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Vongola27

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Working their way through the crowds was trying, even for the fittest of the bunch, but the girls managed to whittle away at Rose’s list bit by bit. It took cunning, agility, and more than a little brute force to get what they were looking for, as the hordes of shoppers were like a plague of locusts that descended on the hypermarket to feed. By the time the sun had actually risen, they were down to the last few items on the list, but also nearing the end of their ropes. The students and mothers made their way into one of the few quiet spots in the store to catch a much needed breath.

“I don’t know how much more I can take, man,” JJ groaned as she leaned against the wall. “I’m not, like, claustrophobic or anything, but I’m starting to get really antsy-like.”

“I know what you mean,” Conner grunted. The powerhouse bent backwards to stretch the joints in her back, while also causing her gut to become more pronounced.

Theresa wiped her brow and propped herself against the overloaded cart. The massive matron had shed her jacket not long after their exercise began, and was down to a tank top that struggled to contain her girth. Breasts the size of pumpkins threatened to ooze out the top and sides, despite a custom-order bra holding them in place, while her stomach tested the limits of the poor piece of cotton. Her ham hock arms were splotchy red and her cheeks a porcine pink as she recovered with her students.

“Just a couple more things, and then we’re good,” Theresa huffed as she looked over the list. A dress, a pair of combat boots, and a doll for her great-granddaughter were all they had left. Easy-peasy!

“I can take Vidya and Conner to get the clothes,” Carolyn offered as she rested against the handle of the cart. “Think you can get the doll?”

“Not without the nickel sock,” Theresa retorted.

Once she was bequeathed the team weapon, Theresa led Nina and JJ to the toy aisle for the latest Cabbage Patch Kids doll. It was a hot ticket item just as it had been in the early 80s, and by the time the trio reached the toy aisle, there was only one left—a redheaded ragamuffin that had fallen to the floor and been trampled on in the mad frenzy. The box was a wreck but the doll inside was still smiling, dimples and all.

Unfortunately, the girls were not alone in their search, as another trio stood at the other end of the aisle. Theresa glowered as she recognized the trio from school events: Jasmine Rook, Maria Sharif, and the leader of the bunch, Sandra Beasley. They were bullies that never grew out of high school and passed onto their little brats, who terrorized the playground. Jasmine and Maria were cronies that did whatever Sandra said, but she hardly needed them; she was menacing enough on her own, given her MMA background.

“Well, well, what have we here?” asked Sandra with a sneer. “If it isn’t the Holstein of West Harris Elementary. Who are these, Tessie—your caretakers? You’re certainly fat enough to need some.”

“You’ve been busting out the same crap fat jokes for years, Sandra—it’s getting a little old, just like you,” Theresa rebutted as she crossed her arms over her mammoth bosom. “Are those crow’s feet around your eyes, or are you just happy to see me?”

The former fighter scowled and took a step towards the doll. “You’re in the wrong aisle, Angel Tits—the grocery’s on the other side of the store.”

“Oh, I’m right where I want to be,” her redheaded rival growled. “Girls, get ready to grab that thing and run for it.”

Nina and JJ nodded to each other and carefully made their way towards the toy, matching Jasmine and Maria step for step. As they got closer, they crouched down in anticipation, their muscles tensing like coiled springs. When both pairs were within a hair’s breadth of the doll, they glowered at each other with fiery glares that could melt ice.

“Better back off if you know what’s good for you,” Maria threatened. “We’ve won every Black Friday Brawl we’ve ever been in.”

JJ twisted her neck from side to side and scoffed, “Yeah, but Queen Heart is our teacher, dude.”

“Must be why you’re looking kinda chunky,” Jasmine taunted. “Maybe you need to cut back on the cookies and get back in the gym, tubs.”

Nina spat on Jasmine’s designer boots and jeered, “Call us fat one more time, and I’ll spear your ass into the next aisle.”

The other woman furrowed her brow and leaned in dangerously close as she whispered, “What’cha gonna do, fatty-fatty two-by-four?”

Nina’s answer was to spear Jasmine out of her shoes and into the empty toy rack behind her. Maria turned to give her friend help, but JJ grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around into a superkick to the chin. The normally lackadaisical girl laid into her opponent with a series of chops that resonated through the aisle. While she struck Maria with enough force to be felt through the downy vest the rich woman wore, JJ kicked the doll back to Theresa.

“All yours, Mrs. H! We’ve got this!” the brunette called back to her mentor.

When the box skidded to a halt beneath her, Theresa winced and struggled just to bend down. Her gut bunched up and created a mountain of resistance, and her bountiful breasts filled her vision, making it impossible to see where the toy actually was. This made it easy pickings for Sandra, who merely sauntered over and scooped the doll up.

