronger, and thought to watch out for that in the next challengers. Regardless of talent, this one crumbled all the same, and just as before, the stoic fighter inhaled some of its released sugar, which seemed to be thicker than before.

The thought slipped her mind as she gestured for another gingerbread man, who joined the others in pieces on the mat. This continued again and again, on and on, until twenty of the cookies were gone. After the twentieth such fight, Judomaster found herself beginning to breathe harder, which struck her as odd, considering she was barely fighting them. She chalked this up to the air being so hard to breathe in, but if she stopped focusing on the match, she might have noticed quite the change in her body.

With the increased doses of sugar and powder in the air, her body was getting thicker at a faster rate. Twenty fighters in, her body was blossoming into a chubby, thick physique that tested the limits of her suit. Her breasts, once flat compared to most of the superhero community, were growing quite nicely into modest handfuls of softness. Her arms were now so thick that they were the same size around as when she flexed; the difference being that now, it was all fat. Those long, lithe legs that helped her bound across battlefields and deliver devastating kicks had been covered by a good layer of pudge, which continued up to her now plush rump. Perhaps most notable was her tummy, which was so stuffed into her suit that her belly button and growing love handles were given considerable detail.

“Another,” she grunted as she waved down the next challenger, blissfully unaware of the change occurring in her body.

“Are you sure that would be a good idea?” asked the malevolent machine. “Twenty opponents is nothing to stick your nose up at; even your Batman would have trouble with such numbers. Are you sure you want to press your luck so much?”

Judomaster shook her head, “Luck has nothing to do with it. You can cook up an entire army, but you can’t make talent in an oven.”

“That is what you think.”

The determined fighter continued her marathon match against the gingerbread men, but as more and more crumbled beneath her, the more sluggish she felt. Worry soon came over her; she had not felt this tired before, even when she went up against actual gods. But the increasing amounts of sugar in the air, plus the remnants kicked up whenever she stepped on the broken challengers beneath her, meant that she was getting bigger and slower with each passing match.

Finally, realization dawned on her after throwing the fiftieth opponent for a loop. When she pivoted to toss the cookie man aside, she heard a terrific rip at her side. Judomaster placed a gloved hand on the spot and discovered that not only had she torn a hole in the side of her costume, but a copious amount of blubber poured out. As her body shifted back to a casual position, she heard another rip, only this one came from the front of her costume. Her globular gut had torn clear up the middle of her suit, creating a slit that ran from her navel to the underside of her breasts.

The awakened woman ignored Gluttox and its forces as she surveyed the damage to her lithe, athletic figure. Every inch of her was soft and pliable, like mochi, and when she pinched at the fat around her waist, she found there was enough to grip in her hand. Those petite breasts of hers still remained comparatively small, but they were still bigger than the average woman. Her limbs, once wiry and taut with muscle, had grown thicker and thicker by the minute, to the point that her thighs touched and fat was pooling at her elbow. Behind her was a rump that looked more like two basketballs shoved down her pants, although her tush had much more give to it. Lastly was her supple stomach, which resembled a ripe pumpkin more than anything else; of course, pumpkins do not have rolls to them, much less such generous ones.

“You did this to me,” the martial artist growled as she returned to her senses. “I will make you pay dearly for this.”

“I think not,” Gluttox retorted, “and I think you’ll be lucky to make it through any more of my soldiers. You can feel it already: your expanding body will continue to grow, slowing you down and making every movement more awkward. Soon, you won’t be able to dodge my soldiers; after that, you won’t be able to grab them. And then, when you can barely move anymore, my creations will knock you to the floor, from which you won’t be able to get up. You will be utterly defenseless from my assault, and I will have my way with you.”

“What do you plan to do with us?”

The New God groaned like a machine well out of use. “I will make up for lost time and fatten the lot of you until you are mountains of flesh. Once I have absorbed all the power I can from your engorged bodies, I will spread my influence to the rest of your community and use them as batteries. After that, when the most powerful men and women are under my control, my powers will extend to the far reaches of the world. Every man, woman, child, even animal will be swollen masses, unable to do anything when my creator comes to claim this world.”

Judomaster scowled at the notion and balled her hands into fat little fists. “That will not happen. When we are through with you, your evil will be purged from the Earth once and for all!”

“Enough chatter, hero; you test my patience. Surrender to me now and I will make this as delectable as possible. If you choose to continue, I will force each and every one of my creations down your throat! Which will you have?”

She made no reply except to spread her legs apart and swing her arms around. The excess movement made her costume tear in several places, but at the same time, it also freed her up and allowed her room to move. The woman settled into a fighting stance again and beckoned the next challenger.

“Take her.”

Suddenly, the gingerbread men came en masse; the rules of the kumite had been tossed out the window. In such close quarters, the martial artist could not rely on her namesake technique, but thankfully, she had a myriad others at her disposal. Judomaster planted her feet firmly on the ground and waited for her first few victims to approach.

WHAM! She slammed into the cookie-cutter creations like a sumo wrestler, plowing them into the mat.

THWACK! She elbowed an attacker in the chest and pivoted around to strike another.

POW! Her fist ran straight through a gingerbread man’s head, and she threw its body into the crowd, crushing two more.

For all her determined fury, Judomaster knew this was only speeding up the inevitable; the more of these things she crushed, the fatter she became. Already, she could feel the rips growing in her costume, threatening to release a cascade of blubber from its orange and yellow prison. To compound matters, the weight was beginning to weigh her down; she gave up trying to high kick before too long and resorted to sweeps and shots to the knees.

At last, her belly was completely free and flopped around with every motion. The heavy mass offset her balance, forcing the martial artist to maneuver on the fly and watch her enemies should they try to attack such a massive target. On the other hand, she could use it as a weapon, as the ginormous gut made a handy battering ram, which helped her run down more than a few gingerbread men.

When she crouched to dodge a swipe, a thunderous tear could be heard from behind her, and from the feel of humid air on bare skin, Judomaster knew that the seat of her pants had split. The divide was forced to grow from her constant movement and the immense rump that refused to be contained any longer. If this kept up any longer, the woman knew she would be leaving in nothing but scraps.

Thankfully, the onslaught of baked goods was dwindling, and when she could actually see gaps between the cookie challengers, a spark of hope ignited inside her. She swept the ankles of one, flipped another over her back, and even threw a broken-off arm through the head of one unfortunate opponent. Every move she made was fueled with ruthless aggression and the belief that this would be over before long. Finally, she stamped her foot through a tripped foe and crushed its torso. She had won.

And not a moment too soon: the only part of her costume still in one piece was her mask, and even that was being tested by the two, soon to be three chins, and puffy cheeks that bulged out and forced her lips into a resting pucker. Her sleeves were nothing more than ribbons draped over her pillow-sized arms. A strained piece of fabric was all that held her melon breasts from flopping out onto her blubbery belly. Speaking of, the roly-poly tummy drooped down over her waist and formed a shelf of rolls at her side; this too was ‘covered’ by straps of ruined cloth. Her pants were in complete tatters from the top of her ample hips to the thick meat on her cankles; her bulbous behind was much to blame for the damage, but her tremendous thighs had done their fair share as well.

“I count ninety-nine, Gluttox,” the weary woman huffed as she caught her breath. “Send out your last man and be done with this charade.”

“As you wish, warrior.”

No sooner had she said that then a gingerbread man even taller than the others burst through the doors. The hulking cookie was made to seem shirtless, although that space was now filled with a thick coating of powdered sugar. It let out a mighty roar before charging the sluggish athlete, and for the first time in ages, her powers of maneuverability failed her. The abomination slammed into her and somehow managed to pick her massive body up off the floor in a bear hug.

Judomaster squirmed and grunted in pain as the baked brute crushed the life out of her; it was like being squeezed by a massive vice. Her fatty legs could do little damage against him, so useless had they become, and there was no way to use her arms even if they were their normal size again. She was left with only one thing to do, loathe as she was to do it. The martial artist brought her head down and took a good chunk out of the gingerbread man’s neck, from which oozed strawberry jelly.

Her opponent let out a crumbling howl of pain and released her, which gave her all the time she needed to slam into it with her shoulder. Once the beast thudded onto the ground, she waddled over as fast as she could to its head and hovered for a moment before delivering her finishing move. She jumped as high as she could off the ground, which amounted to little more than a hair or three, but that was all she needed. The fatty fighter crashed down on her opponent with a sickening thud, squishing its doughy head underneath her bare behind.

Just like that, the gym was empty again, save for the jiggling Judomaster and the defeated Gluttox. She would have sprung to her feet and go straight for the wicked machine, but with all the added sugar in the air, her body was growing at too fast a rate for her to get up easily. It made for a comical sight, this formerly athletic woman rocking around on her tire-wide thighs and rotund rump, and when she managed to flip over, her pendulous gut brushed against the ground. She pushed and pushed with every fiber of her being until she finally made it to her feet, albeit staggering and with ridiculously sore joints.

The woman glowered at Gluttox and pointed a finger at it. “I win. You lose.”

“So it would seem,” the ambivalent machine accepted. “At least I can take comfort knowing that my creations did their best. It is much like you humans say: it’s not about whether you win or lose; it’s about turning your opponent into a wall of blubber.”

“Shut up.”

One punch was all it took to silence the devious device. Judomaster did not have the strength of some of her teammates, but she made up for it by knowing the weak points in her targets; not even a New God like Gluttox was impervious to her. Sparks flew behind her as the ruined machine coughed out hideous clouds of smoke, but the massive martial artist paid it no mind.

“Need fresh air,” the nearly nude woman groaned as she waddled out of the building with slow, jiggling steps…
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Old 06-07-2017, 08:53 PM   #8
Join Date: Jan 2013
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A/N: After a month-long break, I'm back with more superheroes becoming superpigs! Enjoy the new installment, and look forward to regular updates every Wednesday!

Stephanie Brown, the Spoiler, was elated to finally be free of the dark, confining alleys and towering skyscrapers of Gotham. It was one of the reasons she was eager to join any mission that required her leaving the city; sometimes, she had to get out and see the sun. Such was the case with this task: buildings no more than three stories tall, space to roam freely, and all in the middle of the day. She would have to see about hooking up with other super-teams more often, if this was any barometer for their adventures.

When everyone went their separate ways, the hooded heroine opted to go via rooftop, just so she could get some exercise in. She flew from ledge to ledge with the greatest of ease, due in no small part to the acrobatic training she received from one Dick Grayson. The purple protector had memorized the map of the town, which meant she knew the longest way to the arcade, so she took her sweet time getting to her objective. It was not that she doubted the severity of the situation; she just wanted to relish being in the sun as much as possible.

Finally, the blonde made it to the closed down arcade, which showed its age. Plywood covered the windows and door; someone had scrawled on one of the pieces, “There was an arcade here. It’s gone now.” A good kick from her steel-toed boot broke the wood down, releasing the accumulated stench of aged plastic, mold, and rust.

“Thank God for my mask,” the young woman muttered through her cover.

Spoiler crept inside with a pocket light in hand, which released a modest beam ahead of her. Thanks to the broken door and the flashlight, the inside of the arcade was made fairly visible, although the sight depressed the heroine. Crumbling tile ceiling, burst pipes along the walls, and paint peeling all over the place; that was just the building itself. The worst were the games: everything was coated with a good layer of cobwebs, from the skeeball machines along the wall to the quarter rides by the door. There were countless classic arcade cabinets scattered around, but they were all in various states of disrepair and decay; broken joysticks, crushed buttons, and broken screens abounded.

“Aw man, not Ms. Pac-Man,” the vigilante sighed as she brushed the dust away from the intact screen. “Still in pretty good condition; I’ll have to see about getting a truck out here to get you home.”

She continued along, passing by all sorts of corroding cabinets and games, until she came to one machine left in near pristine condition. When she walked over and brushed away the coat of dust on the side, the cabinet read ‘Polybius’. It had to be the most generic cabinet she had ever seen; there were no colors, no cartoon mascots, and a single white button.

“I’ve heard stories about you, big boy,” the heroine remarked as she looked over the machine. “Made people addicted to playing you, caused nausea and illness, and even inspired people to kill themselves. If Apokolips sent one evil machine to infiltrate arcades, you’d be it.”

As Spoiler investigated the machine, she heard a creaking noise come from across the room, behind what used to be the prize counter. She spun at the slight sound and pointed her pocket light to the source, and spotted a door that had been closed not a moment before. With a lump in her throat, the heroine skulked over to the prize stand, making sure to stay as low as possible so as to avoid being seen by whoever or whatever had opened the door.

When she reached the counter, the vigilante hopped over the glass and landed with a soft thud. She peered into the open room, which had been labelled ‘Employees Only’, and saw a contraption that looked like something from a horror movie. It started with a dentist’s chair, but hanging from the ceiling was a helmet meant to cover the top half of the head and goggles to cover the eyes; stationed beside the chair was a monitor and a large box, likely the CPU of the whole shebang.

“What in the heck are you?” Spoiler asked the machine, which surprisingly answered in return.

“I am the one you have been searching for, masked girl,” a crackly voice came from the monitor. The exaggerated face of a man appeared on the screen, wearing a pair of large sunglasses, a suit, and a tie. “I am the hunger that gnaws in the belly, making you crave any and all food you can find. I am the force that feeds the hungry, that fattens the gaunt, that fuels the need for more and more.”

“You’re Gluttox,” the masked woman interrupted. “Wordiest machine I’ve ever met. Please tell me there aren’t more like you on Apokolips.”

The CGI head scoffed at the idea. “There are none like me in the known galaxy.”

“Good, because I don’t think I could stand having to deal with another chatterbox like you,” Spoiler remarked as she whipped out a bo staff. “So tell me, Max Headroom, why are you in an arcade?”

“Because those who frequent here are begging for something to get addicted to,” Gluttox explained. “They come here to play games, only to get sucked in and spend all their money in the hopes of winning a big prize, only to walk away with barely enough for a cheap trinket. It was so easy to get people addicted to me.”

While it droned on, the masked vigilante scanned the room. “Congratulations, you’re a villain from a Saturday morning cartoon. No plugs, so I can’t just rip you out of the wall. I don’t suppose smashing you would do anything?”

“You’re more than welcome to try, though I am crafted from Nth metal; I strongly doubt you have anything to penetrate my casing.”

“Extreme planning is kind of my boss’s thing,” Spoiler sighed. “I’ve been in enough scenarios to get the gist of this though: you’ve taken the form of some kind of interactive machine, you’re in an arcade, and you’re evil. The only way I’m getting rid of you is by playing a game you’ve created, isn’t it?”

The digital face of her enemy nodded. “Brilliant deduction, young lady. Yes, I have developed a special type of game the likes of which do not exist on Earth as yet. It is a virtual reality simulator that is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced; it is more real than reality, I dare say.”

“I’ve heard that all before, Todd Howard,” the vigilante rolled her eyes. She walked over to the chair and placed a hand on the arm rest. “I beat your silly game, and it’s over, you got that?”

“It is a promise.”

“Then prepare to be schooled by Gotham’s finest.”

Spoiler slid into the surprisingly comfortable chair and relaxed into the cushion. Her hands gripped the arm rests, where there were small buttons and analog sticks built in. The helmet lowered down from the ceiling and slid onto her head, and then adjusted until it was snug.

