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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.”
 

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!”
 

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!”
 

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.
 

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…”
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 43

Finally the night of Global War arrived, promising brawls from wrestlers across all GWF brands and big changes for all involved. The evening had a hot start with a bout for the North American Championship, followed by a cooldown match to determine the number one contender for the UK Title. In between the matches were backstage segments meant to either hype up the next match or reflect on the outcome of the previous bout. One such segment came after the Cruiserweight Championship match, and featured Katherine Donna, who looked much different than she did this same time the year prior. Gone was the petite wrestler with just enough sensual curves, replaced instead by a vision of the corn-fed girl she could have been had she stayed in Wisconsin.

Katty had squeezed herself into a pair of dark blue shorts that looked like they were painted onto her soccer ball-sized cheeks, and every move she made wedged them that much deeper in between the plump globes. Fluffy love handles oozed over the waistband of the booty shorts, forming a tasty muffin top that a world-class baker could not have done better. Those love handles wrapped around to a plush stomach that pushed her tank-top out as if she had crammed a creamy pillow beneath it. Perhaps most impressive were the cannonballs that bounced and sloshed like a pair of water balloons; they had grown fastest of all, not content with staying modest handfuls. They were not the tits of Katherine the Model, but Katherine the Fat Girl.

As Katherine fiddled with her top in a Sisyphean effort to contain her chubby body, she was interrupted by a knock on the dressing room door. A bespectacled production assistant poked her head in and told the diva, “Ten minutes until the tag match, Miss Donna.”

“Thank you, Tori,” Katty replied with a nod, which formed a tiny double chin. “Be there in five.”

After the assistant left, Kat turned her attention back to her reflection. She ran her fingers through her flowing locks once, twice, three times, doing everything she could to avoid fidgeting with her clothes on an event being streamed all over the world. It had taken her ages to get her gear on, but the people did not need to know that; she just needed to make sure it stayed intact over the course of the night. No easy feat, considering she could almost hear the threads straining in her shorts.

Just as she was about to bite the bullet and fiddle with her shorts, there was another knock at the door. The diva rolled her eyes and called out, “I said I’d be ready in a few minutes! Just give me a little more time!”

The door disappeared from view as the camera turned to get Katherine’s reaction in full. Her eyes went wide with shock before narrowing in confusion and frustration as she asked, “What are you doing here? You’re not even on the card tonight. Why—”

That was the last word she uttered before someone barged in from behind the cameraman and attacked the diva. The camera fell to the ground, showing only Kat’s thick legs and her attacker’s sweatpants-covered lower body. Whoever they were, they filled out those pants to the fullest, to the point that they might as well have been wearing yoga pants. A scuffle could be heard and seen, but the assailant’s identity went unexposed as the camera cut away from the attack.

***

As the audience pondered the identity of Kat’s attacker, the Women’s War was set to begin. The scene in the ring looked like something out of an action movie—two teams squaring up across the ring, daring each other to make the first move. On the one side stood an assembly of heroines across the GWF brand: Terra Carter, a technician known for devastating submissions; Kaylee Grey, a former dancer and the Queen of Queens; La Santa, the third such luchadora to wear that venerable title and mask; Lora Rose, an Appalachian refugee who was strong as a bear; and the team captain, Anzu Bonny, a Kyoto native who commanded the ring like the pirate queen she fancied herself to be.

On the opposite side stood four of the most dominant, destructive heels in the Women’s Division. Hanging upside down from the ropes was the Red Widow, a psychopath who spoke only in violence. To her left, leaning against the corner post, was Iris Lonergan, a white nationalist who made it a mission to crush out inferior wrestlers. To Widow’s right was Dame Elizabeth Knox, an aristocrat who often worked with Iris in attempts to purify the GWF of any “riff-raff”. Leading the motley crew was Sadie Storme in all her glory, who alternated between sizing up the competition and glancing back at the entrance ramp.

The referee of the match, a pixie-cut blonde named Vanessa Dee, took a microphone from the ring announcer and explained to Sadie, “It’s time to start the match, Miss Storme. Kat’s had plenty of time to get out here; you’re just going to have to compete with a handicap.”

“She’ll be here,” the frustrated team captain retorted, getting within a hair’s breadth of the referee. “Just give her another—”

At that moment, Katty’s hard rock entrance music played and all eyes turned to the entrance ramp. The jumbotron displayed her name in massive letters, and the bewildered ring announcer called out, “Now entering, the fifth member of Team Storme—Kat Donna!”

The woman who ran out onto the entrance ramp, however, was not Kat Donna, much as she tried to look like her. Her hair was curled the same, she was wearing the same clothes, and she even had that beaming smile that could launch a thousand ships. It was a clever disguise, but there was one glaring flaw: Kat might have packed on a few pounds in recent months, but they all went to her upper body; Natalie’s all migrated south. The same booty shorts that her sister had squeezed into were all but painted on her thick thighs, and if anyone got close enough, they would hear the shorts creaking as they fought to contain her bulk. Likewise, she had to tug her shirt down constantly, lest a tab of tummy flab peeked out from beneath the dark top.

Natalie bounded down to the ring with all the enthusiasm of her more vivacious twin, but by the time she reached it, she was out of breath. She tried to play it up as having hurried out of the back, but with how much she jiggled with every step she took, it was clear that she was simply out of shape and needed to get back in the gym. Regardless, she walked up the steps and slipped under the ropes, where she strutted up to Vanessa and Sadie with a pathetic attempt at her typically sensual stride.

“Sorry I’m late,” the diva purred as she flipped her hair over her shoulder, “but you simply can’t rush perfection.”

Vanessa glanced to Sadie, who shrugged her shoulders and told the befuddled referee, “We’ve got our girl—let’s have a match!”

The blonde bully then turned to the late arrival and growled at her, “You’re only a last resort, ‘Kat’—that big butt of yours better make you a good anchor, or so help me God.”

Natalie gulped, her nerves fraying as she stood in front of the whole world with her pudge on display. She wished Kat had opted to wear pants that evening; her ass would still look enormous, but at least it would not be hanging out for everyone to see. It was all she could to do keep her cool and not immediately run for cover, but the look in Sadie’s eyes was enough to keep her going. Her blonde tormentor sneered contemptibly at her, like she was less than nothing, and she was sure that plenty of people in the audience were thinking the same thing.

Why? Why did that notion make her head spin and thighs squirm? What was broken inside her to want people to treat her like a fat piece of trash? Whatever it was, she would need to contemplate on it later, as the match was set to start, and the last thing she wanted was to get caught in the action too soon. Natalie slipped through the ropes as Elizabeth held them open for her teammates, only to squeal in surprise when the Brit swatted her rotund rump with a scepter.

“I can’t believe you let yourself go, you little tart, but I can’t say I hate the results,” Elizabeth hissed to Natalie as the diva rubbed her sore backside. “Maybe if you keep blimping up, it’ll give the rest of us a chance to shine. Can’t hog all the screen time if you’re looking like a hog, eh?”

Even if Natalie had a retort, it would have gone unheard, as her tormentor turned to face off against Kaylee Grey. Elizabeth was right about one thing—she was only going to keep fattening up if Sadie had her way. The Donna twin glanced over to her mistress, who paid her little mind as she focused on the outcome of the match. Sadie was so hard to read on even the best of days; Natalie had no idea what was running through the blonde’s devious mind. If she was burning up like her pet pig was, she did not show it, and that only made Natalie more anxious of whatever Sadie might be scheming.
 

Vongola27

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The match was a game of back and forth, as every time Sadie’s team took out a babyface, a heel was taken out in revenge by one of Anzu’s members. Elizabeth eked out a victory over Kaylee by forcing the girl to tap out, only to be pinned in return by Lora Rose. The Appalachian native was blindsided and rolled into a small package by Iris Lonergan, who was then beaten into submission by a vengeful La Santa. Worn out from her bout with Iris, the luchadora was easy pickings for the Red Widow, who got her own when Terra Carter nearly broke the psychopath’s neck in a hold. Unfortunately, the Canadian Wunderkind had injured her leg in taking down the Widow, which gave Sadie an easy pin.

It all boiled down to Anzu Bonny, a woman who never knew when to quit. She came at Sadie with everything she had, including a flying elbow drop from the top rope that nearly shattered the blonde’s rib cage. Sadie proved a resilient foe though, and she nearly had Anzu time and again, but only ever got a 2.9-count in pins. Finally, as a last-ditch maneuver, she hurled herself from the top rope in a Hail Mary moonsault, only for Anzu to roll away at the last second. The captain was quick to roll her opponent up for a 3-count, at which point she collapsed against one of the turnbuckles for support.

Sadie crawled out of the ring, battered and beaten to exhaustion, but she still had the strength to shout at a quivering Natalie, “What are you waiting for—the McRib to come back?! Get in there and finish her off, you useless whale!”

Natalie quickly nodded and slipped into the ring, where she maintained a healthy distance from the ragged Anzu. Even though the woman looked like she had been through Hell and back, it was impossible to tell if she was truly down for the count. The diva swallowed a lump in her throat, mustered every ounce of courage in her toneless body, and charged at the prone Anzu, aiming to drive her knee into the captain’s face. Unfortunately, her fears were validated, and her opponent ducked in time, causing Natalie to crash into the turnbuckles.

Anzu struggled to her feet, staggering in a punch drunk fashion, but she beckoned for Natalie to come at her. “Motte koi, futotta buta,” the pirate queen growled at her cowardly foe.

Once more, Natalie ran at her rival, screeching like a banshee all the way. Just before she reached Anzu, the diva sprung off the mat and attempted to hit her enemy with a drop kick, only for her heels to be caught in Anzu’s powerful arms. The captain looked out to the audience and called out, “Uzumaki Ultra!”

The arena lit up as Anzu spun around like a whirlpool and swung Natalie like a ragdoll caught in a typhoon. She kept this up for a minute straight—plenty of time for the discombobulated diva to lose any sense of direction. By the time she was finally released and sent flying across the ring, Natalie had no idea what was up or down; she only knew that she had finally gotten off one crazy ride. Her feet slipped out from her once or twice like a newborn fawn, but she received some help from Anzu, who lifted her up and strung her arms up in the ring ropes.

“You’ve had this coming a long time, ‘Kat’,” Anzu murmured as she got in close to the dazed Natalie. “I’m gonna chop you up into tonkatsu, you sow.”

Even if her arms were not wrapped up in the ropes, Natalie would have been too dizzy to fight back as Anzu tugged her shirt up to just under her plump breasts. The pirate queen smirked as she reached out and grabbed a handful of the exposed jelly belly, wobbled and sloshed it around, and let it drop over the top of her shorts. Then, she reared her hand back and gave it a sharp slap that echoed throughout the arena and set Natalie into a jiggling frenzy. The piercing sting roused the blonde, but there was nothing she could do as Anzu mercilessly chopped at her gut until Natalie’s stomach was pink as a pig’s.

The devastating captain backed away, but only at the referee’s behest; if she had her way, she would have gone slapping Natalie’s fat gut for the rest of the night. As her portly opponent shakily uncoiled herself from the ropes, Anzu crouched and licked her lips like a wolf that spied easy prey. And no sooner had Natalie released herself than her fearsome opponent speared her into the turnbuckles again. When the diva slumped to the mat, belly puffing in and out as she greedily sucked in air, her tormentor grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out to the middle of the ring without so much as a struggle.

Anzu tossed Natalie face first to the floor like a wet paper towel before draping across her back. As she locked her arms under the diva’s, she whispered into her crushed opponent’s ear, “I’m going to enjoy hearing you squeal.”

“Wh-Wha—sweeeeee!” Natalie screeched as Anzu flipped over in front of her and arched her back in a torturous Cattle Mutilation hold. Tears filled her eyes as she fought the pain as much as she could, but with no chance of survival, she frantically slapped the mat, which brought an end to the pain as Anzu released her.

“The winners—Team Anzu!” the ring announcer declared to a chorus of cheers from the fans in the arena.

The team captain stood triumphantly over her fallen foe, nudging the prone Natalie with her boot before rolling her onto her back. With her belly rising and falling like a bullfrog’s throat, the diva could not have felt any more pathetic if she had tried. She whimpered as she gingerly touched her stinging stomach, only to pause when Anzu offered her a hand up. It seemed like a show of good sportsmanship, but what the pirate queen said next dispelled that notion.

“Sadie told us that you are free game now—something about a big angle,” Anzu murmured as she pulled Natalie in for a bear hug. “I don’t know why you’ve let yourself go, but I promise, I’m going to give you plenty of receipts for all the crap you put me through these last few years.”

The diva trembled with fear at that notion, and she stumbled away in a haze of humiliation and pleasure. This was the most embarrassing thing she had ever had to do in the GWF, and if Sadie got her way, it would not be the last. Her mind reeled with the possibilities, knowing that at least Elizabeth and Anzu were somewhat in on the concept. Who else had Sadie recruited, and what had she told them?

Natalie could not dwell on the concept for long, because as she shakily made her way up the ramp, Sadie reappeared again—with the real Kat Donna in tow. A pair of handcuffs dangled from one of her sister’s wrists, and her cheeks were splotched from where duct tape covered her lips. None of that mattered though, as she had a fire in her eyes like never before, and it was all focused on Natalie.

