BBW The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG, Stuffing)

Discussion in 'Recent Additions' started by Vongola27, Dec 26, 2017.

  1. Nov 7, 2019 #81

    Vongola27

    Vongola27

    Vongola27

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    The wrestler shot daggers at her doctor but acquiesced, lifting her shirt to reveal her pasty, pudgy belly. It was cut into two thick rolls by her skirt, and it was the ribbon of flab that oozed over her waistband that Dr. Ralston took hold of. KC grunted as she felt it dig into her ebony skin, but she knew that if she put up a fight, it would only draw out the agony. Finally, the doctor pulled the instrument away, granting the grounded gymnast the chance to roll her shirt back down.

    “See what I mean? You’ve got a BMI percentage of 27—that puts you square in the ‘Overweight’ category. You’re lucky you’ve got your height to balance this out,” the aged woman chuckled as she scribbled more illegible notes. “Any shorter, and you’d be downright obese.”

    KC wished that was the case, if only so she could squish the mean-spirited woman underneath her. She escaped to her fantasies, imagining her and Dr. Ralston squaring up against each other in the ring. Thoughts of slamming her through the canvas danced through her head, and she got a chuckle out of imagining what it would be like to Vader Bomb the obnoxious orthopedist. Sadly, she was snapped back to reality when Dr. Ralston snapped her bony fingers in front of her face.

    “Better get some more sleep if you’re zoning out like that, Miss Dupont,” the old woman remarked as she sat up on her stool.

    “Yeah, I’ll do that,” KC muttered to herself. She spoke up and asked, “So, is there anything else besides my weight that you wanted to talk about?”

    Dr. Ralston cleared her throat with a cough so violent, KC swore she saw the old woman’s bones rattle. “Well, the good news is that, despite all the weight you’ve put on, you’re fit as a fiddle; we ought to be able to take that cast off in a few weeks. It’s beyond me how you did it, given how big you are.”

    There was a very simple answer for the wrestler’s speedy recovery: ruthless aggression. Ever since her leg had been shattered, KC had focused solely on what she would do once she got better, and the first thing on her list was payback. Not on Maxine—she knew in her heart that the giantess was only a tool for Sadie Storme. When she let her thoughts stray, the grounded aerialist could see Sadie’s smug grin as she was wheeled to the ambulance by paramedics; it was enough to make her blood boil. All she needed was a dartboard with the blonde’s face over the target, and she would complete the bitter picture.

    Her list did not stop at Sadie: everyone that so much as looked at her funny went on her mental list; the slightest glance was enough to make an enemy for life. Whether it was Dr. Ralston, the condescending clerk at the department store, or the patronizing passerby mattered not; they were all on KC’s list. Some days, it was only the thought of dropkicking them all through a window that kept her going, and she swore that the first thing she did once her leg healed was boot someone in the chin.

    “Guess I’m just a quick healer,” KC smirked, though her doctor remained unimpressed.

    “Well, whatever it is, keep it up—we’re looking at getting that cast off by mid-December, I think,” the old woman remarked without much enthusiasm. “Once we do that, you won’t really have much of an excuse not to hit the treadmill.”

    Fire blazed through KC’s cheeks, and if it were any colder, steam would have come off her skin. Violent thoughts filled her brain; it was all she could do to not tackle Dr. Ralston and shove the entire jar of tongue depressors sound her throat. Her nails dug deep enough into her arm that they drew blood, and her teeth ground to the point that her head hurt, but it was just enough for her to focus on not murdering her orthopedist.

    “I guess not,” the wrestler growled like an animal ready to pounce. “Are we done?”

    “Yep. Just take this to the front desk, and they’ll get you signed out,” the doctor answered, unaware of how close she was to having her face caved in. As she passed the chart to KC, she mumbled, “Goodness, it got warm in here really fast.”

    “I hadn’t noticed,” the wounded wrestler seethed as she rolled out the door as fast as she could.

    ***

    The first stop on the long road home was a local burger joint so KC could bury her frustrations under a triple-decker cheeseburger, two fully-loaded hot dogs, a jumbo milkshake, and a mountain of curly fries. Gorging herself was counterproductive to any thoughts she had of losing weight, but after the visit she had, the aerialist needed to do this out of sheer spite for her doctor. She crammed as much food as she could down her throat, to the point that she felt like a balloon by the time Agatha rolled her back into the car. After such a generous glut, KC passed out and spent the rest of the trip nursing her full, bloated stomach.