The screen inside flickered once or twice before coming to life and revealing the world of Gluttox’s game. Spoiler found herself surrounded by sterile white walls, a gray floor, and fluorescent lights lining the ceiling. A futuristic bed/pod was behind her, a shower to her right, and a mirror and sink to her left. When she turned to look into the mirror, the vigilante found she was still in costume, minus her mask and hood; this allowed her youthful face to breathe and her blonde locks to flow down past her neck. She still had her utility belt, although it was much lighter; no doubt every pouch and capsule was empty.

“Attention, all crew and passengers of the Starship Meteor,” a woman’s voice announced over an intercom in the ceiling. “We are currently experiencing an emergency situation. Remain in your rooms, and do not unseal the doors for any reason.”

“Okay, so you’re in space, no gear, no weapons, and there’s something going wrong. Survival horror, most likely,” the vigilante assumed. She cracked her knuckles and made her way to the nearby doorway. “Let’s do this.”

A click of a button and the door opened up, revealing a dimly lit hallway with sparks flying here and there. The voice on the intercom had not been kidding when it said there was an emergency; the question was what had done this and where it went. Spoiler looked up and down the hall and, spying more lights further away, she slinked towards the source. The lights led to another bedroom, from which the blonde could hear soft moaning and groaning. She pressed herself to the wall just outside the door before popping inside.

Propped up beside the bed was a blue feline alien who could have been quite tall when standing, and looked to weigh five times as much as Spoiler. The creature had a human face, bulbous breasts that was barely covered by scraps of spandex, a gut that swelled out onto her thighs, and a rotund rump that helped lift her further into the air. When it spoke, it had a dusky, feminine voice.

“You need…to get out,” she told Spoiler.

“What happened here?”

The alien let her head droop into the fat ring around her neck. “Plasmoids…we picked up a package…they were hiding inside…now they’re free…feeding everyone…so full…so fat…can’t get up…”

Of course this would be the game that sick machine designed. Spoiler reached out a gloved hand and patted the woman on the shoulder. “I’m going to get out of here and be back with help, don’t you worry.”

Suddenly, the widened woman’s eyes grew wide, and she pointed behind the blonde. “Behind you!”

The vigilante turned just in time to have a blob of blue slime jump up and latch itself onto her face. She let out a muffled yelp before she battered at the jelly, trying desperately to pry it free, but no amount of strength could save her. As she fought it, the thing secreted some kind of liquid past her lips and down her throat; the young detective did not want to think about what this would do to her. The flabby femme on the ground reached something out to her, and when Spoiler took it, she found it to be some kind of stun baton. With a fire in her eyes, she jabbed the slime, causing it to squeal in pain before unlatching and falling to the floor. Spoiler was quick to end the monster with a swift stomp.

“Let’s see the damage,” she winced as she looked down at her body.

Despite swallowing just a bit of alien liquid, her body was already bloating up quite nicely. Her suit was nowhere near as giving or loose as some of her teammates’, and it was starting to creak from the pressure. Her petite breasts were swollen to the size of softballs and weighed her down considerably, and when she reached a hand down to her thighs, she found they were thick enough to fill the gap between them. Worst of all was her belly, which looked like she had eaten a basketball; it jutted out as if in pride and gave her a pregnant appearance. It was quite the drastic change, and that was just the first enemy. What would happen if she came across something even more dangerous?

“Mind if I borrow this?” Spoiler asked the alien, only to find the woman had fallen into a daze while rubbing her globular gut. “I guess not. Well, don’t you worry; this game will be over before you know it.”

The blonde walked back out into the hallway and twirled the stun baton in her hand. She could hear oozing, gooey sounds further down, which was clearly the way she was supposed to go. With no other choice, she marched on towards what was sure to be a fattening experience…


After making her way through several halls, solving puzzles, and collecting key cards, Spoiler managed to reach the innards of the ship. While she had managed to make it in great time, it had not been an easy journey; hordes of slimes were waiting for her in every nook and cranny. She managed to beat them off with her baton, but they almost always got the jump on her and injected her with some of their fattening juices. It turned out that it did not need to be swallowed; if even a drop made contact with her, it would deliver a couple of pounds to her body.

This had quite the undesirable effect on the vigilante’s body. Her suit was painfully tight now, and her body was forcing its way out to get some relief. Her breasts had grown to the size of cantaloupes, which made them test the limits of the zipper of her suit; she had to stop every few minutes to readjust the blasted thing. At the same time, her behind took up more and more room in her pants, and now they creaked in protest with every step she took. Her belly, for it was now big enough to be a proper belly, gobbled up her utility belt and billowed out into two rippling rolls. When this became too uncomfortable, Spoiler readjusted her belt so that her gut now surged over it like water over a dam.

“Jeez, I feel like Orca,” the vigilante mumbled as she crept through the inner workings of the spaceship. “Should have known this douche-nozzle would cheat. Well, two can play at that game.”

She continued to lurk down the network of pipes, cables, and circuits, but paused when she heard a click-clacking behind her. The vigilante turned and could not see anything until she looked up and found the source of the noise: some kind of insectoid monster with a tube-like appendage jutting out from its face; much to her alarm, Spoiler spied more of the fattening juice leaking from it.

“Not good, not good!” she muttered as she broke out into as close to a sprint as she could manage. Her hefty body weighed her down considerably, so the most she could manage was a light jog. The creature chased after her, firing off globules of fattening slime and managing to only hit the walls, until it finally got a direct hit on her back.

Spoiler took a spill onto the ground from the impact, but she scrambled to her feet before the alien could fire off another shot. The insidious effects of the slime worked fast, seeping through the material of her suit and being soaked up by her skin. This new concoction was more potent than before, as she fattened up faster and bigger than from the other slimes.
Now, as she ran, her bouncing breasts forced the zipper of her suit down and down, past their rotund swell, until it came to a stop just beneath her cleavage and above her quivering stomach. Her tremendous thighs and ample ass, combined with her skin-tight pants, forced her to slow down considerably. At the same time, her bulbous belly tested her sturdy suit and flopped from side to side as she ran down the hallway.

“Must go faster, must go faster!”

When she tumbled around a corner, the vigilante spied a stack of red canisters and a box, which on closer inspection, was a tool box. Inside was a bundle of nuts and bolts, along with a metallic instrument which she deduced to be a handheld rivet gun. She quickly snatched up the device and ammunition, and then continued her race from the insectoid creature. Once she deemed she was far enough, Spoiler turned back and fired off a few rivets from the gun at the red canisters. The stack lit up in a fiery explosion that took out the alien, while she herself was just far enough away.

“All right, making good progress,” she declared with a smile on her chubby face. “Now I just need to get somewhere safe and we can get cracking!”

The young detective waddled down until she reached a room labeled, ‘Circuit Control’. When the door slid open, she found that the room was filled with all sorts of sleek computers, control panels, and circuit puzzles, but she paid those little mind. She made her way over to a wall, tapped it once or twice with her stun baton, and then proceeded to fire every last round of ammunition at the wall.

“This guy is going to cheat, so I think it’s only fair that I cheat too,” she reasoned in her head, not daring to utter a word in case Gluttox was listening. “If I can force a glitch by doing something he never anticipated, I’ll be golden.”

Once she had let loose every bit of ammunition, Spoiler threw her gun at the wall and then proceeded to wail away on the structure. It was just a theory, little more than a hunch, but if this worked, she would be able to skip out on whatever Gluttox had planned for the final boss. Unfortunately, this act had the unintended side effect of summoning a multitude of bugs to the room. They came skittering down the hall and into the control room, where they filled almost every available space behind the vigilante.

“Crap,” she muttered as she glanced behind her.

The insectoids fired as one, dousing Spoiler from tip to toe in gooey, fattening liquid. Instantly, she could feel the effects; she was blowing up like a balloon. Her breasts fought their way free from her jumpsuit all together, which only made them easier targets for the aliens. The rotund swell of her belly forced the zipper down entirely, at which point it snapped off and clattered onto the floor. Her thunderous legs swelled bigger and wider until her purple pants exploded off and fluttered to the ground. Once unleashed, they inflated more and more, until her thighs were as wide as barrels and her behind could fill out a two-seater couch. She looked like she ought to be Risky Business dancing, but there was no way she could move like that at her size.

“Come on!” she growled as she pounded the wall again and again, over and over, until her blubbery arms teamed with her colossal chest to make her unable to reach the wall. This would not deter the detective though; she had been in worse situations before, though she was having trouble thinking of one. She dropped the baton to the ground, waddled back a few steps, and then threw every single pound at the wall.

Suddenly, the room went black and the skittering of the aliens played on a loop; a high-pitched whine filled the air. Spoiler could feel nothing at first, almost as though she was suffering from sleep paralysis, but then she felt a weight ease off her. The helmet detached from her head and returned the vigilante to the real world.

After shaking her head free of cobwebs and shock, she realized that a hose was lodged in her mouth, but no sooner had she ripped it free than she realized why there was a hose in the first place. The reason all that goo and liquid had felt so real was because it was; Gluttox had played her while she played its game. She was immense, though nowhere near as fat as she had been in the game: her breasts were easily the size of basketballs and pushed her zipper down, where her belly took over the job; the blubbery mass had forced the zipper down to her midriff, leaving the pale, creamy mound of chub for all to see; her thickened thighs had stretched her pants to their absolute limit, and she feared that one false move would send them flying again.

She wiped a chubby arm across her sweat-riddled forehead and smirked at the console screen. “Bet you didn’t see that coming, did you?”

“But you…you cheated,” the digital head whined through static crackles.

“Like you were going to?” she asked with a chuckle as she weeble-wobbled off the chair and onto her feet. “They don’t call me ‘Spoiler’ for nothing, dude. I knew that you couldn’t account for every action a human would perform, so I went ahead and did something a little random to shake things up. If it’s good enough for Bethesda, it’s good enough for you.”

The manifestation of Gluttox shook its head as it tried to taunt the victor through its glitch. “You have wwwwwon nothing, Spo-oi-oi-oiler. Soon eeeenough, you and you and you and you and all your little friends are turning int-int-into fat sows; I willllllllll be victorious y-y-y-yet.”

“Fifty-five times I’ve heard that, and fifty-five times I’ve proven it wrong. You bad guys are all the same.”

Spoiler adjusted her utility belt as she waddled, allowing the great expanse of her belly to swell over and out. As she walked, she reached under her pillowy stomach and fiddled with one of the capsules, until she managed to pull free a little disc the size the width of a CD. The voluptuous vigilante finally reached the console for Gluttox and placed the disc on top.

“As cliché as it may sound, game over,” she declared with a grin.

The disc, a miniature EMP, released a surge of electricity into the box, and the face of Gluttox disappeared. When the hum of the VR machine died down, Spoiler let out a breath of relief and leaned back against the chair, before her tubby tummy rumbled and she licked her lips.

“Some Mountain Dew and Doritos would hit the spot…”
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Old 06-14-2017, 08:44 PM   #9
Join Date: Jan 2013
Posts: 52
Vongola27 can now change their title

Lorraine Reilly soared through the sky on wings of nuclear fire in search of the town hall. Her brilliant appearance cut a marvelous figure, with golden skin and blue flames for hair; she looked like she had come from the cosmos, not Middle of Nowhere, USA. If anyone were to look at her now, they would see a woman who had been to Hell and back, had fought hundreds of colorful criminals, and journeyed into the heart of the Multiverse. She might not have been the most recognizable figure, but no one could argue that she had not put in the work.

And now, it was time to put all that time and effort to the test. As she approached the point on Faith’s map, she steeled her mind and heart in order to get to her other identity. When she opened her eyes and let out a held breath, she was no longer a senator’s daughter or a grad student; she was the nuclear woman, Firehawk.

She touched down on the asphalt and gazed up at the derelict structure that looked even older than the other buildings around it. It was more like a house than a government building: two stories, shutters on the windows, and even a porch at the top of the front steps. When the town was still inhabited and filled with people, they might have stopped to have a chat or a drink with the public officials. Time had taken its toll on the poor old home though, as vines snaked up the walls and moss covered the stones; the wooden porch was sunken in all over, and many of the shutters were hanging on a prayer. It, like the rest of the town, had seen much better days.

Firehawk crept up the stairs, leaving behind a smoldering footprint in her wake; she made sure to tread lightly and avoid any areas that seemed likely to break. She made it up to the moldy, rickety porch and found the double doors of the hall were chained shut. By concentrating heat into a single finger, she was able to cut through the iron lock like a molten knife through butter. With the lock gone, she went to open the doors, only for them to fall away thanks to their rusted hinges.

“Well, that was easy,” she remarked as she stepped inside.

The foyer of the hall was filthy with dust and grime, and the crash of the doors kicked up a cloud of choking, blinding particles. The heated heroine was able to walk through with ease, thanks to a field of intense heat around her body that vaporized even the tiniest bit of dust. A quick glance around the aged room left her unimpressed: chairs, a sofa, a coffee table, various decorations from the first half of the twentieth century, and paintings of various figures, no doubt important men and women in the town’s history. Of all the bits and pieces, only one in particular caught her eye.

Across the room, hanging in an ornate frame, was a picture of a rotund, balding man with a beard that more than made up for his lack of hair on his head. He was dressed in a fine three-piece suit that could barely contain his corpulence, and he held a glass of brandy in one hand. A plaque on the frame read ‘Boss Feed: The Biggest Mayor in Cooke History’.

“No kidding,” Firehawk scoffed as she looked over the painting.

Suddenly, the head swiveled down and looked at the young woman. In a deep, gravelly voice, the man retorted, “Madam, I take offense to that.”

Firehawk stumbled back at the living, talking painting. As she gave it another glance, she considered her options: it could have been magic, perhaps a ghost, or maybe some sort of hallucination brought on by the dust cloud. When she considered Occam’s Razor though, there was only one answer.

“Gluttox, I presume?” she asked the painting.

“In the well-rendered flesh,” the painting answered. “And you would be Firehawk, according to my databanks. You sure picked the horse to hitch your wagon to, young lady; you and your friends are in over your heads.”

The nuclear woman huffed at that, which sparked her flames. “Better villains than you have said the same thing, and I sent them home with fourth-degree burns. What makes you think you have a better chance against me?”

“Because I control reality here,” Gluttox replied. “The moment you walked in those doors, I had you in my clutches; you just didn’t know it. I have special plans for each and every one of you, but for you, Firehawk, I have something quite unique.”

“Too bad you won’t be able to do it!”

Before the painting could get another word in, Firehawk hurled a fireball at ‘Boss Feed’. She smirked in victory as the flames lapped at the oak frame, only for the fire to dissipate in an instant, with the painting none the worse. Gluttox shook its head and waggled the glass of brandy around.

“That was a foolish thing to do, young lady, but I can think of no better way to show my intentions for you than this. Observe your body.”

The arsonist aviator glanced down and let out a gasp at what she saw. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, she had gained fifteen pounds of fat. Her belly was softer now, almost to the point of bulging out, and her breasts had swollen slightly, but the brunt of the gain had taken place on her lower body. Her fingertips found their way to her hips quicker than usual, and she traced down to thighs she could pinch an inch. When she took a step to turn and spy her behind, she found that there was a tiny jiggle in her step. In truth, she was at an average weight for a woman her size; it was no worse than when she put on the freshman fifteen at college. However, because her costume was basically a second skin, it showed every precious inch of her gain.

