`BBW, `MWG - a college dropout experiences a paradigm shift
Over the last few months Ritas firm had started doing inexplicably good business. Rita was working as a telemarketer in Detroit whose wares had a sudden and seemingly insatiable demand. Rita, who used to work 15 hours a week at 7.50 an hour, was now obliged to work upwards of 50 hours a week at 15.00 an hour. Basically, her employer was offering to pay her for whenever she could be on the phone, at any hour too, as the firm was now able to ship internationally due to a new license. For her time, Rita could be ensured economic prosperity equal to none other that she could imagine, and Rita, it must be said, was nothing if not an entrepreneur.
In the time before her tremendous good fortune, Rita would spend hours jogging around the empty blocks of her neighborhood. She used exercise like a drug. If she went more than a dozen hours before going for one of her standard 5km jogs, she would seem like a caged bird. Her figure was in fact quite fragile then, birdlike in a graceful and endearing way. Rita was originally from California and her complexion was dark to shield from the harsh desert sun. Since her emigration to the great Midwest however, her skin had lightened slightly due to the frigid winters spent indoors. Even her naturally tan skin could not recover its shade fully after remaining hidden from the sun so long and so regularly. She had left her home in Los Angeles to start a new life after a bad time about 3 years prior. She dropped out during her sophomore year at Berkeley. Her determinedly dark brown eyes naively picked Detroit to escape to on a map of the U.S.
As she ran through the streets, she wore dark grey track pants with a pair of thin white stripes up the leg , which accentuated modestly the sinewy curve of her hips, meeting at a trim waist to form a real hour-glass figure. Her breasts were large, but not pendulous. They measured 33ccc and were quite impressive at that size. They did not give her difficulty in a sports bra. When rapidly ascending the stairway of a ballpark grandstand at a near sprint, she would sometime take the steps two at a time, leaping spryly, touching the treads only with the tips of her toes. This was quite the feat, as she stood only 5 foot and 2 inches tall. Her legs, although perfectly proportional to the size of her torso , were short when compared to a taller girl.
The changes to Ritas lifestyle, as a result of her new opportunities, set in as early as the first week that she worked at a rate of nearly 12 hours a day. Going out for a run was now out of the question. Rita had clients to service on the phone 24/7. Obviously it was more important to make some serious cash than exercise. Ritas former cardio regimen had never been a health conscious endeavor. It was simply a means to escape the drab boredom of life in the post-industrial gloom, with a rush of amphetamine-like endorphins. Exercise was never drudgery to Rita. She had run the 800 meter dash on the track team all throughout her days in high school. Exercise was a simple hobby to her, with the added benefit of keeping her svelte and dainty. Rita was stunning, but she did not pay much mind to this fact, although she was aware of the effect that she had on the opposite sex when she would happen to interact with a member of the male race on rare occasion. She was not paid a wage for her time spent at exercising, so in her mind the hobby would, of course, have to fall by the wayside in favor of more time in her apartment on the phone.
White bean and kale soup was one of Ritas favorite recipes. Her mother had raised her on fresh Mediterranean style cuisine and had also passed on to her a great ability to cook and bake all sorts of healthy fare. This is what Rita had eaten for every meal prior to her promotion, wholesome food cooked by her own hand. Save for the novel indulgence, she also had never tended to eat to any great excess, not to say that she paid great attention to the amount she consumed. Now that she could seldom be pulled away from her headset at her desk, which was really her kitchen table, it was all take-away for Rita.
Say what they will about Detroit, but folks still live there and where there are people, there will be restaurants. Down the street from Ritas apartment, or home office as she would call it, was a decent chip shop. There was an Italian deli two streets over and they delivered late night sandwiches, or any product you could name. It also just so happened that Rita lived in a walk-up above an establishment that was primarily a doughnut shop, but was also a basic convenience store. Rita began to visit this store two or three times a day and it became basically her only outing besides taking the bus downtown to the bank two times every month to deposit her payroll check. It started with one or two frosted with sprinkles, or maybe a bear claw and a cup of coffee, but by the end of the third week Rita was plowing through a solid dozen donuts a day. She found that the sugar gave her an Adderall sense of focus in completing her sales calls, although the insane load of carbs did make her a bit drowsy sometimes. Nicotine could be counted on to help with that. Rita had been a casual smoker for years, perhaps taking a fag when offered, but never buying a pack of her own. She now found that taking a drag of a Marlboro light gave her that extra zing to help her really move product. Just about every other time she ventured to the store downstairs, the Asian clerk would be helping her to another pack. Her meals now consisted of either pizza, or chips and kebab, or take-away pasta from the deli. It all came in one size and that was large. She figured that if it came in one container, or wrapping, then it was a single portion. If she didnt dig in while it was hot and finish it off, then she reckoned she wasnt getting her moneys worth. As a result she ate absently all day, grazing through what was seemingly an endless feast, only to collapse onto the sofa in the early morning for a few hours shuteye every so often.