“Poor Tessie,” the devilish woman tutted as she waved the doll in Theresa’s sweaty face. “It’s a shame you couldn’t get your hands on this, but don’t worry—if you’re lucky, you’ll get them on the next go around. Or maybe I’ll just pre-emptively buy them all, just to make sure you never get your fat mitts on one.”

Just as Sandra turned to help her lackeys, she felt a pair of pillowy arms grab hold of her and wrap around her neck. She did not need to look to see the grin on Theresa’s face—she could hear it in the redhead’s voice as she taunted, “Really, Sandra, I’m surprised. Did you think I was so fat that I couldn’t get your scrawny neck in a sleeper hold? Newsflash, bitch—I’m fit as hell, and can kick your ass up and down this store.”

Sandra writhed and kicked in the hold, but between the sheer mass holding her down and the vice-like grip on her, there was nothing she could do. Within a moment, her eyelids drooped as sleep overtook her, and she finally went limp against Theresa’s belly. Only when she was sure that the former fighter was down for the count did Theresa finally let go, at which point she grabbed the toy from Sandra’s hands.

“Girls, let’s move!” she called out to her wards. “I’ve got the doll!”

Theresa tossed the doll to Nina as she ran past and JJ took her by the arm as they raced down the aisles as fast as they could to escape the wrathful Sandra and her minions. The further they got from the brouhaha, the bigger their smiles became, and when they reached check-out, the three were laughing hysterically.

“Dude, I can’t believe you put her in a sleeper hold like that!” JJ cackled. “You’re, like, the coolest mom I know!”

“Well, ‘she had it coming’ would be putting it mildly,” Theresa assured her students. “It’s going to make the next PTA meeting awkward, but damn, did that feel good.”

Nina giggled impishly at the memory of tackling Jasmine to the ground. “Hey, if you ever need back-up with those hags, let me know—I’d be more than down for a rematch.”

Theresa chuckled as she wrapped her meaty arms around the girls and pulled them both in for a hefty hug. She chuckled heartily, “You’re the best students a coach could ask for, even if you drive me crazy sometimes. Now, who’s hungry for some breakfast?”

Her answer came from two growling stomachs. Both girls nodded eagerly, and once they made their last purchase of the day, went to reap the fruits of their labor at the café.
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 51

It was the last day of November, and the city of Philadelphia was struck by a cold and bitter wind that whistled through the streets. Anyone in their right mind would stay indoors, but there was a party of three that dared to brave the chill of night. Taylor Rose, the Youngblood wrestler known as Princess Tiger Lily, had found out that it was Maxine Kuhn’s birthday not two hours prior and took it on herself to throw an impromptu celebration for her mentor. It was the least she could do after all that Maxine had taught her in the ring and during their photo shoots together.

Joining the duo was Maxine’s arm candy—one Rea Rider. They had grown closer and closer ever since Halloween night, when a lustfully curious Rea had asked Maxine to show how she had gotten so fat. That evening ended with the redhead stuffed to the brim and curled up alongside her Amazonian coworker, whose hand rested on Rea’s stomach until the following morning. Their meet ups became more frequent as time went on, to the point that stuffing Rea had become a regular part of Maxine’s calendar.

All this time around Maxine was having several effects on both girls. Taylor was fast becoming more confident in the ring and in the locker room, to the point that no one had picked on her in weeks; whether that was her own doing or the threat of a whupping from Maxine did not matter. Rea had grown out of her crybaby routine after a violent match, opting to embrace her character instead; she did not revel in violence or harming other members of the roster, but it no longer broke her heart to do so. These were all welcome changes for them, but there were other, more physical changes that demanded their attention.

“You girls are going to love this place,” Taylor hummed as she waddled down the street. “I read about it and I thought to myself, ‘I have got to bring Maxine and Rea here.’”

The Native American wrestler had always been a stout girl, but she had truly turned into a hoglet in the last couple months. Her thick thighs clapped together with every step she took, and a once plush stomach had ballooned outwards into a flabby paunch that tested her leotard. Working out with Maxine had given her some firmness and muscles beneath her blubber, but she was eating enough to cover any and all definition with a good layer of padding.

“If it’s anything like that steakhouse you recommended, I’m sure it’s to die for,” Rea replied with a dimple-forming smile.

Being fed by Maxine so much had caused the redhead to not only plump up and out, but also increased her appetite to the point that she was snacking and munching even when she did not have her lover’s mattress thighs wrapped around her widening waist. All those calories went below the belt, to the point that Rea looked exactly the same from the chest up; it was not until one looked down at her belly that they saw where all her pounds were packed. Firm abs were coated with pudge that pooched out into a pale teardrop, which led to hips and saddlebags that were the bane of her clothes. Her booty quivered and shook with every step, and her thighs were constantly slapping against each other. She was on the fast track to fatness, and she did not want to slow down anytime soon.