“How did you do that?” she asked with a growl in her voice.

“I am, by nature, a machine of Apokolips, and with that, I can take on any form of machine. In this particular case, that shape is more metaphorical than physical: I have become a political machine. So long as you are in this building, you will be under control of my crooked laws and rules, as well as subject to any taxes as I see fit. For instance, it is against the law to use your powers in this building; not only do your powers have no effect on me, but you must also pay fifteen pounds for every use.”

“That’s absurd!”

“No, my dear, that’s government,” Gluttox chided the softened scorcher. “Now, you are more than welcome to fight back against me if you so desire, but know that the longer you stay here, the harsher my laws will become. You may become imprisoned by your own weight before too long.”

Firehawk snarled as her fire lit up again, but she choked back the desire to incinerate the house around her. Instead, she pointed a golden hand at the painting and told it, “I’m going to find the source of your power, and when I do, I’m going to roast you like a marshmallow.”

“We’ll see about that,” the portrait replied. “Oh, and you just threatened a public official. Ten more pounds.”

There was no swelling feeling, no bloating pain, nor even the sensation of weight piling on to her. The only way Firehawk knew she was getting fatter was to simply glance down and see that her body was slightly thicker than before. Her tummy now pushed out enough that she could feel a curve forming, but there was no more noticeable change as yet. The toasty titan shot the painting a withering glare but sealed her lips, not wanting to goad it any further. She knew that the fiend would still fatten her when it saw fit, so she might as well get on with it and try to find the source of its power.

She began to investigate every nook and cranny of the foyer, but it soon became apparent that there was nothing to be had there. All she had to show for her troubles were several more pounds added on for trespassing, disturbing private property, and attempted burglary. By the time she left the room, she had swollen up considerably in body and temper.

Up top, her breasts had grown to the size of baseballs, while her arms had softened enough to lose any definition. Trailing down from that, her stomach had bloated into a pot belly that jiggled and wiggled with every step. Her thighs were taking up more room now, touching at the top, and she could feel her rump quiver behind her as she walked along the creaking floor. She could only hope the others were having an easier time than she was.

After making her way down the hall, Firehawk came upon a dining room that was in better condition, though not by much. The grand table, which was built to seat at least twelve, had been covered with a nice table cloth. On top of the table was an assortment of food, the type that might be found at a banquet: shrimp cocktail, chicken marsala, salmon glazed in honey and walnuts, and spiral pork fresh from the bone; spicy vegetable mixes, rolls slathered in butter, and desserts neatly arranged in ornate designs. It was quite delectable, and in any other situation, she might have swiped a bite, but given the circumstances, she snubbed her nose at the feast and made her way to the door across the room.

Before she could leave, her body froze as a bell rang through the dining room. A crackly intercom came to life and the taunting voice of Gluttox could be heard therein. “Congratulations, Firehawk! The votes are in, and you have been designated ‘Chief of Dining’ in Cooke! As your first assignment, you’ll need to sample from our local cookeries, starting with this banquet arranged for your victory.”

“You can’t make me eat, you lunatic,” the hot-headed heroine told the Agent of Apokolips.

“Actually, I can. You see, when you’re this close to food, I gain an exceptional amount of power. In addition to manipulating the food, I can also manipulate your body to a certain degree. You’ll see what I mean.”

As the food levitated off the table, Firehawk’s arms were forced to her side and her feet spun her around. The golden girl watched in fear as the food flew lazily through the air and up to her lips, which were pried open by an invisible force. One by one, the food forced its way into her mouth, and like a machine, she had to consume each and every bite. It went on and on, bite after bite, until the table was finally cleared and the grip on her body was released.

The fiery fighter stifled a belch before assessing the damage to her body. Sure enough, the food had made quick work of her; she now resembled a plump bird fit for dinner. Her breasts were like small melons, and they perched atop a gut that stuck out from her body like a ball of fluff. A quick touch to her face found softening cheeks and a thicker chin, while her arms now matched the size of her calves going in. The brunt of the gain found its way to her legs again, and she discovered that her thighs were touching almost down to her knees, her hips were dangerously wide, and her bulbous behind now made a considerable shelf behind her.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Firehawk muttered to herself as she shuffled in an awkward gait. “Can’t go out that easy. Whatever this freak throws at me, I’ve got to find a way around it, or I won’t be walking out of here, much less flying.”

As she waddled out of the dining room and back into the hall, the heroine thought back to when her father was on the campaign trail, when she first began to take notice of the political world. Back then, there was a woman running for Congress in one of the Midwestern states, a particularly nasty woman named Riley Tatum. She was a horrible person, even by politicians’ standards, and she had made a farce of her district’s election. However, for whatever reason, she exploded in weight during the race, and just as it came time for the final debates, she had a massive wardrobe malfunction on stage, which guaranteed her loss. Firehawk seemed to recall seeing the woman pop up on some reality show later on, maybe a celebrity weight loss contest, but that was the last anyone heard of her.

“God, I hope I’m not that big yet,” the heroine muttered to herself as she passed by a mirror and glanced at her reflection. It was nerve-racking, not knowing when Gluttox might strike next, but she could at least take comfort in that the machine was not actively trying to kill her; she could stomach the humiliation if it meant staying alive.

Her search led her to the second floor of the mansion, where she came upon a room covered in maps and plastic Army men. A golden plaque read, ‘No Fighting in the War Room’. She scanned the room for any signs of Gluttox, but when nothing turned up, she turned to leave. Suddenly, the door slammed shut in her face.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the irritating voice of Gluttox spoke through a ham radio. “It turns out that someone in the administration has been smuggling contraband over the border, and the authorities are closing in fast. You need to make it disappear, or else they’ll take us all down.”

Firehawk put a hand on her girthy hip. “If you’re going to fatten me up, just get on with it. No games.”

“Have it your way.”

This time, she could feel the weight piling on her body, though it felt more like she was being filled like a balloon. Her breasts started to droop down the sides of her mighty belly, which managed to defy gravity and jut out before her like a battering ram of fat. Her arms swelled into burgeoning bingo wings, while her face softened into a sphere of blubber. Meanwhile, her legs became pillars of pounds, from thick tip to tubby toe: her thighs were as wide as a manhole cover, while her calves had become thick as tree trunks. The same hips her Ronnie loved to wrap his arms around had widened to the point that only Plastic Man would be able to reach around her. She did not even need to check her backside, for she knew that the massive mound of blubber was as big as a person curled up.

“There, that should do it,” Gluttox taunted the woman as she marveled in awe and shock at her new girth. “Are you getting enough exercise, ma’am? You really should start working out; you’re a role model for the children, after all.”

Firehawk gritted her teeth and muttered a curse under her breath as she forced her body through the much narrower doorway. It took some struggling, and she had to shift her bulk sideways, but she finally managed to get out. She rubbed her sore belly as she looked up and down the hall, deciding on the best course of action. Near the far end was a door cracked ajar, where light poured out and talking could be heard.

“What else do I have to lose?” the heroine asked, not wanting to know the answer to that question.

The mere act of walking had become an unbelievable chore, having to swing one pillowy leg in front of the other, all while the incredible weight of her new body piled onto her. It felt like walking with cement on her legs, or trudging through quicksand; it was especially excruciating, considering she could fly anywhere she wanted, but hesitated for fear of being taxed with more weight.

Finally, after she struggled down the hallway, she reached the open doorway. Firehawk propped herself up against the wall and caught her breath for a spell before waddling into the room. It was clear that once upon a time, this had been an important office, perhaps even where the mayor used to do their work. It had a few modest bookshelves lining the wall, a row of windows that looked out on the park across the street, and a grand oak desk that still had trinkets sitting atop it. A small bust of Eisenhower, a jar of jellybeans, and a big red phone were all within arm’s reach, as well as a small globe made of gemstones and many ignored papers.

“You’re in here, aren’t you?” the heroine asked as she paced around the oval rug on the floor. “The head of the political machine would want to be in the office, wouldn’t they? Show yourself, Gluttox, and let’s finish this silly game!”

“Such a clever girl,” the familiar voice remarked. “Maybe when this is over, I’ll make you a member of my cabinet.”

Firehawk turned to the desk, which now glowed in a range pattern on the surface and radiated a sickening heat, even by her standards. When she approached it, a shockwave shot out and knocked the heroine on her behind. Struggle as she might, she was unable to get up, though she continued to wobble back and forth like a turtle on its back.

“You silly girl. Did you really think you could beat the system I built for you?” the machine asked as it rumbled with malicious intent. “The minute you set foot in this house, you were doomed; there was never a chance to get out. I find I have much in common with your leaders, in that regard. You and those who would fight back could never hope to triumph over the mighty, the all-powerful. The best you could hope for was to sit back and grow fat, drunk, and stupid.”

The desk split open, revealing a conveyor belt and a serpentine tube. The belt stretched out until it wedged itself under the heroine’s double chin, while the hose reached out and hovered above her head. From where she sat, she could smell cheap beer from within, and she could see cheeseburgers rolling down the belt to meet her.

“I am going to—”

Whatever threat she was going to make was stifled by the first cheeseburger, which filled her mouth to the point that she could barely chew the beefy mess. Firehawk managed to choke it down, but before she could finish her sentence, the hose pushed its way into her mouth and released a steady flow of beer. This process continued on, with burger followed by beer followed by burger followed by beer, and on and on. As the beer, weak though it was, added up with the gut bombs disguised as burgers, the heroine could feel her mind softening along with her body.

Where she once had a double chin, a third roll soon sprouted from her fattening face and helped hide her neck. Her arms dangled uselessly at her sides, unable to reach around due to their sheer immensity; they were easily as wide as her waist when she entered the town hall. Her breasts remained modestly small in comparison to the rest of her body, but that just meant they were as big as throw pillows. Those mighty mammaries rolled down the slope of her belly, which now covered the tops of her thighs and was fast on its way to her knees. Her thighs spilled out beneath her, creating an impressive cushion that elevated her off the ground a nice amount, and her calves were becoming as thick as telephone poles. But her backside took the cake, plumping up big enough that it resembled a bean bag chair more than anything else; in fact, Firehawk was just as trapped on her rump as she would be in one of those god forsaken seats.

None of this seemed to faze the heroine as her mind dulled from the copious amounts of salty, greasy food and frat party beer. She was struggling to remember what she was fighting for, why she had come to this town in the first place, and how much more food her stomach could handle. This might have gone on forever, had Gluttox not spoken up.

“Yes, just like that. See how easy it is to give in?” the machine asked as it churned out cheeseburgers and beer. “Soon, all of your teammates will be as dumb and bloated as you, Firehawk, and then I will spread my influence around the world. I will turn everyone into fat pigs for Apokolips, for my masters, and most of all, for me. So eat and drink to your heart’s content, for you’ll be doing this for the rest of your life.”

The droning taunts were enough to rouse the heroine’s fighting spirit once more. She was not, could not let herself be taken out so easily; she had been a member of the Justice League, for goodness sake! Since she could not reach around to swat the food away or yank the hose from her mouth, Firehawk did the next best thing: she got hot. The blue flames blazed with newfound strength as they surged out from her body and spread around the room, lapping up everything in the process. Its intense heat caused the conveyor belt to collapse and the hose to melt to the floor, leaving the blobby burner to spit out the nozzle. She glared at the machine, which melted and choked in the fire, and raised a meaty fist towards it.

“Looks like you’re going up in smoke after all, Gluttox,” the hefty heroine cheered. “Time to burn this house to the ground!”

It did not take long for the savage fire to spread throughout the house, devouring everything in its wake. In a matter of moments, it was a blue bonfire, and then after that, nothing but nuclear ashes around a barely mobile heroine. Firehawk sat back on her cushiony behind and sighed, glad the fight was over but suddenly having a craving for more burgers…
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Old 06-28-2017, 08:33 PM   #10
Join Date: Jan 2013
Posts: 52
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The girl known only as Dolphin paced around the pond in the town park. It was of a modest size, about the length of a football field and just as wide, with a fountain in the middle. Having been left in the hands of nature after all these years, the pond was anything but clean: the surface was choked with algae, trash littered the shores, and she was fairly certain she saw some dead vermin floating on the surface. She let out a soft sigh and trudged down to the muddy shore, wishing she had some sort of diving suit for a change.

While she did her best to ignore the stench of the pond, the silver-haired girl thought of how her life had shaped up and led her to this moment. When she was just a toddler, she had been swept off a cruise ship by a rogue wave, only to be saved by strange creatures that were neither human nor fish, and not in the pleasant form of a mermaid. These scaly, betentacled abominations had subjected her body to bizarre experimentation which she mercifully could not remember; if she could, she likely would have suffered from nightmares for the rest of her life. Her keepers had been trying to create a new, better version of themselves, something that could integrate with human society and live among them to understand the surface; at the same time, she was made to live underwater and survive the harsh environment. Her hands and feet became webbed, her skin thick like her namesake, and her hair silver because not everything was under the scientists’ control.

As she grew older, she longed to see the outside world, but was forbidden by her makers, so one night, when their guard was down, she escaped into the deep blue sea. She journeyed along, amazed and delighted by everything she came across, until she was met by a hungry shark searching for an easy meal. Her short life would have ended then and there, had it not been for the arrival of the Aquaman and his ward, Tempest. The two were able to guide the shark away in search of other food and led Dolphin back to their home in Atlantis. She was given a comfortable room in the royal palace, dined with the king and his family, and even attended school at the Atlantis Academy with other young ocean-dwellers. In time, she was even allowed to visit the surface on field trips, which excited her to no end; she longed for the day she graduated from the academy and could journey around at her leisure.

And now here she was, in the middle of nowhere, about to wade into a pond teeming with all sorts of nasty things that she could hardly imagine. Dolphin squeezed her hands and released, took a few deep breaths, and when she felt her nerves steel, she dove down into the murky water. What she saw down there was beyond anything she could have guessed.

The pond was much, much deeper than she could have guessed; it had to be at least a few fathoms deep, if not more, and it was far vaster than it appeared on the surface. On top of that, the water was clear as crystal and teeming with life: fish of various sizes and a myriad of colors swam around her, beautifully formed coral sprouted from the pond bed, and lush vegetation grew from the rocks and sand. It reminded the young woman so much of home, she had to go topside again and make sure she was still in Cooke. Sure enough, when she breached the water, she popped up in a thick patch of green algae, which made her submerge in a heartbeat. Yes, she was still in Cooke, and yes, somehow, an underwater paradise was in its midst.

There could only be one answer for this: Gluttox. Faith had warned Dolphin that the malicious machine could take on any forms and conjure up anything it so desired; that it could warp the realities of a pond made enough sense to her as anything else in the superhero world. Thankfully, there was only one thing around her it could be, though it was much different than she had reckoned.

The fountain in the middle of the pond was originally a statue of a turtle, from which a number of pipes protruded. Underneath, she expected a pump of some sort that would suck in water and filter out the gunk, but it was so much more than that. It led down to a domed facility that Dolphin estimated to be about the size of a modest house, and which had lights of various degrees and color therein. The sight was strange and familiar to her, and the young woman dove deeper to get a closer look.

When she was within a stone’s throw of the facility, a pod of strange creatures swam out to greet her, and it was then that Dolphin realized what she was looking at. This was one of the Deep’s facilities, just like the one she had been created in, and the creatures coming to greet her were just like the ones that had experimented on her.

