BBW The Slowest Champion -Revisited- (~BBW, ~~WG, humiliation, role reversal, realistic)

Discussion in 'BBW Weight Fiction Archive' started by riptoryx, Dec 4, 2016.

  1. Jan 14, 2017 #21

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

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    After Jessie and Tom went their own way, Sarah attempted to engage Kara in conversation. Unfortunately, the chasm that grown between them over the past year proved difficult to bridge.

    Sarah gushed about how well swimming was going this season, about how much Jessie had improved, about how they would probably have a shot at winning the sectionals again if only Karice hadn’t gotten injured. Despite what were probably well-intended attempts, Sarah quickly realized none of this held any interest for Kara. Seeking common ground, she tried to get Kara talking about swimming at Stanford, about her training, about her teammates and coaches, about how it felt to compete on such a big stage. But Kara hedged at every turn, offering little more than a conclusory: “It’s good.” Drinking and boys seemed to be the only subjects on which Kara had much to say. And although Sarah still managed to do most of the talking—as usual—she, too, could not deny a similar struggle to feign enthusiasm for Kara’s aloof summaries of her own recent social escapades. In the absence of assumed knowledge, inside jokes fell flat, juicy gossip became irrelevant, and personal anecdotes lacked context. Neither said it, but the reality was plain: a dearth of recent shared experiences had eroded the once effortless familiarity of their friendship.

    It was an unexpectedly awkward experience for both of them. After perhaps fifteen minutes of good faith effort, Sarah excused herself to resume her hostly duties.

    For Sarah, this was a relief. It had taken a Herculean effort for the normally unfiltered teen to avoid immediately bringing up Kara’s now obviously substantial weight gain. Much of that newfound circumspection could be attributed to Jessie’s influence. Over the past year, her thoughtful explanations had inculcated in Sarah a more nuanced appreciation for the difference between “honest” and “honestly quite insulting.” Even so, face to face for the first time in so long, Sarah hadn’t been able to resist sneaking glances at Kara’s body as they spoke, cataloging the changes with perverse fascination.

    All fashion lore about “slimming” colors notwithstanding, Kara’s black dress did little to downplay the damage. Ill-fitting despite its stretchy material, the dress strained against the cargo of a rounded, pudgy belly and softened hips straddled by plump love handles. Remarkably, the latter appeared to be the primary feature preserving a vestige of feminine contour to Kara’s shape. Sometime over the past many months, the concave slopes of her formerly tapered waist had almost completely filled in, leaving in their wake the hint of a developing roll on either side. Indeed, Sarah noted, Kara now had less waist definition than Jessie—and decidedly more belly.

    The situation in back fared little better, as the clingy material outlined in unflattering detail the form of Kara’s no-longer-perfect but frankly rather chunky ass. The sculpted buns that had been among Kara’s most alluring features appeared not merely larger, but less shapely, as well—their former exquisite roundness melting beneath the heat of overindulgent indolence.

    Pulled taut, the fabric puckered as it stretched across the gaps of Kara’s rounded shape—between her love handles and lower belly, between her thighs at the crotch, beneath her breasts, at the small of her back, and even ever so slightly around the indentation of her navel.

    As unflattering as Kara’s dress was, what she had on beneath it managed to be even worse.

    Kara was wearing a G-string thong. While Sarah could have reached this conclusion by reasoned inference—it would be the natural choice to avoid visible panty lines across her behind in the slinky outfit—in this case, such inferences were entirely unnecessary. Sausage-like bulges, dug deep into her hips by the narrow waist cords, made readily apparent the exact position and style of Kara’s panties—as well as they fact they were far too tight. Hugged by the dress’ snug fabric, in better lighting Sarah supposed these unsubtle details would have been visible not just from her vantage, but probably from across a room.

    The fit of Kara’s bra was hardly any better. Although it did squeeze her breasts into an eye-catchingly ripe surge of cleavage, its single strap also dug a scarcely less eye-catching ridge across the soft flesh of her back. Clearly, Sarah deduced, Kara was still cramming into the same underwear that she had worn last year.

    This was clearly more than just wardrobe issue, though. Where they were free from the dress, Kara’s thighs and upper arms appeared distinctly soft. Sarah could scarcely detect any trace of the athletic conditioning they had sported throughout high school.

    Kara’s face had not been spared, either. Despite being caked in makeup, she looked tired, puffy, and bloated. Even her neck and shoulders seemed a bit swollen. The hue of her foundation, layered particularly thickly across her cheeks and forehead, contrasted against a complexion that had paled several shades since last summer. It was stunning, really. She’d always regarded as Kara so effortlessly polished. Never had Sarah seen her such a hot mess.

    Sarah circled back later and tried a different approach, asking Kara to dance with her. A disinterested stare framed by sarcastically cocked eyebrows were her only rewards. After a few more disappointingly abortive attempts at conversation, Sarah resigned herself to leave Kara in peace. At the least, it spared Sarah from the continued struggle of holding her tongue.

    Still, while meandering from group to group amongst her other guests, Sarah continued to check up on Kara from afar. She seemed so bored and isolated. Sarah could only shake her head and wonder why she had even bothered to come at all. Kara eventually parked herself on a chair in a corner of the living room, where she spent most of the evening texting on her phone and pounding down beer and snacks like they were only things making the experience tolerable.

    As the night wore on, Kara became quite drunk. Inhibitions and better judgment yielding to inebriated impatience, she finally emerged from her corner and began stalking the house in search of Tom. The search eventually led her upstairs to Tom’s room. His door was closed, but as she approached she could hear the sound of his stereo coming from within.

    “Tom!” Kara barked, and shoved open the door. “Get the hell—“

    “Woah!” Tom yelped, followed by a feminine squeak. There was a brief flurry of motion in the darkened room before everyone froze like deer in headlights.

    “Wh-what the fuck!” Tom protested, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the sudden brightness. Tom lay stretched out on the bed, naked. A curvy feminine shape still straddled him. Twisted away from the door to hide her face, arms folded protectively over her breasts, in the moment Kara could make out little more than the sensuous contours of her back and a spill of red hair over one shoulder.

    “Tom!” Kara snapped, again.

    “Kara?” Tom asked, squinting at the zaftig silhouette darkening his door.

    At the mention of the name, the woman perched atop Tom’s hips whipped her head around.

    “...Jessie?!” Kara squawked.

    “What the fuck, Kara?” Tom reiterated. “What are you doing?!”

    No one was listening to Tom. Kara and Jessie had locked gazes, their expressions mirror images of goggle-eyed, slack-jawed shock. Then, slowly, like sun breaking through clouds, Jessie’s lips curled into a wicked little smirk.

    “Hello!” Tom yelled, pointing at the door. “What the hell is wrong with you? Get out, already!”

    “Arggh!” Kara choked back a sob of frustration. “Oh my god, fuck you!” she hissed. Fists balled, arms ramrod straight at her sides, she punctuated each explicative with a stomp of her foot. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

    With a final howl, Kara snatched the knob and slammed the door shut. Wiping away a stray tear and smudging her mascara, she marched down the stairs. A few curious onlookers—Sarah among them—watched as Kara barged her way through the living room in a huff. She paid them no mind. Without another word, Kara grabbed her keys and left the party.

    ***

    Upstairs, Tom and Jessie were in each other’s arms, giggling.

    “Oh my God,” Tom laughed. “Did you see her face?”

    “Mmm hm,” Jessie nodded. “Hee!”

    “Man,” Tom cringed. “I’m never gonna live that down. Sarah is gonna kill me.”

    “Meh,” Jessie shrugged, and stuck out her tongue.

    “Thanks,” Tom said, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, shit—the door…”

    Jessie looked over her shoulder. It was slightly ajar, a half-inch gap of light pouring in from the hall. Kara slammed it so hard during her tantrum that it must have shuddered back open.

    Tom shifted under Jessie, and started to raise himself up on one elbow. Jessie laid her palm on his chest and pressed him back against the mattress. Tom cocked an eyebrow. Jessie shook her head. He started to speak, but Jessie silenced him with a light touch of her index finger to his lips.

