BBW Compound Growth II (~BBW, ~XWG, Stuffing)

Discussion in 'Recent Additions' started by Benny Mon, Jul 18, 2019.

  1. Oct 4, 2019 #21

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Chapter 7 cont'd

    David ran his hands over his head and sighed, long and loud. This wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe it really was time to leave Southvale. Vonnie’s phone buzzed again, and then again a few seconds later, and a third time almost immediately. Lord, thought David, someone needs to calm down. He looked up discreetly at the restroom door, now quiet but still closed, before looking back at the phone and surreptitiously flipping it over. The three newest texts were part of a long string of unanswered messages, most from someone named Cora, begging forgiveness for some unknown offense. A few, sprinkled in, were from one Joe Giuseppe, simple, plaintive requests for Vonnie to just call him. He just wanted to talk. This girl really did have a lot of drama in her life.

    Then the phone rang, with a call from Joe, and the phone displayed Joe’s contact photo. David inhaled sharply: he knew this man. The mustache, the dark hair, the hairy body, the shit-eating smile. David swiped the bottom of the screen to pick up the call.

    “Vonnie, thank god you picked up,” said a familiar voice.

    “Sal?” said David. No response. “Sal, is that you?” The line went dead.

    David let his phone hand fall to the table. Why the hell was Sal calling Vonnie? How did they know each other? And why did Vonnie think Sal’s name was Joe Giuseppe? David took another sip of coffee.

    Another text came in, again from Cora, and David glanced down at it. You need to let me make it up to you, it said. I feel terrible. We all do, Kim, Marvin, all of us. Please.

    David almost choked on his coffee. Kim? Marvin? Were these the perverts Vonnie was talking about? Good god, this wasn’t a waste of time after all. It was all coming together. But while he was fixed on the phone, David didn’t see Mukta spotting him, setting down the stack of plates she was moving, walking across the restaurant with huge, wobbling thighs and hips. But then a shadow fell over David, and he looked up and saw Mukta.

    “You have to go,” she said.

    “What? No I don’t.”

    “Go.” Her voice grew louder. “Now.”

    “You can’t--” David began, but then he noticed another sound coming from the restroom, a quiet sobbing that had slowly grown to wailing.

    “Put her phone down and leave.”

    “All right, ok.” David relinquished the phone and went for his wallet to pay.

    “We don’t want your money,” Mukta said. “It’s on the house. You have five seconds to get out before I call the police.”

    “Fucking Christ,” said David, angry and fearful all at once. But he rose immediately and stepped outside the restaurant, slowly enough to watch Mukta knock on the bathroom door, to take a distraught Vonnie into her arms, to lead her into an unseen space in the back. He now stood outside, rubbing his hands and his forearms anxiously, tapping his foot, pacing. That girl was so upset, and he was sure Mukta blamed it on him. He just hoped he hadn’t made anything worse. He began walking toward a park and dialed a number.

    “Díaz?” It was a deep, serious voice.

    “Sergeant Berkman, I’m so glad you’re free. I think I finally have a real lead on the Southvale case.”

    “Oh?”

    “It’s two things. One is a girl I met, who’s at the fat camp and seems to know Marvin O’Neill. They haven’t been able to connect Marvin directly to the camp, right?”

    “They haven’t.” Berkman’s interest was clearly piqued.

    “This girl might just be the key. Or one of them. That brings me to the second thing. You know my guy in the state EC?”

    “Lombardo, you said, right?”

    “Yeah, Sal Lombardo. I think he’s been playing me--I think he’s in on this whole fat camp thing.”

    “What? Why?”

    “I don’t know yet, but I’ve got him in a bad spot. I think he was pretending to help me so that he could stall me, give me false leads, keep me away from the truth. It’s only a matter of time till I sort this out.”

    “Díaz, I’m glad you called. I’ll do whatever I can to help you from my end.”