    “Cassie, sweetie, get your shoes on—we’re at Grandma’s!” Agatha teased her sleeping cousin.

    “Guh way,” KC grumbled as she was roused from slumber.

    “Come on—I’m going to fix you a little something to cheer you up,” the older woman hummed as she unloaded groceries from the back of the car. “Wouldn’t want your birthday to be a bunch of sour grapes, would we?”

    At that, KC snapped. The second her wheels hit the driveway, she slammed her fists onto her armrests and screeched, “Agatha, knock it off with the birthday crap already! I hate today—I’ve always hated it!”

    Face red as a tomato, the wrestler turned to her cousin with gritted teeth. “The only good birthday I’ve had is the one where I was born; it’s all been downhill from there. Why should this year be any different? My leg is so broken that I might not be able to wrestle again, my doctor is a bitch, and I’m so fat that my hips touched the arms of my chair this morning. This day has been a huge pile of shit, and I don’t want to do anything but go sleep for the next three days. I don’t want any cake or balloons or any fucking birthday dinner!”

    KC left her cousin stammering in the driveway, trying to think of some response to the furious fighter, but all she could say was, “Cassie, wait! Don’t go—”

    Before she could finish her sentence, the wheelchair-bound warrior rolled up to the door and threw it open, only to be greeted by a chorus of “Surprise!”

    Standing in the living room were Mickey Ramone, Raymundo Valdez, and Shinobu Misawa with a banner between the three of them that read ‘Happy birthday, KC!’ It was becoming more and more common for Shinobu to stop by, but this was the first time she had seen Mickey since making an unannounced visit back in July. Though she had been keeping up with her friend and former tag partner’s growth online, she was amazed at how rotund the woman had gotten in the span of a few months. Then again, that seemed to be the case for all three of the ladies; none of them were the same sizes they were at the start of the year.

    “I know you’re not the biggest fan of birthdays, but when Agatha reached out to us, there was no way we weren’t going to drop by for a visit,” Mickey explained as she dropped her end of the banner and waddled over to KC. “Besides, you’re in no condition to slap the shit out of your doctor, so that’s what we’re here for—Shinobu and I can totally set her up for a Doomsday Device if you want.”

    The bubbly Osakan likewise sauntered over to her wheelchair-bound friend and wrapped her in a squishy hug. She cheerfully sang, “O-tanjoubi omedetou, KC-chi!”

    “What she said,” Mickey cooed as she embraced KC with her thick, pillowy arms. “Feliz cumpleaños, ya grump.”

    After her meltdown in the driveway, KC was at a loss for words. Instead, she pulled her arms free from the warm, blubbery embrace of her closest friends and reached around them as best she could. The grounded aerialist shut her eyes as a fit of giggles overtook her, which then spread to her buxom buddies. When she woke up this morning, she had only expected a quiet day at home with her cousin, as was her daily routine, but this derailed that plan in the best way possible.

    “Still hate your birthday?” asked Agatha as she appeared behind with a massive cookie cake.

    KC glanced up with the first smile she had cracked all day and hummed, “Not so much.”
     
  2. Nov 14, 2019 #82

    Vongola27

    Vongola27

    Vongola27

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    CHAPTER 41

    Amanda never much cared for Thanksgiving. When she was a spoiled little girl, she hated having the entire Ericson family over, and how there was neither candy nor presents to be gained. As she got older, she grew out of the childish need for gifts with each holiday, but she still did not enjoy being too young to mingle with the older relatives and too old to hang out with the younger. The one constant throughout her life was that she never enjoyed the dinner aspect: as a kid, it was because she was a picky eater who had to plug her nose in order to get vegetables down; as she got older, it was because she disdained all the abundance and celebrating gluttony.

    Once she got past her picky eating years, the Little Rich Girl developed a taste for most dishes, though she still had trouble with Aunt Lorna’s green bean casserole. Her brain was hardwired to staying trim and fit however, so she never indulged anymore than she needed to; she limited herself to one plate with modest portions of turkey, veggies, and a starch. It was the same willpower she applied to her everyday life, and she was able to stay the course for decades.

    All that changed now that she was pregnant with triplets. Her restraint around food had gone out the windows as she became a stay at home mom who refrained from moving around as much as she could. Heidi, her faithful housekeeper, made it a personal mission to make sure the expectant mother wanted for nothing, and as the weeks went by, that usually meant snacks and extra portions. Unfortunately, unlike her last three pregnancies, she had to take medication to help with a deficiency and imbalance in her body, which also made her appetite go through the roof. There was no way she would be able to subsist on the portions she was used to; her body demanded more and more each day.