    “Shhhh,” she whispered, and ground her hips against his. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Leave it.”

    ***
     
  2. Jan 22, 2017 #22

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

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    PART 8

    For many, the events at Sarah’s party would have been a wake-up call. But not for Kara. That would mean conceding. Instead, she seemed to view the experience as a challenge, as something to be rebutted.

    Back at Stanford and hungry for validation, rather than practice some corrective restraint, Kara doubled down on letting loose. She partied harder, stayed out later, drank too much, slept too little, smoked up, went down, missed more classes than meals, and never got near a pool. Cheering her on every step of the way was Delilah.

    Mere trains passing in the night during the autumn quarter, going into the spring quarter the two roommates became constant companions, thick as thieves. Even when the occasional hook-up parted their ways, it was never for long. On many a morning-after, the pair shared a dining pavilion table, swapping scandalous details about their latest conquests in between gobbled bites of greasy breakfast burritos. The two even converged on fashion, as Kara acceded to the comfortable perks of Delilah’s leggings-and-hoodie chic.

    This relative homogenization of appearance went beyond the merely sartorial, however. Earlier in the year, and despite the stubborn consequences of her summer excess, Kara had still cut the obviously-much-trimmer silhouette whenever paired alongside her roommate. Lately, however, that distinction had blurred considerably. Indeed, by the latter half of the spring quarter, if asked to compare, most likely would have judged Kara to be the chunkier of the two—particularly when viewed in profile. While Kara had once privately marveled at the mystery of how Delilah remained “merely heavyset” and not “as big as house” eating as she did, clearly it was not an ability Kara shared.

    Yet when it came to negativity, Delilah gave no quarter. If ever she caught Kara in a dour mood, she always had some ready ploy to distract and assuage. Booze, bongs, boy-talk, and burgers—all did the trick from time to time. Yet not least among Delilah’s tools were her cheeky compliments, with which she basted Kara heavily and often.

    “Oh. Em. Jeepers! You look so hot!”

    “Watch out, world! The Karasaurus Sex is on the loose and gonna eat some meat tonight!”

    “Uh, Babe City’s census just came in. Population: you.”

    For months, Delilah’s enabling combination of relentless encouragement and infectious complacency kept Kara’s confidence inflated just enough to avoid being overtaken by her now recklessly-expanding girth. Indeed, the siren song was so entrancing that Kara could almost completely tune out the quietly panicked desperation lurking in the corners of her mind. She could almost completely overlook the way snagging some male’s self-affirming attention grew just a bit more challenging from one overindulgent week to the next. She could almost completely ignore the constant gnawing at her increasingly fragile self-delusion. Almost. Until the day she couldn’t.

    ***

    Colorful strands of beads rattled beneath the interior handle from which they draped, as Delilah jostled open the door to her shared dorm room and shuffled inside.

    “Fuckin’ chem lab helllllllllllll!” Delilah groaned. She slammed the door closed with a kick of her heel.

    Lying atop her bed, wrapped around a body pillow and clad in her pajama set of drawstring flannel pants and oversized t-shirt, Kara stirred slightly but otherwise gave no reaction to the blustery entrance.

    Derek. I kid you not: Worst. Lab partner. Ever.” Delilah continued, as she shook loose the droplets still clinging to her umbrella. “He can’t count. That’s my only explanation. He cannot count.” She leaned the umbrella beside the doorframe, then started toeing free from her muddy shoes. “I mean, is he from Thermopylae? ‘Where numbers count for nothing?’” Delilah flashed air quotes with her fingers. “Like, seriously, I dunno how, but he cannot read a burette.”

    “’Meniscus?’” Delilah parodied, in a deeper, goofy tone. “’Dafuq is dat?’”

    Shoelessness achieved, Delilah closed her eyes, raised one hand, and placed the other on her chest. “I swear to zombie Jesus—hallowed be thy name—if I had to repeat just one more stupid titration tonight I was gonna gnaw off his useless head and dump the waste solution down his neck.”

    Delilah cleared her throat. “Annnnnd are you just gonna keep lying there like laundry or are you gonna get on board and tell me how right I am?”

    “…Laundry,” Kara murmured.

    “…What?” Delilah turned, fists planted on her hips. Only then did she notice the way her roommate was huddled, the tissues on her nightstand, the damp marks on her pillow, the gaze fixed vacantly on the opposite wall.

    “Kara, are— Have you been crying?” Delilah dropped her bookbag on the floor and hurried to her side. “Oh my god, what’s wrong, Care Bear?”

    Kara burrowed her face into the pillow. “I dunno,” she mumbled. “Everything? My fucking life?”

    “Awww,” Delilah cooed, and crouched down to Kara’s level. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

    Kara shrugged her shoulders and sniffled amidst the pillow’s fluffiness.

    “Tsk. Kara, Babe…” Delilah persisted.

    Dolefully, Kara pointed towards her nightstand.

    Following the direction of Kara’s gesture, Delilah spied an opened envelope, half hidden behind wadded tissues and a nearly-empty bag of M&Ms. She stood up and fished it out.

    Within, she found a letter. The stationary marked it as coming from the head coach of the Stanford Women’s Swimming and Diving program. In a hushed tone, Delilah read the document aloud.
    Dear Ms. Miller:

    It is the mission of Stanford Athletics to provide each student-athlete with the tools necessary to achieve the highest levels of academic and athletic performance of which he or she is capable. By maximizing personal and collective effort in every setting where skill, determination, and hard work combine, Stanford Swimming and Diving embodies uncompromising commitment to victory and promotes a university-wide culture of health and fitness.

    As you know, Division 1 swimming is a highly competitive sport. As head coach, it is my responsibility to build the University’s program in a way that promotes not only individual growth but also team success.

    Unfortunately, I am not able to offer a renewal of your athletic scholarship for the coming academic year. This was a difficult decision. If you have any questions, please call my office to make an appointment and we can discuss the—
    “Wait,” Delilah interrupted herself, “I don’t understand. Does this mean--?”

    “It means they’re taking away my scholarship,” Kara huffed, and rolled onto her side. Her voice choked into a sob. “It means they think I was a mistake. It means I’m not good enough. It means they don’t want me anymore. Nobody does!”

    Delilah opened her mouth to make some retort, but then closed it without saying anything. She lingered beside Kara’s bed, thoughtfully tapping her foot. After a few moments, she carefully folded the letter back into its envelope and returned it to the nightstand.

    “OK. Stay right there,” Delilah ordered. “I know what to do.”

    Before Kara could ask what that meant, Delilah had grabbed her wallet and marched back out of the dorm.

    Some while later, Delilah returned, lugging a large pizza box and grocery bags. Kara raised a brow and leaned forward to peer down from her bed as Delilah began unpacking the load in the middle of the floor.

    “What’d you—“

    “Extra-large deluxe pizza…cheesy bread…Nutella…Ben & Jerry’s S’mores, times two…” Delilah began a roll-call of the assembled goodies. As she ran down the list, Delilah briefly modeled each item for Kara’s viewing admiration, like a QVC showcase. “…and last but certainly not least, Malibu rum.”

    “Ugh.” Kara shook her head. “But…”

    “This is pizza therapy, Kara. You need it. Stat. Trust me.”

    Kara buried her face in her hands. “Fucking hell, Delilah” she mumbled, then sighed. “…Fine.”

    “That’s the spirit!” Delilah beamed, and gently lobbed a plastic tumbler into Kara’s lap. “I’ll pour.”

    ***

    “I mean, what’d they even expect you to do?” Delilah asked, as she tipped the last drops of the rum into Kara’s waiting tumbler.

    “I don’t even know.” Kara tossed back a swift swig. “I just—“ she coughed, then continued. “I did everything right, you know?”

    The two girls lounged side by side on the floor, leaning against Kara’s bed. Between them rested a grease-stained box with nothing but gnawed pizza crusts remaining. Delilah squinted into the up-ended bottle of rum, then, with a shrug, carelessly tossed it near the two empty, toppled ice cream cartons slowly leaking their soupy dregs onto the linoleum. The bottle rolled in a loop, then finally came to a halt beside the vacant cheesy bread box.