    “Thank you, Sergeant, this is--” The phone was buzzing with another incoming call, this one from his office in Chicago. “Sergeant, it’s my boss, I better take this. I’ll call you back?”

    “Please do.”

    David switched calls. “Sir, it’s Díaz.”

    “Díaz, you ready to come home?”

    “Almost, sir, I’m just tying up loose ends here in Southvale.”

    “Almost isn’t good enough, Díaz, we need you now. The state EC down there just cleared you for return, said they’re all set with you. You’re off the case. You can finally come home.”

    “Sir, I...I don’t understand. They’re not done with me, there are still a few loose ends--”

    “Díaz, are you really telling me you want to stay down there a second longer? They said you’re done, you’re done. We need you back here. I’ll expect you in the office on Monday.”

    “Yes, sir. I’ll see you Monday.”

    David hung up and cursed. It had to be Sal: he was sure Sal had cut him loose as soon as he realized David was onto him. He tried calling Sal, once, twice, four times, ten times. He wouldn’t pick up. David flopped onto a park bench, furious and exhausted. He hadn’t had enough time with Vonnie, and now he was being shipped back to Chicago? He took the time he needed to cool down and walked back to his hotel room, carefully, neatly packing his few things, folding his winter coat into the top of the suitcase. He got a rental car and drove out of Southvale, stopping in the state capital, at Berkman’s invitation, to give a statement to the state PD. He gave them everything he had. This was all on Berkman now, and David hoped to God he could see it through.
     
  2. Oct 4, 2019 #22

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    [Ch 7 cont'd]

    * * *

    1 month after brunch

    Feet on the desk, Sal Lombardo sat in his office, reclining in his spindly chair and rubbing a hand over his stubbly face. Christ, it was only 3:00? The rest of the workday would drag by, but it wasn’t like he wanted to go home, either, to the sleepy, lonely town 30 minutes outside the capital. It was just another day at the State Elections Commission. Maybe he should regrow his mustache.

    Someone knocked on his door.

    “Come in!”

    It was his boss, a slight, balding gray-haired man named Siggy Gunderson, accompanied by a tall, severe state cop he didn’t know. Sal took his feet off the desk and stood up.

    “Joe?” said the cop.

    Sal shook his head. “Joe’s not in today. And he works on the next floor. Siggy, you fuckin’ with this good officer?”

    The cop took another step forward. “Joe Giuseppe?”

    Sal’s face lost all color, and he slowly sank back into his chair.

    “You’re the one who’s been fucking with us,” said Siggy, his arms crossed. “It stops now.”

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sal said quietly.

    “We do,” said the cop. “We know about your connection to La Vie. We know about your relationship with Yvonne Brookes. You’re obviously colluding with Marvin O’Neill and the Southvale PD and the mayor to obstruct the investigation that you yourself are leading. You screwed up when you got in bed with Marvin just to pursue whatever perverse, chubby chasing fantasies you may have. But you can make all this a lot easier for yourself if you cooperate with us.”

    “I…” Sal tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly very dry. “I want to talk to my lawyer.”

    Siggy closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Let’s go, Sergeant. We’ll be back, Sal. Think about how you want to approach this.”

    “I won’t say nothin’ till I talk to my lawyer.” Sal said, his voice rising. “This is bullshit!” The door slammed behind Siggy and Sergeant Berkman as they walked out.
     
  3. Oct 4, 2019 #23

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    [Chapter 7 cont'd]

    * * *

    3 months after brunch

    Danyelle Biggs, star reporter for the Southvale local news, stood outside the town courthouse. She steadied her ponytail and adjusted her earmuffs as a pre-dawn, early December snow flurried gently around her. She tried to adjust her stylish, colorful wool coat, too, but it fit so snugly around her body that it would barely move. Danyelle had always been curvy, but like so many other Southvalers, she hadn’t been able to escape the gravitational pull that La Vie est Pleine exercised on the culture of the whole town. Since she’d first started reporting on Marvin O’Neill two years earlier, she’d put on 30 pounds--at least. She refused to step on a scale these days and find out the actual number. But she put it from her mind, standing up straight in front of the camera, gripping the microphone, until her earpiece told her she was live.