The beings were tall enough to be basketball players on the surface, and just as wiry in build. Their bodies were covered in a mix of scales and skin, while their faces had the jutting design of a fish and the shape of a human’s. They had webbed hands and feet, and on both were sets of nasty claws that resembled fishing hooks. In their mouths were rows of fangs that were sharp enough to tear almost anything to shreds; Dolphin remembered the particularly unsettling way they ate. Worst of all were their eyes, which betrayed no emotion and were as black as a doll’s eye.

When they approached, they hissed and growled at her, likely as a warning or demanding information from her. She had to think for a moment, recollect the language from the past, and did her best to explain herself.

“I am friend. I am come from other place,” she told them in a broken fashion.

The creatures, recognizing their language, communicated with each other before one reached out a hand to Dolphin. She took it hesitantly, and when she did, it was as though a light switch was flipped in her head. The language of growls, grunts, and hisses came back to her, and she found herself speaking as eloquently as ever.

“From what site do you hail, stranger?” asked the one that held her hand.

“I believe the site was Dy’lneth, though it has been some time since I was there,” she explained. “I was made there; they gave me my gills and webbing, and strengthened my body.”

A wave of realization washed over the creatures and they convened amongst themselves once more. The greeter gazed at Dolphin with as much awe as its limited expression would allow, and said, “Then you are the Terran, the one who escaped all those years ago.”

The amphibious heroine bowed her head in slight shame. “I am. I meant neither harm nor disrespect to my hosts; I was filled with too much wanderlust. Tell me, are any representatives from Dy’lneth here?”

“No, only us,” the greeter answered. “Come, we have much to explain.”

Dolphin was hesitant to follow after the group, for as far as she knew, this was all one big trap by Gluttox. At the same time, she had been given the task of dismantling the machine’s post in this part of town, and she could not let her teammates down. And on the chance they were real, she could use some more allies in her fight against this New God. She decided then to follow the creatures down to their bubble fortress and learn what she could from them.

When they reached the dome, a door opened up and allowed the swimmers inside, where they were met with a technological wonderland. Machines and devices of strange and mad design littered the place, and to the unfamiliar, it was akin to a horror movie. As it was, it only served to remind Dolphin of her first home, and she sighed wistfully.

“It is as though I never left,” she murmured as she swam through the facility. “Tell me, what sort of projects are you undertaking here?”

“A vast array, though some are more troublesome than others,” the greeter admitted. “Without suitable test subjects in the area, we cannot do as much as we would like.”

The heroine glanced back and raised an eyebrow. “What about all the creatures outside? Surely they might be of some use to you?”

“We have run as many tests as possible on the local species, but our other experiments require something different. We would need something akin to you, Terran.”

“Why me?” she asked with stern caution.

“Because you are so unique and untested,” was the explanation. “Dy’lneth had many records of you, but there were so many other tests to run, especially now that you have reached physical maturity. We would implore you to help us with this, if for nothing else than to aid in the development of our scientific prowess.”

Dolphin pondered this for a moment and considered what was the most likely outcome. Whatever experiments they were going to run would likely be highly fattening, but at the same time, the heroine felt a burgeoning pang of guilt. She had left the facility not because they were abusing her or mistreating her, but because she had a childish dream of seeing the world. After they had saved her from a watery grave, her only thanks was to abandon them.

“Very well,” she agreed. “I will perform whatever experiments you need from me.”

A round of clicking noises came from the creatures, and the greeter touched her on the shoulder. “We thank you, and our future generations thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” Dolphin smiled. “So, what shall we do first?”

“Follow us, and we shall show you.”

The motley crew continued their journey through the halls of the facility until they came upon a smaller dome with a surgical table therein. The dome was about the size of an operating room and relatively sparse, save for the table and few other shelves. Dolphin swam in behind the greeter, who gestured for her to lay down on the operating table. As soon as she did, the creatures put bindings on her wrists and ankles.

“This will not be harmful to you, but we cannot afford to have any physical interference during the experimentation process,” the greeter explained. “I trust you understand.”

“I certainly do,” Dolphin answered matter-of-factly. “It’s the logical thing to do.”

“Then we shall begin by taking a preliminary scan of your vitals and current state.”

The bizarre beings used wands and tablets to scan over every inch of her body, taking pictures and getting readings as they went. When all appeared nominal, the creatures took to gathering up new instruments for the next procedure.

“Now, Terran—”

“Pardon me, but I have taken a name now. You may call me Dolphin,” the silver-haired girl told her host.

The greeter, although slightly taken aback, continued all the same. “—Dalfyn, you were a marvelous success as far as our amphibious hybrid procedure is concerned. However, we believe that your body is not suited for every environment, particularly extreme cold. Our experiment is designed to reshape your body so that you will have the necessary, natural protection in such a situation.”

“What will this experiment entail?” the curious hybrid asked.

“You will consume a prepared fluid that will, in theory, bolster the fat deposits of your body, enabling your to survive such conditions.”

“So you are going to fatten me up.”


At least she knew where she stood with these constructs. Dolphin had suspected Gluttox from the start, but now she knew for sure this was all his doing; her makers would never have trivialized themselves with something as ludicrous as fattening her up. She had allowed herself to wind up in this position, just so she could get close to the source of these constructs, and she had succeeded. The real trick now would be getting out before she had grown too fat…

A couple of creatures brought in a machine that resembled a squid; it had a tubular body and ten long cables ended with pads. They set about attaching these to various parts of her body: her biceps, thighs, breasts, belly, and mouth. She felt a prick from all the pads except the one on her lips, but that was because a small tube was inserted past them. Her eyes drifted to the creatures as they made some sort of adjustments to the machine before swimming off to the side.

“Experiment JSP-79, now commencing.”

At the lead creature’s word, the squid hummed to life and fluid ran through the tube leading to her mouth. Dolphin felt a pudding-like substance hit her tongue, but it was terribly bland; even the worst foods had something going for them. Regardless of flavor, she swallowed mouthfuls of the goop, enough to fill several bowlfuls. The whole process was rather uneventful, at least until she heard the leader spoke again.

“Second stage, now commencing.”

All at once, her body expanded at a slow, steady pace. Her arms swelled up like tube balloons or sausage casings, and the growth ran down to her fingers. Her thighs followed suit, growing thick enough to mash against each other in a matter of moments; her hips spread across the chair, and she could feel her behind pushing up underneath her. Her petite breasts blossomed into plump mounds that tested her flimsy shirt, whose only guard was a knot near her sternum. But her belly was her crowning feature, growing out and wide, as if she had swallowed a beach ball.

“Dalfyn, you must be wondering what this formula is doing,” the greeter explained as it swam up to the relaxed woman. “The solution in the feeding tube is a fast-acting concoction that will instantly metabolize as blubber on your body, and the solution in the pads is a catalyst that activates the fattening properties of the formula. As you can see, this has proven quite effective, but we have much to see. For instance, these things on your chest.”

It prodded one of her fattening breasts with a clawed finger, which Dolphin hardly reacted to beyond light hum. When her creators had altered her human physiology, they took away the heightened nerve endings in her breasts, which meant they were just as vulnerable as any other part of her body.

“Our records indicate that when you were altered, your breasts were changed to lose much of their mammalian properties. We shall see if we can foster them again.”

She felt another pinprick in her chest, and her breasts fattened up even faster than the rest of her body. The wobbling mounds surged forth in her shirt, eating up what little space was left between them and her belly, until they were lifting her knotted top up her body. They swelled around the ever-shrinking piece of fabric until it overlapped the top and bottom, and then finally forced the knot apart by their sheer weight. Her freed breasts were featureless, lacking in nipples and areolas, and were just more of Dolphin.

“Interesting development,” the greeter remarked. “You have surpassed the one your fellow Terrans call ‘Power Girl’, yet you do not have the capability to produce milk. Perhaps we shall add that in for a future experiment.”

Dolphin merely grunted in return as her breasts billowed out onto her now beanbag sized middle. Her shorts were digging into her, growing tight around her rotund thighs and heavy hips, until it gave up the ghost and split up the sides. Now free, her lower body ballooned out as though she were being filled with air. Her whole body was taking on a spherical shape, with her limbs swelling into cones of fat and her middle growing wide. She did not need to look down to feel her face fattening to the point that she had a second, third, and fourth chin. Eventually, her head was just a sphere resting on a mound of blubber.

In spite of the urgency of the scenario and how she should have been panicking, the silver-haired girl could feel nothing but at ease. She was back in what could best be described as her childhood home, doing another painless experiment, and all she had to do was lay back and eat. Without so much contact to the surface world, Dolphin had no ill stigma against obesity; if anything, she saw it as a sign of strength and health. Of course, if she allowed her swelling to continue, it would likely impede her chances of stopping the machine at the heart of this town, the very reason she was in Cooke in the first place.

“These early readings are quite promising, Dalfyn,” the greeter told the fattening girl. “We should be able to move onto the next phase soon.”

That was all she needed to hear. The aquatic heroine bit down on the tube with enough force to crunch it shut, stymying the flow of formula into her mouth and causing a back-up in the machine. Next, she exerted as much force as she could on her bindings. Though it might have been difficult earlier, with the added benefit of her fat straining the straps, she was able to rip them away. Thanks to their being underwater, she was able to lift her body off of the table with the greatest of ease, and she hovered in the water like a platinum balloon.

“Forgive my impertinence, but I cannot allow you to continue this experiment to continue,” Dolphin told the creatures as she ripped the suction pads off her body.

“We cannot allow you to leave, Dalfyn,” the greeter warned the woman. “You are a valuable specimen, one we cannot afford to lose again. We implore you to reconsider before we are forced to take drastic measures to contain you.”

The silver woman furrowed her brow at that, which might have looked more threatening if she did not resemble a smooth pufferfish. “You may try to contain me if you can.”

Two of the creatures swam towards her with what looked like cattle prods, but Dolphin was much faster than them. She barreled head on into them, driving them into and through the dome of the laboratory, and in one fell swoop, stole away the stun rod and hurled it at another creature. With the immediate threat past, she away to the doors of the facility. An extra barricade appeared over it, but it mattered little to the rotund woman. Ducking her head down turned her into a living cannonball, and she smashed into the doors with enough force to blow them out into the water.

She swam out to freedom, only to be greeted with miniature submarines. The vehicles propelled towards her at an alarming speed, and she had to duck and weave around them as they approached. Thankfully, even with her increased bulk, she was far nimbler than the bulky machines, so when they fired torpedoes at her, she was able to manipulate the devices into hitting each other. She continued to do this again and again until all but one of the submarines remained, the rest having destroyed each other.

When the last one fired its torpedo at her, she stopped and faced it. Once it was within arm’s reach, she dodged to the side, caught it by the fin, and redirected the missile towards her original target: the pump of the fountain. Sure enough, when the torpedo hit, the pump exploded, bringing with it a horrific roar that could only belong to a dying New God. Dolphin swam clear as everything crumbled around her, and she breached onto the shore just as the water regained its stagnant, diseased state.

The blimp of a woman, now under gravity’s effects, could barely crawl up the muddy shore, and rolled over onto her back as soon as she hit grass. She could scarcely see a thing, pinned as she was by her colossal chest and bulbous belly. Her arms fell behind her like two pillows of blubber, and her rump made for an excellent cushion on the hard earth. She wiggled her hips a bit to find comfort, and her tubular quiver like gelatin with every movement. Finally, when she realized there was no good way to get comfortable in her position, she lay back and basked in the midday sun. She would join her teammates soon, but for now, she would just revel in this bloated bliss.

Perhaps she could convince Headmistress Lemari to make a similar machine for the academy when she got back…
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Old 07-23-2017, 07:03 PM   #11
Join Date: Jan 2013
Posts: 52
Vongola27 can now change their title

It only took a couple of super-jumps for Grace Choi to reach the bar called Ri Ra’s. When she landed, the muscular woman left a dent in the pavement, but she paid it no mind; it was not like anyone would be using the roads in the near future. The half Amazon rolled her neck to crack the joints as she observed the shuttered bar.

From a glance, it was hard to tell where the original design stopped and nature had taken its course. The doorway was made to look as though it were carved from the trunk of a great tree, and the whole façade had a rustic, almost fantastic feel to it, as though dwarves and elves would come out at some point. Plywood was covering the windows, and a metal grate covered the door, but that was quickly removed by the muscular woman. She gripped it in her fingers and tore it away like it was little more than a piece of tape.

A boot to the door sent it flying off the hinges, allowing Grace to waltz right in. The interior of the bar was no different than the exterior: the tables and stools were made from stones and stumps, and the bar itself was a long log that had been cut in half. Paintings and pictures adorned the wall, but none were particularly recent; they depicted old American soldiers, Scottish warriors, and Celtic knights long gone. The whole place was so bizarre, as though someone had plucked an ancient saloon from the past and plopped it in the middle of this dusty town in the middle of nowhere.

“Charming little place,” Grace remarked as she glanced around. “Nothing like the places I used to work security at.”

She treaded lightly in the building, a tactic she found boring but necessary, as had been proven time and again by her team leader, Katana. There was a fine layer of dust coating everything, and cobwebs adorned the ceiling like streamers. If there was any trace of Gluttox around here, it was not immediately obvious, and she quickly grew frustrated by that.

After flipping a chair over to vent some of that building tension, the warrior woman glanced to the bar and licked her lips. After traveling cross-country to Cooke, she found herself rather thirsty and fancied a drink. There was just one problem with that: all the booze was either gone or woefully out of date.

“You rat bastards couldn’t leave anything for me?” she growled as she tossed bottle after bottle away, leaving the floor covered in glass and long-ruined alcohol.

Finally, after searching through almost the entire bar, she found an unopened bottle tucked far in the back, perhaps saved for a special occasion but forgotten when the town was abandoned. Grace dusted off the label, which was made by hand and done up in a very crude style. It read ‘Mama’s Moonshine’, and it featured an extremely robust country woman in a polka dot dress that strained to contain her girth.

“Here’s to Mama, whoever she was,” Grace chuckled after cracking open the bottle. When she got a whiff of the stuff, she reeled back like she had been punched. It was the most potent moonshine she’d ever come across, as though it were just barely consumable for human beings. Thankfully, she was not human; she was an Amazon, and it would take more than a strong drink to take her down.

“Santi!” she exclaimed as she tipped the bottle back to her dry lips. As soon as the first drop hit her tongue, it was as though she had swallowed liquid fire. It was a powerful burn, but the Amazon refused to gag after just one shot’s worth of the stuff. She was Grace Choi, damn it, and she would not let a little moonshine get the better of her!

Half the bottle went down her gullet before she had to slam it back down on the bar. It was more than any human could manage; it might even be more than any Amazon could manage, but then again, Grace was unlike any Amazon before her. She wiped her lips on her gloves and she stood up with a grin on her face.

“God, that was refreshing! Exactly what the doctor ordedreded…”

Grace might have noticed her slurring words were it not for the room spinning faster and faster. The moonshine was working its magic on her, as her tongue grew numb and her strong legs felt like jelly under her. It took everything she had to not slip straight to the floor, and a quick grab at the bar was all that kept her from collapsing.

“Thash…thash no goot,” she fumbled as her mind felt like it was swimming.