“You scheming, backstabbing tramp!” Kat screeched at her twin. “You steal my place in the match, you make a mockery of me, and you go and lose the match for us?!”

“Natalie, I…I can explain!” the diva whimpered as she froze in her tracks.

“You don’t need to explain anything—we’re through!” huffed Kat as she crossed her arms under her prodigious chest. “You’ve always been like this: always trying to take what’s mine, from toys to boys, but no more! From now on, this bitch is a solo act—you’ll just have to find someone else to leech off of, because I’m done with you.”

The sportier of the sisters turned her back and stormed backstage, leaving Natalie with her chief tormentor. Sadie glowered at her with a look that could melt ice, and she snapped her fingers loud enough for the fans in the cheap seats to hear. The diva cringed before slowly shuffling her way up the ramp until she was face to face with her team leader. There was a hunger in Sadie’s eyes, a hunger that Natalie only saw when they were alone together.

“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me, but it’s for your own good,” the blonde growled just before slamming a knee into Natalie’s gut. As soon as the diva keeled over, Sadie brought her to the ground and draped her across her knee, where she proceeded to swat Natalie’s bulbous backside again and again. Her chops were nowhere near as sharp as Anzu’s, but they were far more powerful, to the point that it felt like the Donna twin was being paddled.

As the audience lit up with cheers, jeers, and applause, Natalie never felt lower—or more aroused. Her thunder thighs clenched together and she grit her teeth to try and fight back the heat building inside her. She never had a partner torment her like this, on such a massive scale, and she wondered how far this would go before it came to an end…if it ever ended at all, of course.
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 44

At last, the penultimate match of the night arrived: Shinobu Misawa vs. Ananya Patel in an Alley Fight for the Women’s Championship, which meant one fall only and all action was no holds barred. Were it not for the stipulation, most people would have blown off the match as just another win for the indomitable Shinobu, who had upheld her promise of defending the title until Mickey Ramone returned to TV. All eyes were on Ananya going into the match, for her meteoric rise to the title picture was unprecedented; not three months in the promotion, and the former weightlifter was challenging for one of its most prestigious titles. It was ludicrous to think that she would take it, but anything was possible in the Global Wrestling Federation.

The Alley Fight was to take place in the ring, but with a few key modifications to it and the surrounding area. First, the padding underneath the canvas was removed, leaving only a wooden panel to cushion any falls. Second, the crew peeled away the mats circling the ring, exposing the concrete floor of the arena. Finally, all the crowd barriers at ringside had their foam covers taken away, which left only the cold steel rails between the audience and the wrestlers. It was like stepping back in time to an era when safety regulations meant little in the face of a brawl.

As if to add to the aesthetic, a microphone was lowered from the rafters as the announcer stepped into the center of the ring. He told the eager fans, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall, and there will be no holds barred. And now, the participants: from Haryana, India, weighing one hundred thirty-six pounds—Ananya Patel!”

A triumphant trumpet blared through the arena before a Bollywood-inspired remix announced her arrival. Ananya stormed out onto the entrance ramp in a far different outfit than the audience was used to; she had traded in her more traditional garb for a pair of military pants, a black turtleneck with the sleeves ripped off, and fingerless gloves. Her long, braided hair had been shorn down to a short mohawk that ran down to her shoulders. A sinister snarl spread across her lips as she flexed her powerful arms for the fans before she stomped down to the ring like a force to be reckoned with.

After Ananya climbed into the ring and sat against one of the posts, the announcer glanced back at the entrance ramp and pronounced, “And her opponent: from Osaka, Japan, weighing in at two hundred-one pounds—the defending Women’s Champion, Shinobu Misawa!”

The fans in attendance lit up and cheers filled the arena as the reigning champion’s J-pop music played. True to form, Shinobu was cosplaying for her match—in this case, dressing as a certain South Town Hero. A baseball cap with the words ‘Fatal Fighter’ adorned her bleach-blonde hair, and though she managed to squeeze her doughy middle into a sleeveless t-shirt, it clung to every inch of her thick, bubbly belly. Over the shirt was a red vest with a white star on the back, and despite lacking any definition, her puffy arms were also on display. This led down to a pair of jeans that might as well have been jeggings, so tight were they on her legs and hips. It was a far cry from the usual anime-inspired get-ups, and fit much more with the brawl ahead.

“Hey, come on, come on!” Shinobu called out to the audience as she punched at the air while making her way down to the ring. The Women’s Championship belt was wrapped around her girthy hips, a much tighter fit than it was just a few months prior, but the fans did not care. Despite her rapidly rising weight, the Osakan native had maintained the same level of stamina and strength since she first won the title. She had faced all comers from the Women’s Division, across all GWF brands, but no one could compete on her level; that was the sentiment as she removed her belt and waltzed up to Ananya.

As soon as she stepped foot in the ring though, her taller opponent was on top of her, punching her in the gut again and again. The bell was rung just as Ananya grabbed Shinobu by the back of the head and hurled her to the mat, where she proceeded to stomp on her shorter foe’s belly. It was the same level of ruthless aggression that the former weightlifter had shown in the last few weeks—tearing through anyone that dared to get in her way. It was an effective way of getting over with the crowd while covering her flaws as a wrestlers; the bookers were doing a solid job of building her up as a one-woman wrecking crew.

Eventually, Shinobu was able to get her hands up, grab Ananya’s heel, and yank the woman to the floor. She rolled away, clutching at her stomach, and glared daggers into the neophyte as both women got back to their feet. They both knew that Ananya was incorporating stiff blows into her repertoire, but Shinobu had not expected anything quite like this. It took her back to her days in the dojo, when she was trained under brutal conditions that made a warrior out of her and honed her into the wrestling machine she was today.

Ananya charged at Shinobu once more, but this time, the diminutive woman was ready. She crouched down before springing into the air and slamming her feet into Ananya’s stomach with a drop kick. Her towering opponent went staggering back and over the ropes, helped by a clothesline from a vengeful Shinobu. The former weightlifter hit the concrete hard, and it was only thanks to a quick tuck and roll that she did not get hurt.

As the crowd cheered the champion, Shinobu hopped over the ropes and stood on the ring apron—the only way she could look down on Ananya. She crossed her arms under her plump chest and waved one hand towards her as she told her downed foe, “Get serious!”

A bestial snarl came from Ananya as she scrambled to her feet and snatched the boastful Shinobu by the chubby ankle. Before the Osakan realized what was happening, her powerful opponent yanked her off-balance and sent her tumbling onto the hard apron. Shinobu clutched at her back in pain, but Ananya was not finished with her just yet.

“You want serious? You’ve got serious!” the Haryanian native growled as she scooped up Shinobu and hurled her onto the concrete.

The cosplay queen of the ring felt the air leave her lungs in an explosive gasp, and she struggled to catch her breath as Ananya towered over her. She managed to buy herself a little time by crawling feebly toward one of the railings for support, but her ribs ached and her back felt like it was full of spiders. It had been years since a match had pushed her so violently—which also meant she never had the chance to cut loose.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down,” Ananya taunted as she loomed over her fallen foe. “You don’t want any of this.”

“I…I think I do,” Shinobu huffed as air returned to her. “Bring it on.”

Gritting her teeth, Ananya stormed over to Shinobu, only for the Osakan to grab her by the hem of her shirt and yank her down onto the railing. The monstrous weightlifter grunted as her head came to within an inch of hitting the steel, though she played it up for the crowd and fell to the floor, clutching her forehead. Shinobu was not done though, as she took Ananya by the collar and tugged her to her feet. The wily champion quickly shucked off her vest and wrapped it over her opponent’s head before bending her over and punching her again and again in the stomach. The vicious assault was capped off with Shinobu tripping Ananya over the ring steps and onto the floor once again.

As the stout woman climbed back into the ring, Ananya ripped off the vest and glowered at her opponent. This match had to end as soon as possible—not for her sake, but for Shinobu’s. Dave’s instructions had been perfectly clear: put the champion away by any means necessary; even if it was not clean, the referee would count it all the same. The Alley Fight had been chosen because it was the perfect opportunity to fight dirty and Ananya could play to her strengths. She could unleash all the carnage management wanted, and none would be the wiser.

Ananya slid under the bottom rope and stood face to face with the woman she wished would be her mentor. Shinobu had a sly smirk spread across her chubby cheeks, which most people would have written off as cocky, but the former weightlifter knew better. She had done her research on the Osakan, and whenever Shinobu got that look on her face, that meant she was having the time of her life. That made it all the harder for Ananya, who had to fight the urge to call the match then and there.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” she asked Shinobu, who replied with a shake of her head.

“This would be a warm-up in my old dojo,” the shorter woman assured, bumping her blubbery gut against Ananya. “You will have to do better than that.”
 

Vongola27

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The Haryanian’s teeth clenched as she struck Shinobu across the face with a backhanded slap. As her doughy opponent’s eyes watered up and her cheek turned bright red, Ananya asked, “Better?”

Shinobu responded by giving a sharp kick to the taller woman’s shin. Ananya screeched and clutched at her leg, but all her flabby foe had to say was, “Again.”

The slap that followed was so sharp, even the fans in the cheap seats had to wince. Shinobu stumbled backwards from the blow, and when she put her fingers to her lips, she found blood on their tips. Still, she showed no rage or anger—only a delirious grin that would befit an axe murderer. The Osakan licked her lips and spat blood onto the mat before smiling fiendishly, her teeth stained crimson from the cut on her lips and in her mouth.

“Good!” she declared. “Good, good, good! Give me more!”

Ananya felt her heart racing a mile a minute as Shinobu egged her on, no doubt thinking that this was just an ordinary match. Fighting the veteran like this reminded her of why she admired Shinobu so much: even though she had packed on sixty-odd pounds since the summer, she fought with all the ferocity of a wildcat; if only Dave Ericson could look beyond his champion’s belly, he would see a star athlete any promotion would be proud to host. As it was, she had a job to do, no matter how much she hated it, but that did not mean she could not have a little fun until then.

“You want more? I’ll give you more, you little psychopath,” Ananya growled before booting Shinobu in the gut once again.

When the doughy girl keeled over, her taller opponent took her by the wrist and dragged her towards one of the posts. Ananya built up enough speed to hop up to the second rope, then the third rope, and then leap from on high and toss Shinobu over her shoulder. The Osakan went flying ass over teakettle before landing in the center of the ring with a sickening thud, her plump body just barely cushioning the blow.

As Shinobu writhed in pain, Ananya quickly crawled over to her fallen foe, grabbed her blonde locks, and slammed her face into the mat. She did this again and again, barking each time, “Still want more?! Still think you can take me?! I’ll end you, you worthless piece of trash!”

Her savage screams were cut short by Shinobu punching her in the nose, and the former weightlifter heard a sickening crunch rattle through her skull. Blood streamed out of her broken nose, but Ananya’s lips spread into a manic grin to match Shinobu’s as she released the butterball from her grasp. Both women staggered back to their feet and glowered at each other while circling around the ring like two lions fighting for supremacy, all while they were showered with cheers from the bloodthirsty fans.

Ananya reached down to her waist, undid a spiky belt, and cracked it like a whip at her side, while Shinobu, lacking any standard weapons, crouched down in anticipation. The belt snapped once more before its owner lashed out and struck Shinobu in the hands as the champion threw them in front of her face. Squealing in pain, the doughy girl turned her back to Ananya, which made for the perfect target for the savage foe. The former weightlifter struck once, twice, three times, raking across Shinobu’s roly-poly back with each blow, and she would have gone for a fourth, had the referee not intervened.

Boos rained down on Patricia Nicholson as she stepped between Shinobu and Ananya, but if they could only hear what she was saying to the Haryanian, they might have rioted. The veteran referee got up close to Ananya, as if telling her to back off from Shinobu, but what she said was the exact opposite. She whispered to the neophyte wrestler, “I just got word from the back. Put an end to this now, before the two of you kill each other.”

Reality came crashing back down on the reluctant turncoat, and Ananya was reminded of why she was there. She stoically nodded and tossed her belt aside as she shoved Patricia out of her way, grunting, “Just do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

Shinobu was catching her breath against the ropes when Ananya stormed over and yanked her back into the middle of the ring by the heel. The towering woman grabbed the bottom of chunky competitor’s shirt and violently ripped it off her flabby middle, exposing both her pale love handles and the back rolls forming where her overtaxed bra bit into her shoulders. More important to the audience, however, were the rosy welts forming where Ananya had whipped Shinobu with her studded belt. Coupled with the bruises forming all over her body, the stout woman looked like she had been through hell and back.

Ananya rolled the torn shirt in her hand as Shinobu squirmed fruitlessly at her feet, putting on a convincing punch-drunk act. With a defeated sigh, the former weightlifter got down on one knee and wrapped the shirt tight around Shinobu’s throat. Though it was not tight enough to actually cut off air, the woman writhed against Ananya as she struggled to get free before she passed out. It was an act as old as time itself: she could either fight her way free, power her way over to the ropes, or pretend to pass out, only to come from behind. What she did not anticipate, however, was what Ananya said next.