    Levi, her adoring husband, marveled at this change in his wife. There was no way this was the same woman he had been married to for the last ten years; the Amanda he knew and loved ate like a bird. Now, she seemed to be on the “See Food” diet, and the effects were showing on her. The billionaire had absolutely ballooned in the few months since her pregnancy began, putting on more weight than she did in the whole nine months of her last. A thick layer of padding covered her entire body, and it was getting to the point that it was hard to tell if her tummy was heavier with babies or with blubber. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself, especially when he had not explained to his wife how much the thought of her getting fatter turned him on.

    Though he made sure to constantly shower her with affection, the producer had yet to tell Amanda how he truly felt about her weight—namely, that he wanted to see more. He had been a closeted fat admirer for a couple years, and not once did he broach the subject with his wife, who would rather be caught dead than with an extra inch or two in the middle. This surprise pregnancy had been a blessing in more ways than one, as it gave him the opportunity to guide her down the path of pudginess without revealing his desires. Levi was determined to milk this for all it was worth while he still had time, and thankfully, he had an unknowing ally in this endeavor.

    Heidi had been on a mission of her own since Amanda became pregnant again, especially when she found out that the Little Rich Girl would be staying home much longer this time, per her doctor’s orders. The little housekeeper was slowly molding the billionaire into the perfect image of a mother, at least in her eyes. She was softening the edges on the hard-nosed Amanda, plumping her towards a more matronly appearance—a far cry from the woman who commanded the board room. All her efforts had led to her brunette boss packing on over forty pounds of pillowy pudge, but that would look like chump change after Thanksgiving.

    It was a cool, crisp November morning, and Amanda woke from her post-breakfast nap, a daily occurrence for the increasingly slothful mother. She was roused from her slumber by her husband’s scruffy beard brushing against her cheeks as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. With a kitten-soft yawn, she hummed, “I’m awake…I’m awake.”

    “Had a good breakfast, hon?” Levi asked, his tone as gentle as a lamb.

    “God, if I never see omelette du fromage again, it’ll be too soon,” Amanda murmured, hands caressing her baby bump. She had made many such declarations since she stayed at home, and not a single one lasted more than a day. “What time is it?”

    “Just a little after 11,” the big man replied as he stood back up. “I was going to head out in a little bit to bring lunch to Grace and Josie, and then I’m going to run some errands before I pick Nicole up for soccer practice.”

    Hearing that brought a contented smile to the billionaire’s soft cheeks. Every time Levi was home, he became Super Dad: he ran errands, drove the girls everywhere, and even helped Heidi with the cleaning. It was a far cry from his old frat boy/rabble-rouser gimmick; he was a family man in every sense of the word. When he got his paternity leave, the former Triple Threat could not have been happier, as it meant he had several months to do what he loved.

    Amanda chuckled and reminded him, “Just be sure you bring a pen and a notepad—you know those kids are going to want autographs.”

    “Like I don’t keep them on me at all times,” Levi retorted with a showman’s smirk. “Is there anything I can get you while I’m out?”

    “Maybe just some lotion—I swear I saw some stretchmarks in the mirror this morning,” the Little Rich Girl answered with a sleepy yawn.

    “Can do, little mamacita,” her doting husband answered softly. He lay one of his massive hands down atop her bloated belly and gently massaged the doughy dome. While he could certainly feel the firm baby bump through Amanda’s sweater, he also detected a fine layer of fluff, especially on the underside. She was getting big, far bigger than she had ever let herself grow before, and she still had five months to go.

    “Take it easy today, all right?” Levi hummed in his gruff, gravelly voice.

    “Not like I can do much else,” Amanda sighed, shutting her eyes and relaxing like a spoiled housecat under her husband’s belly rub. “Doctor’s orders.”

    That was a laugh, considering her heritage. Trying to get anyone in the Ericson family to listen to a doctor was like trying to herd cats; Dave had blown out both his quads a few years back, and they all but strapped him down to a bed to help him recover. If Amanda was listening to her OBGYN, it would be the first for the Ericsons.

    “There’s a girl,” Levi chuckled. He patted her globular gut one last time before leaning in for a soft kiss. “I love you, my princess.”

    “I love you too, my king,” the brunette purred, her fingers brushing over his beard one last time.