    “It’s so unfair!” Delilah commiserated, nibbling on a pizza crust.

    “So unfair,” Kara agreed. She fished a crust from the pizza box and dunked it into the dwindling supply of Nutella.

    “You know what that is? This whole thing? It’s…it’s a logical fallacy, that’s what it is. That means it’s bullshit. It’s bullshit, Kara.”

    “Mmm hmm,” Kara droned around a cheek-swelling mouthful.

    Delilah rolled her head to the side and looked at her roommate. Kara’s shirt bore battle damage from their recent feast; grease stains and a dribble of drying ice cream littered its front. Eyes foggy and half-lidded, Kara stared blankly ahead as she mechanically chewed through the latest bite. A thick smear of Nutella lay caught at the corner of her mouth.

    “Hey,” Delilah chuckled, “hang on, you got a little something right there…” She reached across and gently swiped the chocolatey goop from Kara’s face with her index finger. “See?” she held her finger up for inspection. Kara squinted at it suspiciously. With a playful “boop,” Delilah tapped a little dollop onto Kara’s nose, and giggled.

    Kara uttered a grunt of vague disapproval. Then—to Delilah’s surprise—she grabbed Delilah’s wrist and sucked her finger clean with an audible “pop.”

    “Hah,” Kara declared, in bland satisfaction, and released Delilah’s wrist.

    Suddenly pensive, Delilah bit her lip and looked at her hand. She swallowed.

    Moving carefully, Delilah shifted onto her hands and knees. “You, uh, still got a bit on you…” Delilah murmured.

    Kara’s eyes widened as Delilah leaned over her and sensuously licked the dollop of hazelnut frosting off the tip of her nose. Kara held her breath while Delilah hovered, wordlessly, their faces mere inches apart.

    “Did you get it all?” Kara finally asked, her voice hushed.

    Delilah shook her head. “Not yet.”

    Propping herself up on one arm, Delilah slipped her free hand behind Kara’s head, laced her fingers into Kara’s hair, and then pressed lips to Kara’s in a passionate kiss.

    Kara flinched. For a moment, she was frozen. Then, like heated butter, she melted into Delilah’s embrace. Closing her eyes, she reciprocated, teasing Delilah’s eager lips with her tongue.

    Propelled by the clumsy urgency of youthful lust, Delilah scooched herself on top of Kara, straddling

    Kara between her thighs. Breaking free of their kiss with a mutual gasp, Delilah repositioned her weight onto her legs, then slipped her other arm beneath Kara’s t-shirt and slid her hand up to cup one of Kara’s breasts. She clamped her palm around its fleshy warmth. Kara arched her back and let out a little moan. Her moan segued into a whimper of dazed pleasure as Delilah nuzzled against the soft underside of Kara’s jaw and neck, pecking a long, winding trail of sharp, toothy little nibbles across her sensitive throat.

    Delilah paused her attentions and sat up to catch her breath. Panting, she looked down at her roommate, pinned between her legs and wedged awkwardly against the bedframe. The face looking back up at her—rounded, flushed, and moist with perspiration—bore a desperate expression equal parts uncertainty and yearning. Below that, Delilah’s eyes were drawn to the pale slab of Kara’s belly—soft, heavy, swollen with plumpness, and egregiously stuffed, it pooched inelegantly out from under her ridden-up t-shirt.

    Adopting a sultry smirk, Delilah grabbed the jar of Nutella. She swabbed a gooey glop of the rich confection onto two fingers, then held them in front of Kara’s mouth. Obligingly, Kara wrapped her lips around Delilah’s proffered digits. Delicately, slowly, eyes closed, she began to suck, lick, and swallow the sweetness.

    As she did, Delilah laid her other hand against Kara’s middle, lightly tracing the contour of its curve, back and forth, back and forth. Then, she dipped her thumb into the depth of Kara’s navel, hooked her fingers around the chubby bulge of Kara’s lower belly, and squeezed.

    Kara yelped an indignant, heaving squeak, and her eyes flew open. Withdrawing her sticky fingers from Kara’s mouth, Delilah met Kara’s conflicted, flustered gaze and growled assertively. Then she leaned down and kissed her again. Releasing Kara’s belly, Delilah slid her hand beneath Kara’s waistband in search of a lower target.

    Kara dug her nails into Delilah’s hips and shuddered in ecstasy.

    ***

    When Kara awoke early the following afternoon, it took a moment before she got her bearings. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing the room the vantage point of Delilah’s bed. Even less so while nude and snugly little-spooned against its still lightly snoring usual occupant. With each slow and steady breath, Delilah’s stomach and chest pressed softly against Kara’s back. One of Delilah’s arms wove under her own and loosely cradled Kara’s breasts. A mangled patchwork of memories from the night before paraded through Kara’s aching mind as she struggled to take stock of the situation. Brow wrinkling into a troubled furrow, Kara’s heart began to beat faster.

    While she continued to ruminate, Delilah stirred.

    “Mm. Good morning, Lover,” Delilah whispered, and gently pinched Kara’s nipple between thumb and forefinger.

    Kara squeezed her eyes shut and silently counted to three. Then, she took Delilah’s hand in her own and slowly but firmly removed it from her breast.

    “Hm?” Delilah queried, raising her head.

    Kara did not answer. Instead, she lifted the sheet and, in brief flurry of pale, bouncing flesh, darted up from Delilah’s bed, across the room, and into her own.

    “…Kara?” Delilah asked, worry creeping into her tone.

    Kara burrowed under the covers and bundled herself into a tight little ball, her back to Delilah.

    “Kara, what’s—“

    “I’m sorry,” Kara stated, her voice raw and husky. The words came without affect, almost monotone.

    “Sorry?” Delilah sat up, drawing the sheets around herself. “Why? For what? What are you—“

    “I don’t know what happened last night,” Kara lied, “but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

    “…Kara…” Delilah pleaded.

    “Please,” mumbled the lump beneath the covers of Kara’s bed, “just…leave me alone.”

    ***
     
  3. Jan 31, 2017 #23

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

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    PART 9

    After the abrupt end of their drunken tryst, Kara distanced herself from Delilah. Their relationship never recovered. Delilah’s attempts to clear the air or at least get closure fell on deaf ears. Rather than deal with the situation, Kara preferred to avoid it—and Delilah—whenever possible. Disappointed and frustrated, ultimately, Delilah gave up and let Kara have it her way.

    Eventually, Kara reluctantly shared the scholarship news with her parents. The conversation proved every bit as painful as Kara had feared. Without the financial aid, her parents agreed, tuition was simply too expensive. Besides, they tried to console her, Stanford clearly just…wasn’t turning out to be a good fit. So it was settled. At the end of the quarter, she would have to withdraw from the university. Over the summer they could take time to reassess, make a new plan, get back on track.

    And Kara told them she was fine with that, mostly.

    In her final weeks at Stanford, Kara sank into a sullen, listless funk. She stopped going to classes, stopped going to parties, hardly even left her room. Her days collapsed into a sad routine of loafing in bed well past noon, and then, sometime before Delilah’s return, trundling herself over to a quiet corner of the cafeteria for a few hours to seek solace in Stanford’s generous meal plan. If anyone much noted her sudden absence from the social scene, no one bothered to seek her out. All of the “friends” she had made while getting drunk, baked, and laid over the past year showed themselves to be no more constant than her waistline.

    So, really, yeah, it was fine.

    Why, Kara barely even cried on that last drive home with her dad, a U-Haul trailer full of dorm accessories, outgrown clothes, and burst college dreams hitched behind them.

    She never did finish that stupid term paper for Sustainability and Collapse.

    ***

    Once back at home with Joyce, Kara’s mood only worsened. Cut off from the college scene, too out of touch and self-conscious to seek out any old high school associates, Kara spent most of her time alone, aimlessly sulking around the house while her mother was at work. She felt isolated. She missed the crowds. She missed the nightly parties. She missed getting drunk on the attention of new admirers. Hell, she missed just plain old getting drunk. She missed getting high. Eating was the one guilty pleasure still readily available to her, and Kara leaned on it more than ever.