    “Thank you and good morning to you back in the studio, Holly. I’m live this morning in Southvale in front of the Valley County courthouse, where just last night state prosecutors expanded the criminal case against Mayor Harris, Marvin O’Neill, and others involved in the fraud and conspiracy cases that grew out of a State Election Commission investigation. The latest is the introduction of a new witness, one Ryan Sweet, a former city employee and associate of Marvin O’Neill’s who’s been absent from Southvale for over a year but returned to aid the prosecution.”

    On a monitor positioned off-screen, Danyelle saw the footage that the audience at home would be seeing right now: Ryan, wrapped in an overcoat, thinner than he once was but surprisingly well groomed, climbing the steps of the courthouse, ignoring a throng of reporters as his lawyer fended them off.

    “Sweet now works for a financial services firm in Milwaukee, and some are saying his return means a betrayal of his former associate Marvin O’Neill. Sources familiar with the case have told me that while prosecutors had a mounting list of evidence and witnesses, they still hadn’t found the smoking gun. Observers are speculating that Sweet will be the key witness, explaining the connections between O’Neill; La Vie est Pleine, the town’s extended-stay spa facility; and Mayor Harris. There’s much more to learn, and we here at Fox99 will always have the latest for you. I’m Danyelle Biggs. Holly, Ben: back to you.”
     
  4. Oct 4, 2019 #24

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    [Chapter 7 cont'd]

    * * *

    5 months after brunch

    The state Attorney General, a thin, middle-aged white man in a perfectly tailored black suit, stood at a podium on the Valley County courthouse steps, flanked by Sergeant Berkman and Ryan Sweet. Berkman, as always, was impassive, intense without being tense, whereas Ryan wore an enthusiastic, almost stupid grin. They all stood at the front of a large crowd of lawyers and other interested parties, facing a mob of reporters, and behind them a larger, buzzing crowd of Southvale residents. Nearly single person was freezing, shivering and wrapping their coats tighter around them, but the AG seemed unfazed. He stepped up to the microphone amidst a volley of camera flashes.

    “People of Southvale,” he said, “good citizens of our beloved state, today I can tell you with certainty and satisfaction that justice has been served.”

    The crowd exploded in cheers. The AG joined Ryan’s silly grin with a smug smile of his own, and even Berkman’s mouth seemed to turn up a bit at one corner.

    “The full story should now be clear to you. Marvin O’Neill, one-time hero in this town, has been revealed for what he really was: a corrupt businessman, taking advantage of the public trust for his own benefit. O’Neill entry into the mayor’s race over two years ago was motivated not by civic duty but by venal self-interest: Mr. Sweet, an employee of the Kaplan administration, had secretly and fraudulently been enabling O’Neill to evade the zoning and permitting process, to set up a weight-gain spa. Mr. O’Neill hoped to gain control of city hall himself, to secure this corrupt deal for the long term, but rather than making himself the public face of this operation, he did so by sponsoring Mr. Harris’s campaign. O’Neill then took the spa public, with proper permits and all but not mention of weight gain, while distancing his ownership of it through a series of shell corporations, which he also used to disguise copious illegal campaign donations to Harris. In short, Marvin O’Neill slowly took control of this town, to benefit his businesses and feed his perverse libido. But today I am here to say: no more! That time is over, and Marvin O’Neill can no longer take advantage of you. All he can do is reflect on his actions from his prison cell.” The crowd roared. “And now, I believe Mr. Sweet has something he would like to say to you.”