    After Levi left, Amanda began the arduous task of getting up from her chair, where the only easy part was shifting the recliner upright. The formerly fit matron had to rock in place to get some momentum; there was no other way she could heave her bulk out of the chair otherwise. When she finally got to her feet, she put her hands behind her back for stability and turned to look at the recliner—specifically, the indentation she was leaving in the cushion. All this time spent in the chair had effectively marked it as hers; there was no one else in the house with a booty that could fill the gap.

    “It’s only for a few more months,” the billionaire reminded herself as she tottered off towards the kitchen, where she could hear Heidi hard at work.

    When she waddled in for a glass of water, Amanda found her housekeeper hustling and bustling as she cooked what looked like four dishes at once. It never failed to impress the Little Rich Girl how productive the older woman could be; she was a master of multitasking, especially in the kitchen. More than that, despite having her attention pulled in a dozen different directions, Heidi always managed to whip up a delicious dish. Amanda could cook, but not on a level like this.

    “It’s a little early in the day to be cooking dinner, Heidi,” the brunette remarked, one hand holding her water while the other cradled her stomach. “What’s got you so busy today?”

    The dark-haired woman snapped to attention and spun on her heel to greet her employer with a smile. “Ah, Miss Amanda! No, I’m not cooking dinner—not tonight’s dinner, at least. I’m working on the food for Thanksgiving; I have so many new ideas I want to try!”
     
  3. Nov 14, 2019 #83

    Vongola27

    Vongola27

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    Amanda chuckled, amazed at how there were still recipes Heidi had never made before. She could make a new dish for every meal each day of the year; to think that there were dishes she had never cooked before was unreal. The billionaire gingerly sipped her water as she leaned against the counter, plush bottom spreading across the marble.

    “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” she offered her stalwart housekeeper. “Between you and Levi, I feel like a bump on a log.”

    Heidi waved her hand and assured her employer, “No, no, no, you just rest! You need to rest for those little ones.”

    “Yeah, but I feel like all I do is rest these days,” Amanda sighed, glancing down at her feet. She could still see her toes, but just barely; another week or two, and they would be gone for the next few months. In spite of this knowledge, the urge to sit back down was strong, and she eyed one of the kitchen chairs longingly.

    Across the room, Heidi felt a twinge of guilt while stirring a pot of beef stew. While she appreciated the fact that Amanda wanted to help for a change, the Little Rich Girl would only have been a hindrance. Not only did her baby bump make her awkward and cumbersome, but it and her medication sapped the energy right out of her. Heidi needed someone who could be on their feet for longer than a few minutes, not someone whose goal for the next few months was to sit, eat, and sleep.

    Although…

    “Actually, Miss Amanda, there might be something you can help with after all,” the housekeeper hummed as she waltzed over to her employer. “Why not take a seat and I can tell you what I need?”

    Amanda wanted to contest that she had only been standing for a few minutes after napping for the last couple of hours, but her feet were aching something fierce and she could think only of relieving that pain. She allowed Heidi to guide her to one of the kitchen chairs, and she gently lowered herself down on her plump bottom, better than any cushion. Demurely, she asked, “So, what can I do for you?”

    “Well, since this is the first time I’ll be trying these recipes, I was hoping you might be my taste tester?” Heidi asked as she returned to the stove. “I could always use a second opinion, and I think you’d be perfect.”

    “Oh gosh, Heidi, I don’t know,” Amanda whined, her hands instinctively falling onto her stomach. It was so round, bigger than she was at the end of her last pregnancy, and she was already eating so much throughout the day. If she ate any more, she was afraid she would pop. “I’m still feeling stuffed after breakfast.”

    “You only need a spoonful or forkful, Miss,” the housekeeper assured. As an example, she scooped up a spoonful of hearty beef stew and brought it over to Amanda. With her hand underneath to catch any stray drops, she hummed, “Here—tell me what you think!”

    It was so aromatic, savory, and rich that Amanda did not think twice about taking the generous spoonful. The thick stew warmed her body was it went down her throat, and she slowly chewed the tender beef and potatoes to make them last all the longer. Just a few months ago, she would have paid little mind to the flavors; all that mattered were the nutrients she could get from such a dish. Now, she detected a hint of pumpkin and a little too much pepper in the broth, something she never would have picked up on once upon a time.

    “That is marvelous!” the billionaire purred, licking her lips of any stray drops. “A little too much kick for me though; maybe a little less pepper?”

    “I thought that’s what was wrong with it,” Heidi agreed as she bustled back to the stove. “I’ll be sure to fix that up. Let me get you some more samples, and I’ll get to work on the rest. Oh, this is going to be fun—just like cooking school all over again!”