In just another minute, the muscular woman could take no more and passed out on the bar. The sweet release of slumber overtook her, but that peace did not last long, for a firm hand slapped her on the behind.

“Oy, move it! You’re not supposed to be back here!” a harsh voice chided her.

Grace glanced up, bleary-eyed at a matronly woman who was big in the chest and wide in the hips. The red head was dressed like some sort of Viking-type warrior, with leather and furs wrapped around her voluptuous body. She was cleaning a mug with a cloth rag as she glared daggers at the confused Amazon.

“Nobody behind the bar save for me, you daft drunkard!” the woman barked at Grace. “Move before I throw you out on the street!”

It was reflex that made Grace stumble out from behind the bar, but her senses returned to her as she surveyed the building. Suddenly, somehow, the bar had been filled with new life: candles, torches, and a chandelier lit the smoky room; drinks were plentiful; and most curiously of all, the tavern was populated entirely by women. All of the women were tall and statuesque, with a few having muscles that would put even Grace’s to shame. They were done up like the bartender, all furs and leather, and they all had variances of red hair. Some spoke quietly to themselves, some played games, and a few were singing fight songs in the far corner of the saloon. It was lively and warm, unlike most of the bars she had been to before.

“Somebody pinch me, I must be dreaming,” Grace mumbled before yelping as someone pinched her behind. She spun around to be met by a giggling woman of modest build and fiery hair, adorned in a forest green ensemble.

“Apologies, but you asked and your behind was too inviting,” she laughed.

The Amazon felt a hint of pink glowing in her cheeks as she rubbed her behind. “Yeah, my girlfriend thinks so too.”

“And an observant woman she is,” the other woman chortled. “Allow me to buy you a drink to compensate.”

Never one to pass up free booze, even in a dream, Grace accepted. She sat down beside the red head and ordered a hearty ale, which roused her spirits and shook the cobwebs from her head. The Amazon soon laughed and joked alongside her newfound companion, as if they were the oldest of friends.

“--and then he bought the horse a prostitute!” Grace exclaimed before downing another mouthful of ale while her drinking buddy laughed hysterically.

“Ach, Grace, but you are a delight! Come, you must let me introduce you to my friends.”

“Lead the way, Elda.”

The Awesome Amazon followed her new friend away from the bar, a stumble still in her stride. Whatever was in that booze was still working its devilish magic on her, as she felt like she was waltzing through a dream. She had no idea where she was or who these women were, but she still felt a warm feeling of belonging, something it had taken years to find before joining the Outsiders. Maybe it was the stupor of the drink, but she felt like she belonged here.

Elda led Grace to a round table filled with robust women of many creeds, but all of whom could kick major ass. A black skinned woman with a scar over one eye and a frothy mug of beer in hand glowered at the duo and pointed her glass at the Amazon.

“And who is this you’ve brought us, Elda?”

The red head gestured to Grace as if she were a display on a shopping network. “Myrra, I want you to meet Grace Choi, a most wonderful woman who stumbled into our tavern and who is quite the charmer. I thought she might do well to meet and know our guild.”

Myrra, the apparent leader of the women, looked Grace over with a stern glare before scoffing and turning her head away. “Impossible. A woman like her would never fit in with us.”

This made Grace raise an eyebrow. How could she not fit into this group any more than she already did? Her muscles had muscles; she was a lean, mean, fighting machine. She had fought in crises of all kinds and even fought against her own kind. If anything, she was overqualified for this little team, but she would not back down.

“What would I need to fit in?” the Amazon asked.

Myrra hefted up her glass of beer and pointed it at Grace. “A hearty appetite and a strong stomach! Every one of these women can eat an elephant under the table, but you look like you could barely finish a sandwich! If you want to prove you belong with us, then you need to show me you can eat like us!”

Now that her ire was provoked, there was no way the muscle-bound maiden could back down; if they wanted her to prove that she could eat and drink like them, then by the gods, she was going to out-eat and out-drink them all! The feisty woman grabbed a chair from a nearby table and slammed it in front of the large group. She cracked her knuckles and rolled her head from side to side.

“Let’s do this!”

Myrra shouted for one of the serving girls to bring a round of stout ale and the richest, heaviest food the kitchen could put together. As the cooks and bartender prepared for the challenge, word spread around the tavern, and every woman was soon crowding around the table. The crabby bartender barked at the gaggle so she could reach the table, at which point she slammed down a platter with a dozen iron pints full with foamy beer. This was followed a dish covered with roasted corn, bread slathered in butter, and a ham hock large enough to be used as a weapon.

“Enjoy,” the wisp of a maid told Grace.

For her part, the Amazon focused squarely on the food. She licked her lips before she snatched up the ham hock and tore off a chunk of tender, salty meat. As soon as she was done with that mouthful, she washed it down with a good quaff of ale, and then chased that with an entire slice of bread. This was followed by her shoveling corn into her greedy gullet, and then repeating the process all over again. She finished the meal in no time at all, and that would have been enough for a normal woman, but not for Grace Choi.

“Another!” she barked as she finished the first pint.

A second serving girl arrived with a shepherd’s pie still in the tin, and despite the intense heat coming from the dish, the mighty maiden wasted no time in digging in. She shoveled in the mix of vegetables and sheep like there was no tomorrow, and took a swig of ale now and then to cool her tongue. This too was finished in near record time, and Grace found herself scraping the pie tin for more.

“You gals sure know how to cook,” she remarked after wiping away a foam moustache from her lip. “My compliments to the chef!”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” the third serving girl chirped as she set down a thick, hearty stew.

As Grace scooped up massive spoonful after spoonful and chased them with beer, something about her changed. Her stomach, normally thick with muscle, was bulging out into a mass of blubber; it was as though she managed to grow a beer belly in just a few meals and pints. But so wrapped up was she in proving herself that she did not notice the growing gut, even as it swelled over her beltline.

The serving girls came and went delivering overflowing plates and bowls of hearty cuisine to the greedy Grace, who never let up. She gobbled up everything that was put in front of her, from bread bowls filled with stew to sizzling steaks and potatoes to an omelet the size of her bicep. At the same time, she continued to drain the pints of ale at a frightening pace, to the point that the bartender had to call over extra help to keep the drinks going at a fast enough rate.

Around the dozenth dish, the effects of her binge were showing on her once firm body. The biceps Grace was so proud of were vanishing under a fine layer of pudge, enough so that flexing made her look like a woman who had just started working out. Her breasts, quite round for one so muscular, were softening into plump mounds that sagged. Below the belt, her thighs and backside ate up her pants to the point that her underwear, now tight enough to be a thong, was showing for all to see. Perhaps most impressive was her belly which, when combined with the rich ale and hearty meals, had grown into a globular gut that rested well onto her lap; it was as though she was pregnant with twins.

“Still think I’ve got a tender belly, Myrra?” Grace asked around a thunderous belch.

The dark warrior woman looked at the decimated plates and bowls, the mountain of pint mugs behind the bar, and shook her head. “Far from it, Amazon. You eat like a hungry beast and drink like a fish; I have never seen someone eat with such gusto. You have earned yourself a place at our table!”

The whole tavern erupted into cheers as the women banged their fists and mugs on the tables and chanted Grace’s name over and over. Meanwhile, the Awesome Amazon was letting her meal settle in her stomach, and that, combined with many congratulatory pats to her gut, cleared the fog in her mind. She glanced down at the belly that rested in her lap and winced; she had underestimated the psychic powers of her foe.

“All right, thanks for the grub, but I best be going now,” she tried to excuse herself, only to be seated by two nymph-like girls.

“Go where? We were just about to bring out your celebratory supper!”

“Supper?” Grace asked with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

Sure enough, the serving girls returned with more dishes, ones even bigger than those the Outsider had consumed. Added to that, the bartender and other women brought over half the mugs from the bar, all full to the brim with ale. Grace felt sweat beads forming on her forehead as she asked, “Are any of you going to have some?”

“Not at all,” Elda replied with a smile as she stuffed a forkful of fried fish past the Amazon’s lips. “This is all for you, friend!”

Before Grace could get a word in, Myrra, who had got up from her seat, took a pitcher of ale in hand and pressed it up to Grace’s mouth. She tilted it back, forcing the shocked woman to quaff it down or drown. “You’ve earned your spot at my table, Grace, and now it’s time to hold that place.”

So it went as everyone crowded around the trapped titan, either stuffing food in her mouth or pouring ale down her gullet. Grace tried to wriggle away, push some of the beautiful maidens off her, but, whether they knew it or not, the ladies had pinned her arms by her side. All she could do was eat and drink everything they gave her, and considering how the kitchen and bar were still bustling, escape seemed further and further away.

Being stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey was wreaking havoc on the tattooed woman’s body. Her arms were so thick with fat now that they were as wide around as her legs had been, while her thighs had grown to match an average woman’s waist. Her tough face turned soft as fat piled on, rounding out her features and giving her a puffy appearance. The heavy breasts sitting atop her belly were trying their hardest to escape from their crimson prison as they stretched the top almost to the breaking point. But most spectacular of all was her belly, which had swollen so full of beer and food that it surpassed her knees when she sat down. The titanic tummy was a tight, thick mass, such that it hardly quivered at all when provoked. That as how Grace was shaping up: rounding out, but never soft.

“Come now, Grace, surely you can eat faster than this,” Elda hummed as she spooned up a heaping hunk of beef stew.

“Can’t,” the Amazon choked out. “Too much…too fast.”

“Aw, are we not having fun?” asked one of the wispy women as they tipped a flagon of dark ale to Grace’s lips. “Mayhap we can make things for enjoyable for you.”

The women closest to the fatty fighter removed their furs and leather armors, revealing tight, lithe bodies underneath. Compared to Grace, they were as pebbles to a boulder, and they reminded her of many of the women she used to see back in the day. They crowded in, their petite breasts and slim hips wrapped in fine cloth, the only thing separating their bodies from the Amazon. Once again, Grace felt a nervous sweat break out on her forehead.

“Mmmf,” she croaked as she tried to ask the graceful maidens the meaning of their disrobing, but they silenced her with a chunk of oil-soaked bread.

“Hush now, and enjoy the moment,” one told the blubbery brawler.

“We know that you crave companionship, especially from such beauties as ourselves,” another cooed as she wrapped herself around Grace’s ample arm.

Elda leaned in and whispered to the Amazon, “Just let go, fatty, and let us satisfy you. We love when a pretty thing like you stuffs yourself, and we can be especially rewarding to pigs that eat everything they get.”

The close proximity to the gorgeous women, the effect of the ale, and the stupor brought on by all the food was taking its toll on Grace. Even as her ginger companion taunted her and cajoled her into eating faster, the obese Outsider found herself opening up to more and more. She was ready to give in, to let these maidens do whatever they wanted with her. Ready, that is, until she knocked her hand against the chair and heard a clacking sound that echoed up to her despite the crowded air of the bar.

It was her wedding ring, the one she received when she married Anissa. Her darling Anissa was waiting for her to come home triumphant, and here she was, surrendering to lust and gluttony. No, she would not let that happen. Grace was not going to forsake her love for some hallucination.

“No more!” she barked as she mustered all the strength in her body. She managed to force away many women, and those that could not get away clung to her bulky arms. These maidens she tossed away as she wobbled her way up to her feet. As she pushed herself away from the table, she took in just how immense she truly was, as her belly hung down to her kneecaps, which were covered by a thick roll of fat.

The Amazon batted away women left and right as they tried to force her back down or get her to eat again. She searched the bar for the source of this hallucination and spotted the one anachronism in the place: the tap was modern, albeit painted to blend in. With a snarl to her lips, Grace grabbed the edge of the mighty oak table and flipped it over to wrap her hands around the leg. She hoisted it up into the air and over her shoulder as she took a waddling run towards the bar, bowling over everyone that dared cross her path. When she drew close enough, she swung the table down on the tap and crushed it into a crumpled mess.

A horrific roar and shattering sound filled the air and Grace watched as the room dissolved around her, the maidens vanishing like dust. Finally, when all was said and done, the bar was returned to its former, dusty self, and Grace relished in a job well done by resting against the bar and letting out an explosive belch.
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Old 11-01-2017, 08:40 PM   #12
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((Because no one asked for it, here's a piping hot update, straight out of the oven! Enjoy!))

Bulleteer careened through the ghost town with all the grace of a bouncy ball. While her helmet did allow her to fly, but it could only fly in a perfect line; if she wanted to turn and go in a different direction, she had to ricochet off a surface. It worked perfectly in conjunction with her metal skin, but she did not enjoy bouncing around like a pinball any time she went for a fly. Maybe she could get some tech wizard to take a look at it and give it some improvements. Better yet, she would have liked to ask the original Bulletman and Bulletgirl, but they had long since passed away. Though, given the revolving door that was the afterlife, she might very well see them in a week or two.

Yet another thing that took adjusting to in her new life. Ever since her cheating scumbag of a husband had accidentally turned her skin to steel, the former teacher had seen her life spiral out of control. First, she got wrapped up in the Sheeda Invasion of New York, then the Battle of Metropolis during the Infinite Crisis, the Total Eclipso debacle, and then the world-warping events of the Flashpoint Convergence. And those were just the major moments in her career; there were so many other, bizarre happenings that occurred almost every day.

To make matters easier for herself, she had tried to ally herself with more experienced heroes, but these team-ups always ended after a few weeks. Her partnership with Grace Choi was the longest she’d been partnered with another superhero, but she was sure that would only last so long before things went south. It was the ‘Harrower Luck’, as her grandfather had put it.

After bounding around the town, the chrome crusader crashed down outside a modest building with a dilapidated sign out front. Like many other businesses in Cooke, it was an older Victorian home that had been converted into something else; in this case, an art gallery. It was a weathered house that had lost most of the paint that had been there previously, and the windows were all boarded up with plywood. For most, it was probably a sad sight, but for the impatient heroine, it was just a building, and she had a job to do.

“So this is an art gallery,” Bulleteer mused as she read the ivy-encased sign. “Wonder what this god thing has cooked up here?”

She hopped up the creaky, rotted steps and walked straight through the heavy doors as though they were tissue paper. Once inside, she found it to be surprisingly pristine, with nary a speck of dust in sight. The foyer was well lit and welcoming, and the soft colors of the wallpaper almost put the metal maiden at ease. Almost, because she saw a table sitting in the center of the entry way with a sign that said ‘Take One’.

When she approached, she found there to be several tape recorders and ear phones, the kind that might be used at museums for audio tours. Bulleteer glanced around the house to see if she could spot anybody, but there was not a soul in sight. She sighed as she reached down and picked up one of the innocuous devices.

“I just know I’m going to regret this,” she muttered as she slid the ear phones on and pressed Play on the recorder.

Light melodies filled her ears, as if this was something a therapist might use, until a deep voice split the pleasant sounds. It said to her, “Greetings, Bulleteer. I am pleased to meet another legacy of my first foes.”

“Gluttox,” the woman cursed.

“Precisely. I must say that I like the change you’ve given to the Bullet design; the chrome skin is chic, and the pants are quite sleek and striking. Quite the improvement over your predecessor, who came in wearing hot pants and a polo.”

“I’m not here for compliments, creep; I’m here to shut you down. So go ahead and tell me about the rules of your stupid trap or whatever.”