“I’m sorry,” the Haryanian whispered solemnly. “I love you.”

Before Shinobu could wrap her head around that, she heard Patricia shout to the timekeeper, “Ring the bell! Ring the fucking bell—she tapped!”

Suddenly, as the bell rang and ended the match, Shinobu’s struggles turned violently real as she fought to get out from under Ananya. The former weightlifter obliged as she quickly backed away and gawked at the referee in disbelief. She glanced back down at Shinobu, and the doughy woman stared dumbfounded back at her.

“Shinobu, I swear, I had no idea,” Ananya lied through her teeth, even as Patricia took her by the wrist and dragged her away. “I had no idea!”

As the guilty referee made a speedy getaway to the back and Ananya took the belt from the officials at ringside, the shocked announcer declared amidst the cacophony of boos, “Here is your winner and new Women’s Champion—Ananya Patel!”

While her opponent limped up the entrance ramp, belt hanging limply from her hands, Shinobu propped herself up against one of the turnbuckles and pulled herself to her weary feet. The thrill of battle was dying fast, replaced by the numbness of betrayal and the pain of her battered body. Her fat gut pooched in and out as she gasped for air, her mind struggling to comprehend everything that just happened. Any way you cut it, there was no denying the cold, hard truth: she had just been screwed out of the title—the same title she had sworn to hold onto until Mickey returned.

Someone was going to pay dearly for this, and she started with the surrounding area. Running on pure rage, Shinobu slid out of the ring and charged at the announcer’s table, giving the team a mere second to get away. The blubbery brawler screamed incoherently as she tore the collapsible desk apart, smashed monitors and cameras, and smashed a chair offered up by a sympathetic fan. The audience cheered her on, but it was little consolation to her as she felt her heart shatter into pieces.

“Gomen-nasai, Mickey,” Shinobu sobbed as she collapsed onto the ring steps. “Gomen-nasai.”

***

The backstage had been hectic earlier, but after the Women’s Championship match, it was downright pandemonium. Everyone was talking about what had just happened, from the producers to the production assistants, and especially the wrestlers. It was not the first time someone had been screwed out of a title, but it was first one in a long while, which had people running scared or screaming at the production team. If this could happen to someone like Shinobu Misawa, no one was safe, not even the top performers on the roster.

Ananya was peppered with rapid-fire questions as she trudged backstage, but she ignored all of them as she muscled her way to the locker room. She did not stop for a shower nor to change her clothes; all she wanted to do was get out as soon as possible. Only when she reached the safety of her car and peeled out of the parking lot did she allow herself to lose her composure, which she did by screaming at the top of her lungs and punching the steering wheel until she broke the handle. She was the champion now, but at what cost? The fans would never get behind her, no one backstage would trust her, and Shinobu would hate her forever. In one fell swoop, she became the most hated woman in wrestling, with nowhere else to go but all the way down…
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 45

The shows after a pay-per-view always held so much promise: fresh feuds were started, new gimmicks were born, and fresh-faced superstars made their debuts. While many of these would lead to nothing, they were hot and exciting at least that night, and the night after Global War was no exception. More than the usual surprises, most people were tuning in to see the fallout of the scandalous Women’s Championship match between Shinobu Misawa and Ananya Patel. The official word was that Shinobu had tapped out when Ananya was strangling her, but anyone with two eyes and a working brain knew that was not the case. The fan-favorite champion had been unceremoniously stripped of her title, and someone had to answer for it.

That someone was Ananya Patel, who had arrived in Chicago looking and feeling like trash. She had spent the night locked up in her hotel room with a twelve-pack of beer and her sorrow to keep her company, which then devolved into vomiting until she had nothing left to give. Sleeping off the turmoil did nothing for her, and the new champion could not stomach so much as a crumb as she blearily made her way through the day. When she finally showed up for Monday Night War, Ananya looked less like a champion and more like a flu victim; only the impeccable talents of the make-up department made her halfway presentable.

It was a good thing too, as she was on first for the evening. The booking committee had taken pity on her and given her the night off; all Ananya needed to do was get out and deliver a promo to the audience. Simple enough, except for the fact that the audience wanted nothing less than her head on a platter, and they were making that extremely vocal. This was made apparent as she watched the monitor at the gorilla position, where she saw signs that read ‘Die, Ananya, Die’ and ‘Ananya Screwed Shinobu’. There was not a single supporter in the entire arena, not even backstage, as everyone avoided her like the plague. All but one person, that is.

“Now, you’ve read the script, right?” asked Dave Ericson as he stood by Ananya. “You just need to go out there and say the lines, okay?”

“Just go out and say the lines,” the weightlifter mumbled. “Got it.”

“It’s going to be rough, but don’t let them intimidate you,” assured the owner of the GWF. “They’re just butthurt marks, but they’ll get over it in time. All you need to do is get out there and show them that you have what it takes, and they’ll forget all about Shinobu Misawa.”

If only Ananya had as much confidence as her boss. Her stomach was doing somersaults as she waited to be called out, and it was all she could do to not run and hide. Dave had tried to convince her that the audience would come around, but there was no winning them over. Not only had Ananya stolen a win from one of the most well-liked champions in recent times—she had taken the belt that Shinobu swore, on national TV, to defend until Mickey Ramone came back to the promotion. She would have better luck getting water from a stone than getting an audience behind her.

Finally, it was time to make her appearance. With the championship belt slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the Haryanian slapped herself in the face to get herself going and stormed through the curtains. Instantly, she was hit by a wall of noise as boos rang down on her from every corner of the stadium—so much so that the jeers were indistinguishable. Ananya kept her eyes on the ring ahead of her and did her best to tune out the crowd by the entrance ramp, whose taunts were the most understandable, unfortunately for her.

“You’re a thief, Patel! A goddamn thief!” declared an older, scruffier man.

“You suck, Patel!” a little kid sneered as he gave Ananya two thumbs down.

“You’ll burn in hell for this!” barked a grandmother, who proceeded to spit on the new champion’s boot.

Ananya ignored all these and more as she approached the ring, marched up the steel steps, and slipped through the ropes. The announcer handed her a microphone, but she took a deep, steadying breath before she began. She glanced around the arena at the sea of hatred around her: so many people who wanted her dead, who wished nothing but the absolute worst on her, and she had to make her voice heard. It would be difficult even for a veteran, and the former weightlifter only had a few months experience under her belt. To call it Sisyphean would be an understatement.

“I just—I’m not—that is,” she fumbled as she tried to stick to the script. It was so hard to concentrate as vitriol rained down around her. Ananya squeezed her eyes shut and clenched the microphone so tight that it almost cracked. Did they not understand that she never wanted this—that all she wanted was a match against her icon? No, all that mattered to them was shutting her down and burying her with whatever they had. When it became too much to bear, the veins bulged in her forehead and she opened her eyes to reveal a blood vessel had popped in her left eye, filling it with crimson red.

“Shut the hell up, you ungrateful bastards!” Ananya roared at the top of her lungs. “I don’t give a damn about you, Mickey Ramone, or your precious little Shinobu! The only thing that matters to me is right here, where it belongs—the Women’s Championship. You want to know why I screwed over Shinobu Misawa? Because I was tired of seeing a fat, little nerd run around with the belt like she was the best in the world!

“And I’ve got news for you,” the enraged woman continued, her voice straining against the audience. “Shinobu ain’t here tonight! She’s too busy licking her wounds and eating her feelings, and couldn’t be assed to show up even for a rematch! I am the Women’s Champion now—the best in the whole damn world—and you little shits just have to deal with it, because there’s not a single woman in that locker room that can take me down. Anyone that thinks they can do better can bite me!”

Glaring around the arena as the hate flowed like never before, Ananya growled, “Eat shit and die, you assholes.”

With that, the enraged champion threw her microphone to the ground and stormed out of the ring to the most bitter heat she had ever heard from a wrestling audience. If the audience wanted her dead before, they now wanted to piss on her corpse afterwards; for better or worse, she had done her job. Ananya felt nothing as a full water bottle hit her in the head and more people spat on her as she passed up the ramp. Before she could vanish behind the curtains, the Haryanian gave the antagonistic crowd one last look and two middle fingers to voice her disdain for them.

Everyone backstage gave her a wide berth, for fear that Ananya would bash someone’s head in with her belt. The only one who dared get in her way was the man in charge, who looked like he was ready to rip his new champion’s head off.

“Are you out of your damn mind?!” Dave roared, his face redder than a tomato. “I told you to stick to the script, not to cuss out the entire audience! Do you have any idea what this will do for our network deal? Our sponsors?! You could have—”

The old man never got to finish that sentence, as Ananya delivered a sharp kick to his crotch with her steel-toed boot. Dave hit the floor like a wet paper towel and howled incoherently while everyone crowded around him. Ananya stood over him with gritted teeth and the belt in hand, as if ready to whip the CEO if he dared say another word.

“Screw the network, screw the sponsors, and screw you, Dave,” the former weightlifter snarled. “This is all on you, old man—remember that.”

Point made, Ananya carved a path of destruction through the backstage area like a walking firestorm. She knocked equipment over, shoved people aside like refuse, and even flipped over a table at craft services. In a repeat of the night before, the champion quickly gathered her bag from the locker room and head to her car, not wanting to spend a second more at the show now that she had played her role.

When she planted herself behind the wheel, Ananya felt the evening catch up to her and feed the feelings roiling inside her. There was a pleasant sense of relief that came from speaking her mind so freely, but this was brought back down with the dread of what she had done. To call it ‘career suicide’ did not do it justice; she had just done to her career what Yusupov did to Rasputin. It would be nothing short of a miracle if she had a career in the morning, if it even took that long to decide. Most curiously of all, the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach was gone, replaced by a ravenous hunger that only a starving man could match.

“Fuck it,” Ananya murmured as she burned rubber on her way out of the parking garage, “we’re getting Chinese.”
 

Vongola27

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As the fervor died down backstage and Dave regained the ability to talk and walk, a mandate was issued: if anyone else dared to go off-script for even a second, they would be fired on the spot. It was a move that made the rest of the show stilted and lifeless, but at least a riot was prevented and the GWF could show its supporters that they could play it safe. Everything went off without a hitch as the show progressed, and by the second hour, the crowd had mostly cooled down from the boiling point at the start of the program. This made it the perfect time for the next big payoff from the night before—Natalie Donna stealing her sister’s spot in the Global War match and losing said match for her team.

“Joining us now is the Women’s Intercontinental Champion, Sadie Storme,” announced Jolene Campano, one of the GWF’s interviewers as the bodacious blonde stepped into view. “Sadie, the people want to know—what does last night’s debacle mean for the Storme Troop?”

Sadie bit her lip and furrowed her brow as she answered, “Well, Jolene, it pains me to say, but the Storme Troop is dead: Maxine’s gone out to Philadelphia, Kat’s not talking to Natalie, and Natty betrayed my trust last night at Global War. But I built the Storme Troop into the fighting force it was, and I can do it all over again—starting with the weakest link.”

The blonde glanced over her shoulder and barked, “Natty, get your fat ass over here!”

Natalie Donna shuffled into frame with all the meekness of a frightened puppy, a far cry from the sensual swagger she normally carried. The strawberry blonde looked absolutely ridiculous otherwise: sweatband over her brow, sports bra that only served to emphasize how little her breasts had grown, hot pants that could only contain half of her plump backside, and fuzzy wristbands and leg warms, all in a gaudy, neon pink. Her hands were behind her back, which only enhanced the swell of her stomach as it pooched over the waistband of her overtaxed shorts. Thunder thighs thick as telephone poles wiggled together as she sheepishly stood in front of the camera, knowing what was to come.

Sadie glowered at her and asked, “What’ve you got behind your back, Natty?”

“Nothing,” the Donna twin mumbled as she tried in vain to shift away from her mistress, only for Sadie to snatch away the candy bar she had been nibbling on off-screen.

“Are you kidding me, Natty?! I turn my back on you for two seconds, and you’re shoving candy in your mouth?” Sadie snipped at her pudgy plaything, who shrank back as her tormentor bonked her on the head with the chocolate. “This is exactly why we’re doing this in the first place!”

“I’m sssssorry!” Natalie squeaked as her legs trembled with fear and excitement. Even though Sadie was berating her on live TV, the diva felt herself getting hotter by the second.

Grunting in disapproval, Sadie turned her attention back to Jolene and told her, “This is what I was talking about. Natalie was never one of our strongest members, but she could always be counted on for a quick save or a distraction with her bombshell bod. Now, there’s nothing quick about her, and that bombshell has exploded. I mean, look at this.”

The blonde bully slapped Natalie’s belly, eliciting a squeal of surprise from the portly princess, before spinning her around and bouncing the diva’s cheeks in her hand. Natalie was fit before her hunger got the better of her, but after skipping out on the gym so much, she had lost much of the tone and definition that kept her glamorous. As a result, every new pound on her was soft and flabby, making her look that much more out of shape.

“Disgusting,” Sadie spat as she turned Natalie around once again. “That’s why I’m taking charge and putting Natty on a strict diet and exercise regimen. If she really wants to get back into the title picture, then she needs to show me that she wants it.”