“Seriously, you know all the best spots in town,” Maxine remarked as she easily kept pace with her plumping companions. She surreptitiously snaked a hand down Rea’s back and squeezed a handful of her girlfriend’s chubby caboose as she whispered, “That’s good for us, babe—gives me plenty of options for playtime with you.”

Rea giggled like a schoolgirl and sidled in closer to Maxine, much to Taylor’s disdain. It was not like she hated the redhead; it was hard to hate anyone you shared a ring with. What ground her gears was how Rea monopolized so much of Maxine’s time outside of work, oblivious to how much she hung around the brunette. Taylor would be lying if she said she had strictly platonic feelings for her coach, but she had never acted on them for fear of losing her one friend in Youngblood. Now that things were going her way and she had gotten closer with others, the stout girl felt more confident in addressing her desire for Maxine—if only Rea had not taken that place.

Taylor shook her head to clear all the envious thoughts racing through her head. Tonight was supposed to be about Maxine, not herself; she was going to treat her coach to a lovely dinner at one of the most unique places in town. She pulled her coat tighter around her thick middle and glanced over her shoulder at the lovebirds, wincing when she saw Rea putting a gloved hand on Maxine’s stomach.

“We’re taking a right at the next corner, and then we’re there,” she informed the couple.

“Right behind you, Taylor,” Maxine told her ward. “Man, when we get there, I’m going to get the biggest cup of hot chocolate they have.”

“Same,” Rea agreed through chattering teeth. “If they had a hot tub full of cocoa, I would just park it there for the rest of the night.”

Her Amazonian lover pinched Rea’s fluffy side and murmured, “Assuming you don’t drink it all, greedy girl.”

After rounding the corner, the party reached their destination—Max Brenner, a restaurant that also doubled as a chocolate shop and dabbled in decadent delights. The first thing they noticed on entering were all the pipes running around over the dining room and leading to taps behind a bar. Then came the candy shop, which was a small corner right by the entrance that was crammed full of people wanting to get some goodies to go. Finally, there were all the dishes coming from the kitchen, each looking more delicious than the last. It was too much for Taylor and Rea, and the growing girls were salivating at the aromas all around them.

“Ladies, I know it smells good, but it’s going to taste even better,” Maxine hummed as she pinched both her companions’ plump love handles. “And we can’t eat if we don’t get our table. Come on!”

With their heads cleared, the girls were led to their table by the hostess and took their seats—Taylor on Maxine’s left and Rea on her right. A quick glance at the menu showed that there was a heavy emphasis on chocolate; the dessert menu was a small book, compared to the two page dinner menu. All eyes went to the drinks first in search of the hottest and sweetest options.

“Welcome to Max Brenner!” a waiter greeted the trio. “My name is Christian, and I’ll be serving you tonight. You ladies want something to drink to get started?”

Before Rea or Taylor could answer, Maxine smiled and told Christian, “We could really do with something to warm us up, Christian. Let’s get two milk chocolate Italian Thicks and a lemongrass tea for me—wait, scratch that. It’s my birthday, so I’ll splurge and get the White Chocolate Chai.”

“Sounds like a plan! I’ll get those right out for you,” the young waiter replied.

As Rea looked over the menu to find out what an ‘Italian Thick’ was, Taylor glanced over to Maxine and asked not unpleasantly, “And what if I wanted a lemongrass tea, boss?”

“I mean, you could have, but come on: ‘melted chocolate blocks mixed with fresh vanilla cream’? Tell me that doesn’t tickle your taste buds,” Maxine hummed in reply.

It did sound delicious, and Taylor did not want to make a fuss over nothing. She returned her attention to the menu, though not without a blush when she caught Maxine giving her a toothy grin. Damn that giantess and her gorgeous looks—even if Taylor wanted to argue, it would be impossible. One look, and she melted.

The drinks arrived soon after, with Rea and Taylor getting their hot chocolate and Maxine getting her tea. Rea quickly drank down half of her mug, but Taylor was not nearly so greedy or convinced of its goodness. She raised the mug to her lips, took one sip, and her heart skipped a beat. It was the single best hot chocolate she ever had in her life, and she had to fight back the urge to guzzle it down before the waiter even left.

Taylor was so engrossed in the flavor of her drink that she almost missed Maxine telling their waiter, “Let’s start with some Sriracha-Buffalo wings, some of the cocoa spiced waffle fries, and some of those onion rings with the dark chocolate ranch. Oh, and can we get bacon and the five-cheese blend on those fries?”