To say Ritas changing habits had an impact on her appearance was perhaps an understatement. Seemingly without realization, Rita had gorged herself in a sedentary routine for months; never stopping to think about the impact it would have on her figure. Why would she bother with something like the shape of her body? She was busy succeeding and who was there in her life to impress? She had left her friends and family behind. Rita had no real connections in this ghost town. Standing in the kitchen, headset on, gnawing on a slice of pepperoni at 2:30 in the morning, Rita was a sight to see. Her formerly toned physique had turned to mush and bulked up several degrees. Her stomach pushed forward, causing her yellow t shirt to ride up, exposing her pillowy belly, bulging over the waistband of her grey track pants. As she chattered away with a client and shifted her weight from foot to foot, Ritas panty lines were on brilliant display, tight as the pants had become. Her thighs now met in the middle where there used to be the typically sought after gap. These were no longer the legs of a spry stair sprinter.
It is likely that by the time Rita had worked at this new rate for a 3 months, she had gained somewhere around thirty pounds, which for a girl of her slight stature could be expected to display itself in a pronounced fashion. Three weeks later and she had piled on another ten easy. She was popping out of her clothes. On her next trip to the city she returned home with a brand new wardrobe and a shiny new car. The flesh beneath her chin, no longer hid itself when she held her head evenly, and the sides of her hips just surpassed the outermost edges of her chair when sitting.
Rita blinked hazily as the interior of her apartment came into clearer focus. She was awakening from a brief 3 hour power nap. In terms of how sleep had eventually fallen upon her, she might as well have been knocked out cold. Sprawled face down on the enormous black leather sofa, clad in heather grey pajama pants and a white t shirt, Rita began to shift her body into a sitting position. Once upright she tilted her head back, running her hands like crude combs through her long raven hair. She then began to sift through the mess on the coffee table in front of her on a quest for her cigarettes. The coffee table, a forest of Styrofoam take-away containers on top of pizza boxes, with a mixing of dirty dishes, cups, bottles, and empty ice cream cartons, half buried a pair of crowded ashtrays, and behold next to the nearer of them, Rita spotted her pack of Lights. She reached out her arm and leaned her torso forward, not wanting to stand. Her padded stomach slid further out along her thighs with her shirt riding up in the back to expose hips that oozed farther an farther over her waistband. Her thicker fingers finally grasped the flip box, Only to find that there was but a single slender white tube remaining. Rita remarked to herself that she would need to visit the store downstairs. Might as well pick up some breakfast while she was at it.
Tapping the cigarette on the top of the box before lighting it, Rita gathered her body into a cross-legged position on the couch. The elbow of her smoking hand rested on the protrusion of her sizable paunch while she blew smoke rings thoughtfully at the ceiling fan. Ritas belly had grown immensely as of late, dividing into two wide rolls along the crease of her navel as she sat. The lower roll sloshed out into her lap escaping the confines of her shirt by several inches and obscuring her crotch. Her small frame was much widened by the new-found convenience of wanton indulgence and the full couch, in effect, was gradually becoming a loveseat. Responding to a frequent urge, Rita leaned forward once more, this time to fish along the floor with her free hand in search of a can of Carling. She had decided that it was a most pleasant remedy for monotony of her occupation to spend nearly all her days half drunk, ending sometime late each night when she would collapse into one of her brief comas, like the one from which she had so recently awoken. In fact, while the food wrappers and such were concentrated mostly on the coffee and kitchen table and counters with a bit around the floor therein, nearly every other available surface or ledge in the apartment was occupied by Ritas dead soldiers. They were mostly tall cans of carling , or shiny green bottles of Magners pear cider. She liked to peel off the wet labels as she drank them.
Rita had begun to take the same approach to her living space as she had to her body. Who was she trying to impress? No one besides herself even came into the apartment. Her landlord came by initially to give her the keys the day she moved in, but he had hardly come into the entryway then and that had been years ago even. Rent in this part of town was dirt cheap, so low that upkeep could not really be expected to be included in the fee. This did provide Rita a level of privacy, however, as she had only to make sure to direct deposit her rent check bi-monthly to be certainly free of any unexpected visits. The apartment was a disaster, but Rita figured she had no time to clean. She had never been a neat person and didnt see any reason to waste her time in keeping a tidy home. Out of sight out of mind was her motto, and a pile of cans in the corner of the room, or a sink piled precariously high with plates and pizza crusts was out of sight enough for her mind. The citys services had fallen into a sorry state since the economic troubles and waste was only picked up once every two weeks in Ritas neighborhood. Usually, even then it was late. This was simply another reason for Rita to allow her mess to continue. She would do a big round up once or twice a month, depending on her schedule, and fill a couple of black bin liners with her trash. These bags would sometimes sit in her hallway for several days before she would get up from the couch and heave them to the curb. The stairs were beginning to make her feel winded.