“Well, that’s mighty generous of you, Sadie,” Jolene remarked, a little Southern twang sneaking into her voice. “Natty, are y’all up for the challenge?”

Natalie nodded enthusiastically, her soft cheeks bunching up into a double chin every time. “I am! I’m tired of p-p-people treating me like I’m just eye-candy, so I’ll d-d-d-do whatever it takes to become champion.”

“Then you better start running, because this candy just earned you a lap around the arena,” Sadie snarked. “Now get that fat ass in gear and move, move, move!”

“Suey!” Natalie squealed hoggishly when her tormentor gave a sharp slap to her gelatinous rump, and she ran off-screen as fast as she could. The diva ran down the hall and around a corner, where she leaned up against the wall while waiting for Sadie to finish the interview. For running such a short distance, it was pathetic how much she huffed and puffed to catch her breath; it was a testament to how little exercise she was getting these days. Unfortunately, even if she wanted to get back into the gym, it had to be done with Sadie’s permission, and even then, she would not be allowed to go for very long.

While waiting for her mistress, Natalie glanced down the hall and felt her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach. Walking her way were Anzu Bonny, Elizabeth Knox, and Lora Rose, three of the women from the Global War match the night before; two of whom had mocked her weight gain. Each of the three had food in hand and a smirk on their faces.

“My, my, Natalie—that’s quite the look,” Elizabeth purred in her posh London accent. “You look like you stepped right out of one of my nan’s workout videos.”

“I reckon that this pig could do with one o’ them videos right about now,” the Appalachian Lora chuckled.

Anzu smirked and licked her lips as she looked Natalie up and down with a wolfish gleam in her eyes. “Shame that Sadie won’t let her,” the pirate queen taunted, “but her gain is our gain too.”

“What d-d-do you want?” Natalie asked, feeling tiny as a mouse and wide as a house among the three beauties. Her eyes glanced between them and the food in hand: pizza and a fully-loaded sandwich with Anzu, chicken wings and a towering burger with Lora, and macaroni and cheese and a stack of cookies with Elizabeth. It was enough to make the distressed diva drool, even though Sadie had topped her off before they came to the show.

“To test you,” Anzu answered as she stepped in close to Natalie, close enough for the strawberry blonde to get a whiff of the greasy, cheesy pizza. “Sadie said you can’t put your fork down anymore; I want to see if that’s true.”

Elizabeth leaned up against the wall on Natalie’s other side and explained, “So, it’s really quite simple: if you don’t want to eat, don’t eat; if you do, then you need to eat everything we have here.”

Natalie gulped around a lump in her throat as she looked around for any lifeline that might pull her out of this. Her gaze fell on Lora, who she was certain she had never wronged. “Lora, p-p-p-please…I thought we were friends!”

“Yeah, we were, ‘til I found out y’all screwed my boyfriend while I was over in Europe,” Lora sneered as she wafted the chicken wings under Natalie’s nose. “So when I found out Sadie was done covering for ya, I decided to take my chances with these two.”

The terrified twin had no idea what to do as the temptress trio closed in around her; even if she could run, they would likely catch up to her in a heartbeat or tell Sadie what had happened. What would the blonde do to her if she found out about this? If she found out that Natalie had turned down food, she might stuff the poor diva until she popped like a balloon. At the same time, cowing to these three now would mean they would only do it again in the future, which meant there would be no escape from this hell she found herself in. She wracked her brain for an answer, but her decision was all but made up for her when Anzu crammed half a slice of pizza in her mouth.

“Eat,” the captain commanded, and against her better judgment, Natalie did just that. As the trio cackled malevolently, the diva gobbled up the pizza, fearing there was no end to this rabbit hole.
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 46

Thanksgiving had always meant a great deal to Mickey Ramone, even before she had embraced her weight gain fantasies. It was the one time of year when everyone from her large family could get together, and being a people person, she thrived on all seeing everyone. She enjoyed playing with the youngest of her cousins, wrestling with the teens, and gossiping with her aunts and uncles. Having so many people together also meant a wide variety of foods—enough to feed a small army—and Mickey loved to sample a little of everything. It was the perfect time of year for her, and she wished that she could truly indulge as much as she wanted, but she always had to hold back.

And now, she had the perfect opportunity to indulge but was unable to attend, for fear that a single picture would leak out to the world. All it would take was one innocent snapshot improperly tagged, and Mickey’s fat ass would be all over the wrestling headlines. If that happened, there would be no Superheavyweight Championship, no place for her on the roster, and likely no place in the Global Wrestling Federation at all. Much as she wanted to see her entire extended family, Mickey would have to forego it this year.

To make matters worse, her friends were unable to visit: KC still could not travel due to her leg, Maggie and Sharon would be attending the Ramone/Torres Thanksgiving festivities, and Shinobu had gone radio silent since Global War. This left Mickey down in the dumps, and no amount of chatting with people over the phone had helped. All she could do was plant her bulbous backside on the couch, tune out to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and plow through her breakfast. Even though Ray had made a stack of pumpkin pancakes for her, the flavor barely registered to her; Mickey wanted to bury her sorrows in food and nothing more.

“Ustedes música es mala y deberíen sentirte mal!” Mickey barked as a jaunty performance advertising a Broadway production started up. Normally, she would be mocking it with one of her cousins, but when she was on her own, it was just obnoxious.

“What’s going on, babe?” asked Ray as he poked his head into the room. “Need a refill?”

“Please, and it’s just some shitty song and dance from some rock opera called ‘Sbemail’,” the grumpy woman groused as she downed the last of her mulled cider. “What am I even looking at? There’s a shirtless luchador running around shouting about a dragon, and there’s this white dude with no arms following him.”

Her boyfriend shrugged his shoulders as he took the glass and put down a small plate piled with bacon and sausage. “They’ll make anything into a Broadway show these days,” he answered. “Be right back—just let me know if you need anything!”

Mickey grunted in return, too busy wallowing in self-pity to properly respond. She knew there would be sacrifices when she made her agreement with Dave, but she had failed to consider the sheer isolation she would face. It was a small miracle Ray and she had been able to take their cruise; she was banned from going most anywhere except the gym. There were moments when she had been able to get out and see friends and family, but they were few and far between. Once she made her return in March, she would be able to go out in public with neon signs announcing who she was, but until then, the massive woman had to stay cooped up in her apartment.

The one bright side was that this allowed her to focus on her gain, which only rose higher as the days went by. Mickey had not weighed herself in the last few days, but she knew she was getting ever closer to 400 pounds, something she never would have thought possible outside the stories she had read over the years. It was awesome in the classical sense and frightening in any sense of the word, as she still had four months to go before she made her big return. She had kept fit as much as possible, but at the rate she was growing, the mammoth woman would be mightily massive when she came back to the ring.

It was hard to believe that the same time last year, Mickey had been as lithe and limber as the dancers on screen. Everything was fat and heavy about her, from the thick ring of blubber that wrapped around her neck to cankles that belonged on a mother-to-be. When she tilted her head down, all she could see was herself; her cantaloupe tits rested proudly atop a balloon of a belly that covered her lap almost to her knees. If she put her hands down at her sides, they would find her hips and thighs spreading out to take up most of the real estate on the couch. Even her arms had bloated to the point that she could not keep them perfectly straight, as her bulbous biceps pushed them out at a slight angle.

On a normal day, this might have delighted the gaining girl—she might even have some playtime after her post-breakfast glut. This was one of the few days where she actually felt trapped inside her body, where she was a prisoner to her pudge. The tight cling of her clothes did not seem quite so pleasurable, nor did she enjoy the weight of her stomach on her thunder thighs. It was rare for Mickey to ever have doubts in her plan, but the holiday funk brought them out in droves.

“Pedaza de basura sin valor,” the butterball grunted as she sunk her fingers into her thick middle and squeezed. “This must be what my mom felt like when she was lugging me around. March can’t come soon enough.”

“Then we get to show the rest of the world just how powerful, sexy, and powerfully sexy you are,” Ray remarked as he wandered into the den.

Mickey glanced over her shoulder as her lover leaned over the couch to kiss her on her chipmunk cheek. Raymundo had always been her biggest supporter, no matter how hair-brained her plans were; he was always there to lend a hand and make sure everything ran smoothly. If she got hurt, he was there to patch her up; if she lost, he helped to cheer her up. Most importantly of all, he was always there with affirmations whenever her doubts nagged at her.

“You think they’ll see that?” Mickey asked softly as her fingers gauged the pile of flab at her waist. “I mean, I love how fat I’ve gotten, but will everyone else?”

Ray put one of his hands on hers and rubbed circles atop her stomach. “I think that anyone that isn’t impressed when you walk down that ramp is going to learn that you are every bit as awesome as you were before. You are a champion no matter how much you weigh, and people are going to see that.”

A small smile sprouted on Mickey, her first for the day, and she reached out to stroke her boyfriend’s scruffy cheek. She murmured, “Siempre sabes que decir, amante.”

This earned the plump princess a kiss on the lips, but their moment was paused by their doorbell ringing. Ray glanced out at the door and then back to his jiggly girlfriend as he asked, “Were we expecting anyone today?”

“Not unless it’s one of the neighbors bringing something by,” Mickey answered with a shrug.

The beefy manager stood up and walked over to the door, smoothing out his apron in the process. This only caused him to get flour on his hands, and so, not wanting to dirty his polo shirt or khakis, Ray clapped his hands together like two chalkboard erasers. When he got to the door, he was only slightly cleaner, but that would have to suffice—and judging by who he saw in the peephole, he did not expect this would be an issue.

“Jack! Connie!” Ray excitedly greeted his old friends.

Jack and Connie Nelson had known Raymundo and Mickey for years, ever since they had all worked together in a small-time promotion out in Georgia. Once Jack moved out to take over Dare-Devil Wrestling in New Mexico, the couples had been able to meet up much more frequently, especially now that Mickey’s cousin was on the roster. While her husband enjoyed much more prominence in front of the crowds, Connie proved to be an excellent booker for the promotion, which helped to pull the floundering DDW out of the red and into the green. Together, the two of them had mentored Mickey and Ray into a power couple that had taken the wrestling world by storm.
 

Vongola27

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“Howdy, Raymundo!” the affable Jack greeted, his mustache crinkling as he smiled warmly. The beefy man was one of the last great hosses in wrestling—a barrel-chest brute who never backed down from a brawl. Retirement had seen him change from a roughneck appearance to something closer to a football coach, but anyone that doubted his toughness was in for a reckoning.

“How’re you doing, darling?” Connie asked sweetly, her voice gravelly after decades of cigars, whiskey, and black coffee. She was a stout woman who moved surprisingly quick for her size, no doubt due to her years of hustling around backstage to make sure everything went off without a hitch. Her hair was dyed a fiery red, and she was dressed in her finest hockey jersey and jeans; Connie would never be caught in anything less.

“Doing great, especially now that you guys are here,” the much younger Ray answered as he stepped aside. It was only when he allowed the couple in that he saw they were carrying tubs of food with them. “What’ve you got there?”

Connie gave her protégé a grandmotherly kiss on the cheek before replying, “Well, we got to thinking that you both would have to miss out on a proper Thanksgiving on account of Mickey’s gimmick, and we decided you deserved a little treat for keeping kayfabe alive.”

“We’ve still got a few hours until our own dinner, and the ranch is full up with all the kids and grandkids, so we decided to sneak out for a bit and surprise you,” Jack chuckled. “Hope we’re not interrupting nothing?”

“If anything, you couldn’t have come at a better time,” Ray remarked as he took a couple tubs from Connie. “Mickey’s been feeling pretty glum today—I think you’re really going to cheer her up.”

Just then, Mickey shouted out from the den, “I smell moonshine and fresh leather!”

“Only the finest for the holiday,” Jack retorted as he followed the shout to the other room. “And I see you’ve got your best sweatpants on, Mickey.”

The corn-fed wrestler smirked as she replied, “You only wish you could rock sweatpants like this, viejo loco.”

Jack marveled at Mickey as she hoisted herself off the couch. He had known her ever since she broke onto the scene, and while he knew she would grow into a superstar, he never expected her to grow like this. While she was far from the fattest wrestler he had ever seen, she was easily the fattest women’s wrestler; the closest had been a Samoan woman who weighed in at a little over 300 pounds. Mickey was leaps and bounds beyond her, and if she stuck to her plan, she would be bigger than most of the men in the industry as well.

“You came all this way to see little ol’ me? You shouldn’t have,” Mickey hummed as she pulled her mentor in for a hug. It was easier said than done, given how rotund she had become, but Jack still managed to get his arms around her.

“Hey, if you can’t go to the holiday, we’ll bring the holiday to you,” the old man replied before letting go and patting her on the shoulder. “We couldn’t bear the idea of y’all having to spend the day cooped up inside.”

“And Ray’s a mighty fine cook, but he’s got nothin’ on me,” Connie added as she shuffled in and gave Mickey a quick hug. When she pulled away, she gave Mickey’s exposed gut a pat and teased, “If’n I was coaching you, y’all would be the size of a house by now.”