The voice in her ear sighed. “No manners though; not at all like Bulletgirl. She was quite chipper when I met her, and she even stayed perky as I fattened her into a balloon. She went from being a .22 sub-sonic to a 12 gauge, 3” magnum slug.”

She ignored the machine’s lame attempt at humor and told it, “Get on with it, or I’m tearing this house down around you. You going to strap me to a chair and force feed me donuts? Maybe release some kind of fattening gas from the ceiling?”

“You have quite the imagination, but no. All you have to do is go through a tour of this gallery, and if you can make it to the end, I will self-destruct.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine, but if that doesn’t suit your fancy, I can always make this difficult for you. Would you rather I bind you and stuff you like a goose?”

Bulleteer scrunched up her face in disgust. “All right, I’ll take your damn tour.”

“Excellent. Now, just follow the signs, and we’ll get this show on the road!”

The frustrated heroine shook her head and followed a large arrow next to the stand. The path down the hall led her past various still life paintings of varying cuisines. It reminded her of friends sharing their meals on MyBook, only a much higher quality. Juicy fruits, succulent steaks, tantalizing turkeys, and so many more graced the fine walls of the hallway. It was all so vibrant, so realistic, that she could practically taste the food on her tongue.

“Welcome to the Gluttox Gallery, home to some of the most wonderful yet overlooked art in the world. As a little appetizer, we have arranged a collection of still life oil paintings done by students of the Satsu Rou School of Art. Each painting has been painstakingly done to portray even the slightest detail on the food, right down to the texture. They are so realistic, one might reach out and try to take a bite. That would be foolish, of course, as these are done with quite inedible paint and canvas.”

As the voice of the New God droned on, Bulleteer reached the end of the hall and paused to study another sign. The delicious flavors in her mouth faded away, but they did leave something behind. A thin layer of fat now covered her body: the angles softened, the tone vanished, and a slight pooch was visible in her stomach. Nowhere near enough for her to notice, especially when she had the chub’s source talking in her ear.

At the end of the hall was a large painting in a golden frame. The piece depicted a stout dwarven man serving food to a table of elven women, all of whom were of different sizes. One was gaunt and lean, one was tall and corn-fed, and the last was positively massive. The blonde beauty was almost as wide as she was tall, which was quite remarkable, given her considerable height. Her belly was like a bean bag chair in size, and its girth forced her to eat with her plates atop her gut since she could no longer reach in front of her while sitting. Breasts the size of pumpkins were pushed up to her doughy chin, and her backside spread out enough to fill a bench meant for three. Yet all the same, she was consuming an amazing quantity of food.

Gluttox elaborated on the artwork. “What we have here is a fantastical piece done by the artist Raymond Norr in 1745. ‘Beauteous Bounty’ was actually one of a series he did, all of which featured these same characters in various stages of growth. Ilya, the most prominent in the painting, is an example of Norr’s vision of beauty: a woman round, radiant, and always hungry, all of which is captured here perfectly.”

Bulleteer shook her head and moved on. She could certainly appreciate the effort that went into the painting, and the artist did manage to make the obese elves look quite stunning, but she had no time to stop and admire the work. There was a job to do, and she was going to do it before something fattened her up. Of course, what she did not know was that she was being fattened up regardless.

After soaking in the atmosphere of the painting, the chrome crusader had put on a few more pounds that were quite noticeable to all but her. Her fit physique had vanished completely, and had been replaced by one more befitting a sedentary secretary. Trim arms and legs had softened up, and her calves and thighs looked like sausages fit to burst out of her white jodhpurs. A plump potbelly swelled out from her body, though it was outmatched by her voluptuous curves. Her behind had grown into a nice, round globe, but most impressive of all were her breasts. Once modest, they had accumulated enough adipose that she could match most of the heroines on the team, and was on the fast track to matching Power Girl.

Thanks to the hypnotic tone of Gluttox’s voice, the hard-headed heroine missed the continued growth of her body as she walked down the hall. More and more still life paintings lined the walls, and by the time she had reached the end, she felt as though she had eaten a full meal, and her belly took on a stuffed appearance for a moment.

She stopped in front of a portrait done in indigo and white. It showed an Asian woman bending over her sink to look in a mirror as she applied lipstick. She wore a tight, sparkling dress reminiscent of a flapper’s outfit. And as was the theme of the gallery, she was considerably chubby: breasts as big as cantaloupes, legs like ham hocks, and a belly as big as a pumpkin. In fact, her gut was so large that it was eating up the sink as she leaned over it.

“Next on our tour,” droned Gluttox, “is a timeless piece from the Roaring ‘20s in America. ‘The Flapper’, done in subdued colors by the incomparable Kasper Temel, was his interpretation of the showy, daring young women who went against the norms of society at the time. Here, the flapper applies some make up for a night on the town, though she might have wanted to find a dress that fit better. If she did the Charleston in that, she might pop a seam or two!”

Bulleteer rolled her eyes at the lame joke, yet her gaze still lingered on the work. It seemed so simple, but the amount of attention and care that went into it was conveyed if the viewer were to pay attention. She had never been an art person, opting instead for a good movie, but she still found herself admiring the artwork all the same. Maybe under different circumstances, she could have enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, the longer her eyes lingered on the picture, the more she grew from its strange power. By the time she had torn her gaze away, she was just about as big as the flapper in the painting, though in different places. While her limbs grew rounder with pudge, her belly remained relatively small; this just meant that her curves took the brunt of the effect. Behind her was a rump that had swollen out and around, to the point that she was quite wide in the hips. Up top, her breasts plumped up to the size of modest watermelons. She was a far cry from the toned titanium woman that had entered Cooke that morning; she looked someone had stuck a hose in her and turned the water on.

The zaftig Bulleteer followed the signs through the wing, admiring other, more mundane pictures as she went. None had the captivating power of the previous two, yet just an eyeful was enough for her body to soak in a pound or two. Before long, her thighs were rubbing against one another and her breasts bounced around in a battle for freedom from her confining top. She paid no mind to these as she rounded a corner and entered the Cartoon Wing.

Here, the pictures took on a unique appearance. Gone was the finely detailed work from the last couple of halls, and in their place were wacky, wild, and weird fixtures. Cartoon animals, outrageously voluptuous women, and many more extravagant characters lined the walls in framed strips and ornate pin-ups.

“Ran out of options that quick, huh?” Bulleteer asked Gluttox as she scanned the walls. “What’s next, the Comic Book Wing?”

“Don’t spoil the surprise,” the voice in her ear retorted. Instead, focus your attention on the wall to your left.”

She begrudgingly followed the instruction and was met by a display of cartoons focused on a rotund raccoon and a bulbous queen bee. The two were getting into various misadventures and escapades, yet there was a touch of realism to their proportions; they were not so bizarre in design as to be abstract.

“This is our selection of work from Ronald J. Sandwich, a prominent cartoonist from the 1950s who specialized in subverting the Funny Animal tropes of the day. Perhaps the most unique change is that the women in his strip are not out of proportion with their male counterparts. They have a realism to them that other creators of the day would not match.”

As she browsed the material available, Bulleteer found herself smiling, even chuckling a little at the jokes made by the characters. She vaguely remembered seeing these characters in re-runs on Saturday mornings, but they seemed to be one of the many forgotten cartoons of the past.

“And now, the right wall, if you please.”

Slowly and wobbly, the chrome chubster turned and waddled over to the right wall. Up a short ways was another wall of cartoons, but these were much different from the works of Mr. Sandwich. The characters here had exaggerated figures and a very loose style that, while retaining some structure, seemed to change with every panel. It was not bad by any stretch of the imagination, but it was like jumping from Felix the Cat to Krazy Kat in terms of style.

“Over here is our collection of strips and illustrations from Rex Agouti, a contemporary and sometimes collaborator of Sandwich. Agouti is known for his avant-garde style that straddles the line between structured and chaotic, but there is something to be said for how expressive his characters are in design. Not only was his art unique, but Agouti was known for his satire and parody, breaking the fourth wall between the cartoon and the readers quite often. He lampooned the tropes of the day as few people could, and for that, he has earned his place here.”

Though she did not understand much of the satire, she could appreciate someone poking fun at their field. Yet as the woman examined the wall of cartoons, she had no idea that her body was growing bigger and more zaftig, to the point that she could have resembled one of the caricatures on display. Her belly remained relatively small in comparison to the rest of her, reaching to the size of a beach ball. Below her burgeoning belly were hips as wide as a tire and a rump that jutted out enough to form a thick shelf behind her. Her thighs and saddlebags were eating up as much room as they possibly could in her pants, and they clashed against each other with every step she took. Perhaps biggest of all were her breasts, which were now like massive water balloons hanging from her body. It was only through the miraculous make of her costume that they remained perky in appearance, yet it was losing the fight to contain them. The slightest motion made them wobble like gelatin; one errant, sudden movement could send them flying free.

Despite how big she had grown in the short time she had explored the museum, Bulleteer was too engrossed and distracted to notice her massive gain. The most she could feel was how sluggish she was, which she chalked up to other things.

“Could just be me flying all the way out here,” she muttered as she waddled along the hall. “Didn’t eat much breakfast, for that matter. Stupid Faith, getting in my head and making me worry about this stupid mission.”

The voice on the headset droned on about little factoids on this subject and that topic while she walked, but when she reached the end, it said, “We’ve come to the last leg of our journey. This last room features a work still in progress, but it is widely being regarded as a modern masterpiece.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” Bulleteer snipped at the machine. When she got to the doorway, she found she had a hard time getting through it. She struggled for a moment before shifting around and sliding in, but just barely. “Man, what is it with some of these old places? It’s like they built them for hobbits.”

When she finally crossed the threshold, she immediately wished she had not. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates as she scanned the modest room she found herself in. Lining the walls were thirteen frames, seven of which had pictures in them, five of which did not, and one that was already in progress. The seven were of various members of the rag-tag team: Cyclone gobbling up treats provided to her by fairies; Jesse Quick crawling across a cafeteria floor; Judomaster crushing giant gingerbread men; Spoiler hiding from aliens; Firehawk gorging herself on oodles of food; Dolphin escaping from an underwater dome; and Grace engaging in a hearty feast. The distressing part was that all of them were wildly obese, some to the point of ravaging their costumes.

There was something about the painting in progress that caught her attention, if only to make her heart sink. It featured a ludicrously voluptuous woman waddling down a hallway, paintings attracting her gaze as she went. Though there was no color, she could make out what the woman was wearing; it was the same outfit she had, albeit stretched to the point of absurdity.

“When the hell did this happen?!” Bulleteer screamed as she looked down at herself. Well, as best as she could, considering that her breasts stuck out far enough to block the view of anything at her feet.

Her gloved hands frantically explored her body, gauging and measuring how fat she had allowed herself to become. She pinched at her thick arms and thighs, jiggled her belly, squeezed her behind, and weighed her breasts in her palms. What was a sensual sight for many was a frightening sensation for her, and the chrome crusader stood with her mouth open in shock. She had let herself fall prey to this machine in spite of everything she had done. Why, she was no better than the women in the portraits; she had walked right into Gluttox’s trap.

“Listen here, you miserable pile of scrap!” the widened woman barked as she spun on her heels to get a good view of the room. “I don’t know how you managed to make me so fat, but it’s over! I’m coming for you, and you’d better be ready for a whupping!”

The robotic voice in her ear chuckled. “Really? And how do you plan on doing that, Bulbous-teer? For all you know, I could be upstairs, and given your new weight in the three hundred range, I don’t think you’d make it.”

She glowered at the insulting name and took another look at her body. In between thoughts of violent rage and self-pity, she had a morbid curiosity for how the evil machine had managed to fatten her up. Was it some gas in the air? It seemed the most plausible, but then, she had learned that nothing is ever that easy in this business.

“How did you do it? You didn’t put me in any of those scenarios up there, so how?” she asked to thin air.

“It was a simple matter, chubby. This whole time, I have been feeding you knowledge, and plenty of it,” the machine explained. “Every painting, every display…you ate it all up, every last word. And now that you’re too big to fit through a door so easily, I think it’s time to educate you some more.”

Bulleteer broke out in a cold sweat as she heard Gluttox talk about something else, perhaps another fictional work, but she did not hear it. Her desperate mind searched for an answer, anything that would help her escape this madness before she got too big to leave. The gears in her mind were working hard to make it happen, and finally, as the first stitches started to pop, it came to her.

She reached down to her side with some effort, considering how wide she now was, and found the tape player. When she had her chubby fingers wrapped around it, she yanked it off, taking the earpiece with it. Then she threw it on the ground and thought of something cool to say. That was what everyone did, right?

“Ah, screw it,” she muttered as she stomped the player into dust. Her fat foot ground the machine up underneath her toe, and for the first time since she stepped into Cooke, she felt a sense of relief. Her part of this was over, which meant it was time to reconvene with the others and see if they were okay.

Bulleteer smashed through the doorway with ease now that she was no longer distracted, and wobbled her way down the hall. She wiped sweat from her brow and huffed, “This is the last time I let Grace talk me into a job…”
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Old 11-02-2017, 12:12 AM   #13
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Ulvrik has said some nice things

Nice! a really good story! i love how you describe each gain
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Old 11-02-2017, 08:45 AM   #14
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Originally Posted by Ulvrik View Post
Nice! a really good story! i love how you describe each gain
Thanks! Glad you're liking it.
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Old 04-06-2018, 08:30 PM   #15
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((Author's Note: Not a dream! Not a hoax! Not an imaginary story! Okay, maybe it is imaginary, but then again, aren't they all? To celebrate one year of hefty heroines, enjoy this extra-length annual story featuring everyone's favorite diva of the Forgotten Heroines, Phantom Lady!))

Stormy Knight, the Phantom Lady, had a very easy way to get to her destination. Mounted on her wrists were two miniature projectors that were capable of astounding things: creating blinding light, smothering darkness, or, most importantly, open portals in the space/time continuum. If she ever needed to step out on an errand, one shot from her black light projectors would create a doorway for her. Since she had her license revoked and she was too cheap for airlines, this was the best way for the celebrity superhero to get around.

At the meeting point just outside of town, she created a wormhole that opened up right outside of the night club known as Space Oddity. She stepped through and closed the portal behind her while she surveyed the derelict building, which had seen some better days, no doubt. The walls were a perfect black, meant to absorb and distort with various colored lights that hung from the ceiling. There were tables and booths left almost untouched over the decades, and these circled around a large checkerboard dance floor. A crystal disco ball hung from the rafters, but no light would reflect off it, so covered it dust it was.

The Phantom Lady sighed as she gazed around with her green glasses set to night-vision; she would have liked to visit this place in its prime. No doubt this place was meant to breathe some new life into the country town and attract a younger demographic, but it never got to live up to its potential. It was a shame to a connoisseur of night clubs like herself, but she tried to put that behind her as she scanned the building for abnormalities. She was here to get a job done, not reminisce.

Her black boots clicked and clacked along the wooden floor of the club, echoing in the depths of the empty hall. She was searching for any sort of machine that might have sinister intents, but nothing seemed active in the building; not the bar tap, the oven in the kitchen, nor anything else even remotely mechanical. It seemed like the club was a total dud, which frustrated her to no end.