Passing through the doorway into the kitchen and sweeping a couple of pizza boxes out of the way with her foot, Rita moved a plate and a carton that had once contained a Doner Kebab Special from the seat of her chair at the kitchen table, before taking a seat herself. She sidled up to the table, put on her headset and rummaged through the clutter on the table to find her speed dialer, as well as two half-eaten portions of chicken Parmesan, some cold French fries, and a box of six maple bars. She swallowed the last of the beer she had opened earlier while calling her first number, cracking yet another as she listened to the line ring, waiting for a connection. She found that being slightly plastered made her calls go exceedingly well. It helped bring out the best in Rita, heightening her charm and adding to the overall enigma of her calls. Over the next three and a half hours, Rita not only made a commission of nearly 2500 in addition to her usual wage, but she also managed to put down all of the left-overs she had gathered for her morning snack, plus a couple more Carlings. All the eating and working had distracted her from the overarching predicament of her lack of cigarettes. It was 9am and time for Rita to venture downstairs to the store for smokes and breakfast.
For the trip, Rita decided it would be best to put something on over her lounge clothes, even though she would not actually be leaving the indoors. Although it was unintentional, the outfit that she usually wore around the apartment was becoming rather revealing with her increasing weight. Her doughy midriff was constantly exposed and the tightness of her pants left little to the imagination. Rita had few clothes at the moment. She had taken little with her when she left from California and though she had never been what could be considered poor during her time in Detroit, she had not had the disposable income to blow on dresses and trendy outfits before becoming so flush with cash. This did not bother her though, as she had never been a very materialistic person. She had always dressed fashionably, but simply and tended to avoid the mall if she could help it. Even the new clothes she had bought over two months ago, the day she splurged on her car, were starting to fail her. More clothes littered the floor than hung in her closet or sat in her dresser, discarded they were as their buttons popped or zippers failed to zip. This was not concerning her now, however, as she already knew what she had in mind for outerwear this morning, her trusty denim jacket. The pale blue fabric of the garment was frayed and downy soft from years of wear. Rita had worn this jacket since high school, her absolute favorite and a gift from her older brother. It was a mens size medium and had always been loose fitting and bulky on Rita, but its sheepskin lining was cozy and warm like no other. The late summer was now cooling off into fall and Rita had not used this jacket since the last cold weather. During the summer she had not yet ballooned up to her current size and her underclothes were more than adequate for wear outside the home. She had no need for a jacket to help cover the gaps that her supple flesh now poked through of for all to see. Expecting no issue, Rita began to put the jacket on, but found that her arms and shoulders faced greater resistance from its material than she had remembered. The sleeves, which had formerly been loose on her slender limbs, were now filled like pale blue sausages by her new fatter appendages. When she attempted to fasten the jacket over her front, she realized, to slight dismay, that she could not pull the two sides close enough for the brass buttons to fit into their holes. Ritas chest and stomach had become plainly too large for the jacket to be worn in a normal way. As a result of this, when Rita left her apartment and began the trek down three flights of stairs to the shop, her belly was on fully display jiggling as she walked and pushing over the waistband she had tucked it beneath.
Approaching the counter, Rita thought over the contents of her order and decided to go with a dozen crème filled, a dozen chocolate with sprinkles, and a dozen maple bars to celebrate her great sales earlier that morning. She also added a couple six-packs of Carling and a bottle of moscato to her tab, a penchant though she had for all things sweet. Once the clerk packed all this into a bag for her plus a couple packs of Marlboro Lights, Rita paid and began the dreaded climb back up the steps to her apartment. Once there, she called to place an order at the chip shop for three large servings of cheese fries with spicy mayo sauce, a couple of country fried steak dinners, and a family portion of garlic potatoes. Rita then began making calls and started in on her doughnuts and beer, while she waited for lunch to be delivered. Rita was able to make 7 sales calls, drink 3 beers, and eat half a dozen donuts before she had to buzz the delivery boy up to her apartment. She would be leaving a big tip for his promptness.
Rita peered through the peephole before cracking the door to the end of its chain. She saw the chip shop boy standing in the hallway with three large paper bags. Rita had been placing unusually large orders at the restaurant for several months now and the owner had been growing curious as to the identity of his new best customer. The delivery boy was instructed to return with details each time he took an order to her address. He only got a brief glimpse of Rita as she opened the door just wide enough to accept the food and pass a wad of bills into his hand. He saw her daily, so perhaps it made sense that her appearance was not as much a shock to him as it might have been to others, but he was certain that she must have been even larger than she was the previous week. It was no wonder, as the food he delivered to her was always the greasiest and most indulgent that the menu had to offer. A few months ago, he had felt a bit flustered every time that he would interact with her during their brief transactions. He thought Rita to be quite beautiful and her shapely figure had caused him to develop a bit of a crush. Now, he could not ignore the fact that she was looking positively fat. Her exotic good looks were becoming buried under her ever-increasing weight.