The lardy Latina blushed and fruitlessly tugged her pajama shirt down to cover her stomach. “Honestly, I might not be that far off. Do you guys mind if I change right quick? I hate to have you over while I’m still in my pjs,” she giggled bashfully.

“Tu casa es tu casa,” Jack replied with a gruff chuckle. “No need to get all done up on our account; we’re the ones barging in, after all.”

Mickey let out a sigh, which made her belly puff out that tiny bit more. She could feel it straining the threads in her shirt, but Jack’s presence helped put her at ease. There was no need to stand on ceremony with the Nelsons; Mickey and Ray had never had to dress formally around them, even when they were invited to a few of their kids’ weddings. While it was nothing like having the entire family over, their arrival helped to brighten the dismal holiday.

***

“And then, he bought the horse a prostitute!”

The table of four lit up with laughter as Connie finished regaling everyone with the tale of her son-in-law’s first time riding a horse. After spending some time catching up while the food warmed up, the group settled in for an early lunch, where their chatter continued over the Southern comfort provided by the Nelsons. Mickey and Ray had enjoyed many a homecooked meal from Connie, and if she had started her weight gain plan sooner, she knew exactly who she would have turned to for help.

Everything Connie made was rich and buttery, giving each dish a decadent flavor that would have been too much for the unprepared. After spending the better part of a year gorging and feasting her ways into new levels of obesity, Mickey was more than prepared, and she devoured the lion’s share of the goodies. Squares of cornbread vanished down her gullet, as did forkfuls of creamy green bean casserole, spicy chorizo stuffing, and cranberry gelatin. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she devoured pillowy mounds of mashed potatoes and tiny onions dancing in a sea of cream sauce. It was all so delectable that she wished there was more.

“Oh, there’s the sweet potato pie!” Ray announced as he shot out of his chair. “Be right back!”

“Let me give you a hand, darlin’,” Connie added as she followed the young man after collecting their empty plates.

This left Jack at the table with Mickey, who had outeaten everyone by a wide margin and was still gorging. The unexpected company not only brightened her spirits—it also awakened her taste and appetite, so much so that she found it hard to rein them back in. It was all she could do to maintain her table manners; it would be far too easy to slip into hoggish greediness.

“So, Mick, remind me again,” Jack mused while stroking his mustache, “when you get back to the GWF, you’re going to be facing the biggest fellas they have, right?”

“Bingo,” the butterball affirmed. “Since they don’t have any women my size, they’re going to make the Superheavyweight Championship an intergender belt, and I’ve got to run a gauntlet of the biggest guys.”

Jack nodded reflectively and responded, “Well, I know you’re keeping up with your training, but it’s going to take something special if’n you want to fight giants, Donna Quixote.”

“What’re you thinking?” the curious Mickey asked as she wiped up the last gravy on her plate with a roll.

“Take it from one hoss to another—sometimes, you’ve got to play the giant’s game,” the veteran answered with a wink. “I’ll teach you some moves you’ll want to have in your pocket. Just give me a holler whenever you’re ready, kid.”

Thinking back to her doubts from that morning, Mickey nodded and replied, “You’ve got it, Jack. Let’s slay some giants.”

***

“You know, I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said she’d be as big as a house,” Connie told Ray as she washed the dishes in the sink.

The manager shook his head and chuckled, “Yeah, but have you seen Mickey? I’d say I’ve done all right so far.”

“Yeah, y’all have been doing all right, but is ‘all right’ what you’re aiming for?” asked his mentor. “When Mickey comes back, y’all are going to need to make a splash if’n you want to make this work, and is ‘all right’ going to cut it?”

That question gave Ray pause, and he cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. “We’re trying to do balance everything out so she can still compete when she gets back, Connie. I could have her 700 pounds when she makes her return, but it won’t do any good if she can’t actually wrestle.”

The elderly booker shook her head and offered a sly smirk as she explained, “Y’all just aren’t thinking big enough. I’m going to send y’all a cookbook—recipes guaranteed to put more meat on her bones than she’ll know what to do with. I’m also going to send a training guide to keep her in such good shape, no one will be able to touch her. When she waddles out there next year, they’re not going to see any ol’ pig—they’re going to see a bona fide, Hog Wild-style superheavyweight champion!”
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 47

As much as her cousin enjoyed the holiday, Maggie Torres never cared for Thanksgiving. She loved her family, just not when they were smothering her with kisses, tugging her cheeks, and generally treating her like a child. It was something she had to put up with ever since she was little; she hated it then and she hated it now, when she was a grown woman. By the same token, she also hated all the little ones who flocked to her and insisted she play with them or teach them how to wrestle. It made for an exhausting holiday, one she always looked forward to escaping from.

“Muéven, cucarachas pequeñas,” Maggie grunted as she waded through a sea of young’uns. “Can’t I at least get in the door first?”

The diva was in no mood for her pestering primos and primas, especially with how long it took her to get ready for the day. Maggie had picked a cute, chic outfit for the family dinner, but failed to account for how plump she had gotten in the last few weeks. As a result of her decadent diet, she had managed to turn a comfortably snug outfit uncomfortably tight, though she blamed this on the faulty washer and dryer in her apartment. That excuse made less sense for her denim jacket, but denial is a powerful thing; case in point, she refused to believe that her pants were an ill fit over her bloated beer belly.

Despite a valiant effort, Maggie was unable to close the gap between button and hole, so she let the jacket hang open. Her sleeveless top was tight around her chest, which gave her breasts and spirit a much needed boost, but it was even tighter around her gut. The globular mass was split into two rolls, which not only created an unflattering overflow, but also bit into her soft flab like a mousetrap. If there were two perks to her choice in wardrobe, it was that the pants were adorably festive and that they were loose around her legs, which helped to hide her thickening thighs from judgmental eyes.

“Let me get my coat off, and then I’m all yours,” Maggie lied, knowing full well she would duck into the crowd of adults to avoid the munchkins in her family. “Go bother Sharon for a bit.”

The flock of children were quick to divert their attention to the other member of the Wild Roses as Sharon sashayed into the Torres household. Contrary to the gimmick she portrayed in the ring, Sharon Goode was much more subdued in her wardrobe and did her best to downplay the soft, sensual curves that attracted so much attention. Her simple red dress was fluffy enough around the chest to conceal her generous bosom, and there was the barest hint of her plush backside as the dress fell to her ankles. A thick pair of glasses adorned her pale cheeks and her crimson locks were done in modest curls, like a superhero trying to hide among the common man.

Unfortunately, there was no privacy to be had with the kids, who wanted to know everything about the visitor. Sharon had been to the last Thanksgiving, but she was still largely a mystery to the cousins, who wanted to know more about the girl that lived with their Maggie. This left her open to many interesting questions, most of which she was able to deflect or answer with ease, but there was one she was not keen on answering this year.

“Are you and Maggie married?” asked one of the youngest.

It was a silly, childish question, and one she had laughed off the year before. Now, as she dwelt on it, it brought a rosy blush to her cheeks and new emotions she had been dealing with resurfaced. Sharon had known Maggie for a few years, and it was only recently that these urges and feelings had developed for her tag partner.

“You see a ring on here?” the redhead playfully answered as she held up her fingers. “If you want a Prima Sharon, you need to tell Maggie to hurry up and get one.”

This earned many giggles from the precocious children, but Sharon had her mind elsewhere as she caught a glimpse of Maggie strutting back over. Without her jacket on, the diva’s thick arms were on full display, but rather than firm guns, they were soft to the touch like tubes of cookie dough. It was one more sign that, while her beer belly was taking the brunt of her calories, the rest of Maggie’s toned body was not exempt.

“All right, ya little boogers, I need my boo,” the luscious lush told her cousins as she dragged Sharon out of the thick of the gaggle. “Go play, and we’ll be back to teach you a thing or two.”

Sharon turned a rosy pink as Maggie pulled her closer towards the festivities. She tried not to make anything out of the ‘boo’ comment, since that was just how the diva talked, but there was something different about it now. The bubbling brew of feelings in the bespectacled woman had her reviewing every errant word or action and wondering if there was something more to it. Perhaps it was all in her head, but she studied her partner for any sign that she felt something too.

“Wh-What’s up, Mags?” asked Sharon once Maggie let go of her hand.

“Just needed you for back up with everyone,” the diva groused. “If I have you as a shield, that might mean I get less cheek-pinching and questions about what I’m doing with my life.”

And there was the other shoe. Sharon rolled her eyes at the typical response from Maggie, but nevertheless, she followed after her partner. While she did not appreciate the idea of being a deflector for the diva, Sharon knew how uncomfortable Maggie could get around her family. If nothing else, her presence could help prevent a holiday-ruining meltdown.

“Let me get a little liquid courage, and I’ll be good to go,” Maggie told her friend as she made a beeline for the bar, which made Sharon much less certain about the probability of said meltdown.

***

“There’s my baby girl!” Lora Torres cooed as her daughter walked into the kitchen.

“Hola, mama,” the diva replied, fighting the urge to snap at being called ‘baby girl’. She silenced herself by downing her second beer since arriving not a few minutes prior.

Lora was a balloon of a woman who was nearly as wide around as she was tall, which made fitting into the kitchen a tight squeeze. Unlike her daughter, most of her curves went to her chest and hips, with only a modest amount of fluff sitting at her waist. Her breasts were like cannonballs, and only a custom bra was capable of giving her the support she needed. Hips that would get her wedged in most doors tapered down to thunder thighs that were so large and ungainly, the only way she could truly move was to swing them around in the hopes of gaining momentum. When she did move, her booty bounced and quaked like a massive gelatin mold in an earthquake; if she was standing still, a dinner plate and glass could be perched safely atop the corpulent caboose.

“Oh, you look so adorable today,” the matron hummed as she trundled over to Maggie and stood on her tiptoes to kiss her daughter on the cheek. She repeated this with Sharon and remarked, “And so do you, Sharon! Oh, you must tell me where you got that dress—it’s so cute!”

“Thanks, Ms. Torres,” the ever-polite Sharon replied with a shy smile.

Maggie, however, grunted in exasperation, “Mom, you always ask her where she got that dress, and she always tells you—it was at LL Bean!”

“So rude…you get that from you father, I swear,” Lora clicked her tongue at her daughter and shook her head in disapproval. She reached up and pinched Maggie’s soft cheek as she retorted, “That’s okay—you’re still my baby girl.”

“Mamaaaaa,” the diva groaned, wanting to stamp her foot in frustration but not wanting to be seen as even more of a child amongst her family. “We just got here—can you not embarrass me for five minutes?”

Lora sighed and went back to bustling around the kitchen. “Fine, fine, mija,” the stout woman replied. “We’ve already got some food set up, but the main course isn’t for another hour or so.”

“Got it,” Maggie nodded. She glanced over to her partner and asked, “Think you can help me navigate my relatives?”

Before Sharon could answer, Maggie’s mother butted in. “Actually, do you mind if I borrow her for a minute? I could use an extra hand in the kitchen.”

The spoiled diva was ready to snap at the voluptuous matron, but Sharon stepped in before there was a meltdown. She patted her friend on the shoulder and told her, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right out.”
 

Vongola27

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It took a moment, but Maggie eventually slumped her shoulders in defeat and downed the rest of her beer. “Fine…just come find me when you’re done. I’m going to go grab a fresh drink before I throw myself to the wolves.”

As the petulant diva sulked away, Sharon glanced around the kitchen and realized that most everything was ready to serve; anything else was in its final stages. She looked to Lora and asked, “Mrs. Torres, are you sure you need my help?”

“Oh, heavens no, Sharon—I put the finishing touches in the oven twenty minutes ago,” Lora chuckled. “I just wanted to talk with you for a minute without mija impaciente butting in and getting all worked up over nothing.”

The massive matron turned and did her best to lean against the counter, though her mile-wide backside left a good gap between it and her. She sighed and shook her head as she glanced out to her daughter, who was on her third beer while her aunt and uncle pestered her with questions. It was all Maggie could do to not throw a hissy fit there and then.

“She’s always been so reckless and impatient with everyone,” Lora explained to Sharon. “Margarita always hates these big get-togethers, but I’ve noticed a change in her lately. It’s crazy, but she’s calmer than she’s ever been, and I say that because I’m her mother. And I think I have you to thank for that, Sharon.”

That threw the bespectacled girl off. She always felt like she had been chasing after Maggie, just barely keeping up with her while she ran to her own music. Every time Sharon thought she had a hold on her friend, the diva managed to throw her for another loop. If Lora thought the redhead was helping to keep her daughter in line, she was sorely mistaken.

“That’s sweet of you to say, but I don’t know if that’s true,” Sharon retorted. “Sometimes, it’s all I can do to keep up with Maggie; she just does whatever she wants to do, whenever she wants to.”

“I can’t argue with that, but I’ve been watching ever since you two got together, and she’s really softened around the edges,” Lora reasoned.

Sharon bashfully giggled at that and said, “I think that’s more to do with Maggie’s poor diet, Mrs. Torres.”