    Ryan stepped up eagerly to the podium. “Honestly, I’m proud and humbled to be here today. I took the wrong road before, I know it, but I saw the error of my ways, and when I saw what was happening here with the case, I knew I had to come back. I got immunity in this case because I deserved to atone for my wrongs. My girlfriend, Rose--my ex-girlfriend, of course--sure didn’t take that approach. After she threw me under the bus, she buddied up to Marvin and Kim--Kim, the woman I cheated on her with!--just so she could get a slice of their success and keep getting fatter. I’m proud that I took the high road. Like Michelle Obama says, right?”

    Outside a couple half-hearted claps, there was no sound but the flickering of cameras capturing the waning enthusiasm on Ryan’s face.

    Sergeant Berkman stepped up to the podium, gently easing Ryan aside. “We’ll wait on the sentencing hearing on Monday before we learn how much time Marvin O’Neill and Al Harris and their associates will do, but rest assured they will do time. Which means we can move onto the next steps: O’Neill’s vendors. He had relationships with businesses all across town, many of whom channeled his illegal donations to the Harris campaign. We’re now going to investigate those businesses for impropriety and bring charges against any that violated the law. We will leave no stone unturned.”

    A mix of grumbling and some applause now, more than Ryan got, but not much.

    “Sergeant,” a plump young reporter interjected, “won’t that be bad for the local economy? Hasn’t your investigation gone far enough?”

    “Corruption is what’s bad for the local economy,” Berkman said, “but listen, before we get to questions, before this gets off the rails, I want to thank someone who can’t be here today, but who was the reason we’re here at all: Inspector David Díaz of the FEC, who was detailed to this case before he had to return to Chicago for the midterms. Against the odds, even when O’Neill’s associates were trying to throw him off the scent, David broke the case open. He got us our first key witness, which allowed us to pursue criminal charges, which is the reason Ryan Sweet here showed up at all. It’s not right that David isn’t here today because he deserves more credit than all of us.”

    Polite clapping emerged across the crowd.

    * * *

    5 months and 1 week after brunch

    Amidst the polite clapping, David paused the Youtube link Berkman had sent him. He sat back in his desk chair and covered his mouth with his hands, gradually sliding them around and down the back of his neck. He’d hoped to see this day, even dreamed of it, but he never expected it. He couldn’t believe Berkman had seen it through.

    After David had come back to Chicago, he’d followed up a little from afar, dropping a line to Gunderson and Berkman every now and then to see how things had progressed. But soon enough the midterms got into full swing, and by then it seemed like the case was stalling anyway. Southvale had drifted from his mind until a couple weeks ago, when Berkman had called David to let him know they were on the verge of winning the case. David had almost fallen over at the news, and he told Berkman that while he wanted to come down for the press conference, he was swamped at work and just wouldn’t be able to make it. Berkman had understood. He’d said he’d send David a link of the video.

    David’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was a call from Yvonne Brookes, and it took him a beat to process the bizarreness of that fact. Slowly he slid his finger across the screen and picked up. “Hello?”

    “Please don’t hang up. I wasn’t doing great the last time you saw me, and that’s not how I ever should have acted around you. I want to talk to you again, for real.”

    “Ok. We’re talking.”

    “No, I mean...can you come down to Southvale for a meal? I know it’s a lot to ask”

    “So you want to chew me out in person for bringing down the spa you stayed at.”

    “No, that’s not it.”

    “...Are you asking me out?”

    “No! What? No, I just want to talk. Like I should have last time.”

    David let the phone hang a little, staring at his office wall. He raised it again. “Honestly, I’m swamped with work, and I can’t make it down right now. When are you coming to Chicago? Aren’t you...from here? Won’t you move back now that La Vie is going down?”

    “No, I don’t think I’ll go back to Chicago. But that’s fine. It doesn’t have to be now. Just let me know when work gets better. You can come anytime. I’ll be here.”

    David nodded, not that Vonnie could see. “Okay. I will.”

    “Okay,” she said, breathing deep. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
     
  5. Oct 17, 2019 #25

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Chapter 8 (final)

    “Could you handle the register?” Vonnie yelled.