It was three in the afternoon and Rita found herself dozing off in the kitchen. She had been on the phone for the past couple of hours as she polished off a good three quarters of her order from the chip shop, as well as a few more doughnuts. She was plain drunk at this point and down to her last three beers, thinking of ordering a few pizzas for the evening. She retreated to the leather couch with her cordless phone and stubbed out her cigarette before lighting another. On the line with the pizza parlor, she arranged for the fun to continue with 4 large pizzas, half pepperoni and half cheese with olives. Rita then passed out on the couch for about an hour after this and when she awoke the steaming pies were waiting on her doorstep. Now it was time to really kick things into gear. Rita paired the first pizza and a half with an hour or two of sales calls and her last three Carlings. She then cracked open the moscato and scarfed down most of the remaining pizza with a few more doughnuts for desert. Hanging up for good at around 2 in the morning, Rita stumbled her way to the couch and collapsed. As she lay in a stupor of overconsumption her hands rested on her waist, her tremendous gut spreading across her width and jutting into the air, attempting to free itself from the over-strict confines of her clothing.
In the morning, Rita felt something awful and decided it was time for a hot shower. She wandered into the small bathroom and took a seat on the toilet to relieve herself, noticing at that moment a few slices of pizza sitting atop a stack of boxes above the sink. She decided she might as well snack on this as she went about her initial business. Peeling off her clothes, she realized that they were badly soiled with stains from sauces and spilled drinks. She then turned the hot water on high and stepped into the shower stall taking a good long while to clean herself and soak in the soothing warmth of the water. When she turned off the water about a half an hour later and stepped out onto the tile, the mirrors were all foggy and she could scarcely see her reflection. Taking a towel from a pile in the corner of the room, she began to dry her hair and then her body, fighting to get into the folds and tight nooks of her figure that had grown deeper and more treacherous as of late. Busy with this task, Rita failed to notice the steamy fog dissipate as the bathroom fan, recycled the air, and when she looked up, finished drying, she was presented in the mirror with the full spectacle of her fattened form. Direct gaze into mirrors was something that Rita had been avoiding unconsciously, not wanting to fully confront the result of the relatively recent changes in her behavior. What she saw might be described as shocking. Her face was round. Plump cheeks connected to a ring of fat that encircled her neck. Her breasts were now likely in the D range, but they were parted slightly to each side and rested on her engorged stomach. Her stomach was now the most dominant of her features. It pushed far past her bust and hung down a few inches onto her thighs, divided into two meaty rolls by her cavernous belly button. Her legs were not spared either, as they were nearly twice as thick as in her running days, and dimpled with cellulite. Ritas butt had widened immensely, it was plush and bouncy, so large that it exceeded the circumference of both her bust and waist, or rather what had been her waist in thinner times. She met her reflection with more curiosity than concern and she was soon searching for the scale she knew was hidden somewhere in the bathroom cabinets.
Standing on the scale, thighs pressed together, Rita tilted her head over her bust and pushed her gut in with her hands, pressing the soft flesh inwards just enough to get a clear view of the display. The hand of the dial had come to rest at half past 180 pounds. Rita was somewhat impressed with herself, as this meant that in less than six months since her promotion, Rita had added upwards of 70 pounds onto her once petite frame. Her lifestyle had become a circus of excessive consumption, and the results of such an endless meal were apparent, as pounds upon pounds of stretch-marked flesh now hung off of Rita from every angle. Stepping off the scale and turning once more to the mirror, Rita began to gather the sumptuous fat of her stomach into her hands. Her chubby fingers grasped the lower roll of her hanging paunch and pulled up, revealing her crotch and squishing the rest of her belly up against her breasts, which in turn bulged upwards to meet the soft roll of her pronounced double chin. Her waist had thickened so that she could no longer feel the bones of her hips, or any of her ribs for that matter, features that had once been clearly visible in her crop-topped workout clothes.
After her run in with the bathroom scale, Rita employed her philosophy of ignorance to the subject of her increasing weight. On some level, she felt uneasy about it and so long as she avoided direct contact with reflective surfaces, the matter might as well have been swept under the rug. The weeks turned to months, and the patterns in Ritas behavior continued to spiral upwards into oblivion. The cardboard pizza boxes piled and the ashtrays overflowed. The empty cans were enough to finance a bum for a year. The empties would likely have filled a dozen shopping carts and then some. Rita seldom left the apartment, as business continued to improve. She was becoming downright wealthy as the top salesperson in the firm, reeling in dozens of clients a day. Her office had now officially moved from the kitchen table to the wide leather sofa. In Ritas state, a reclined position was most comfortable. Her clothing options dwindled, as her size inevitably increased and she was forced to spend most days in a tight XL t-shirt and some overstressed panties. The amount which her flesh bulged over her undergarments, often made it appear as though she had nothing on bottom at all. Ritas girth increased rapidly, as her consumption of greasy food and excessive drinking piled weight upon her 5 foot and 2 inch frame. She became evermore lethargic and seldom moved from her post upon the sofa, save to answer the door for deliveries. The kind chip shop boy had agreed to pass her cigarettes for a nominal fee from the shop below. Rita did not have to worry any longer about navigating those pesky stairs.