The bubbly woman stifled a laugh before replying, “Not what I meant, but that’s certainly true. Margarita has always been a slim, little thing, and she’s really blown up in the last few months; I guess my genes are finally kicking in. Then again, the way she’s going, she’s going to have a bigger belly than I ever had.”

That was plenty of food for thought—Maggie at her mother’s weight but hardly any of it in her curves. Sharon could picture it so easily: her partner’s face rounded out by not one, not two, but three thick chins of fat, leading to fluffy shoulders and fluffier arms, before trailing to a chest that would be large on any other woman but was petite in comparison to the rest of her; her hips would be nicely padded and her booty thick, but with none of the voluptuousness of Lora. Instead, her greatest curve would be the globe of blubber at her waist that jutted out as if she had swallowed a beanbag chair and bounced like a rubber ball. It would lead Maggie around like a pet on a leash, bouncing against the tops of her knees with every precarious step she took.

Sharon was snapped out of her fantasy when Lora continued, “But really, if it takes getting that fat for her to mellow out, I’m not going to complain. I just know that if you’re with her, Sharon, she’ll be just fine.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Torres,” the bespectacled redhead hummed, her cheeks a bashful pink.

“Now, why don’t you go fix Maggie a plate?” the matron suggested as she tugged her oven mitts on. “If she’s eating, she won’t have a chance to get snippy with everyone.”

Fueled by her desire for everything to run smoothly and to make that fantasy a little more of a reality, Sharon quickly assembled a plate of goodies. Pumpkin empanadas, fried polenta with chorizo, and galletas de sueros; roasted corn, avocado and yam ensalada, and acorn squash and apple soup all found their way onto the two plates she assembled. The bird itself was on the way out, but she could always go back to get more if Maggie asked—or even if she did not. It was all smelled so delectable, and Sharon could not resist a quick spoonful of the creamy soup. Once her partner was taken care of, she could fix her own little plate to tide her over.

She found Maggie just in time, as the diva was about to explode on one of her relatives—an older woman who playfully patted her stomach. The auntie had a laugh like gargling gravel as she remarked, “Wrestling must pay pretty well these days—you’re looking well-fed, Margarita!”

Before Maggie could say something she regretted, Sharon butted in and asked, “Hey, Mags, I got you something to eat! How about we find somewhere to sit down, huh?”

The haughty girl glanced down at the two fully loaded dishes in her friend’s hand and then back at her aunt. Those were seriously full plates, but Maggie knew exactly how she wanted to spend her time. She took a dish from Sharon and put on an apologetic face as she said, “Excuse me, Tia—I’m feeling pretty peckish after the drive. We’ll chat later, okay?”

With a swift turn of the heel, Maggie strutted away with Sharon at her side. She whispered to her fellow Wild Rose, “I could kiss you right now. Another minute of her talking about how ‘healthy’ I look, and I would have suplexed her into the backyard.”

“Anytime, partner,” Sharon replied, putting aside the kiss remark for the moment.

While there was no one eating yet, it was impossible to find a quiet place to sit down and eat without being bothered by someone looking to make conversation. They eventually made their way to the second floor and sequestered themselves inside Maggie’s father’s office, which at least gave her a place to put her dishes down. Now that she had a chance to properly take in the cuisine, Maggie took a long whiff of the arrangement and sighed blissfully.

“I may hate this holiday, but damned if it doesn’t smell good,” the diva remarked with wiggling, indecisive fingers. “God, it all looks so delicious; I don’t know where to start!”

“The soup is really good,” Sharon suggested.

“Ooh, you know what would be really, really good?” Maggie asked before taking one of the empanadas, dipping it in the soup, and taking a big bite out of it. Her eyes lit up in a greedy glint as she licked the crumbs from her lips and hummed contentedly. “Oh man, that’s good.”

Sharon felt her breath catch in her throat before she recommended, “The buttermilk biscuits might work well with that too.”

Maggie cooed like an excited child as she ripped a biscuit in half and dipped it in the soup. She quickly scarfed it down before repeating the process with the remaining half. The diva shot her partner an appreciative look as she remarked, “Good call, Share—you really know this stuff.”

“Not really,” Sharon was quick to retort. “I just…watch videos, you know.”

“Well, you ought to watch more of them,” Maggie giggled as she popped one of the bite-size polentas into her mouth. “Just don’t act on them too much—I don’t want to blimp up like Mickey.”

Sharon bit her tongue, fighting the urge to say that Maggie was slowly catching up to her corpulent cousin. Her pace picked up bite by bite, to the point that she almost forgot to breathe in between mouthfuls, but she persisted. Even when the diva had to unbutton her pants, she kept gorging at a frightening pace; if anything, loosening her pants might have unleashed her full appetite. She attacked the two plates with such gusto, Sharon was surprised that she was still using utensils. It was only when she heard two magical words that she was shaken from her blissful reverie.

“More please,” Maggie burped.

That was all Sharon needed to hear before she bolted downstairs to get more for her growing partner. As she filled the plates with more goodies, including dessert, she thought back to what Lora had said about Maggie. She might just get that belly sooner rather than later…
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 48

Levi Hunter gazed blearily at his scruffy reflection as he readied himself for Thanksgiving festivities. He had trimmed his beard just enough to look presentable, and his dusty locks were buzzed down to a slight peach fuzz. His chiseled body was crammed into a silk shirt and slacks that cost as much as a compact car, and he fiddled with the weighty Hall of Fame ring on his finger while studying his appearance. Normally, he only put this much effort into presentation when he was in the ring or in front of the Board of Directors, but on this day, he could not afford to look like anything less than a million bucks.

Every year, he and his wife alternated how they spent their holidays: if they spent Thanksgiving visiting Levi’s family in Maine, they would spend Christmas in Connecticut with the Ericsons; the next year, it would be the reverse. While Levi had grown used to Amanda’s family in the years since they first got together, he still had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that told him he did not belong. He was the son of a fisherman and a stay at home mom—what right did he have to be with a woman of Amanda’s class? He had tried to work around it, but he simply could not shake the thought that they judged him even now, when he was one of the most powerful men in the world of wrestling.

At the end of the day, it did not matter what anyone thought—Amanda and he had defied the odds and stayed happily married ten years on from their infamous union on TV. They had three beautiful girls together, with another three on the way, and his blushing bride had only gotten more radiant as the years went by. That rate had especially picked up in the last four months, as Amanda’s once toned and curvaceous body had bloated up and out with babes and blubber, and the Little Rich Girl had swollen into a matronly parody of herself.

Not that he could ever admit that to her, of course. While Levi had been nothing but supportive as Amanda plumped up more than she had in her last pregnancy, he could not bring himself to tell her what he truly felt about her gain. After all, how does one admit that seeing their wife’s ass bounce more and more with each day drove them crazy? How could he tell her that every time she ate herself into a food coma, he had to excuse himself from the room? When she popped a button on her maternity blouse the other morning, he had to fight every urge in his body to take her at the kitchen table then and there. It was not something he could tell his normally fitness-obsessed wife about, especially not when she was so down on her recent gains.

Speaking of, Amanda plodded into the bathroom behind him in a terracotta bathrobe and overtaxed underwear that did little to contain her pudge. Her milky breasts overflowed her bra, and Levi could only imagine the rolls of flab forming around the straps at her back and shoulders. The maternity panties she had used when pregnant with their youngest were too tight to properly roll up her rotund middle, which was more than a little disconcerting. With no other choice, she let her belly bounce free as she waddled along to the shower.

“Deciding to let it all hang out today?” Levi chuckled as Amanda shucked off her robe.

The brunette rolled her eyes at him before slowly wiggling her thickly padded hips. “Yeah, right. I tried tying that stupid robe, and the damn belt won’t fit me. Can you believe that? I spent a small fortune on this thing!”

Levi could certainly believe it, with the way Amanda was eating these days. How she was not already round enough to roll was beyond him—all she did these days was eat, sleep, and occasionally putter around the house. In just a third of a year, nearly halfway through her pregnancy, the expectant mother had swollen to sizes she could only have dreamed of. Much as she wanted to blame this on the medication she had been taking, that was only part of the problem. The bigger issue was that Amanda, She-Devil of the wrestling ring, had lost all her willpower once taken out of her element. It was so easy to forget about her cares when her loving husband and doting housekeeper spoiled and pampered her.

When Amanda dropped her robe to the bathroom floor, Levi was treated to the delicious sight of her black panties firmly wedged in between her pillowy cheeks. The Little Rich Girl always had a thick backside, but this new plumpness was due to an ever-increasing amount of blubber, not muscle. Her perfect rump had deflated a hair as her muscle tone evaporated, and she now had a modest sag that bounced around with every step she took. More than that, those shapely thighs that had graced many a fitness magazine were now speckled with cellulite; combined with her increasingly pale complexion, it made her look like she was sculpted from cottage cheese.

It took every ounce of restraint in Levi’s body to not rip those tight panties off her flabby hips and take her then and there. He would settle for some private time in the guest bathroom before everyone arrived for dinner. Seeing his once trim, even muscular, wife turn into a perfect image of fertility had the powerful wrestler hungry like a wolf, especially now that he was home until springtime and got to see her all day long.

To whet his appetite, Levi asked, “Hon, your next check-up is tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, why?” Amanda grunted as she struggled to reach around for her bra. When her fingers could not find purchase, she added, “Little help?”

“On it,” her hulking husband answered, more than eager to help her disrobe. As he slowly undid her bra hook by hook, he suggested, “Maybe we should check your weight today, just so we can have something to talk about?”

Amanda stiffened in Levi’s arms and crossed her arms over her baby bump. “I don’t know, sweetie…I really don’t want to get on the scale more than necessary. I know I’m fattening up like a Christmas goose; I don’t need to be reminded outside the doctor’s office.”

After undoing the stubborn bra, Levi peeled it away and chucked it over his shoulder. He made a mental note to get new bras with a bit more give to them; Amanda’s current ones were on their last legs. As he cradled her overfilled breasts in his hands, the burly man whispered, “But it’s not really that bad, you know. You’re not as big as Shinobu Misawa, after all.”

“Mmm…no, I guess not,” Amanda murmured while she rocked in Levi’s grip.

“And it’s not like you’re as big as Maxine Kuhn, right?” he asked before giving her left breast a gentle squeeze. “She was, what, two hundred-fifty by the time she went down to Youngblood?”

His widening wife nodded and shut her eyes as she let out soft hums of pleasure. “She was…so fat by the end.”

“And do you know who’s really fat?” Levi growled huskily.

“Wh-Who?” Amanda shivered when her husband’s firm fingers found their way to her hardened nipples and toyed with them.

“Mickey Ramone,” Levi answered as he traced his fingertips around her dark and swollen areolas. “I saw her last update—she’s gotten absolutely enormous since April. She’s three times her original weight, Amanda; if that’s not fat, I don’t know what is.”

The pregnant woman was putty in his hands, and she fought the urge to low as he tugged on her teats like a farmer milking a cow. She groaned, “She…she’s a blob, Levi. A big, fat, blob.”

“And you’re nowhere near as big as her, so you’ve got nothing to worry about,” the beefy man whispered. He removed one of his hands from her chunky chest and goosed her as he murmured, “Come on…there’s nothing to be scared of when you’ve got fatties like those three.”

Levi knew Amanda well enough to play her like a fiddle. All he needed to do was play to her vanity, and she would acquiesce to anything he wanted; the refurbished “mancave” in the basement was proof of that. If he wanted to see how much his plush wife weighed, he simply needed to remind her that there were far, far fatter women than her in the Global Wrestling Federation. After that, she was putty in his hands, which he used to gently guide her towards the scale.

Once Amanda gingerly stepped onto the scale, she lolled her head back and rested against her husband’s broad chest. There was no way she could see the numbers on the scale; if her baby bump did not get in the way, her ballooning breasts would. She softly mewled, “Levi, don’t tell me what it says; I’ll find out tomorrow.”
 

Vongola27

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“Fair enough, mamacita,” he replied. His beard tickled her cheek as he leaned in for a kiss, and then ran his hands down the length of her body while he crouched down to the ground. Levi’s fingers gently squeezed each inch of soft, pliable pudge along the way, from her flabby flanks to her chunky calves. He made sure to give her rump a little bounce before he glanced down at the numbers.

185. One hundred eighty-five pounds of baby, fat, and baby fat. Levi remembered her hovering around 135 back in June; it was a number she had maintained for years, barring her other pregnancies. There was no way Amanda, a fitness nut who would rather be caught in white after Labor Day than with an extra five pounds, had grown that big in just five months. Fifty pounds…more weight than she had ever put on in any of her pregnancies before, and she still had four months to go.

Levi’s musings were cut short when Amanda sighed and remarked, “I know it’s ridiculous how fat I’ve gotten, honey—you don’t need to gawk at it.”

“It’s not gawking, princess,” the big man replied as he slowly rose up again. “Just amazing, that’s all. You get more and more beautiful with every pound.”

“Flatterer,” Amanda murmured, a pink blush on her cheeks.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Levi growled playfully. As he gently tugged her stretched panties down her weak, tender thighs, he told her, “Go ahead and hop in the shower, sweetie. I’ll make sure the girls are getting ready.”