    Mukta was settled in a wide chair behind the counter, one they both used when they needed to take a load off. “There aren’t that many people in line!” she replied.

    “Yeah, but I’ve got a big order to fill. I need you to help the next people.”

    Mukta sighed and muttered her assent. She set down her drink and braced herself on the counter to either side of her, slowly heaving herself to her feet. As she walked, her massive thighs pushed and brushed against each other. They were so big that her gait had become awkward, Vonnie noticed, and as she tried to pass between Vonnie and the back counter their asses pushed against each other, deforming softly and heavily, until she squeezed through and spoke with the next customer. Mukta had always been fat, but she was getting fat, and that meant her bottom half was enormous. She almost never wore jeans or pants now, preferring the stretch and comfort of leggings.

    Not that things were any different for Vonnie. She pulled up her own leggings as she stood in front of the espresso machine, an adjustment she made regularly to rescue them from the pressures of her enormous belly. They slapped against her skin, and she straightened the black apron that covered only about a third of her front. She felt her growing ponderousness in her knees as she stood at the machine, whipping up lattes and cappuccinos and some of their more exotic cousins, stepping heavily to the pickup area on the counter to call out the names of their owners. She didn’t even feel her belly push whisperingly against the edge of the counter. Vonnie was too big for everything, and now she rarely noticed the more mundane ways in which she bumped up against the limits of the spaces around her.

    The front door creaked open, and a black man with a shaved head and impeccably pressed clothes stepped inside.

    “When you have a minute,” Vonnie asked Mukta, “could you bring me a club sandwich with chips (barbecue and sour cream and onion), and a mocha?”

    “Are you sure you want to do this?” Mukta frowned back.

    “I know what I’m doing.”

    Mukta still frowned.

    “I promise, Mukta, it’s ok. It’s just this one meeting; he’s not going to be my best friend or anything. Please, I promise!”

    Mukta’s frown softened into a smile. “You wanna start with a croissant, too?”

    Vonnie laughed. “Yes, I’ll start with a croissant. And get a ham and cheese for him.”

    Mukta nodded. “You got it.” She plated the croissant as Vonnie untied her apron and hung it on a hook, and Vonnie took the plate and lumbered across the shop, guiding David to an open table. She saw his eyes widen, taking in her massive growth, but he bit his tongue. That look, that gut reaction, didn’t sting quite so much anymore, and Vonnie even took some pleasure in the fact that he had to curb himself. He settled into his seat as she lowered herself onto hers, first tipping carefully before losing control and falling back heavily, her thighs and belly hanging off to either side. Vonnie’s shirt shrank up to reveal a strip of belly, always eager for freedom, but she pulled the shirt back down instinctively.

    “I like what you did with your hair,” David said, smiling a little. He gestured toward her short afro. Was he flirting with her? No, not flirtation, just genuine affection that Vonnie was nonetheless surprised to find. He wasn’t bad looking, honestly, tall and toned and almost handsome, and yet something held Vonnie back from finding him attractive.

    “You like it better than a bald head, huh?”

    David seemed dismayed. “No, that’s not what I--”

    “You fluster easily for a cop, you know that?” Vonnie laughed.

    He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’ve spent too much time denying I’m a cop to fight you on that.”

    She shrugged and nodded, munching her way through strips of croissant.

    “I’m surprised you’re still in Southvale.”

    “You’re always surprised to see me here! This is my home now, David. I’m not going anywhere. I’m surprised you actually came, though!”

    He shrugged now, too. “I was curious. I wanted to see how things had shaken out after I left.” He gestured around the cafe. “So you work here now? I thought I was just meeting you here for lunch.”

    “You are, and there’s a sandwich coming out for you. But yes, I’ve worked here for a while now, ever since I moved out of La Vie. And I’ve got an apartment with my friends Tay and Harry. You don’t know them, but Tay moved out with me, and Harry joined us when La Vie actually shut down. He’s loaded, so it really helps with the rent.”