The Ladder of Success
by Crazy Joe
by Crazy Joe
Over the last few months Ritas firm had started doing inexplicably good business. Rita was working as a telemarketer in Detroit whose wares had a sudden and seemingly insatiable demand. Rita, who used to work 15 hours a week at 7.50 an hour, was now obliged to work upwards of 50 hours a week at 15.00 an hour. Basically, her employer was offering to pay her for whenever she could be on the phone, at any hour too, as the firm was now able to ship internationally due to a new license. For her time, Rita could be ensured economic prosperity equal to none other that she could imagine, and Rita, it must be said, was nothing if not an entrepreneur.
In the time before her tremendous good fortune, Rita would spend hours jogging around the empty blocks of her neighborhood. She used exercise like a drug. If she went more than a dozen hours before going for one of her standard 5km jogs, she would seem like a caged bird. Her figure was in fact quite fragile then, birdlike in a graceful and endearing way. Rita was originally from California and her complexion was dark to shield from the harsh desert sun. Since her emigration to the great Midwest however, her skin had lightened slightly due to the frigid winters spent indoors. Even her naturally tan skin could not recover its shade fully after remaining hidden from the sun so long and so regularly. She had left her home in Los Angeles to start a new life after a bad time about 3 years prior. She dropped out during her sophomore year at Berkeley. Her determinedly dark brown eyes naively picked Detroit to escape to on a map of the U.S.
As she ran through the streets, she wore dark grey track pants with a pair of thin white stripes up the leg , which accentuated modestly the sinewy curve of her hips, meeting at a trim waist to form a real hour-glass figure. Her breasts were large, but not pendulous. They measured 33ccc and were quite impressive at that size. They did not give her difficulty in a sports bra. When rapidly ascending the stairway of a ballpark grandstand at a near sprint, she would sometime take the steps two at a time, leaping spryly, touching the treads only with the tips of her toes. This was quite the feat, as she stood only 5 foot and 2 inches tall. Her legs, although perfectly proportional to the size of her torso , were short when compared to a taller girl.
The changes to Ritas lifestyle, as a result of her new opportunities, set in as early as the first week that she worked at a rate of nearly 12 hours a day. Going out for a run was now out of the question. Rita had clients to service on the phone 24/7. Obviously it was more important to make some serious cash than exercise. Ritas former cardio regimen had never been a health conscious endeavor. It was simply a means to escape the drab boredom of life in the post-industrial gloom, with a rush of amphetamine-like endorphins. Exercise was never drudgery to Rita. She had run the 800 meter dash on the track team all throughout her days in high school. Exercise was a simple hobby to her, with the added benefit of keeping her svelte and dainty. Rita was stunning, but she did not pay much mind to this fact, although she was aware of the effect that she had on the opposite sex when she would happen to interact with a member of the male race on rare occasion. She was not paid a wage for her time spent at exercising, so in her mind the hobby would, of course, have to fall by the wayside in favor of more time in her apartment on the phone.
White bean and kale soup was one of Ritas favorite recipes. Her mother had raised her on fresh Mediterranean style cuisine and had also passed on to her a great ability to cook and bake all sorts of healthy fare. This is what Rita had eaten for every meal prior to her promotion, wholesome food cooked by her own hand. Save for the novel indulgence, she also had never tended to eat to any great excess, not to say that she paid great attention to the amount she consumed. Now that she could seldom be pulled away from her headset at her desk, which was really her kitchen table, it was all take-away for Rita.
Say what they will about Detroit, but folks still live there and where there are people, there will be restaurants. Down the street from Ritas apartment, or home office as she would call it, was a decent chip shop. There was an Italian deli two streets over and they delivered late night sandwiches, or any product you could name. It also just so happened that Rita lived in a walk-up above an establishment that was primarily a doughnut shop, but was also a basic convenience store. Rita began to visit this store two or three times a day and it became basically her only outing besides taking the bus downtown to the bank two times every month to deposit her payroll check. It started with one or two frosted with sprinkles, or maybe a bear claw and a cup of coffee, but by the end of the third week Rita was plowing through a solid dozen donuts a day. She found that the sugar gave her an Adderall sense of focus in completing her sales calls, although the insane load of carbs did make her a bit drowsy sometimes. Nicotine could be counted on to help with that. Rita had been a casual smoker for years, perhaps taking a fag when offered, but never buying a pack of her own. She now found that taking a drag of a Marlboro light gave her that extra zing to help her really move product. Just about every other time she ventured to the store downstairs, the Asian clerk would be helping her to another pack. Her meals now consisted of either pizza, or chips and kebab, or take-away pasta from the deli. It all came in one size and that was large. She figured that if it came in one container, or wrapping, then it was a single portion. If she didnt dig in while it was hot and finish it off, then she reckoned she wasnt getting her moneys worth. As a result she ate absently all day, grazing through what was seemingly an endless feast, only to collapse onto the sofa in the early morning for a few hours shuteye every so often.