“Gawd, this sucks,” she scoffed as she strut through the lifeless facility. “I finally get the chance to do something cool and different, and what do I get? I go to the one place with nothing going on!”

The voluptuous heroine crossed her arms underneath her impressive chest and pouted. She stopped near the center of the dance floor and huffed with displeasure. “I’ll bet Elasti-Girl is fighting some kind of super Parademon right now. The nerve of sending me, the Fantastic Phantom Lady, to some crummy dust bowl is downright insulting!”

This last remark was punctuated with a stomp that reverberated throughout Space Oddity, from the floor to the ceiling, until it all came together in the center, where the disco ball hung. It swayed and shook for a spell before coming loose from its fixture and plummeting to the tile below. The starlet heroine dodged in the nick of time, but she could not escape the cloud of dust that was kicked up when it crashed into the floor. A thick cloud erupted around her, and she found herself pulling her minicape around to cover her nose and mouth as best she could.

“Lousy ‘70s construction!” she cried in between coughs. A burst of black light from her bands had her out of the dust cloud in a second, though worse for the wear. While there were no shards stuck in her, she did find that she was coated from head to toe in aged dust, to which she threw her arms up in the air and grunted in frustration.

“Could this day get any worse?!” she bellowed at the top of her lungs before storming off to find a bathroom or something to clean herself up with. Hopefully they had some paper towels left inside.

The Phantom Lady eventually found her way to a back hallway, where she spotted the ladies room. She zapped her way in, not wanting to test the door’s hinges; the last thing she wanted was to kick up another cloud of dust. Beside one of the sinks was an old, aluminum dispenser, and when the statuesque woman reached inside, she found a good handful of brown paper towels.

“Stupid nightclub. Stupid disco ball. Stupid freaking dust,” the do-good diva bemoaned as she wiped the dust from her body. “Why couldn’t this Gluttox thing be in a park or town square, somewhere open and not covered in four decades worth of dust?”

As she brushed the thick layer of powder from her supple legs, the phantasmic heroine tried and failed to stifle a cough. She must have inhaled some, for her throat was itching and her nose was burning something awful; it was like when her friends had dared her to snort salt back in high school. The coughing fit only continued, and it seemed to grow worse with each rattling hack, until she saw silver spots dancing around her. Only when she was feeling an ungodly amount of lightheadedness did the coughs finally stop, and she propped herself up against the sink for support.

She took the last of the paper towels and gave the mirror a quick swipe; she had to see how she had done. What she saw was a red-faced young woman who had smatterings of gray across her body, some of it smeared on her peachy skin. Phantom Lady scowled and went for another paper towel, but something else caught her attention. It sounded like…music.

“The hell?” she mumbled to herself. She put one hand on her wrist, activating her black light projector, and crept towards the door. ‘Crept’ might have been too strong a word though, as she was rather clumsy on her feet; her coughing fit had left her feeling weak in the knee.

When she bumped the door open, the brunette gave a quick glance up and down the hall, only to find nothing; her goggles, which could detect even the most minute detail, could not pick up anything around her. The haughty heroine made her stumbling way back to the main room, where all the noise came from, and she fought to regain her balance. Whatever was making that noise and lights, as she could now see from behind the corner, could be the menace she was looking for; she could not afford to appear weak in front of Gluttox.

As she shuffled along, Phantom Lady could swear that she heard voices in addition to the music. Two were right in front of her, though there was no one to be found. The voices belonged to some giggling, airheaded bimbos, who remarked, “Looks like someone’s been hitting the dust.”

“They’ll, like, let anyone into the club these days,” one scoffed. “Totally not cool”

Our heroine spun her head around to try and find the source of the voices, but found only shadows. She tried to shake them away, thinking they were only her own thoughts, but the giggling remained as she crept down the hall.

Finally, when she turned the corner to the main room, the phantasmal phenom stopped and gawked at what she saw. Gone was the lifeless, forsaken nightclub of mere minutes ago; now, it was exploding with life and activity. People of all shapes and sizes filled the building to capacity, from the bar to the booths to the dance floor, and their voices were drowned out by a booming stereo playing a mix of hits from the last forty-some years.

“This can’t be real,” Phantom Lady muttered as she stepped out into the club proper.

“You’re telling me, darling,” a silky-smooth voice replied beside her.

Propped up against the wall and smoking a cigarette was the rocker, Davey Bowdust, with his tight, sequined jumpsuit and white lightning bolt painted onto his face. He turned and winked at her as he said, “Who’d have thought a little town in the sticks could have such a banger? No one back in New York will believe me, even if I tell them. Cheers.”

As Davey sauntered off into the crowd, the heroine watched him go with wide eyes. She fumbled for words, only to ask him too late, “Aren’t you dead?”

Looking around, there were a lot of people that should be in the great beyond. Rock stars, actors, and artists from decades past; counter-culturists and junkies throughout the ages, all of whom had passed in some fashion. There was her favorite punk rocker at the bar, still with his girlfriend, even though the two of them were some thirty-years dead. One of the most notorious modern artists, a man who had promoted a gallery of boxed air, was at a table of fellow con men, despite the fact that AIDS had claimed him back in ’86. She even spotted one of her father’s favorite boxers across the way, but the man she saw looked nothing like the old man who had died a couple years ago. It was as though she had stepped into the past and was now surrounded by ghosts in their prime.

“S’cuse me,” a gruff voice huffed behind Phantom Lady.

She fumbled to the side, allowing a beefy man in a suit to pass by her. He looked like hired muscle, the kind that probably worked as a bouncer or guard for someone important. Following him proved that it was the second option, as he stopped in front of a table with a Cuban man in a white suit, women on either side of him.

“Get it together, Stormy. They’re not real; they’re just some kind of hallucination. You’re probably just passed out on the bathroom floor from coughing too much,” she assured herself. A quick pinch to her arm revealed that this was very real though, and she returned to gawking. There was no way this was happening; it must be some kind of trick, but she had no idea what the cause of it could be, so muddled were her thoughts.

With nothing else to go on, the spectral siren made her way out into the club proper, scanning for any signs of bizarre activity. Her head was cloudier than she thought however, as when she tried to read the information streaming through her goggles, it was barely legible; only a few things popped out to her, but that was it. She pulled the goggles from her head and rubbed her eyes to clear them of any dust, though this did nothing to help. If her goggles were useless, she would have to rely on instinct, and her first inclination was flight.

“Gotta get out of here, get some fresh air,” she groaned as she fumbled her way to the exit.

Before she could get far, however, the brunette was grabbed by the arm and pulled away from the crowd. She stumbled along, barely fighting back, and she looked to who was dragging her away. Much to her surprise, it was one of her favorite actresses, Ferry Kushner, who was looking rather spaced out at the moment.

“Sorry, but we just had to meet you,” the woman chuckled as she tugged the Phantom Lady over to a table filled with science-fiction stars. “We saw your groovy outfit and said, ‘We’ve got to know what her scene is!’”

“No, really, I shouldn’t,” the star-studded heroine murmured in half-hearted attempts to get away. In any other situation, she could have gotten away from the lean actress, but as dazed as she felt, it was like trying to break free from Power Girl.

Finally, she was slid into a booth and sat beside Ferry’s co-star, Garrison Lord, who flashed the spectral sensation a winning smirk. Phantom Lady found herself actually blushing from the glance, and it took her a moment to register that she was being charmed by an illusion. She sat up straight in her seat and scanned the booth for any other recognizable faces, only to find people she barely remembered from B-movies in days gone by; Andy Franklin, the Human Bomb, would have loved this.

As she studied the table, her eyes happened upon a small vial, barely the size of a lipstick tube, being passed between the guests. Each would dip a tiny spoon into the vial and pull free a minute scoop of red powder, which they would then pop in their mouths and enjoy. If their reactions were to be believed, this stuff was sweeter than any dessert; one or two looked ready to cream themselves with pleasure. All this tempted the addict inside Phantom Lady, and she found herself licking her lips unexpectedly.

Garrison caught this and asked with a knowing grin, “Jonesing for some bloom?”

“Bloom?” Phantom Lady echoed as her attention was diverted to the handsome man beside her.

“Bloom,” Ferry replied, further distracting the heroine. “It’s all the craze these days; that little bottle cost as much as a new car. The idea is that it gives you a swelling feeling, like you’re a balloon filling with air, and you ride it out with the pleasant sensation of floating away.”

Garrison interrupted by adding, “But it can go the other way too: you can feel like you’re floating in water, total sensory deprivation; that’s the funniest one, since those people just lay there without a thought in the world.”

“You want to try some?” asked Ferry as she received the bottle and took out her tiny spoon.

Phantom Lady eyeballed the tube and battled over the decision in her head. She had been doing so well with the rehab lately; she had not touched the hard stuff in almost two years. But really, that ought to earn her a reward for managing to hold off as long as she had. Being a superhero was really, really hard too, and not everyone could unwind with training, reading, or meditating; sometimes, she felt like she needed to cut loose or else she would explode.

“Just a little bit,” she promised herself as she accepted the spoon. The young Freedom Fighter looked at the utensil for a moment, wondering if it had changed size or always been that big, before dipping it in. When she pulled it free, the spoon seemed even bigger, like a teaspoon, but she still paid it no mind. Finally, by the time it hit her tongue, it seemed to be the size of a soup spoon and was filled with an appropriate amount of bloom.

The taste and pleasant feeling made her swoon: her eyelids fluttered, cheeks flushed, and spine shivered with delight. It was better than anything she had ever done in her prime; certainly better than when she snorted MSG off her tubby college roommate. There was a hint of cinnamon and brown sugar, then sea salt and caramel, and finally rich, bittersweet cocoa.

“That is amazing,” Phantom Lady cooed when she finally finished the mouthful of powder. “And this is a drug?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be, sweetheart,” Ferry chuckled as she looked into the heroine’s eyes. “They say you’re supposed to cut it by mixing it into a drink or food, but really, where’s the fun in that? You don’t get half as much of a rush, and you certainly don’t get the taste at its absolute peak.”

Garrison nodded in agreement as he took the vial and passed it around. “And really, who can argue with those results? After a big spoonful like that, you’ll probably feel it any second now.”

“It wasn’t that big,” the young woman replied with a vapid giggle. She jumped a bit in her seat when she heard the noise; there was no way that noise could have come from her. Despite the airs she put on of being a partier and wild child, she had a Ph.D. or three. Stormy Knight was no prude, but she was certainly no airhead either!

Ferry leaned in and smirked at her co-star. “Bet you’re used to hearing that, aren’t you, Garrison? Come on, kid; let’s dance.”

“Okay,” Phantom Lady acquiesced, leaving behind a table of laughter.

As she walked to the dance floor, she could not help but feel that her yellow shorts were riding up a little more than usual. Maybe they did it when she was sitting down; they used to do that all the time when she first made the costume. That did not explain how her chest felt a touch constricted now, which also applied to her belt. Then again, the folks at the table had said that it gave a swelling feeling, and this likely included ‘bloating’.

Ferry finally stopped out in the middle of the crowd and turned to face Phantom Lady. She had on a lazy, playful grin; the kind to make someone weak in the knees. It certainly had an effect on the phantasmal phenom, who felt much more sluggish out on the dance floor than usual. For some reason, it was difficult to perform even the most basic of her ‘basic bitch’ moves; everyone was able to move so much more fluidly than her.

“The bloom is kicking in, isn’t it?” asked the actress.

Phantom Lady nodded and giggled airily again. “Like, totally! I’ve never felt a high like this in, like, forever!”

She blinked her eyes and shook her head, as though trying to rid herself of the cloud filling her head. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from. I guess that stuff makes you a little lightheaded?”

“Sort of,” Ferry answered, “but it also tends to drag out the truth in people; makes them see who they really are. And something tells me that’s what’s happening to you.”

“What are you talking about? This totally isn’t the real me,” the heroine argued as she continued to slothfully move to the beat. “I am not, like, some airhead on reality TV; I’ve got some totally serious degrees.”

The actress smirked at that, clearly not believing that. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just a rich girl who likes to get wasted on the weekend and grind on the nearest stranger.”

Phantom Lady’s eyes went wide at that and she felt her hands clench into fists. No one got to talk to her like that, not even her favorite actress! Did she have any idea who Stormy was? Better yet, did she have any idea who Stormy’s father was?

“Oh, we know exactly who your father is, little rich bitch,” Ferry sneered as she pulled the confused crusader in close. Before Phantom Lady could even ask, the actress remarked, “You must be really out of it; you do realize you said that out loud, don’t you?”

“I did?” the heroine asked cluelessly before giggling again. This time, she all but slapped herself when she caught it. Something was messing with her head and body, and she needed to leave be, fore it got any worse. As she turned to leave, Ferry dragged her back in and held her wrists tight.

The dancing dame smirked as she held the spectral sensation in place with seemingly no effort. “Going somewhere, Stormy?”

The heroine stared down at Ferry with glassy eyes that showed she was not quite there in her mind. She struggled for the words as she answered, “I…I, like, can’t stay here. This is totally not me; I’ve never been, like, some bimbo.”

“Is that right,” the actress mocked as she watched the Phantom Lady shuffle on her feet, no effort to dance anymore. “Well, if you’re not a bimbo, then why didn’t you think to put on some clothes that fit you properly?”

The amazing apparition was about to argue that point when she was reminded of the pinch of her clothing. She reached back behind her and found that her shorts were wedged firmly in her cheeks, and it took a surprising bit of effort to dig them free. At the same time, her eyes fell to her amazing chest and how her left breast was so close to popping free. Any other time, she might have been mortified but the drug was clouding her senses; the most reaction the near wardrobe malfunction got was a ditzy laugh.

“Like, that was close,” our heroine laughed dazedly. “This place is totally radical, but I don’t, like, think they’d be cool with me getting all naked around here.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, tubby,” Ferry teased as she nodded her head from side to side. “Check out all the attention you’re getting.”

Phantom Lady glanced around the dance floor and found that so many eyes were focusing on her. It reminded her of when she used to step out onto the scene, when the tabloids would eat her up and take as many pictures as they could. Just like in those days, the heroine put on a little show for them by shaking her rump for them; when did her booty have so much jiggle to it though?

When she finally finished her little show, she remembered what Ferry said to her and frowned. “Who are you, like, calling ‘tubby’? I’m totally in the shape of my life!”

“Yeah, if that shape is a lump,” the actress teased. One of her hands left the heroine’s wrists and settled on her waist, which Phantom Lady was surprised to find was so doughy. She had some meat on her bones, sure, but never enough to really squeeze. Now, the ‘70s starlet was able to grab up a good handful of tanned pudge with plenty left to spare.

“Like, where did that come from?” Phantom Lady asked without much needed urgency.

Ferry laughed as she gave the flab in her hands a jiggle. “That’s what too much bloom does, dummy; you either inflate or you fatten up. And considering that you had a big, fat spoonful, you’re going to have quite the ride.”

“But I totally didn’t mean to!” the phantasmal phenom whined softly, her eyes shutting to the world. “You guys totally, like, gave me the wrong spoon; I didn’t get one of those tiny scoops.”

“Couldn’t you have said something?” the actress pointed out while her fingers sank into the increasing amount of pudge in her hands. “It’s not like we were forcing it down your throat; you could have told us something was up.”

This elicited another, not unhappy whine from the girl as she shifted around on her feet. “I, like, didn’t want to be rude.”