Amanda nodded and gave her doting husband a peck on the cheek before waddling into the shower, leaving him to his own devices. Levi would absolutely go check on the girls, but first, he had to make a pitstop in the guest bathroom. The thought of his wobbling wifey growing as fat as Mickey Ramone commanded his attention, and demanded privacy for some quick relief.

***

After the Ericson clan arrived in full, the day went on as expected: Levi made small talk with people that would never give him the time of day if he was not Amanda’s husband, his daughters went off to alternately play with and complain about their cousins, and Amanda stomached all the comments about her looking ‘healthy’ and ‘motherly’. It was exhausting for all involved, and that was before Levi had to talk with his father-in-law. Dave Ericson had a way of sucking all the air out of the room just with his presence, and then he made things even worse by opening his mouth. At least he had his wife, Wendy, to balance him out that day; normally, she was tied up in D.C. and could not make it to events.

“—and then the father says, ‘We’re the Aristocrats!’” Dave howled with a booming laugh.

It was the same joke he had been telling for thirty years, but Dave never seemed to tire of it, unlike everyone else around him. Levi grit his teeth in what he hoped was a passable grin, while Wendy rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine. Despite always being the one telling jokes, Dave was horrible when it came to reading the room; if he could, he would know that he was the only one really laughing.

“Oh, never gets old,” the CEO chortled. “Right, Levi?”

“Sure doesn’t,” the wrestler droned in agreement.

Wendy piped up for what felt like the first time all day and asked, “Hon, have you seen Amanda around? I feel like she was here one minute and then vanished!”

“Heidi took her upstairs,” Levi answered, his eyes looking to the ceiling. “All this activity was getting to be a bit much for her, so she’s taking a nap.”

“A nap? Ridiculous,” Dave scoffed. “She’s just like her old man—she doesn’t need to take naps! I always thought she was made of sterner stuff than that.”

Wendy gawked at her husband and slapped him on the wrist. “David! You forget that she’s also never been pregnant with triplets; I’d like to see how well you’d do with that.”

The old man harrumphed at the notion and replied, “Well, hopefully it’s just a temporary thing. When she has those girls, she’ll need to hit the gym pretty hard to get back to normal. It’s a damned shame too; it’s like half the women in this company decided to pork up this year.”

Levi’s nostrils flared and thoughts of brutally beating his father-in-law flashed before his eyes as Dave started another fat-shaming tirade. He held his tongue during meetings and played along when Mickey pitched her idea for the Superheavyweight Champion, but it ate him up inside to hear the most powerful man in the GWF belittle so many talented people. When he got to mocking his daughter’s weight gain, it was almost too much to bear, but he managed to control himself long enough to excuse himself.

“I think I’ll go check on Amanda, just to see how she’s doing,” the wrestler told his in-laws before briskly walking away.

Truthfully, he was not going to disturb his sleeping sweetheart; she needed all the rest she could get, especially when her entire family was around. Levi opted instead to venture down into the basement, where he snuck past several guests engrossed in a football game and crept into his mancave. It was a modest room that housed a TV, three bookcases filled with old comics, video games, and movies, and a desk with a computer where he kept all of his plethora of weight gain material. The mancave was the perfect escape when he needed to destress.

“Let’s see if there are any new installments in ‘Capes and Cuisines’ or ‘Palmer Academy’,” the big man muttered as he plopped down in his desk chair and let out a deep sigh of relief. What better way to unwind than by reading the latest stories about cute girls fattening up in a variety of situations? The only thing that would make it better would be if Amanda was in one of those stories…

***

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and Levi’s reprieve was no exception. Once he had cooled down, he went back up to socialize, have a bite to eat, and check in on Amanda, who nibbled from a plate of snacks Heidi brought up to her. The day was long and tiring, especially since the last person did not leave until 11 PM, and Levi found himself trudging upstairs and losing energy with every step. By the time he got to bed, the massive man slipped his shoes off and collapsed beside his doughy wife, who made for a wonderful body pillow.

After a brief rest, Levi woke to discover that Amanda was no longer in his arms and that there were faint sounds coming from the kitchen. He crept out of bed and slinked down the hall, making sure not to disturb his daughters as he went downstairs to see what exactly was going on. His curiosity was rewarded with a most delightful sight ripped straight from his fantasies—Amanda at the kitchen table, gorging from a plate stacked high with leftovers, and her belly creeping out from her pajama shirt. Beside her were two other plates, which begged the question of how much she had eaten before he got there.

“I think those leftovers were for everyone, princess,” Levi chuckled as he strode into the room.

Amanda spun around in her chair with eyes full of shock and embarrassment, much like a child caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She bowed her head and pulled the spoon from her mouth before she whimpered, “I…I know. I was just so hungry, baby—I tried to be good all day so that no one would say anything. I shouldn’t eat all this, but I just can’t help it!”

Levi shushed her and put a finger to her lips. “It’s all right, sweetheart; it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, I completely get it!”

“You…you do?” Amanda asked, curious.

“I do,” her husband answered with a nod. He retrieved her spoon, scooped up a dollop of cheesy mashed potatoes, and brought it to her lips. “I get that you’re a greedy girl who can’t say no to food anymore.”

Amanda’s cheeks flushed red at that, but she did nothing to stop him as he brought another spoonful to her lips, and then another and another after that, all until he had emptied the bowl of mashed potatoes and moved onto the cornbread biscuits. It continued on and on, dish after dish, until Levi managed to fill his wife’s belly with the leftovers—enough to last the five of them for the next three days. Neither knew, but that late night meal would be a turning point for the power couple from then on that would bring their deepest desires to light…
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 49

Katherine Donna’s heart was aflutter when she stepped out of the rental car and marched up to her parents’ house. After a late night of filming material for a GWF holiday special, she had gotten the first flight to Milwaukee and made it in time for the Thanksgiving festivities. Travel problems would have been enough to give her the jitters, but the biggest concern was that she did not have Natalie with her to back her up. It would be the first holiday in a long time where they could not celebrate together; the last time had been when Kat had been unable to attend their family trip to Barbados a few years prior due to a spinal injury.

Why was it so important that Natalie be there? It was a simple, albeit selfish reason: if her fat ass sister had been around, there would be far less awkward conversations for Kat. While both twins had gained weight over the last few months, the sportier Katherine carried it much better than the slothful Natty. At least, that was how they looked when standing together; isolated, they both looked like butterballs in the making. Kat did not have as monstrous an ego as her sister, but she still did not appreciate the prying eyes that judged each new pound on her frame. At least, that was what she told herself.

The truth was that as much as she denied it, Kat was falling deeper in love with her plump, overfed body with each passing day. What had started with a fascination in the rotund physique of her former stablemate, Maxine Kuhn, had grown into admiration, which then turned inward as she engaged an appetite she never knew she had. The tomboy had been eating foods she never would have dreamed of with more frequency and wearing clothes that emphasized how chubby she was getting, especially in her chest and stomach. She could not bring herself to admit it, but she was already a fat girl at heart; she was just letting her out.

“There’s my little champion!” Kat’s mother, Brianna, cooed as the sporty blonde walked in the door. “Your sister’s not here, so you’ll need to give me an extra hug for her.”

Katherine sighed warmly as she embraced her mother. Brianna Donowitz was a thick woman in her own right, with full curves and a plump belly evidence that she frequently stayed on top of her diners. She normally stood eye-level with her daughters, but the heels she wore gave her a boost over Kat that day, which only served to make the single twin feel even smaller.

“Good to see you too, Mom,” Katherine hummed before letting her mother go and looking her over. “And you look amazing! What’cha been doing?”

Brianna giggled as she gave a little twirl. “I finally decided to try out those yoga DVDs you gave me for Christmas! They’ve been so much fun, and don’t tell your father, but that wrestler that leads it? He’s a hunksicle!”

“Oh my gawd, Mom,” the young Donna chuckled at her mother’s remark.

She remembered the DVDs well: they were a gift for Brianna the previous Christmas, after the diner owner had been complaining about putting on a lot of weight throughout the year prior. Kat assumed they would be forgotten like so many other weight loss tools over the years, like the low-fat cookbooks or yoga ball, but it seemed that her mother had stuck with the new routine. The results spoke for themselves, as Brianna was nowhere near as fluffy as she had been last Christmas, when she had hit an all-time high. Now, her black pants did not seem so tight, and her festive sweater was not as snug around her middle; she was no Skinny Minnie, but her loss was still impressive.

“But look at you, dear,” the businesswoman mused as she glanced up and down. “For someone who had to rush out the door, you look amazing!”

Katherine blushed and glanced at her feet at the compliment. She had tried to put something together for the holiday, but between all the running around, she had no time to doll herself up. Her plump face had a minimal amount of make-up, and her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail that left a few errant strands hanging around her chubby cheeks. The jeans that looked so cute on her were digging into her soft stomach regardless of how much she fiddled with the waistband, and her white turtleneck was no longer flowing around her overfed middle. No matter how much she tried to ignore it, the wrestler felt every single one of her new pounds that day.

“Thanks, Mom,” Kat mumbled while fiddling with a loose thread on her sweater. “Is everyone in the den? I want to go say hi.”

“Sure you don’t want a bite to eat first? You must be starving,” Brianna remarked. “Dinner’s not for another hour or so.”

“Oh, I’m good—I was able to grab a little breakfast on the way to the airport,” the young woman replied.

The truth was that she did have breakfast, but it was not exactly little: a bottle of orange juice and a rich frappe; a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit; scrambled eggs and sausage; hash browns; and at the very center, three fluffy pancakes. Katherine wolfed it all down in the airport terminal while waiting for her plane, and even went back to get another frappe before it arrived. Such a monstrous breakfast would have tided her over for the entire day once upon a time, but now, she was actually feeling peckish again. If her whole family was not here, she would have gladly helped herself to a plate of hors d’oeurves, but she did not want to risk looking like a pig in front of everyone.

Unfortunately, her stomach growled in protest at that, and Brianna giggled at the rumble. “Sounds like you could do with a little something,” she hummed. “Why don’t you go ahead and sit down, and I’ll fix you a plate?”

“But I don’t—Mom, I…” Katherine meekly protested, but her words went unheeded as her mother sauntered off to the kitchen. Left alone in the foyer, she glanced down at her stomach and gave it a pinch. “You’re not helping, you know that?”

When she finally made her way into the den, Katherine was greeted with warm wishes and welcomes from everyone in the room. It was mostly her mother’s side of the family; her father’s family were all down in Chattanooga, except for Aunt Ruth, who lived not too far from the house. Ruth was there with her latest boyfriend, whose name escaped Kat, and her two boys, Micah and Zane. Across from her was Uncle Terry and Aunt Sandra, who both worked in IT and were always the most tech savvy people in the room. To their left was Granny Liza, who used most of her free time volunteering at various functions. Last was Uncle Clay, Aunt Meredith, and their daughter, Cassandra, who was the only one in the room close to Kat’s age.

They were all people she had grown up with, barring Ruth’s boyfriend, but at the same time, they all looked like strangers to Kat. It took a moment for things to click, but the bewildered girl eventually came to the realization that she did not recognize them because nearly everyone in the room had lost a significant amount of weight in the last year or so. Her mother’s family had always been on the heavier side, and when Katherine last saw them, several had been close to 300 pounds, if not more. Now, everyone seemed much more svelte; even the biggest person, Terry, looked to be a manageable 250. And with that realization came an even greater, more frightening one—she was the only one who had put on weight since last Thanksgiving.

“Hey, superstar! We were just talking about you and your sister,” Clay told Katherine as she sat down beside her grandmother. “Heard she’s got the flu, the poor dear. How are you holding up?”

“Oh, I’m good, apart from having to book it up here,” Katherine hummed. She leaned over and gave Liza a peck on the cheek as she told her, “Happy Thanksgiving, Granny!”

The old lady smiled and returned the favor. “Same for you, Katty! I’m so glad to see you looking well; you’re staying healthy, I see.”
 

Vongola27

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Katherine blushed at the remark and put a hand to her middle, ostensibly to smooth out her turtleneck but actually to gauge her stomach. As she held her pudgy paunch, she looked over her grandmother, who had lost a crazy amount of weight after getting hip surgery and knee replacement. Liza surely meant well with her comment, but Kat was not entirely sure; everyone knows that calling someone ‘healthy’ is code for ‘My, you’ve gotten fat’.

“Just, uh…just trying to stay in shape,” the blonde mumbled before straightening up in her seat. “They’re giving me a shot at the belt, you know!”

“Good for you, kid,” Ruth remarked with a tilt of her wine glass. “You deserve it after all your hard work.”

Brianna chimed in as she sashayed into the room with Katherine’s appetizers. “She certainly does! I tune in every time she’s going to have a match, and my little champion has been slamming people left and right. What was that move you used on that Aryan girl the other week—a powerdriver?”

“Piledriver, Mom,” Katherine politely corrected as she took the plate and took a big bite of a cheese-filled pretzel roll without a second thought.