    “Okay, why would--? Never mind, I shouldn’t be so intrusive. I know I was horrible the last time we talked.”

    “No,” said Vonnie, wiping crumbs off her hands onto the empty plate, “we can be...open. Direct. That’s the whole point of this conversation.”

    “Well,” said David, leaning in, “okay, so, why would somebody who’s so loaded want to stay in Southvale after La Vie closed? This is the middle of nowhere!”

    Vonnie shrugged her fat shoulders. “We’re all friends. He didn’t want to leave. And there are worse places.”

    “Can’t you all move back to Chicago?”

    “They’re not from Chicago, she said hastily, “but David, before we get any farther, I wanted to say I’m sorry. I used you the last time I saw you. I was a mess, and I just wanted a free meal and needed to vent. Like, I really needed to vent, so I don’t one hundred percent feel bad about it, but it was still wrong. I’m sorry.”

    “What? No.” David waved his hands at his wrists. “You should feel zero percent bad about it. I used you! I didn’t want to be here, and then I got obsessed with my case because I had nothing else to do, and you were a vulnerable person and I took advantage of you. You have nothing to apologize for. But I’m grateful for you, too: if I hadn’t talked to you, we wouldn’t have been able to crack the case.” Mukta delivered their lunches as David spoke, glaring at him all the while before returning wordlessly to the counter.

    Vonnie extended a plump hand. “Let’s call it even?"
     
  6. Oct 17, 2019 #26

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Chapter 8 cont'd

    David conceded with a nod. “Let’s do that.” They shook on it, and she felt his firm grip on her soft hand. He leaned back and laughed to himself. “I thought you were going to be the star witness, and you weren’t part of the case at all! God, that would have been exploitative on another level. Turns out we didn’t need you, though, not for the trial. We locked up Marvin O’Neill and shut down his fat farm--” Vonnie, tucking into her sandwich, flinched at the term “--and it sounds like we got you out of a pretty toxic situation at the same time.”

    “Well,” she said, “I moved out before all that went down. But yeah, there were some pretty fucked up people running that place. I was happy to see them go.”

    “And the state went after the vendors, too, right? Where does that stand?”

    Vonnie munched on some chips and shook her plump head. “That didn’t work out.”

    “What do you mean it didn’t work out?”

    She took a few more bites before answering. “It didn’t work out! They couldn’t actually get them on those charges. The case wasn’t good enough, I don’t know. Honestly it’s for the best: I don’t want to lose that food, and the town can’t afford to lose those jobs.”

    David looked dismayed, and he cracked his knuckles and scanned the room nervously, mindlessly. “I wouldn’t say it’s for the best. We needed to root out the corruption, every bit of it, and this leaves some behind. It could spread again.” Something occurred to him, and he looked her in the eye. “Was the Bean one of the vendors?!”

    Vonnie laughed, trying not to spray her mouthful at David. “No, it wasmph,” she said, speaking around her food. She swallowed. “Mukta actually used to work for a bakery that contracted with La Vie, but the owners hired her here like two years ago.” She held her hands wide, showing her massive middle, her wobbling upper arms. “This is Southvale now, right here. We are Southvale. It’s not about La Vie. We’re not going anywhere, I’ve told you.”

    He squinted. “Are you saying the perv--the guests at La Vie have all stayed? Like you?”

    “Would that bother you?”

    David swallowed. “They stayed?”

    Vonnie held a single chip up to her mouth and bit into it with a brittle crunch. “Some of them are even investing in some of the old vendors.”

    David threw his head back and looked away. “Aw, Christ, what?”

    “You know most of those people at La Vie were rich, right? The long-term guests, I mean. They came here for good food, and they aren’t going to let a little lawsuit get in their way. It’s not like they’re all staying forever. A lot of them will just use the place as a vacation town. But a lot of them stuck around, too.”

    David turned back. “You’re messing with me.”

    “I’m not fucking with anybody.”