    If only Amanda knew what she had signed herself up for. In her effort to prove useful in her own house, the mother had opened herself up to a deluge of food like never before. Heid was true to her word, but she left out one important detail: her employer would be eating several spoonfuls or forkfuls of each dish as the chef tempered the food to perfection. That would have been enough alone, but as her appetite grew, Amanda found that those little samples were not enough for her; she needed to have more. A spoonful became a ramekin became a bowl, and a forkful became a salad plate became a dinner plate. It was never enough for the growing matron, no matter how much she tried to hold herself back.

    “You don’t need to eat so much,” the little voice in her head would remind her as she sampled cornbread with homemade honey butter.

    “You just finished eating lunch! Do you really need that much?” it would argue as Amanda delivered another heaping forkful of oyster stuffing to her lips.

    “Put the spoon down, tubby! You’re going to be more soup than woman if you keep this up!” it screamed while the brunette guzzled down beef stew baked inside a pumpkin.

    Amanda knew she had to cut back: she had already gotten so fat in the last few months; she did not need to add fuel to the fire destroying her waistline. What had the scale read when she last dared to step on it—185? 190? Had she crossed the dreaded 200 pound threshold? The Little Rich Girl was terrified to find out, as it meant that she had lost her vaunted restraint and willpower that had helped her stay the same weight for the last twenty years. No longer was she the ball-busting businesswoman who commanded the board room with a single glance; she was the pampered housewife who let herself balloon to twice her pant size.

    Did it really matter when she had so much good food in front of her? She might have been trapped in a whirlwind, but at least it was delicious. Critiquing Heidi’s cooking amounted to little more than nitpicking—a little too much salt, a little too creamy, or a little too dry. Every bite was better than the last, and the dish wound up perfect by the third or fourth try. That did not stop her from a fifth, sixth, or seventh try. It should have, but she could not help herself anymore.

    Time lost all meaning as she gorged herself stupid. How long had she been stuck at the kitchen table, eating more food than some people did in an entire year? Had it been three days? Had it been two weeks? Was it Thanksgiving already? Amanda neither knew nor cared; all that mattered was filling this black hole that existed in her stomach, consequences be damned.

    But there would surely be consequences for all this eating. The Little Rich Girl already felt like a balloon, but she swore she could feel herself growing with each bite. Her sweater was stretched tight over her globular middle, and it was riding up her tummy as the ball of flab rolled onto her lap. Were threads popping every time she shifted in seat? Those yoga pants were getting awfully tight; she had needed Levi’s help in getting them on. When she glanced down as another plate was set in front of her, Amanda gawked at the size of her breasts. They had not been that big when she woke up!

    When had she woken up again? What day was it? Had Levi remembered to pick the girls up from school? Nicole had a soccer game coming up; she really out to attend, especially if the team went out for pizza afterwards. Amanda’s brain was a scrambled mess of responsibilities and dates, and eating until she was full up to her frontal lobe was not helping. Yet still, she persevered, eating everything that Heidi put in front of her like some kind of pig.

    Maybe this was all a dream brought on from too much breakfast. There was no way she had been eating endlessly, growing round and fat—or rounder and fatter, as it were. However, if it was a dream, she did not want to wake up; it was too delicious. Amanda wished she could keep eating like this forever, regardless of how fat she got. Let her ass grow until she needed three chairs just to sit comfortably. Let her belly grow until it touched her knees. If she could keep eating like this, she did not care if she never moved again.

    Suddenly, she stopped when she heard the sound of a fork scraping an empty plate. Amanda glanced down and realized she had not grown a single inch; her clothes were tight, yes, but they had been like that the moment she put them on. A small stack of plates and bowls sat beside her—a far cry from the mountain she had imagined. She glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall for some kind of answer. Two hours. The billionaire had been at this for only two hours.

    “I think that will do for today, Miss Amanda,” Heidi hummed while she washed up at the sink, not knowing her employer had slipped into another food coma. “I can’t wait to do this again tomorrow!”
     
  4. Nov 26, 2019 #84

    Vongola27

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    CHAPTER 42

    Four weeks until Global War…


    Dave Ericson paced back and forth in front of the booking committee of the Global Wrestling Federation. In addition to booking the weekly shows and smaller events, it was time to prepare for the last big pay-per-view of the year—Global War. It was a show that featured big blow-outs, violent clashes between rivals, and two five-on-five matches, one for the men and one for the women. Despite being one of the big quarterly shows, Global War had dipped in ratings and buys over the years, and the threat of cancellation loomed heavy over the once revered event.