    As the summer rolled on and Kara remained mired in slothful malaise, Joyce’s patience for her petulant moping wore thin.

    “So, what are your plans for today?”

    “Look at that weather—maybe you should call up some friends and enjoy it.”

    “Tell me about the schools you’ve been checking out—do you have list?”

    “Have you thought about a summer job? Remember we talked about what a good gap-bridger some work experience can be…”

    “You can’t just leave dirty dishes lying around for me to clean up. I’m not your maid.”

    “Look at this mess! You still haven’t even finished unpacking from Stanford?! How is that possible? No more excuses, young lady: I expect to see these boxes unpacked, gone, and the floor vacuumed by the time I get home.”

    “Kara, listen to me, you cannot just sit around stuffing your face all day. Get dressed. You are going to go outside and get some exercise.”

    To escape her mother’s increasingly stern and judgmental nagging, Kara would hole up in her room for days at a time, never changing out of her pajamas, subsisting almost exclusively on a steady infusion of Grey’s Anatomy DVDs and microwaved Kraft Mac & Cheese. Lonely and browbeaten, eventually Kara worked up the nerve to do something she had been putting off for months.

    She held the phone to her ear. I[FONT=&quot]t rang, then rang again, and again. Part of her hoped the call would just roll over to voice mail. But it didn’t. [/FONT]

    [FONT=&quot]Kara cleared her throat. “Hey, Sarah.”[/FONT]

    ***

    Kara steered her car into the far-right lane. As the sign drew near, she slowed, and then signaled her intent to turn.

    To be sure, this venue had not been Kara’s idea. Her initial plan had been just to drop by Sarah’s house for a casual visit. Sarah said that sounded great, but, unfortunately, now just wasn’t a good time. She was busy. She had other commitments, you see. Lots of them, in fact. Summer swim camp. College applications. A family vacation. A road trip with Jessie and a couple other girls from the varsity team. It was always something.

    Only after several weeks of repeated calls and rejections did Sarah finally allow an opening to squeeze into her busy schedule. Gold’s Gym, Sarah suggested. Weekday mornings she usually swung by for a light workout. Why not meet there and catch up?

    When Kara pulled her vehicle into the gym parking lot, she saw Sarah already standing near the entrance, waiting. And standing beside her was Jessie. Sarah must have invited her along as well. Kara was disappointed but not surprised. Jessie’s potential inclusion was certainly not something Sarah had disclosed during their conversation, and the last thing Kara wanted right now was another set of eyes on her. Lately, though, that pair seemed inseparable.

    Kara parked and made her way towards the entrance. Eager to avoid the locker room, Kara had donned a newly-acquired set of roomy, indigo blue sweats before leaving the house. As Kara crossed the lot, Sarah pointed her out, then visibly stifled a laugh that likely still would have been audible had Kara been a bit closer. Jessie waved enthusiastically. Both girls were still wearing their street clothes.

    Up close, it was obvious to Kara that Jessie had lost even more weight over the past several months. Tight, low-rise jeans and a snug t-shirt confidently flattered her freshly-sculpted curves. She was even showing a bit of midriff. No longer tubby, or even husky, Jessie looked lean. She looked fit. She looked fantastic. But Kara said none of these things. Instead, she merely mumbled a quiet ‘hello’ before the trio strolled into the building. Although she could feel the weight of their eyes on her body, for better or worse Jessie and Sarah likewise seemed content to keep any comments to themselves.

    As they neared the locker rooms, Sarah stopped and turned to face her companions. “Hey,” she said, with a snap of her fingers. “I know. How about let’s start with a swim?”

    Kara blinked. “What?” This was not on the agreed agenda.

    “I’m game,” Jessie replied.

    Both girls were now looking at Kara, expectantly.

    She shook her head. “Guys, no, I dunno…”

    “Aw, c’mon!” Sarah goaded. “One last swim with our old captain.”

    “Really, no, I don’t think—“

    “C’mon!” Sarah smirked.

    “But,” Kara protested, “I didn’t even bring a swimsuit.”

    “Here,” Jessie said. She pulled a garment out of her tote bag and tossed it to Kara. “You can use one of my old ones.”

    Kara stared dumbly at the swatch of stretchy, two-tone nylon in her hands.

    No,” Kara thought. “No way. This cannot possibly fit me.” She was so flustered by the situation, she completely overlooked whatever suspicious coincidence led Jessie to have had her old suit conveniently ready at hand.

    Reluctantly, Kara trailed behind her former teammates into the changing room. Sarah and Jessie snagged the nearest available lockers and began stripping down, without the slightest bit of reservation. Kara hesitated, then slunk away to a secluded corner several rows over. Mercifully, Sarah and Jessie allowed her to get changed in unmolested solitude.

    Kara’s pessimistic assessment regarding the fit of Jessie’s old swimsuit proved to be well-founded. However, to her horrified chagrin, she soon discovered the problem was not quite what she had anticipated. For several minutes after she heard Sarah and Jessie exit the room, Kara continued to wrestle with the uncooperative outfit, fruitlessly attempting to find a more comfortable adjustment. Unsatisfied, yet keenly aware of how long she was taking, eventually Kara tossed her shed clothes into the locker and grudgingly made her way to the pool.

    The astringent tang of chlorine permeated the pool access hallway. Its scent stirred within Kara a peculiar mix of competitiveness and stomach-churning anxiety. So familiar from her countless hours in the water, but now also so surprisingly distant—like unexpectedly bumping into an old flame for the first time in years.

    How long had it been since she last rinsed that odor from her hair? Six months? “So long…” Kara thought.

    To her mind, it seemed impossible that so much time had passed. Yet the flutter in her chest and the jittery tremble in her knees contended it felt more like an eternity. Unbidden, her thoughts spun back through memories of the past year—all the procrastination, all the excuses, all the disappointment, all the denial.

    The end of the hall drew near. Kara sucked in her stomach as best she could, and carefully modulated her gait to mask as much as possible the jiggle every footfall jolted through her thighs. She tried equally hard to quell the hot flush of color rising in her cheeks. When she rounded the corner into view of the two girls waiting poolside, the gawking stares that greeted her instantly demonstrated the futility of these efforts. Kara’s blush deepened to a burning crimson as Sarah unabashedly dragged her eyes across the once-enviable figure of her old friend and mouthed a slow, silent “oh my god.”

    Loose in the chest and too tight everywhere else, the suit fitted Kara terribly. Its straps burrowed into her rounded shoulders, and the cutout in back dug into her spongy flesh there, as well.

    Around her middle, the strained fabric compressed Kara’s belly into a large and bulbous mound. Arching out just beneath the rise of her breasts, its bottom-heavy zenith protruded quite a bit beyond them. Near its center, the deep well of Kara’s navel created an obvious, puckered span in the taut material.

    From under the lower hem her hips burst forth with chunky vigor, while at her crotch the suit’s narrow cut pinched the swollen prominence of her pubic area, forcing little bulges of naked plumpness to pooch out on either side.

    Kara’s ass, once flawless, had become a doughy, squarish lump. Grown wider and fatter, her rear nonetheless appeared remarkably less round. Where left exposed by her suit, cellulite pocked the lower fold of each bun. Farther down, her thighs had bloated into thick, flabby drumsticks which tapered dramatically towards her still comparatively slender calves.

    Kara’s face, too, had grown chubbier over the summer. Full cheeks blurred into the beginnings of a double chin, and her collar bones seemed to have vanished. Even her arms appeared meaty, soft, and toneless.

    Her contrast with the other two girls was profound. While Sarah remained as petite and wiry as ever, Jessie—stripped out of her jeans and t-shirt—looked even more amazing than earlier. Long, powerful limbs and a solid, shapely core; Kara could hardly believe this statuesque beauty was the same porky redhead that almost cost her team a sectional championship. Standing beside her, Kara felt squat and dumpy like never before. Worst of all, though, was the condescending sneer Jessie wore as she eyed Kara up and down. Somehow, that one look hurt worse than any of Sarah’s barely-restrained snark.

    Eventually, Sarah broke the awkward hush with a feigned cough. “So, uh, let’s get this started, huh? You guys ready?”