To say Ritas changing habits had an impact on her appearance was perhaps an understatement. Seemingly without realization, Rita had gorged herself in a sedentary routine for months; never stopping to think about the impact it would have on her figure. Why would she bother with something like the shape of her body? She was busy succeeding and who was there in her life to impress? She had left her friends and family behind. Rita had no real connections in this ghost town. Standing in the kitchen, headset on, gnawing on a slice of pepperoni at 2:30 in the morning, Rita was a sight to see. Her formerly toned physique had turned to mush and bulked up several degrees. Her stomach pushed forward, causing her yellow t shirt to ride up, exposing her pillowy belly, bulging over the waistband of her grey track pants. As she chattered away with a client and shifted her weight from foot to foot, Ritas panty lines were on brilliant display, tight as the pants had become. Her thighs now met in the middle where there used to be the typically sought after gap. These were no longer the legs of a spry stair sprinter.
It is likely that by the time Rita had worked at this new rate for a 3 months, she had gained somewhere around thirty pounds, which for a girl of her slight stature could be expected to display itself in a pronounced fashion. Three weeks later and she had piled on another ten easy. She was popping out of her clothes. On her next trip to the city she returned home with a brand new wardrobe and a shiny new car. The flesh beneath her chin, no longer hid itself when she held her head evenly, and the sides of her hips just surpassed the outermost edges of her chair when sitting.
Rita blinked hazily as the interior of her apartment came into clearer focus. She was awakening from a brief 3 hour power nap. In terms of how sleep had eventually fallen upon her, she might as well have been knocked out cold. Sprawled face down on the enormous black leather sofa, clad in heather grey pajama pants and a white t shirt, Rita began to shift her body into a sitting position. Once upright she tilted her head back, running her hands like crude combs through her long raven hair. She then began to sift through the mess on the coffee table in front of her on a quest for her cigarettes. The coffee table, a forest of Styrofoam take-away containers on top of pizza boxes, with a mixing of dirty dishes, cups, bottles, and empty ice cream cartons, half buried a pair of crowded ashtrays, and behold next to the nearer of them, Rita spotted her pack of Lights. She reached out her arm and leaned her torso forward, not wanting to stand. Her padded stomach slid further out along her thighs with her shirt riding up in the back to expose hips that oozed farther an farther over her waistband. Her thicker fingers finally grasped the flip box, Only to find that there was but a single slender white tube remaining. Rita remarked to herself that she would need to visit the store downstairs. Might as well pick up some breakfast while she was at it.
Tapping the cigarette on the top of the box before lighting it, Rita gathered her body into a cross-legged position on the couch. The elbow of her smoking hand rested on the protrusion of her sizable paunch while she blew smoke rings thoughtfully at the ceiling fan. Ritas belly had grown immensely as of late, dividing into two wide rolls along the crease of her navel as she sat. The lower roll sloshed out into her lap escaping the confines of her shirt by several inches and obscuring her crotch. Her small frame was much widened by the new-found convenience of wanton indulgence and the full couch, in effect, was gradually becoming a loveseat. Responding to a frequent urge, Rita leaned forward once more, this time to fish along the floor with her free hand in search of a can of Carling. She had decided that it was a most pleasant remedy for monotony of her occupation to spend nearly all her days half drunk, ending sometime late each night when she would collapse into one of her brief comas, like the one from which she had so recently awoken. In fact, while the food wrappers and such were concentrated mostly on the coffee and kitchen table and counters with a bit around the floor therein, nearly every other available surface or ledge in the apartment was occupied by Ritas dead soldiers. They were mostly tall cans of carling , or shiny green bottles of Magners pear cider. She liked to peel off the wet labels as she drank them.
Rita had begun to take the same approach to her living space as she had to her body. Who was she trying to impress? No one besides herself even came into the apartment. Her landlord came by initially to give her the keys the day she moved in, but he had hardly come into the entryway then and that had been years ago even. Rent in this part of town was dirt cheap, so low that upkeep could not really be expected to be included in the fee. This did provide Rita a level of privacy, however, as she had only to make sure to direct deposit her rent check bi-monthly to be certainly free of any unexpected visits. The apartment was a disaster, but Rita figured she had no time to clean. She had never been a neat person and didnt see any reason to waste her time in keeping a tidy home. Out of sight out of mind was her motto, and a pile of cans in the corner of the room, or a sink piled precariously high with plates and pizza crusts was out of sight enough for her mind. The citys services had fallen into a sorry state since the economic troubles and waste was only picked up once every two weeks in Ritas neighborhood. Usually, even then it was late. This was simply another reason for Rita to allow her mess to continue. She would do a big round up once or twice a month, depending on her schedule, and fill a couple of black bin liners with her trash. These bags would sometimes sit in her hallway for several days before she would get up from the couch and heave them to the curb. The stairs were beginning to make her feel winded.