    His eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem upset about this. I thought you said you were happy to see the La Vie people go! You just said that!” Mukta, eyes cold, came and cleared David’s uneaten sandwich. He didn’t seem to notice. She took a bite out of it as she walked away.

    Vonnie put down her chips. “David, you do understand the difference between abuse and consent, right? Marvin was a creep. His friends were creeps. The people I met at La Vie, the other guests? Not creeps. They didn’t abuse my trust. They didn’t infiltrate the government. If they want to get off on getting fat, why the fuck do you care? How does that hurt you? It sure as fuck doesn’t hurt me.”

    David sighed deeply, without satisfaction. “You know, before I came down here, I was feeling good about all this. I thought we really did something. And now you tell me it doesn’t matter.”

    Vonnie felt the beginnings of indignation stirring inside of her, but she smothered it. “I shouldn’t have to tell you why it matters. Marvin and his crew deserve to be punished for what they did.”

    “I guess.” He smiled a wry, humorless smile.

    Vonnie finished the rest of her sandwich in a series of quick, greedy bites, and she wiped her hands on a napkin. “I better get back to work.” She drained her mocha and felt the caffeine and the sugar course through her.

    “Sure,” David said absently. “Of course. I’ve got another meeting anyway.” He took out his wallet and reached in for some money.

    “Don’t worry,” said Vonnie, eager to get him out. “It’s on the house.”

    “No,” he said, a little too firmly. “I know what that means here. It’s not good.” He threw a few twenties on the table. “Keep the change.”

    David stood up, and Vonnie pulled herself to her feet with each hand on the table. He didn’t move to shake her hand, and she just stood there. He nodded, that meaningless polite smile flickering across his face. “I’ll see you,” he said.

    “Yeah.”

    He nodded and turned and walked out the door.
     
  7. Oct 17, 2019 #27

    Benny Mon

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    Chapter 8 cont'd

    * * *

    It was mid-afternoon now, bright and hot in the mid-summer, and Vonnie was riding the bus home. She took up two seats easily and spilled a bit into a third with the huge bag of Mexican she’d picked up after her shift. Vonnie always tried to get home before rush hour, before the buses filled up entirely and left her no room. If she got any bigger she was really going to have to start saving for a car. Which meant she was definitely going to have to start saving for a car. She looked up at ads plastered above the seats, three repeating copies of the same poster of Deputy Mayor Marianne Colvin, with her round, dimpled face smiling back at Vonnie. Colvin was running in a special election to replace the convicted Mayor Harris.

    After David had left, Vonnie had felt Mukta’s hand on her shoulder, a light touch but always reassuring. Not an “I told you so,” which would have been easy, but instead simply a check-in, making sure Vonnie was doing okay.

    “I still don’t regret it,” Vonnie had told her. “I needed to close the loop.”

    Mukta’s hand had sunk into Vonnie’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’m proud of you.”

    The bus slowed to a halt in front of Vonnie’s apartment building, and she gripped the poll and lifted herself slowly to her feet, careful not to leave the Mexican behind. Stairs were a challenge, even the single step down from the bus, and she felt her whole body shake and sag on impact, a reminder of the hundred-plus pounds she’d gained since moving to Southvale over a year ago. Thank god she didn’t have to use the stairs in her building: when the elevator came, she felt it dip slightly under her weight before it carried her up four storeys to her floor. She was so hungry she found herself grinding her teeth with anxiety. “Lunch” at the Bean hadn’t been enough, not nearly enough. She needed this Mexican food badly.

    No one was home as Vonnie swung open the door and waddled into the apartment, sliding her purse off her shoulder and dropping her food on the kitchen counter. Taylor, who had gone back to school at the local community college, was probably in class, and who knew where Harry might be. Good: Vonnie had the place to herself. She popped open the fridge, leaning down and feeling her leggings slide down her ass as she moved, and swiped a couple cans of soda out of the fridge. She wouldn’t need the leggings, anyway. No one was home. She could really get comfortable.