    Kara sighed. “I guess.”

    “Are you sure?” Jessie asked, her tone laced with unprecedentedly open contempt.

    Kara blinked, taken aback by Jessie’s out of character insubordinate attitude. The redhead returned an exaggerated blink in response, then cocked derisive eyebrow.

    Perhaps it was the source of the barb, or the familiar surroundings, or some combination of the two in conjunction with everything else. For whatever reasons, pinned under Jessie’s brazenly unapologetic gaze, the digs at last cut deep enough to strike backbone.

    Kara’s eyes narrowed into daggers. There was only so much provocation she could take. She let the moment drag out, then hissed her venom-drenched response. “Yes. I. Am.”

    “Finally,” Jessie replied, in an unflinching deadpan.

    “Great!” Sarah interjected, trying to smother the sudden tension with her usual tide of enthusiasm. “Let’s start with a four lap sprint. That’s a good warm up!”

    “Fine,” Kara growled.

    Jessie shrugged, unimpressed. “’Kay.”

    As the three girls lined up on the starting blocks, Kara noticed Sarah and Jessie fiddling with their wristwatches.

    “Seriously?” Kara asked. “You’re timing this?”

    “Duh.” Sarah answered. “Everything counts.”

    “…in large amounts!” Jessie and Sarah cooed in unison, then broke into a peal of giggles as they made little groping gestures in the air.

    Kara shook her head and gritted her teeth. Some stupid new inside joke of theirs, no doubt. Its meaning—assuming it even had one—was lost on her.

    “OK,” Sarah called, “on your marks…”

    Kara lowered her borrowed goggles and leaned over to assume the starting position. Or, rather, she tried to. The thick roll of lard around her middle created an uncomfortable impediment to her customary posture.

    “…get set…”

    She tried to adjust for it, widening her stance, repositioning her hips, spreading her knees— Too late. No time.

    “…go!”

    Kara lunged, and crashed into the water with an ungainly tumble. Immediately, she found her dive resisted by unfamiliar buoyancy. Surfacing, Kara exploded into her best stroke—the front crawl.

    For a brief moment, she was the Kara of old once more. Her insecurities vanished—submerged beneath the rush of competition. She might have lost her scholarship, but that didn’t mean she had forgotten how to swim. Her forms, her breathing, her pacing—she knew it all by instinct. This is what she did. This is who she was. Like hell was she going to let anyone take that from her. The pool’s pulsing aquatic echo filled her ears, her lane became her world, and nothing else mattered.

    She reached the wall and pivoted off it, executing though brute force a flip made cumbersome by her excess girth. After completing the first turn, Kara allowed herself a brief peek at the neighboring lanes. Her heart sank. Sarah and Jessie were already nearing the far side. And Jessie was pulling ahead.

    In furious spite of it all, Kara plowed on. She pushed herself to the limit. She clawed at the water. She gave it everything.

    Soon, however, the first hints of exhaustion began to creep in. Through her years of practice, Kara knew the signs well. She tried to ignore it. Kara tried to focus on the rhythm, to infuse it with will and desire—faster, smoother, harder. “Come on!” Kara thought.

    It was no use. Despite Kara’s determination, her form was failing. With every down sweep she felt the drag of her added bulk. Every turn reminded her how large and uncooperatively round her belly had become. Every kick proved how heavy and sluggish her thighs had grown.

    Eventually, Kara struggled through the final turn. Her arms were dead. Her legs ached. Every breath sounded like a last gasp. That final straight was the worst. There was just no gas left in the tank. “This isn’t even swimming anymore,” Kara thought. It was hell. Pure hell.

    After what seemed an eternity, Kara finally tapped the wall. Panting and hanging onto the lane line, she raised her goggles. Multiple laps of splashing had scoured away her concealer, revealing the rash of pimples across her ruddy face.

    Sarah and Jessie were already out of the water and seated on the lip of the pool. Both studied their wristwatches intently. Sarah turned to Kara. With an expression of genuine pity, she held out her watch for Kara see.

    Kara’s labored breathing caught in her throat. “No.

    It was far worse than she had ever done at Stanford. Worse than anything she had posted in her high school career. She shook her head, her lips twisting into an agonized pout. Hell, her junior high times had been way better than that! “There’s just no way!” Unbelievably, she had actually swum slower than Jessie’s botched performance at the sectional meet. By a lot.

    Quietly, the reigning state sectional record-holder for the 200-yard high school women’s freestyle hauled herself out of the pool and waddled towards the exit. The rear of the suit had ridden up deep into the crack of Kara’s ass, leaving her flabby bottom almost completely exposed. She made no effort to tug it back into place.

    As she was about leave, Jessie yelled after her.

    “Hey! Kara!”

    Kara looked back. Jessie smiled, a frosty gleam in her eyes.

    “You’re fat.”
     
  4. Feb 5, 2017 #24

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

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    EPILOGUE

    “You’re going to be late,” chided a female voice from within the house.

    “I know! I’m going!” Kara replied as she shuffled down the entry path, toward her car.

    “And Kara?” Joyce leaned out of the open front door. “No pizza at your father’s.”

    “I heard you the first time!” Kara yelled, tossing her duffle bag into the passenger seat of her hatchback.

    “I mean it, young lady,” Joyce persisted, adopting the reproachful lowered tone unique to mothers.

    “Oh-KAY!” Kara huffed. She plopped heavily into the driver’s seat. The suspension lurched in response.

    Kara slammed the door and groped in search of the seatbelt, eager to be on her way. Snagging it, she tugged at the belt a few times before realizing it was caught in the door. With a grumble, she popped the door open just enough to free the polyester strap, then, reflexively, sucked in her belly and hefted it with one arm while she yanked the belt across her lap beneath it with the other. As she cranked the ignition and rolled out of the driveway, Kara glanced in the rearview mirror. Her mother lingered in the doorway, still watching, arms folded.

    “Ugh!” Kara groaned.

    ***

    It had been three years since Kara withdrew from Stanford. She hadn’t seen Sarah or Jessie since that last encounter at the pool. Even so, Kara couldn’t resist occasionally checking up on them via Facebook and Twitter.

    The spring after Kara withdrew, Sarah took over as varsity team captain. She led the team through a successful season and onward to another victory at the state sectional. During that season, Jessie developed into the team’s star performer. At the sectional meet, Jessie even managed to set a new record—besting Kara’s 200-yard freestyle time by a convincing half-second. In a local sports news article Kara found linked on Sarah’s Facebook wall, a reporter asked Jessie how she felt about setting the new mark. Jessie answered with all-too-familiar nonchalance: “Well, the old record was pretty slow, in my opinion, so it really wasn’t that big of a deal.”

    The following year, both Sarah and Jessie enrolled at Stanford. Sarah had opted to hang up her swim goggles after high school and focus on academics. Jessie, on the other hand, managed to snag a sizable swimming scholarship. The university, it seemed, just happened to have one of the coveted, funding-capped awards available. Even though they weren’t swimming together anymore, Sarah and Jessie remained close friends, as evidenced by their mutually referential, boisterous, often ribald postings.

    Or at least that’s how it was the last time Kara had checked. Kara deactivated her Facebook account nearly a year ago, finally fed up with the sporadic messages from old acquaintances inquiring about the total absence of updates on her own page. She had also gotten better about resisting the urge to Google Sarah and Jessie—or anyone else she knew from back in the day. If not exactly bliss, Kara concluded, ignorance was at least…preferable.

    Kara was 22 now, still living with her mom, still in the same room she’d had since she was a child. She had enrolled at the local community college, but her heart just wasn’t in it. With a few semesters under her belt, she was still just dabbling in the odd courses here and there, no closer to a degree, and lacking any clear goal other than keeping her parents off her back. If she were being honest, she’d have admitted that the whole scene just felt somehow…unworthy. Not that you would know it from her lackluster grades.

    ***

    Easing into the driveway of her father’s sizeable suburban home, Kara killed the engine. She cranked the parking brake, and then unbuckled her seatbelt with an audible sigh of relief. Kara lingered for a moment, silently contemplating the well-maintained front yard.