Passing through the doorway into the kitchen and sweeping a couple of pizza boxes out of the way with her foot, Rita moved a plate and a carton that had once contained a Doner Kebab Special from the seat of her chair at the kitchen table, before taking a seat herself. She sidled up to the table, put on her headset and rummaged through the clutter on the table to find her speed dialer, as well as two half-eaten portions of chicken Parmesan, some cold French fries, and a box of six maple bars. She swallowed the last of the beer she had opened earlier while calling her first number, cracking yet another as she listened to the line ring, waiting for a connection. She found that being slightly plastered made her calls go exceedingly well. It helped bring out the best in Rita, heightening her charm and adding to the overall enigma of her calls. Over the next three and a half hours, Rita not only made a commission of nearly 2500 in addition to her usual wage, but she also managed to put down all of the left-overs she had gathered for her morning snack, plus a couple more Carlings. All the eating and working had distracted her from the overarching predicament of her lack of cigarettes. It was 9am and time for Rita to venture downstairs to the store for smokes and breakfast.
For the trip, Rita decided it would be best to put something on over her lounge clothes, even though she would not actually be leaving the indoors. Although it was unintentional, the outfit that she usually wore around the apartment was becoming rather revealing with her increasing weight. Her doughy midriff was constantly exposed and the tightness of her pants left little to the imagination. Rita had few clothes at the moment. She had taken little with her when she left from California and though she had never been what could be considered poor during her time in Detroit, she had not had the disposable income to blow on dresses and trendy outfits before becoming so flush with cash. This did not bother her though, as she had never been a very materialistic person. She had always dressed fashionably, but simply and tended to avoid the mall if she could help it. Even the new clothes she had bought over two months ago, the day she splurged on her car, were starting to fail her. More clothes littered the floor than hung in her closet or sat in her dresser, discarded they were as their buttons popped or zippers failed to zip. This was not concerning her now, however, as she already knew what she had in mind for outerwear this morning, her trusty denim jacket. The pale blue fabric of the garment was frayed and downy soft from years of wear. Rita had worn this jacket since high school, her absolute favorite and a gift from her older brother. It was a mens size medium and had always been loose fitting and bulky on Rita, but its sheepskin lining was cozy and warm like no other. The late summer was now cooling off into fall and Rita had not used this jacket since the last cold weather. During the summer she had not yet ballooned up to her current size and her underclothes were more than adequate for wear outside the home. She had no need for a jacket to help cover the gaps that her supple flesh now poked through of for all to see. Expecting no issue, Rita began to put the jacket on, but found that her arms and shoulders faced greater resistance from its material than she had remembered. The sleeves, which had formerly been loose on her slender limbs, were now filled like pale blue sausages by her new fatter appendages. When she attempted to fasten the jacket over her front, she realized, to slight dismay, that she could not pull the two sides close enough for the brass buttons to fit into their holes. Ritas chest and stomach had become plainly too large for the jacket to be worn in a normal way. As a result of this, when Rita left her apartment and began the trek down three flights of stairs to the shop, her belly was on fully display jiggling as she walked and pushing over the waistband she had tucked it beneath.
Approaching the counter, Rita thought over the contents of her order and decided to go with a dozen crème filled, a dozen chocolate with sprinkles, and a dozen maple bars to celebrate her great sales earlier that morning. She also added a couple six-packs of Carling and a bottle of moscato to her tab, a penchant though she had for all things sweet. Once the clerk packed all this into a bag for her plus a couple packs of Marlboro Lights, Rita paid and began the dreaded climb back up the steps to her apartment. Once there, she called to place an order at the chip shop for three large servings of cheese fries with spicy mayo sauce, a couple of country fried steak dinners, and a family portion of garlic potatoes. Rita then began making calls and started in on her doughnuts and beer, while she waited for lunch to be delivered. Rita was able to make 7 sales calls, drink 3 beers, and eat half a dozen donuts before she had to buzz the delivery boy up to her apartment. She would be leaving a big tip for his promptness.
Rita peered through the peephole before cracking the door to the end of its chain. She saw the chip shop boy standing in the hallway with three large paper bags. Rita had been placing unusually large orders at the restaurant for several months now and the owner had been growing curious as to the identity of his new best customer. The delivery boy was instructed to return with details each time he took an order to her address. He only got a brief glimpse of Rita as she opened the door just wide enough to accept the food and pass a wad of bills into his hand. He saw her daily, so perhaps it made sense that her appearance was not as much a shock to him as it might have been to others, but he was certain that she must have been even larger than she was the previous week. It was no wonder, as the food he delivered to her was always the greasiest and most indulgent that the menu had to offer. A few months ago, he had felt a bit flustered every time that he would interact with her during their brief transactions. He thought Rita to be quite beautiful and her shapely figure had caused him to develop a bit of a crush. Now, he could not ignore the fact that she was looking positively fat. Her exotic good looks were becoming buried under her ever-increasing weight.