The moment between the two continued unabated, Ferry fondling Phantom Lady’s flab while the heroine meekly protested, until they were interrupted by one of the musclebound goons from earlier. Despite it being a dark, smoky club, the gorilla as wearing sunglasses, though they did not seem to impact his vision.

“S’cuse me, ladies, but Mr. Montoya would like to invite you to his table,” he told them. The grunt turned and gestured back to his table, where the gaudy man in the white suit waited. This ‘Mr. Montoya’ nodded his head to the pair, which elicited a vapid giggle from the Phantom Lady.

Ferry glanced back to the heavy heroine and grinned. “I think we’d love to. After all, everyone knows that Mr. Montoya is the King of Bloom.”

“Wait, what?” Phantom Lady laughed as she allowed herself to be pulled over to the new table. Ferry had just called this guy the ‘King of Bloom’, but what did that mean? If it meant more of the stuff, she would have to refuse it; she did not come out tonight to turn into a fatty. But then, what did she come out for?

Those questions ran from her mind as they arrived at the table and she got a good look at this Mr. Montoya. He was Latino and in his early forties, with a lean body gained from a diet of drugs and the bare minimum of food. A fat Cuban cigar rested in his fingers and four or five gold chains hung around his neck, exposed as they were by the top buttons on his shirt being wide open. Like his bodyguard, he wore a pair of sunglasses even in the dark of the nightclub.

“Forgive me for interrupting you, ladies, but I just had to meet you two,” he greeted Phantom Lady and Ferry. “Please, let me make it up to you by treating you to a good time.”

The dazed do-gooder slid on into the round booth without any hesitation, and she sidled up next to a Russian supermodel. A sleepy grin passed over her face as she felt like she was in a movie; if only she could remember how those types of movies went. Once she was settled in, a waiter came by with a bottle of auburn liquid and dropped it off in front of Phantom Lady.

“I took the liberty of ordering some drinks for you two; I think you’ll like them, especially that one in front of you, butterball,” Montoya smiled toothily. “Let’s call it the house specialty.”

The demeaning nickname rolled right off the heroine’s back as she took a swig of the drink. It was surprisingly thick and rich, like a melted milkshake, but she recognized the flavor right away. That perfect combination of cinnamon, caramel, and cocoa could only belong to one thing, yet she could not bring herself to stop drinking just yet; it was too damned good to put down.

When she finally set the bottle down again, she had finished the whole thing, which earned some light applause from the table. She licked her lips for any remaining cream before asking, “Like, that was so good! What’s it, like, made of?”

The other women at the table had to stifle their laughter while Montoya smirked and answered, “Some Bailey’s, Kahlua, and a good few spoonfuls of bloom.”

“Mmm,” Phantom Lady hummed as she wondered if she could get another bottle. “But I just, like, had some a few minutes ago; I don’t want to blow up like a balloon.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, chunks,” the man chuckled. “You’ll just rise like dough.”

“Dough?” the heroine murmured as she looked down at her waist. It really did look like dough from where she was sitting; if she was not high, she would have sworn her tummy was swelling out onto her lap. The fluffy stomach just barely peeked out beyond her blubbery breasts though, and she had to fidget them back into place in her costume. “Like, there’s no way someone can be dough.”

The supermodel to her left put a hand on her generous thigh and squeezed, flab almost oozing through her fingers. She teased the confused heroine, “I don’t know; I feel like I could knead you all night long.”

While Phantom Lady groaned from the touch, Ferry jostled the pile of pudge at the heroine’s waist and smirked. “I think this dough needs a little more to get that right level of thick and malleable. Can we get another drink?”

In the back of her mind, the spectral sensation knew she should turn it down; this stuff was wreaking havoc on her mind and body. Unfortunately, her thinking was as clouded as her gut was soft, and so when the new bottle reached the table, she did not hesitate to drink it down in one go. Phantom Lady slammed the bottle back down as if she were in a drinking contest and let out a loud whoop.

“Like, I love bloom!” she cheered, unaware that in raising her arms, there was an incredible amount of jiggle from the once trim limbs.

“Enough to have another?” asked Montoya with a sinister smirk on his lips.

“Totally!” the heroine exclaimed as she set her arms back down to her softened sides. “I could, like, drink this stuff all night long.”

She had no idea how right she was. Time went on and the Phantom Lady downed drink after drink, not caring what effect it had on her body; if only the her from a day ago could have seen what was to come. It was like she was back in college, binging until she could barely stand, but this time, she could not blame her impaired motor functions solely on drink.

No, the chief reason she was having trouble standing was because all the new pounds were pinning her to the booth. Or perhaps it was her companions, who stifled any effort of rising with another drink. Or worse, it was a combination of the two: the more she drank, the fatter she became; the fatter she became, the more drinks her ‘friends’ ordered. And she had become very fat.

The Stormy Knight that was crammed into a booth was a far cry from the firm, athletic woman who had come to Cooke. Everything about her was soft and flabby, no trace of muscle underneath. Her cheeks jiggled and the extra chin she sprouted wobbled every time she guzzled down the sweet drug. Sometimes, a few drops would escape her lips and fall into the canyon of her cleavage, which was trying so hard to escape the window in her top. Below that, her belly and flanks had grown too big for the measly straps that connected the heroine’s top to her bottoms, and they cut deep into the pile of pudge that was her waistline. Lastly, her yellow short-shorts were all but swallowed up by the meat of her thighs and rump; the only sign they were there was how her mattress thighs oozed out of them.
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Old 04-06-2018, 08:33 PM   #16
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“Okay, okay,” Phantom Lady slurred as she waved a hand in front of her to try and stop the flow of drinks. “I, like, think I’m good. That stuff is totally strong; I feel like I’m, like, swimming in pudding.”

“Probably because you are, you freaking whale,” Montoya cackled from his seat.

Drunk and stoned as she was, the heroine still frowned from the demeaning name. “Hey, I’m not, like, a whale! I’m totally a babe!”

“Nah, girl,” one of the models at the table giggled. “You’re a total babe, but like the pig, not like us.”

The amazing apparition could not believe what she was hearing. These jerks buy her all these drinks and then spend all their time making fun of her? They were worse than some of the brats back in D.C.

“Screw you all,” she huffed as she put her hand on the table. “You wouldn’t, like, know good-looking if it bit you in the face!”

Soured on the whole experience, Phantom Lady decided to get away from these dicks and find herself some people with better personalities. Unfortunately, when she tried to move, she found herself firmly wedged into the booth. Every attempt at standing or sliding free only succeeded in making her blubber quiver, which elicited a good laugh from the folks around her.

“Like, stop laughing! This totally isn’t funny,” the heroine whined as she let her arms fall to her sides. “Someone needs to, like, help me up.”

“Still think you’re thin?” Ferry asked with a wiry grin on her face.

“Of course I’m still…wait,” Phantom Lady paused as her hand lethargically reached up to the table edge and fell onto her generous stomach.
Feeling it in her grasp finally drove the point home for her; there was no denying it any longer. She had gotten incredibly fat.

Her mouth hung open in silent awe before she finally screamed in panic. Pudgy, gloved hands explored all over her body, finding curves everywhere she went; there was not a single angle to be found on her. She thought it was just the bloom that was making her feel so bloated, but that could not be further from the truth.

“I’m enormous!” the Rubenesque woman cried as her hands settled on the wobbling weight on her waistline. “Like, what happened to me?!”

Ferry laughed out loud at the surprise. “Come on, we told you what would happen.”

“I thought that was, like, a meta…meta,” Phantom Lady struggled for the words, a first for the genius woman. That was the true wake-up call for her; this mission might take her body from her, but she would be damned if her mind was robbed away. “You, like, know what I mean.”

“Whatever,” Montoya shrugged. “You’re still the one who decided to drink all those bloom beverages.”

The spectral sensation had no words, knowing full well that what he said was right. In a moment of weakness, when she needed her wits most, she had fallen back into bad habits. When this was over, she was going to try another stint at rehab; there were still some kinks to work out of her system.

“Just, like, help me up,” the hefty heroine grunted as she pushed against the table, but to no avail. She looked to everyone for assistance, only to be met with scornful smirks and glares, which set her goosebumps on edge.

“Only if you admit what a porker you are,” Ferry smirked as he jostled the woman’s tree trunk thighs around. Her hands were slapped away by a slothful Phantom Lady, but that did not stop her from prodding the fattened fighter some more.

The amazing apparition did not want to do so, but she did not have much of a choice. Her bulk was wedged firmly in between the chair and the booth, and there was no way she was getting out without some help. She gritted her teeth and muttered, “I’m a total porker.”

“A little louder, you hog,” Montoya told her with arms crossed and smirk spread.

“I’m, like, a total porker,” Phantom Lady repeated, loud enough for the table next to them to hear.

One of the supermodels fought back a fit of giggles. “I don’t think I heard that; the music’s awfully loud in here.”

Finally, in a fit of frustration, the heroine all but screamed, “I’m, like, totally a fat porker! A total fat-ass! Like, I totally love to stuff my face all day long; is that, like, what you wanted to hear?”

“Absolutely,” Ferry answered with a sinister smirk, “and so did everyone else in the club.”

It was then that Phantom Lady realized all talking, dancing, and singing had stopped in that moment, and all attention was focused on her. Normally, she would have relished being the center of attention, even if it was for making a party foul. Now, all she wanted to do was crawl under a rock and die, but she was pretty sure no rock would fit her.

Montoya clapped his hands. “All right, this fatty wanted to get up, so let’s give her a hand.”

The girls at the table slid away, allowing for one of the muscly meatheads to reach in and take the humiliated heroine’s hands. She winced as she felt her belly rub against the table’s edge, and when she finally popped loose, there was a nice burn mark where her soft flesh met the table. Once on her feet, she pushed the goon away and turned to face the others at the table.

“Like, screw all of you! I totally don’t need this; I’m super-popular in D.C., and you totes can’t change that.”

“Whatever, tons of fun,” Ferry taunted as she got up and stood in front of Phantom Lady. When they first met, the actress seemed a good head and shoulders shorter than her, but they were actually at eye-level now. Was she getting taller, or was the heroine getting shorter? Either thought sent a shiver down her spine.

The actress jabbed a finger into the wobbly woman’s belly, which created a ripple that ran through her body. Ferry jeered, “We all know the truth about you: how you’re a scared little girl underneath that façade; how you try to bury your brains under the guise of a clubber; how you’re haunted by everything that’s happened since you first decided to become Phantom Lady.”

“Like, you don’t know what you’re talking about!” the spectral sensation argued with reddened cheeks. No one, save for her teammates, knew that much about her; the telepathic powers of Gluttox ran much deeper than she could have anticipated.

“Oh, I think I do,” the actress retorted with another prod. Her constant pushing had Phantom Lady stumbling backwards towards the dance floor, where everyone could see her. “Everyone knows the sob story about your father, the poor Henry Knight. He was going to be a good president, maybe even a great one, but he was assassinated and replaced by a doppelganger. And you had no idea; that mechanical bastard really pulled the wool over your eyes.”

The heroine faltered as she remembered Gonzo the Mechanical Bastard and those hateful eyes of his, how he had perfectly replicated her father until the very end. It made her frightfully angry, but the depression outweighed the fighting spirit inside her. When she was allowed a moment of peace after the battle against Gonzo, she had drowned herself in drugs and booze in an effort to chase away the heartache. It had not worked.

“The sob story began before that though, didn’t it?” asked Ferry as she maneuvered the heroine out to the middle of the dance floor. “You were so young when your mother went into space on what should have been a routine survey. Even then, you knew how important it was for her to be out there, and the ramifications of what happened when that wormhole swallowed her ship up. That’s what inspired you to study pataphysical science, isn’t it? You’re still trying to find her, even after all these years.”

“Shut up!” Phantom Lady screamed as she put her pudgy hands over her ears, hoping to block out the reminders of her past. Unfortunately, not even the best ear plugs in the world could silence the voice that boomed around her.

“Then again, I don’t know if we should actually feel sorry for you,” the actress sneered as she circled the heroine. She tested the flabby fighter’s body with every step: poking, wiggling, squeezing, and lightly slapping. Every new touch made the Phantom Lady feel that much smaller. “I mean, you’re the one who worked for a paramilitary organization that did all sorts of terrible things to good people. Need I remind you of what you did in Bludhaven? Or how about when you brutally assassinated a man and his lackies at his grandson’s birthday party?”

The softened specter whimpered as she cowered from the touches and biting words; it all stung like a blast from the Red Bee. Her lips quivered as she retorted, “That…that was, like, a long time ago.”

“Maybe we should ask the loved ones of your victims and see what they think,” Ferry snipped.

Before Phantom Lady could stop her, the actress thrust her palm square into her flabby belly and reeled about. Unable to keep her balance, the heroine fell onto her padded rump, which sent waves throughout her blubber. She tried to regain her footing or push herself off the ground, but she was too weak to do even that.

“Too weak to stand up, let alone protect a country,” Montoya tutted as he appeared at her side with a bottle of bloom in his hand. Phantom Lady’s eyes went wide, and she shook her fat head furiously at the sight.

“No, please…I’m, like, too mmph!”

Her protests were silenced by the bottle being shoved between her plump lips, and despite herself, she could not help but drink the sinfully sweet concoction. In between gulps, she realized that she was getting fatter by the second: her stomach finally won the war against the straps on her costume, snapping them in two; her thighs tore through the top of her mile-high boots; her cheeks got fat enough to slightly push her goggles up her face. She could almost feel the pounds piling on and her mind slipping underneath the strain of everything.

“I’m so glad you like the taste, because we’ve got plenty more where that came from,” Montoya hissed as all the patrons of the club appeared with bottles in their hands.

Phantom Lady gurgled with despair as she wracked her brain for a solution but finding only a heavy cloud. It was like all the knowledge she had gained over her life was dissipating into smoke or being converted into blubber as well. Complex solutions were becoming difficult to do; she could barely put together a single formula. In this instance, there was only one thing she could do: implement her Hail Mary, the Cosmo Protocol.

When she found those words in her memory, she held tight to them for fear of losing them in this drug-induced stupor. As soon as the bottle was pulled from her lips, the heroine burped and shouted, “Cosmo Protocol!”

Suddenly, her black light wristbands activated, and a massive bubble of dark energy came from their shining center. The bubble encapsulated the people around her, then the whole dance floor, then the dining area, and finally the club itself. When it reached its peak, the bubble vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving an obscenely obese Phantom Lady flat on her ass in the middle of an empty lot.

“Hope you like molten glass rain, bitch,” the heroine huffed as she fell onto her back, imagining how long Gluttox would survive on the hellish HD 189733b. She hoped that the New God was durable enough for its destruction to be prolonged; no one got to talk that way about her and get away with it.

As she lay there, gut in the air and breasts pooling around her, the spectral sensation dwelled on all the malevolent machine had said to her. She had more than a few demons to her name, ones that would haunt her for the rest of her days, but she had been trying to get better. Today was just another reminder of how much more she had to go; she was not where she wanted to be just yet.

“John’s going to have a field day with this,” Stormy groaned as she managed to lift her hand up to rub her belly. She could still taste bloom on her lips, which now made her sick to her stomach, or at least the drug properties of it. “I’ll have to see if Doll Girl can make up a batch at home
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