    Her father and his second wife—Kara could never think of the woman as anything else—were going away for a weekend vacation. Kara’s father had asked her to babysit Sean and mind the house while they were away. Knowing Kara could use the money, he’d offered her $100 for her trouble, as well—a big bonus relative to the meagre allowance she received from her mother. Kara appreciated that. What Kara appreciated less was how he had presented the proposal as though he had also known—or at least correctly assumed—that she would have no weekend plans of her own. He certainly had made it seem there wasn’t any question that she might decline. She suspected her parents must have been “talking” about her again.

    With a disdainful sniff, Kara tried to push that thought from her mind. She flipped down the sun visor and opened the mirror. The bloated, pimpled moon of a face that stared back at her bore only a faint resemblance to the clear-skinned, sharp-featured vixen captured in her driver’s license photo. So stark was the contrast that Kara had thus far been too self-conscious about presenting her ID to buy any alcohol, despite having reached that much-celebrated milestone of adulthood over a year ago. All trace of her cheekbones had been supplanted by a doughy, chipmunk-esque swelling that slightly squeezed at her eyes and the corners of her mouth. The result added a perpetually pinched aspect to Kara’s neutral expression. Her once-proud chin now lay deeply swaddled in its substantial, tubby double, which of late had itself begun taking on a jowly quality and merging with her thickened neck as the pounds kept coming. The messy pony tail into which Kara currently had her hair pulled back only further emphasized these developments.

    Frowning, Kara reached into her glove box and pulled out a compact. With a few hasty dabs, she attempted to freshen up her application of concealer. Having skated through puberty nearly untouched by acne, what once had seemed a free pass from the capricious zit gods turned out to be merely a deferred sentence. In the years since, the breakouts that had started showing up during her brief tenure at Stanford had only gotten worse. The oily, Braille-textured blemish fields of Kara’s forehead, plumped cheeks, and submerging chin bore harsh testimony to that. At least on her nose she usually only got blackheads. Those were fairly easy to hide. The rest…

    Kara dabbed again at a particularly large and angry-looking welt just starting to erupt on her upper lip. Pausing to inspect her handiwork, Kara wrinkled her nose in disgust. She grabbed a tissue and quickly wiped off a thick smear of makeup, then—with far more force than necessary—blindly tossed the used toiletry towards the trash bag hanging on the back of the passenger seat. She missed.

    Kara popped the door and slipped the belt out from under her middle. Sliding her legs out of the car, she rocked back against her seat for momentum, then, with a lunge, grabbed the window frame and hauled herself upright.

    She wore baggy grey sweatpants and an oversized plain pink t-shirt. The latter draped across the swell of belly that had become Kara’s most prominent feature, but hung tent-like elsewhere. Over this she had on her old letterman jacket. The fit was poor, bordering on ridiculous. Splayed wide through the chest and wider still across her middle, Kara clearly would never be able to button it. Even so, she was still able to stuff her pillowy arms into the generous sleeves, and she wore it often. As one of the last trappings of her high school success still available to her—this past fall she had finally outgrown even her class ring—Kara clung to it desperately.

    Kara turned around and leaned back into the car to drag out her duffle bag full of clothes, bathroom supplies, and the weekend’s homework. Bent over, Kara’s ass hung out of the open door, a quivering monument of obesity wrapped in grey cotton. The firmly sculpted, fulsome bubble butt that had once arguably been Kara’s best asset was gone. Now more than double its former width, Kara’s shapely bottom had flattened as it broadened. Twin rounded handfuls of lean muscle had given way to a thick, boxy shelf that jutted several inches out from the spongy folds of her back before drooping into two shapeless, flabby pancakes that slumped gracelessly into her corpulent thighs.

    With a muffled grunt of exertion, Kara hefted the modest parcel and looped the straps over her shoulder. “Jesus, I’m out of shape!” Kara mumbled to herself in consternation, not for the first the time.

    Shifting on her feet, Kara awkwardly plucked loose the wedgie that ridden up on her while gathering the bag. With a final, quick tug to hitch up the waistband of her sagging pants, Kara bumped the car door closed with a hip and trudged up to her father’s house.

    She found a handwritten note taped to the front door.
    Kara,

    Sorry we couldn’t be here to greet you. Marie and I had to dash to catch our flight. Sean has a few friends sleeping over tonight. I’m sure you can handle it. Dinner is already prepared and in the fridge. Your mother wanted me to remind you not to order--
    Kara crumpled the note without reading the rest. They had definitely been talking again.

    “Seaaa-aaaan! I’m here!” Kara called as she let herself in. She did her best to sound upbeat.

    Two boys seated on the living room sofa glanced briefly in her direction before returning their attention to the Xbox game on the TV.

    A quick series of thumping footfalls rattled through the kitchen. Kara turned just in time to see Sean dart up beside her.

    “Hey, Loser!” he replied, flashing a rakish grin.

    Sean was 12, and growing fast. Always big for his age, Sean’s gelled shock of blonde hair now clocked in just a bare couple inches shorter than Kara. Several years of competitive swimming and the first hints of oncoming puberty had transformed his child’s body into the lean, lanky build of a young man.

    Bobbing left and right, Sean popped several rapid, playful jabs into Kara’s yielding belly.

    “S-Sean!” Kara gasped, cradling her vulnerable gut with her free arm while trying to block further abuse with the other. Sean easily dodged her timid defenses, tagging her several more times before punctuating his barrage with a solid uppercut into the ponderous overhang of Kara’s lower belly. Kara yelped with shock. The duffle bag slipped loose from her shoulder just then, tugging her arm down. Off balance, she took a step back, then stumbled clumsily into the closed door, nearly falling over.

    “Smooth moves, Sis,” Sean laughed, then walked around her to join his giggling friends on the sofa.

    Kara remained leaning against the door, glaring at the oblivious boys while she tried to catch her breath. After a few moments, she picked up her bag and carried it upstairs to the guest bedroom.

    On her return, Kara examined the photographs hanging along the stairway. There were several photos of Sean’s victories with the Junior Sharks, as well a few more recent ones with the Otters, his new middle school team. As she neared the bottom, Kara realized with dismay that all the photos were of Sean. Kara had gotten so used to seeing her own high school athletic triumphs proudly displayed on Dad’s wall that she hadn’t even noticed they were missing.

    “Hey, Sean,” Kara asked, standing at the bottom of the stairway, “what happened to all my photos?”

    “…Huh?” Sean replied from the living room, yelling to make himself heard over the racket of the video game.

    “My old swimming photos. They’re not on the wall anymore.”

    “Oh. Yeah, I dunno,” Sean answered. “Dad said it was getting too crowded or something so he took them down to make more room for mine.”

    ***

    Late that evening, Kara sent the boys to bed so she could finally get some work done. Or at least she banished them to the general vicinity of bed. She harbored no illusions that they would actually be sleeping anytime soon. Occasional thumps and muffled laughter from upstairs confirmed the situation.

    Kara tossed her American history textbook onto the coffee table with a satisfied sigh. “Done with that, at least,” she thought. Hefting herself up from the couch, Kara started upstairs to retrieve her biology homework. And…something else.

    Coming back down the hall with her biology textbook under one arm and the little tin containing her marijuana stash in the other, Kara passed Sean’s room. The door was open just a crack, leaking a sliver of light into the hallway.

    “—used to be hella hot! I totally would have boned that ass back then!” Kara overheard one of the boys—James, she thought—say.

    “…Damn!” agreed the other, Mark, with a laugh.

    Curiosity getting the better of her, Kara stopped and quietly peeked in. The boys were sitting on the floor, poring over what looked like…one of her old yearbooks.

    “Your sister used to be, like, pure sex, dude! What the hell happened?” he added.

    “I dunno. She just got fat and dumpy. And she’s not really my sister,” Sean objected. “Just a half-sister.”

    Kara clamped a hand over her mouth, stunned and stung—by her sibling’s casual disowning most of all.

    “Yeah, well,” James remarked, “now she’s twice as big and not even half as hot.”