    “We need something big to hook them,” Dave muttered to himself, just loud enough for the rest of the committee to hear, “something that will keep them going at least until the Showdown in the spring. What do we have that would get these marks talking again?”

    The bookers all glanced around the room, silently daring one another to be the first to propose something. Getting Dave Ericson to listen to an idea was a challenge in of itself; actually getting him to greenlight it was something else entirely. They had to find a sweet spot of pandering to the boss without compromising too much on their proposal; this only got more challenging as Dave got older and more out of touch.

    “What if we had a dark horse win a title?” asked one brave soul. “We’re still a month out—plenty of time to build someone up.”

    “Yeah, but who do we take the title from? Every champion we have is red hot,” contested one of the older bookers.

    Dave sat back down at the head of the table, folded his hands together, and furrowed his brow as he ruminated on the decision. To him, it was an easy decision: strip Shinobu Misawa of the Women’s Championship and put it on someone more deserving. He had no idea why the spritely woman was so popular, especially after she had allowed herself to balloon over the last few months. When she had an ass you could bounce a quarter off, she looked and acted the part of a champion, even if she did still have that fixation on animu or whatever it was called.

    His thoughts drifted to a match Shinobu had a few weeks prior, when she wrestled a greenhorn named Ananya Patel. The champion had come out to the match in a blue skinsuit with white boots, gloves, and chest plate, with her hair done up in a tower of spikes. What stuck out the most to Dave was how the skinsuit looked like it had been painted onto Shinobu—it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her thunder thighs thrashed about, threatening to tear through their spandex prison with every move, and her belly jutted out from her middle as if she was expecting.

    It disgusted him to see one of his prize champions let themselves go, even if Shinobu had stayed nimble in spite of her weight. Dave was a man stuck in the past, whose perfect wrestler was a towering pinnacle of physical perfection with muscles or curves for days. There was no place in his company for someone who allowed themselves to turn into fat slobs—unless it was under his direction, of course.

    “We’re going to take the title off Misawa,” the old man announced to a stunned room. “I don’t give a damn how much the pencil-neck geeks on the Internet love her; she can’t be champion if she can’t wrap the belt around her waist! Now, who’s going to do the deed?

    And thus, the seeds were planted for the biggest screw-job outside of Montreal…

    Three weeks until Global War…

    Ananya Patel felt like she was walking on air as she made her way back to the locker room after her big match. One of the booking agents had approached her two days prior and told her that she would be getting a shot at the Women’s Championship in just a few short weeks. On-screen, she got that opportunity after winning a four-way bout against three big names in the Women’s Division, including Katherine Donna. It was like a rocket had been strapped to the former weightlifter; she could never have expected a championship match after only being with the company for a few brief months.

    When she waltzed into the locker room, she was surprised to find her would-be opponent at Global War—Shinobu Misawa. The stout girl had her back turned to the door, but there was no mistaking her portly physique. Shinobu’s backside jutted out as though she had crammed two soccer balls down the back of her tights, and Ananya swore that she could hear seams straining as the plump powerhouse stretched her legs out in a set of lunges. It was hard to think that she was the same woman from the Showdown Supreme, who pummeled Mickey Ramone to within an inch of her life.

    “Hey, Shinobu,” Ananya greeted the chunky champion as she sauntered over to her locker. “You getting ready for your match later?”

    “Hai,” Shinobu hummed peacefully as she stood up straight, which only served to make her gut that much more pronounced. “Always good to stretch before a match, no matter how long.”

    “I hear you,” the greenhorn chuckled in reply as she shucked off her lavender top, revealing ropy arms, pert breasts, and a stomach that could double as a cheese grater. Ananya might not have been able to wrestle her way out of a paper bag, but she looked like she could bench-press a building.

    Her opponent’s chipmunk cheeks dimpled as she offered a warm smile. “I saw your match earlier—nice work.”

    The compliment made Ananya’s heart somersault with glee. There had been so much news lately about how she was being pushed too fast, or how she did not gel with the rest of the locker room. But if she had the approval of someone like Shinobu Misawa, what did it matter? She was working as hard as she could to be up there with the greats, and damn it, she was going to get there.

    “Thanks,” the raven-haired woman replied, her cheeks turning peachy pink. “That really does mean a lot, coming from someone like you. You know, one of your matches actually got me into wrestling—the one with all the light tubes!”