In her absent-mindedness, she failed to take into account how full her plate was with goodies, from veggies and dip to more savory delicacies. It was a small meal in of itself, not something to tide her over for the next hour until they got to Thanksgiving dinner proper. Nevertheless, the wrestler gobbled up every last bite as she made small talk with her relatives, occasionally regaling them with tales from the business, though she never stopped popping food in her mouth. It went largely unnoticed by her family except for one member—Cassandra Burch, who watched Katherine munch with no small amount of schadenfreude.

***

All her life, Cassandra had been told that she could have passed for Kat and Natalie’s sister if she only lost a few pounds. She was a chubby little girl who grew into a rotund young woman, never shedding that baby fat like her mother promised, and each year only saw her get bigger and wider. Her family never gave her any grief for it—it would be hypocritical of them if they had—but her cousins were the lone exceptions. Natalie had always been snide and snippy when it came to her robust relative, making sure to remind Cass of her weight every chance she could. Katherine was better to an extent, but only in the sense that she was not intentionally insulting her. No, Katherine’s biggest sin was how condescending she was when trying to encourage Cass to diet and exercise.

“Come on, Cass, you can do it!” said the girl who had never been overweight a single day in her life. “It’s not hard if you just put your mind to it—you’ve got to want it!”

Taint. What Cassandra would have given to be able to swap weights with her cousins and let them know what it felt like to be in her shoes. She had fantasized about what it would be like if she could fatten them with a single touch, ballooning them to the point they could barely waddle, and then stuffing them full of food that they would never walk again. Since that was impossible, the bloated beauty would have to settle for pushing herself like never before, all to show her cousins up when next she saw them. The previous Thanksgiving had been a dud, despite losing 40 pounds, but she was sure to be recognized now. Not only had she lost an additional 50 pounds, but sporty and spry Katherine had put on nearly that much in that time—now, it was time to rub it in.

***

“So, Katty, notice anything different this year?” Cassandra asked, perfectly timing it so her plush cousin had a mouthful of food.

Katherine finished gulping down a pastry before looking over her once obese relative. It dawned on her that Cass—Fat Cass, as Natalie had referred to her for years—was downright svelte compared to how she was a few years prior. The girl’s thick double chin and chipmunk cheeks were gone, replaced by downright sharp features that put her more in line with the Donnas. Her breasts were still plump and full, but they no longer sagged under their own weight anymore. They were perched above a gentle slope of a tummy that pooched over her skirt—a far cry from the glob of dough that slapped against the top of her thighs when she walked. Speaking of, those legs were so scrawny now and looked much more in line with a volleyball player than the butterball Kat remembered.

“Wow, Cassie! I can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner, but you look amazing!” the wrestler genuinely complimented her younger cousin. “What’ve you been doing, girl?”

“Oh, just working my tail off,” Cassandra answered with a flip of her hair. “I just got inspired by those videos of you and Natty working out, and something just clicked! Guess you’re still teaching me after all these years.”

Katherine blushed, oblivious to the vitriol behind those words. That blush changed from bashfulness to embarrassment when her cousin remarked, “Oh, you’re out of food! How about I get you some more snacks?”

“I…I’m good, Cassie, but thank you,” the ample athlete muttered as she glanced down at her empty plate. There was food there just a few minutes ago, right? Had she really eaten it all without even thinking? “Besides, dinner’s going to be ready in just a little bit.”

Cassandra shrugged and took Katherine’s plate—despite her protestations, the corpulent contender let it go without a fight. “Then don’t eat everything, silly. Isn’t that what you always used to tell me?”

Katherine bowed her head and bit her lip at the reminder of her patronizing advice. Cassandra had a point though: she just needed to show a little restraint; she did not have to eat more than bite or two. It was not as if anyone was making her eat—no one but herself, anyway. She had gone her whole life without being a greedy foodie; all she had to do was dig back some of that willpower she had in her prime, and she would be good.

***

That did not happen. Despite her determination, or because of a lack thereof, Katherine wolfed down the plate of appetizers that Cassandra brought back to her. This time, she largely forsook conversation in favor of feeding her growing belly with more and more food. It was like a pit had opened up in her stomach, and no matter how much she shoveled in, it never got any fuller. She would have snuck away for a third plate had her mother not announced that dinner was ready.

Of course, that was a matter of going from the frying pan to the fire, as Katherine had even less restraint around the veritable feast. Cassandra stifled a giggle when she caught her fitness-minded cousin all but drooling as Granny Liza led the family in grace. She purposefully took a spot beside Katherine, all so she could get a full glimpse of what a glutton the girl had transformed into. When dishes were passed their way, the vengeful cousin served for the both of them, always making sure to give the hungry Katty larger portions than her own.

When they finally tucked into their meal, Katherine did not disappoint, as she focused all her attention on the food on her plate and ignored her surroundings. Her greedy appetite took hold of her while she tore through her turkey and mashed potatoes with gusto, guzzled down the green bean casserole and cornbread with ease, and noshed on sweet potato fries and sausage stuffing with aplomb. She was an eating machine whose sole functions were to eat every scrap in front of her and lift her utensils to the garbage chute that was her mouth.

Cassandra was awestruck as she watched her formerly fit cousin eat like there was no tomorrow; she had never been that efficient at eating, even when she stress-binger her hardest. She leaned over and whispered, “Slow down a little, Katty; it’s not like it’s going anywhere.”

“Can’t,” Katherine snorted hoggishly before taking a big bite of stuffing. “Gotta eat.”

That reaction made Cassandra cock an eyebrow. She had seen a good many changes in her cousin that day, but she could not have called Katherine snorting like a pig while she ate. Cassandra glanced around the table, but everyone was so wrapped up in their own conversations that they completely ignored the two girls at the end of the table.

Left to her own devices, the once obese girl whispered, “Katty, I’m not really that hungry—do you want some more?”

“Rnk,” Katherine grunted as she cast a glance at Cassie’s plate and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, gimme.”

Cassandra smirked as she transferred most of the food on her plate to Katherine, who wolfed it down with abandon. She had no idea what had taken hold of her cousin over the last year, but she loved it regardless. Soon, very soon, she would be the cousin, and Kat would be the helpless, out of shape butterball—and Cass would do everything she could to make that a reality.
 

Vongola27

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((Now that I'm able to log into my account again, it's time to upload a couple more chapters. This story is also on hold until the first full week of April, so be on the lookout!))

CHAPTER 50


Black Friday shopping, when the goodwill of Thanksgiving is forgotten in favor of racing and fighting to get all the best deals at department stores across the country. It is a bloodsport that has fallen out of favor in recent years, due to the rise of online shopping and extension of store hours, but crowds of eager shoppers ensure it remains strong. Only the strong, fast, and clever can stand victorious on this day, able to snatch up the trendiest toys, clothes, and tech at dirt-cheap prices.

On a frigid November morning, hours before the sun would rise, all three traits could be found in Rose Manson’s wrestling class as they waited outside Mega Lo Mart—the biggest hypermarket in the state of Vermont. Not every girl had turned out, as some of them preferred to sleep rather than wait in line in the dead of night, but they were still well represented. At the head of the pack was the drill sergeant herself, who was bundled up in so many layers that it was hard to rest her arms at her sides. Backing her up were a handful of her students: Nina Neverland, Jamie Jacobs, Vidya Anand, and Conner Trent, all of whom had chattering teeth and dreadful shivers.

Bringing up the rear of the group were the heavyweights of the class—Theresa Hartley and Carolyn Brown. The ‘wrestling moms’ were clad lightly in spite of the frigid temperatures, with the redheaded Theresa wearing a GWF-branded tracksuit and beanie and the blonde Carolyn decked out in yoga pants and a fluffy sweater. It helped that they both were heavily insulated otherwise, particularly the former Queen Heart, who had ballooned to almost 400 pounds after retiring from the ring. She was back to steady exercise and diet (barring a slip at last month’s Halloween party), but she was still hovering around 350. Carolyn, though nowhere near as fat as her flabby friend, weighed in around 230—far more than any other woman in the wrestling school.

“Why are we here again, Coach?” asked Vidya, who was freezing despite her designer snowsuit.

Rose spat on the ground and sneered at the rookie. “Because this will toughen you up and build character! You prissy little pansies didn’t want to go for a polar bear plunge, so this is the next best thing.”

“Then why are you bundled up like the kid from ‘A Christmas Story’?” Nina scoffed.

“Because I’m ninety years old, you CBGB reject!” the wizened coach snipped at her most rebellious student.

Conner’s arms were wrapped tight as a vise around her chest as she asked, “And why are we doing it here? We could just wait for daylight and do this in a park or something.”

“Because this is combat training, cadet,” Rose answered. “This here’s the most bloodthirsty time of year—when all goodwill gets thrown out in favor of beating the piss out of everyone for Christmas gifts. You’re getting some real, hands-on experience with a brawl, ladies, so get your ass in gear when those gates open. Mama Bird’s got a shopping list, and she ain’t gonna be happy if her chicks come home empty handed.”

Theresa cracked the knuckles in her sausage fingers and told the students, “We’ll be using this as an opportunity to work on your restraint, as well as your ability to end a fight without violence. It’s important to remember not to lose your cool and turn a work into a shoot; that’s how people get hurt and careers end. When we get everything on Rose’s list, we’ll reconvene at the cafe to take a breather and review everything. Sound good?”

“Yes, ma’am!” her wards all replied, even if Nina’s was muttered more than anything else.

“But, like, why is Mrs. Brown here?” asked JJ.

Carolyn answered the question herself by pulling a tied-off sock from her purse. “I’m your back-up in case things get ugly. I’ve done Black Friday here before, and let me tell you—you’re going to want someone with a sock full of nickels on your side.”

It was another hour before the hypermarket opened its doors, and when it did, all hell broke loose. People were sliding in under the security gates before they could even open all the way, and though most of the girls in the class could do that, Theresa and Carolyn did not have that luxury. All the heavyweights could contribute was their sheer mass, which they used to power through the crowds as they stormed the sprawling store. Carolyn was on cart duty, which seemed like a simple enough task until someone tried to yank the cart out of her hands. Conner moved in to assist, but her help was not needed, as the plump wrestling mom demonstrated her proficiency in self-defense.

“Get your own cart, you candy-ass jabroni!” the bulbous blonde shrieked as she whipped the offender with her nickel-filled sock. “Try anything like that again, and I’ll break out my bag of door knobs!”

“Door knobs?” Conner whispered to Theresa.

“Last year was particularly brutal,” the redhead explained but did not elaborate on.

The first item on the list was a new DVD player, but retrieving it would be a daunting task, as the Entertainment aisles were filled to the brim with hungry consumers. Even with Theresa clearing a path through the horde, it would not be easy for the class to get their prize. That was the thought, at least, until Vidya peered up and spied another container of DVD players on a shelf above, which would require an associate to come by with a ladder.

“Think we could get up there somehow?” she asked the group.

“You don’t need to be a gymnast—you just need to think like a Road Warrior,” Theresa replied as a smirk sprouted on her chubby cheeks. “Conner, get Nina onto your shoulders like you’re setting up a Doomsday Device.”

Before the rebel could ask what a Doomsday Device was, the more muscular Conner scooped Nina up and hoisted her onto her shoulders. Nina squeaked in surprise and grabbed hold of her carrier’s head as she squealed, “What do you think you’re doing, you lummox? Put me down!”

“Not until you grab a freaking DVD player, Nina,” Conner grunted. “Kindly hurry the hell up and grab it—your ass weighs a ton.”

The indignant Nina shut her mouth out of embarrassment and frustration, but did as she was told and snatched one of the DVD players high above the crowd. She handed it down to JJ before Conner set her back on the ground with a discontented hum.

“Seriously, Nina, what’cha been eating—concrete?” the buff woman asked with a scowl.

“Eat chips and die, She-Hulk,” Nina hissed before poking the taller woman in the stomach. “I’m not the one with a beer belly bigger than my uncle’s!”

Before the two could come to blows, Theresa forced her way between them and slapped them both on their thicker backsides. “Knock it off right now, both of you! You’ve got a job to do, and by God, you’re going to do it. Get your keisters in gear and move onto the next aisle—now!”

Conner and Nina glowered at each other before turning tail and marching their way to the next aisle over, where the TVs were waiting. Theresa shook her head in disbelief at the antics of her students; it was like being at home with her boys sometimes. Their taunts at each other did hold some truth though—all of the students in class had put on weight ever since Theresa and Carolyn began attending.

Everyone was a little different: Conner, strongest of all, was developing a pudgy paunch that masked a tight abdomen; Vidya filled out like an hourglass befitting of her gimmick as a model; Nina’s backside soaked up calories like a sponge, expanding to the point that she wobbled with every step she took; JJ, while soft all over, was taking after her mentor and had ballooned in the chest over the last several weeks. Regardless of where the pounds went, the results were the same—Rose’s students were quickly putting on weight, and not of the muscular variety.

At the same time, Theresa did not share in that gain. Her resolve to lose weight and get back into some semblance of shape had seen her drop an incredible amount of weight since joining the class, and she felt lighter on her feet than she had in years. Despite taunts from Nina, the former wrestler was rapidly shedding pounds and building up confidence that had been buried under her several acreages of blubber. It made the possibility of rejoining the GWF a possibility, rather than a pipedream.
 

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