    Blinking back tears, Kara retreated from the door as the boys laughed. She crept down the stairs in silence.
    ***

    “…get your body back and get into the best shape of your life! Thirty minutes a day, three times a week. That’s all it takes!”

    Kara blearily opened her eyes, squinting into the bright overhead lights of the living room. She rolled her head to the side. An infomercial blared obnoxiously from the TV. It was 3:40 AM

    “God damn cellular structure,” Kara grumbled. That stuff always made her so tired. She’d only meant to take a little nap, though.

    Kara reached for the remote and discovered her hand was sopping wet. “…Th’ hell..?” Kara murmured, staring dumbly at her pruned, dripping digits. She leaned over and saw that someone had placed a bowl of water on the carpet next to the sofa. Her hand must have been resting in it for some time.

    “Ughhhhh” Kara moaned. She rolled into a sitting position and let out an involuntary belch. The sofa creaked in protest. “Urf,” she agreed.

    Kara switched off the TV and tossed the remote onto the coffee table, where it landed atop an empty Domino’s Pizza box, beside her still-open textbook.

    Kara leaned on the armrest and lurched stiffly to her feet. She’d changed into a white nightgown after settling in for the night. Underneath it she was naked, save for a pair of socks. Not one of her more recent purchases, the gown exposed a swath of pasty, sagging cleavage and gently hugged the contours of her stomach, hips, and ass.

    Kara shut off the lights and plodded up the stairs. Nearing the top, she could hear noise coming from Sean’s room. The sounds grew more distinct as she continued down the hallway, and she could see light under his door.

    “Her tits must be huuuuuuuuge!” howled one boy.

    “Oh dude, dude—holy shit—dude, look at how many Xs there are on these things!” cackled another.

    Incensed, Kara stomped the final few feet in a hurry and threw open Sean’s door.

    “What the hell are you little shits doing!?” Kara demanded.

    James was holding up one her bras, as though trying to figure out how to put it on. Mark squatted next to him, a pair of her panties in his hands, tag raised for inspection. On the floor beside them was Kara’s duffle bag, disgorging a rifled-through mess of rumpled clothes. Across the room, Sean sat on his bed, one of her bras tied onto his head like a helmet.

    The four stared at each other in slack-jawed silence, until at last James broke the spell.

    “Crap, the manatee’s up! Get her!!”

    On cue, the three boys each grabbed super soakers waiting close at hand and began spraying Kara. Shrieking and trying to block the streams with her hands, Kara stumbled back through the doorway.

    Hooting with laughter, the three darted past her into the hall and split up, continuing to blast her from either side. Mark waggled the stolen panties at her mockingly.

    Regaining some composure, Kara growled. “Give it back!” She stormed towards where Sean and Mark had taken up position, her breasts jiggling wildly. The boys fled down the stairs and scattered. No sooner did she start after them then James doused her butt with an icy blast of water from behind. When she shot him a furious glare over her shoulder, he scampered offer towards the master bedroom.

    For fifteen minutes Kara chased the boys back and forth throughout the house, into the backyard, then the garage, up the stairs and back down. It was hopeless. Kara was fat, slow, and uncoordinated. The boys outmaneuvered her easily. They stalked her like a pack of wolves. They flaunted her stolen underwear like a cape before a bull, and answered her indignant shouts with more splurts of water.

    Soon, Kara was totally winded and completely soaked. Her flimsy nightgown, rendered largely transparent, clung like a second skin.

    Sean backpedaled swiftly into the kitchen, a predatory grin on his face. Kara lumbered after him, her pace dwindled to little more than a slow waddle. Her round face was flushed a splotchy red and bore an agonized expression. Heavy tits hung sloppily to either side of her stomach, chill-hardened nipples and stretched areolae angled steeply towards the ground. Unrestrained, they swayed pendulously with her every stomping step.

    Kara’s enormous gut wobbled in a lazy counter-beat. Though a spectacle of swollen girth, the inevitable surrender to gravity had begun to mar its protuberance. Cresting into the hint of a roll just above the cavernous indentation of her navel, her belly then continued outward to its greatest protrusion, where it perched in a steep but slumping outcropping above her fattened pubic mound. Stretch marks—in hues of faded beige and fresher pink—could be seen on its surface through the drenched fabric, radiating out from her navel like debris around an impact crater.

    Kara’s sides were a trio of rolls, erupting from beneath her fleshy armpits and steadily expanding into massive love handles that merged both with her belly and her shelf of an ass, the broadest upper contours of which could be seen even from the front. Kara’s trunk-like thighs were a pocked landscape of cellulite and saddlebags. They swished together audibly as she shuffled forward, making contact from her crotch all the way to her knees. Wedged between them, with nowhere left to go, Kara’s pubic area bulged in an obscenely plump, rounded triangle beneath the shadow of her belly.

    Across this entire physique was a smattering of body acne, sharply visible against her curd-white complexion. The harsh glow of the kitchen fluorescents rendered yet more unflattering the cling of Kara’s soaked nightgown, spotlighting every imperfection.

    “Sean…” Kara panted. Her right hand was clamped against her side, where a painful stitch burned somewhere deep under the chub. “Sean, please…” Kara whimpered, weakly extending her pudgy left arm towards him, elbow forming a deep dimple.

    Sean stuck out his tongue, then sprayed her in the face. Kara turned her cheek, and attempted to lunge forward, but her waterlogged socks slipped on the tile. She tried to grab onto the counter, but it was too late. Kara’s gelatinous ass plopped onto the kitchen floor with a moist clap and a house-shuddering thud.

    Sean crowed with glee.

    Cold, naked, exhausted, and humiliated, Kara went limp. Shoulders slumped, head hanging, she began to sob. Kara’s tears merged with the drippings from her soggy, disheveled hair as they trickled down her chubby cheeks.

    “Hah! I win!” Sean proclaimed.

    He was right. It was over. Kara had lost. Everything.

    ###
     
  5. Feb 27, 2017 #25

    Forceofwill

    Forceofwill

    Forceofwill

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    One of the best stories I've read on here in a long time. Love the ending. Great job!
     
  6. Feb 28, 2017 #26

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

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    Thanks! Glad to know it hit the spot. :)
     
  7. Mar 6, 2017 #27

    GTheFinder

    GTheFinder

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    Absolutely excellent story. Your writing is superb.

    I had an outline for a story that I was planning to write, but I think you'd be a better writer for it.

    I had in mind a story involving a women that looked like Marisa Miller who is on top of the supermodel world before slowly making mistakes that lead to her demise. Lemme know if you're interested.
     
  8. Mar 18, 2017 #28

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

    riptoryx

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    Hey, thanks, man! I'm glad you liked the story, and it's very flattering that you would consider entrusting your own pet project to me!

    When it comes to writing this kind of stuff, I put a lot of value in verisimilitude. Even in fantasy fiction, staying true to in-universe rules is important to me because I think it's the key to keeping the stakes meaningful and the story engaging. For those reasons, I see a lot of wisdom in the old "write what you know" advice. If I'm not an expert on the subject at the outset, that means digging in with research.

    I'm not a fast writer under any circumstances, but adding in that kind of attention to detail and supporting research tends to make writing a story like this quite a slow and laborious process for me. I had been tinkering with "The Slowest Champion -Revisited-" for over two years before I started posting it, for example.

    Consequently, for me, seeing through to completion the creation of a story requires a great deal of passion and commitment. Unless I'm really into a concept, turning it into a story like this one probably either won't work out for me at all, or it will fall short of its potential.

    With regard to the story you apparently have in mind, as much as I am a fan of slim, sexy, confident, on-top-of-it-all women experiencing humiliating, fattening defeat as a concept, I don't really know anything about supermodels in general or the particular individual you mentioned. It might just be a consequence of my ignorance, but I can't say I've ever felt a great deal of interest in the modeling world, either. That being the case, I think I'm probably not well equipped to write a story about those subjects at the moment.

    You, on the other hand, probably are well equipped. If you're passionate enough about it to have spent time outlining a plot, even if it's just in your own head, then you're already well on the way to success. In terms of making the final product the best it can be, I highly recommend finding a trusted contact to serve as an editor. And by editor, I don't mean a proofreader--I mean somehow you trust to provide helpful advice about plot, pacing, descriptions, all that substantive, meaty stuff. Every writer, no matter how talented, can benefit from good editorial review.