    This time, it was Shinobu’s turn to blush. It never failed to amaze her when someone would say they got into the wild world of wrestling because of her. That was one of those little signs that told her she had made it—that she served as an inspiration for others.

    “Then I hope we can have a great match of our own, kouhai,” the diminutive doughball told the rookie, her grin only growing bigger. “Though they probably will not allow light tubes.”

    Both women shared a laugh, which made the otaku’s belly bounce like a certain, jolly elf. The stipulation for their match had not been decided yet, but whatever they were given, they were going to put it all on the line. Ananya needed to prove that she deserved to be with legends like Shinobu, and her senior was going to help—just not in the way she expected…

    Two weeks until Global War…

    “That’s great, Dave!” Sadie Storme exclaimed over the phone, sounding less like a scheming backstage politician and more like a giddy school girl. “I’m so glad the committee could see things my way. I promise, it’s going to be great; would I ever steer you wrong?”

    “Mm-hmph!” Natalie Donna grunted as she struggled to choke down her fifth extra-large milkshake of the night.

    “Pipe down, Notapig, I’m on the phone!” hissed the sadistic woman as she continued to pour the thick, chocolatey mass down a funnel. Sadie rolled her eyes at the rude interruption and quickly told her boss, “Oh, just the TV, that’s all. Uh-huh! All right, boss, I’ll see you on Monday!”

    After hanging up and tossing her phone away, the buxom blonde glanced down at her hefty handiwork tied to a chair and a funnel in her mouth. Sadie had been stuffing Natalie constantly since that fateful Halloween night; the poor porker had packed on five pounds in the last week and a half alone. The Donna twin was still on the slender side of things, but with how much food she was packing away these days, it was only a matter of time before she grew chubby, then plump, then fat, and then properly obese. She was already feeling the effects of her gluttony, from tightening clothes to a constant bloat in her stomach, but she could not think of parting with the pleasure that accompanied each new pound.

    “Mm-hmph?” Natalie grunted, curious to know what the phone call with the boss was.
     
  5. Nov 26, 2019 #85

    Vongola27

    Vongola27

    Vongola27

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    “It’s rude to try and talk with your mouth full, Notapig,” Sadie playfully chided her plaything. While she removed the funnel from Natalie’s mouth, she gave a sharp flick to the piglet’s stuffed belly. It was taut like a drum, and warm to the touch from how full it was. “Now, what did you want to ask me?”

    Natalie whimpered as pain jolted through her tummy, but she managed to murmur, “What d-d-d-did he say?”

    The blonde knelt down beside her project and tenderly stroked her swollen stomach, admiring just how bloated she had made the diva. Sadie cooed, “Well, I told him that I thought our team could use a little change in its dynamic, and that you and Kat could stand to have a bigger role in the company. Good news—Katty’s going to get a singles run!”

    “That’s—urp—great,” Natalie gurgled, using every ounce of willpower to keep down her dinner and the milkshakes that accompanied it. “B-B-B-But where d-d-does that leave me?”

    “That’s the better news!” the champion exclaimed as she took one of Natalie’s hands and gave it a squeeze. “You and I are going to be a tag team from now on!”

    The strawberry-blonde’s eyes went wide, but she was too stuffed to consider the ramifications of what this meant. Thankfully, she had Sadie there to outline it for her. “That means that you and I are going to have to spend a lot more time together: training, traveling, and taking the world by storm. Of course, your new role is going to require you listening to what I say; after all, who would believe that I would take orders from a bloated sow like you? But don’t worry, I guarantee you’ll love it!”

    The worst part was that no matter how humiliating it would be, Natalie really would love it…

    One week until Global War…

    “And get this—I’m going to have a singles run!” Katherine Donna gleefully announced as she munched on one salty fry after another. “I’m going solo, baby!”

    “Katty, that’s awesome,” Maxine huffed, equally excited for her friend but gassed after running a few miles on the treadmill.

    The two women could not have been any more different in how they were spending their Saturday morning. While the Amazonian Maxine had woken up early to go to the gym, the voluptuous Katherine had slept in after gorging herself on fried turkey and stuffing waffles. Maxine had prepared a breakfast of hardboiled eggs and avocado atop hearty toast; Katherine had gone out for biscuits, which then became an extra-large order of chicken tenders and Cajun fries. Their roles had been completely reversed in a few short months, the only difference being that the Donna did not have a sadistic feeder controlling every aspect of her life.

    “So, what does that mean for you and Natalie?” asked Maxine as she hopped off the treadmill.