    As Vonnie sauntered into her room, she felt some of the tension from her lunch dissipating. It was never going to be easy, and, really, she had David to thank for a major breakthrough in her sexuality. (She dropped everything on the bed and pulled off her stretchy black top over her head, arms wobbling.) She hadn’t been wrong, exactly, that she was bi. She was into women as much as she was into men. But the person she really wanted to be into was herself. (She shimmied her leggings down over her belly and huge hips.) And, true, she didn’t want to be someone’s gaining guinea pig, but she didn’t want to go back to the dieting madness of her life in Chicago either. (She unclasped her bra from the front and peeled her vanishing panties down her legs.) She wasn’t going to worry about whether she was gaining or not--she just didn’t want to be forced to do anything. All she wanted to do was enjoy her food. And, god, did she enjoy her food, she thought with a shudder as she cracked open a coke and let the cold, sparkling, sweet liquid wash over her tongue. That first lunch with David, that was the day she was finally able to vent, to break free of her abusive suitors in Southvale, to just indulge and revel in it. It was a messy transition, sure, but it was the real breakthrough. And for that she really was grateful to David.

    She heaved a leg onto the side of the bed, pulling herself up and rolling into a comfortable position. That was harder and harder to find these days, with her tree-trunk thighs widening, her huge, inconvenient belly taking up more and more space in front of her. It was starting to feel effortful to move her arms, and she could feel, literally feel, the double chin puffing out around ever more her face. Whatever, she thought, as she ripped open her bag and spilled its contents on the bed. She unpeeled a foil-wrapped quesadilla and extracted a steaming, gooey slice, lifting it to her mouth and biting down, savoring, then mashing it into her face. It’s not that she wasn’t worried about her weight. Mobility was a real concern, and at the rate she was gaining she would have to start figuring out...alternative accommodations. She didn’t even know how much she weighed: she wouldn’t weigh herself out of principle, now that she’d maxed out her old scale. It stopped at 450, so she knew she was above that, way above it--the scale broke in April, and she’d even had to size up in her clothes once since then. Maybe seeing that number would make her slow down, take things more seriously. But, as she bit into more quesadilla, and more, and more and more, she knew she couldn’t stop herself, that Taylor wouldn’t stop her, that Harry wouldn’t talk about it, that Mukta would encourage her to eat whatever she wanted, that this town was slowly revolving around people who ate and grew just like her. She shoved in corn chips dripping with salsa and guacamole and sour cream, peeled open and devoured two more quesadillas, chomped through an extra-large, extra-cheese steak burrito, letting the juices run over her massive cheeks, and washed it all down with fizzy, caffeinated gulps of soda. She belched uncontrollably as she fed a churro into her mouth, her other hand desperately stretched below her gut and barely reaching into her pussy, her flabby upper arms pressed against her upper belly, her fat fingertips barely tickling at her clit as her lips wrapped around fried dough and sugar dipped in chocolate, wanting it, needing it, full to bursting but unable to get enough, chewing and swallowing and biting and throbbing and, oh! and her body shuddered and she almost dropped the churro, but even now she couldn’t, she needed it, she licked and munched and swallowed it all, and she panted and heaved on the bed, her arms falling limp to either side, strained and exhausted.

    All Vonnie could do was lean back on her pillows, too massive to move, exhausted, and still hungry. Weakly she reached over and grabbed her coke, chugging the rest of the can, feeling the sugar and caffeine reanimating a hint of the pleasure that had just spiked inside her. Wobblingly, she pushed herself up a little: there was still some burrito left, and a few more churros. In spite of herself, her eyes widened, and she felt herself salivating.

    But as she reached for the food, her phone buzzed, and she flipped it over to see who was calling. She almost dropped it on the bed.

    Home.

    Vonnie panted, full and exhausted and now panicked, too, but she gathered herself and canceled the call. She’d talk to her parents again one day. One day. Just not today.

    THE END
     

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