It was three in the afternoon and Rita found herself dozing off in the kitchen. She had been on the phone for the past couple of hours as she polished off a good three quarters of her order from the chip shop, as well as a few more doughnuts. She was plain drunk at this point and down to her last three beers, thinking of ordering a few pizzas for the evening. She retreated to the leather couch with her cordless phone and stubbed out her cigarette before lighting another. On the line with the pizza parlor, she arranged for the fun to continue with 4 large pizzas, half pepperoni and half cheese with olives. Rita then passed out on the couch for about an hour after this and when she awoke the steaming pies were waiting on her doorstep. Now it was time to really kick things into gear. Rita paired the first pizza and a half with an hour or two of sales calls and her last three Carlings. She then cracked open the moscato and scarfed down most of the remaining pizza with a few more doughnuts for desert. Hanging up for good at around 2 in the morning, Rita stumbled her way to the couch and collapsed. As she lay in a stupor of overconsumption her hands rested on her waist, her tremendous gut spreading across her width and jutting into the air, attempting to free itself from the over-strict confines of her clothing.
In the morning, Rita felt something awful and decided it was time for a hot shower. She wandered into the small bathroom and took a seat on the toilet to relieve herself, noticing at that moment a few slices of pizza sitting atop a stack of boxes above the sink. She decided she might as well snack on this as she went about her initial business. Peeling off her clothes, she realized that they were badly soiled with stains from sauces and spilled drinks. She then turned the hot water on high and stepped into the shower stall taking a good long while to clean herself and soak in the soothing warmth of the water. When she turned off the water about a half an hour later and stepped out onto the tile, the mirrors were all foggy and she could scarcely see her reflection. Taking a towel from a pile in the corner of the room, she began to dry her hair and then her body, fighting to get into the folds and tight nooks of her figure that had grown deeper and more treacherous as of late. Busy with this task, Rita failed to notice the steamy fog dissipate as the bathroom fan, recycled the air, and when she looked up, finished drying, she was presented in the mirror with the full spectacle of her fattened form. Direct gaze into mirrors was something that Rita had been avoiding unconsciously, not wanting to fully confront the result of the relatively recent changes in her behavior. What she saw might be described as shocking. Her face was round. Plump cheeks connected to a ring of fat that encircled her neck. Her breasts were now likely in the D range, but they were parted slightly to each side and rested on her engorged stomach. Her stomach was now the most dominant of her features. It pushed far past her bust and hung down a few inches onto her thighs, divided into two meaty rolls by her cavernous belly button. Her legs were not spared either, as they were nearly twice as thick as in her running days, and dimpled with cellulite. Ritas butt had widened immensely, it was plush and bouncy, so large that it exceeded the circumference of both her bust and waist, or rather what had been her waist in thinner times. She met her reflection with more curiosity than concern and she was soon searching for the scale she knew was hidden somewhere in the bathroom cabinets.
Standing on the scale, thighs pressed together, Rita tilted her head over her bust and pushed her gut in with her hands, pressing the soft flesh inwards just enough to get a clear view of the display. The hand of the dial had come to rest at half past 180 pounds. Rita was somewhat impressed with herself, as this meant that in less than six months since her promotion, Rita had added upwards of 70 pounds onto her once petite frame. Her lifestyle had become a circus of excessive consumption, and the results of such an endless meal were apparent, as pounds upon pounds of stretch-marked flesh now hung off of Rita from every angle. Stepping off the scale and turning once more to the mirror, Rita began to gather the sumptuous fat of her stomach into her hands. Her chubby fingers grasped the lower roll of her hanging paunch and pulled up, revealing her crotch and squishing the rest of her belly up against her breasts, which in turn bulged upwards to meet the soft roll of her pronounced double chin. Her waist had thickened so that she could no longer feel the bones of her hips, or any of her ribs for that matter, features that had once been clearly visible in her crop-topped workout clothes.
After her run in with the bathroom scale, Rita employed her philosophy of ignorance to the subject of her increasing weight. On some level, she felt uneasy about it and so long as she avoided direct contact with reflective surfaces, the matter might as well have been swept under the rug. The weeks turned to months, and the patterns in Ritas behavior continued to spiral upwards into oblivion. The cardboard pizza boxes piled and the ashtrays overflowed. The empty cans were enough to finance a bum for a year. The empties would likely have filled a dozen shopping carts and then some. Rita seldom left the apartment, as business continued to improve. She was becoming downright wealthy as the top salesperson in the firm, reeling in dozens of clients a day. Her office had now officially moved from the kitchen table to the wide leather sofa. In Ritas state, a reclined position was most comfortable. Her clothing options dwindled, as her size inevitably increased and she was forced to spend most days in a tight XL t-shirt and some overstressed panties. The amount which her flesh bulged over her undergarments, often made it appear as though she had nothing on bottom at all. Ritas girth increased rapidly, as her consumption of greasy food and excessive drinking piled weight upon her 5 foot and 2 inch frame. She became evermore lethargic and seldom moved from her post upon the sofa, save to answer the door for deliveries. The kind chip shop boy had agreed to pass her cigarettes for a nominal fee from the shop below. Rita did not have to worry any longer about navigating those pesky stairs.
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