    Katherine stifled a belch and looked for a napkin to wipe her spice and grease-covered fingers clean. Finding nothing, she settled for brushing them off on her pajama pants, the next best option; it was not like they cost her that much anyway. “Well, Natty’s going to be working with Sadie, so she’ll still have stuff to do—tag team stuff, you know?”

    The brunette brawler scowled at the mention of her ex, but held her tongue. It was unfortunate, but the Storme Troop made money—too much money for the higher-ups to ignore. She hated the idea of Kat and Natty to be stuck with Sadie, but knowing how much of a politician that witch could be, they would not have been able to split up even if they wanted to. The best Maxine could hope for was to nip anything in the bud, lest Natalie wind up just like her.

    “Just keep an eye on Natty, okay? If she’s not careful, Sadie will have her buttons popping by Christmas,” the Amazon cautioned her friend.

    “Don’t worry—I won’t let anything bad happen to her,” Kat responded before taking a long draught of bubbly soda. “I don’t trust Sadie as far as I can throw her.”

    Maxine joined her and took a swig of her protein shake. After cooling down and catching her breath, the giantess patted her slimmer stomach and smirked as she asked, “Changing topics—was that a Max Powerbomb I saw you pulling off the other night?”

    “Maybe,” the strawberry-blonde giggled. “What’d you think?”

    “Honestly? Pretty good, even if you are a heck of a lot shorter than me,” the brunette chortled. “Oh, and word to the wise from your favorite fat girl—it might be time to upgrade your gear.”

    That remark gave Kat pause, and she glanced down her puffy torso. She had done quite a number to her slender physique in the last month or two: her tummy had a definite pooch to it, her breasts were generous handfuls, and she could feel a second chin bunch up as she leaned her head down. It was crazy that she had plumped up at all, but that was not even the strangest part.

    No, the strangest part was that Kat knew, deep, deep down, that she liked it…

    The night before Global War…

    Ananya fiddled with her fingers as she waited in a secluded restaurant booth for Dave Ericson and another guest from the GWF. As she cracked the joints and knuckles, she thought back to the conversation she had with her boss once she set foot in St. Louis. He had invited her out to dinner for the express purpose of going over the match with Shinobu the day after—something to do with last minute changes. After being assured that this was common, she arrived twenty minutes early and waited with bated breath for what felt an eternity.

    Finally, Dave strode in with Patricia Nicholson, one of the referees for the GWF. Ananya shot out of her seat to greet them, only for the head of the company to curtly tell her, “Please, have a seat, Ananya.”

    Like a dejected puppy, the weightlifter sat back down and watched as Dave and Patricia sat across from her. Dave was stoic as ever, but Patricia, normally one of the most amiable people in the room, was avoiding her gaze. Ananya felt a lump for in her throat, and she looked to her boss for answers.

    “First, let me say that you’re not in any trouble, and the match is going to go on as planned,” the hulking CEO explained. “I would never deny anyone their first chance at a Pay-per-view match.”

    Ananya breathed a heavy sigh of relief, knowing she would not look like a fool after telling her family and friends that she would be in Global War. Once the relief passed, curiosity replaced the feeling of dread, and she asked, “Then what’s going on?”

    Without missing a beat, Dave answered, “We’re changing the ending of the match—you’re going to win the title from Misawa.”

    Like a rollercoaster, Ananya rocketed right back into dread again. It did not take a rocket scientist to piece together what was happening: the clandestine meeting, bringing Patricia, and discussing the match without Shinobu. She had heard stories about this sort of thing—screwing wrestlers out of their titles. Of all the things to happen in her fledgling career, the rookie never imagined she would be involved in a scandal quite like this. Her nerves ate at her stomach, and she wrung her napkin until the fabric began to tear.

    As the neophyte fidgeted in her seat, Dave explained, “Shinobu isn’t champion material anymore—hasn’t been for quite sometime. We see a lot of potential in you, and we think you’d be the perfect woman to unseat her. Think about it: your paycheck would skyrocket, you’d be higher up than anyone on the card, and you would have all eyes on you.”

    He set his massive hands on the table and folded them together. “Of course, you could always walk away from this, but I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Do you know how many women would kill to be champion? There are wrestlers who will never get anywhere close to a belt; they would slit throats to be in your position. Think about it—all you have to do is pin one butterball, and your stock in the GWF explodes!”

    It made Ananya sick to her stomach, but she only had one answer. Weightlifting was done with her, and she was not good enough to be picked up by any other promotion. With bile rising in her throat, she murmured, “I’ll do it…”
     

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