    I hope you do wind up bringing to life something from this idea that's churning in your mind. Hot chicks getting embarrassing fat is my jam, and I'm as eager a fan for more as anybody! :)
     
  9. Sep 4, 2017 #29

    PlusNY

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    What's her weight progression like from the beginning to the end of the story, to the end of the epilogue?
     
  10. Sep 5, 2017 #30

    riptoryx

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    This might sound odd coming from the author of a weight gain story, but I'm actually a bit reluctant to answer this type of question.

    I've deliberately tried to avoid assigning many concrete "stats" in the story. You'll notice that, all the way through, I've never said how much any character weighs. Partly this is because, to the extent such stats matter, I want the reader to make up his or her own mind based upon the narrative descriptions and a sort of self-determined imagery. Partly it's because I think I'm not especially good at guessing the "right" weight for a given size. For me, the "numbers" information alone doesn't communicate as much--or excite me as much--as the way a gal's body looks and feels, or how something is (or isn't) fitting, and why. Consequently, I tend to focus on these other descriptive details as the milestones of change. To lean on a sports analogy, the numbers might be one way to track the "score," but I'm usually more thrilled by seeing the actual plays themselves. And, of course, when referencing precise numbers there's always the risk that you might fail to connect with some part of your audience that draws a very different mental picture of what a given "size" looks like compared to your own mental image.... The whole thing is fraught with peril! [​IMG]

    All that said, I do have my own, personal opinion about what Kara's "stats" might be at any given time. So, if you're really determined to get my own take on some hard stats, while reiterating for the record all the above caveats about doling out specific numbers... I guess Kara was maybe around 140 during her senior year swim season. Toned and athletic--not scrawny. By the time of the epilogue, I'd say that Kara is probably well north of 300 pounds. Probably substantially into the 400s. She's gotten fat.
     
  11. Oct 5, 2017 #31

    PlusNY

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    Gotcha. So what has Kara’s love life been like since he tryst with Delilah? Did she find a party scene to fatten herself up since she left the swimming pool or has she become a homebody glutton?
     
  12. Oct 6, 2017 #32

    riptoryx

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    Nonexistent, probably. By the end her freshman year at Stanford, Kara outgrew her self-confidence as surely as she did her swimsuit At the time, she's never been able to fully accept what's happened (and is still happening) to her--never been able to sync her ego and self-image with her increasingly humbled and expanded reality. Indeed, over time, Kara has only regressed further into awkward shyness, self-pity, and a pathetic attachment to the ever more tattered trinkets and fading memories of her former glory--even though everyone else has long since moved on. None of those things bode well for her ability to spark up romantic relationships, or even just socialize. Additionally, there's the none-too-subtle fact that, in dramatic contrast to the enviably shapely physique she boasted when fit and trim, Kara has demonstrated a strong tendency to carry her extra poundage in an unflattering distribution that's only grown more pronounced as she's continued to get ever more fat and out of shape.

    ...Or at least that's the impression I'd tried to convey in Part 9 and the epilogue.

    The latter, I'd say, for pretty much the same reasons as above.

    In the final parts of the story, and in the epilogue, I'd tried to telegraph that Kara's partying lifestyle had become an increasingly unsteady, unsustainable crutch for her to obtain validation and avoid confronting the uncomfortable realities of her situation. Kara's unfulfilling hedonistic self-delusion ultimately collapsed under its own weight, pretty much concurrently with Delilah's arguably-rape-y little one-off roomie-cest tryst. It was all a blow from which Kara never really recovered, instead retreating into the self-defeating comfort and "safety" of social isolation and habitual overeating.
     
  13. Oct 8, 2017 #33

    loopytheone

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    I'm gonna have to say something about this. Riptoryx, you are on a fat acceptance site and from looking around/being a part here, you should know that there is no such thing as an 'unflattering distribution' of extra weight. Different people like different things, there is no 'right' or 'attractive' way to be fat. Look at the models on the paysites; you will see that there are ladies of all different sizes and body types there who are all lusted after and adored.
     
  14. Oct 8, 2017 #34

    riptoryx

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    Hi, loopytheone. Thanks for apparently taking the time to read through all of this. I am aware of what website this is. Perhaps I came across as heavy-handed or intolerant with my description of the Kara character as a "none-too-subtle fact." If so, fair point. I did not intend to deny or denigrate any other perspective on what is attractive. My mistake. Please accept my apologies in that regard. :doh:

    As you said yourself, different people like different things. What is "flattering" (or not) is, per se, a subjective concept. So, when you say "there is no such thing" as an unflattering distribution of weight, for the sake of consistency I read that not as a categorical prohibition of preference but rather an expression of a different personal preference. Indeed--perhaps paradoxically in the eyes of some others--some folks (myself included) are actually attracted to the stereotypically and subjectively "unflattering" itself in this context. My story caters to that preference--as do several other stories hosted on Dimensions, some of which seem to me much meaner and darker than this one. From the beginning I have tried to be very clear about what kind of story this is--feel free to re-read the "Forward."

    When people are interested enough to ask me for my authorial interpretation about what the various characters in this story might think, feel, or do, I try to give my best, honest answer. The question I answered here dealt with the actions and mindset of the character Kara during the period between the conclusion of the main story and the epilogue. From that character's perspective, her weight gain has been an unwelcome and embarrassing change. Accordingly, my answer reflects that perspective. That's all--no broader or exclusive judgment intended.
     
  15. Oct 8, 2017 #35

    loopytheone

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    It's not a problem, just me pointing out that you should watch how you phrase things; it wasn't made clear that it was the character's opinion that her weight gain was unflattering and not your opinion on it.

    My point is mostly that there is no such thing as a body type/shape/size that is found universally unattractive. There is always somebody out there who finds you 10/10 hot stuff no matter what shape your body is.

    For what it is worth, I've read through you whole story - the forward included - around half a dozen times now. I actually prefer stories that have a darker edge to them; I'm also a fan of Maverick's work as well and was very excited to hear you were writing a story that had been edited by him, especially as a lot of people in this genre don't take the time and effort to really invest in a project the way you have.

    I was actually going to ask if you wanted feedback and constructive criticism about your story to keep in mind when you write your next one.
     
  16. Oct 8, 2017 #36

    riptoryx

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    Thanks.

    Sure. I've received a bunch of good feedback and interesting discussion at at various sites where I've posted this story. It might be worth noting that the version of the story here at Dimensions isn't the most current. The version on my DeviantArt page includes a bunch of edits not present here (since I can't go back and edit old posts). Among those edits are an entirely new scene repackaging the reaction of Kara's parents and brother to the swim meet at Stanford.
     
  17. Oct 9, 2017 #37

    loopytheone

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    Ah, most of the things I was going to mention have been edited in the dA version. :)

    One question though: If Sean was 7 when Kara started college and the epilogue happened 3 years after she left, how is he 12 at that point? I get that most of a year passed during the story before the epilogue but wouldn't that only make Sean eleven 3 years after that?
     
  18. Oct 11, 2017 #38

    riptoryx

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    Well, this is getting into the weeds for sure, but I think the chronology holds together.

    The story only pegs Sean as seven years old at the time he visits Kara, which is in March during her senior year of high school. The exact time period of the epilogue is a bit vague ("three years since Kara withdrew from Stanford"), but just for the sake of argument let's assume it's exactly three years from the date Kara physically left the university in a car with her dad. That'd probably place the epilogue on some day in early June--which is when the Stanford undergrad spring quarter usually seems to end.

    So, where does that leave us? if Sean is seven years old during March of Kara's senior year of high school and he is 12 years old at the time of the epilogue (June, four years later), then it would seem that Sean's birthday must land somewhere between those March and June dates--i.e., that Sean turns 8 sometime before Kara starts college.

    I actually did think about this kind of stuff when writing the story. ;)
     
  19. Oct 11, 2017 #39

    loopytheone

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    Ah, okay, thanks for explaining. It had been bugging me for a while, hah.
     

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