“No problem!” Christian chirped. “We’ll get those out for you in just a bit.”

“You’re the best, Christian,” Maxine complimented the young waiter with a wink and a waggle of her plump fingers.
 

Vongola27

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No sooner had their waiter left than Taylor leaned over and asked, “Okay, what gives, boss? That’s a lot of food, and we’ve only gotten started.”

“Hey, I’m not going to complain,” Rea chimed in. “Maxine always knows the best foods.”

With both girls looking to her, the birthday girl blushed and slumped her shoulders as if releasing a breath she had been holding in. Maxine glanced between her companions and gave them a small smile, far from the cocksure grin she had sported all evening. The shift also made her look plumper, and Taylor noted that even though her coach had lost a good deal of weight, she still had a long ways to go.

“Well, Taylor, this is my birthday gift to you both,” the giantess softly explained to her student. “When I moved out here, I knew no one and felt like crap after getting booted out of the main roster and being dumped. I tried not to show it in front of everyone, but I was lonely without people to be around outside the ring; I was so close to relapsing and eating my feelings away. Then, I helped you out in the locker room and we started hanging out after that, and it was so good having someone to hang out with after training or a show.”

Her attention shifted to Rea, and the blushed deepened on Maxine’s chubby cheeks as she continued, “And then, well, Halloween Night happened, and it was amazing. I had not felt so beautiful and wanted in such a long time; it made me realize what I had been missing from my last relationship. There aren’t enough words for me to express how grateful I am to you for helping me find myself again.”

Both girls were at a loss for words and Rea’s eyes teared up at the heartfelt admission as Maxine concluded, “Anyway, I’m not the best talker—my mic skills will attest to that—so this is my way of saying thank you to you both. The only way I know how to celebrate is with good eating though, so I hope you brought your appetite tonight.”

“Maxine, sweetie, I will eat literally anything you put in front of me tonight,” Rea replied after choking back her tears of happiness.

Taylor took another moment to compose herself and find her tongue before adding, “Y-Yeah, of course, just…can I order my main course?”

“Absolutely,” Maxine answered with a nod. “Sorry about ordering for you, Taylor—guess I just got a little carried away.”

Rea took another long draught from her hot chocolate and giggled, “I don’t mind! You always know the most delicious foods.”

The birthday girl smirked and gave her still substantial belly a pat. “Well, you don’t get this big without knowing your way around a menu.”

Seeing Maxine’s doughy belly quiver, covered though it was by her sweater, made Taylor turn a fine pink. She distracted herself by looking over the menu and trying to find something that looked good without being too fattening. Her recent gains were not lost on her, and the stout girl was trying to curtail her new appetite before it got her into trouble. Most of her clothes were getting tight, like the black jeans she had chosen for the night; they hugged every inch of her thickening thighs and bit into her waist like a bear trap. Everything on the menu sounded delicious, but she could not afford to keep pigging out like this.

Then Taylor saw how Maxine looked at Rea and played with her like a couple of young lovers in high school, oblivious to the world around them. She could see her coach reaching under the table to stroke the redhead’s plump stomach and whispering sweet nothings that made Rea turn red as her hair. Taylor bit back her frustration and tried to focus on the menu, but it was no use; it was impossible to ignore the playful pair beside her.

“You know what? I think I’m going to have the pub steak with fingerling potatoes,” the jealous girl boldly announced, much to a surprised Rea and Maxine.

“Gosh, Taylor, that sounds amazing,” Rea remarked in awe. “I was probably going to have the mac and cheese and the roasted vegetables as a side.”

“They both sound delicious,” Maxine replied with a lick of her lips. “You sure you’ll be able to tackle that steak, Taylor? That might be a bit much.”

Satisfied that she had gotten her crush’s attention, Taylor nodded and leaned back in her chair as she sipped her sweet drink. “Oh, absolutely. I’m sure this is just like all the other trendy restaurants out there—tiny portions that cost way too much. I’ll bet you I could eat one of the appetizers, the steak and potatoes, and still have room for dessert.”

“Is that right?” Maxine asked with a grin. “I’d like to see that.”

“Same,” Rea chimed in, blissfully unaware of the reason behind Taylor’s larger order.

“In fact, I’ll sweeten the deal, birthday girl,” Taylor added, cockiness growing with her confidence. “I’ll even let you pick out the dessert—doesn’t matter what it is, I’ll still finish it.”

There was a twinkle in Maxine’s eyes as she replied, “Challenge accepted. I’ll make sure to pick out something nice and big, since you’re such a big eater.”

That put a smile on Taylor’s face. It was just like before, when it was just her and Maxine palling around and getting cozy, without anyone to intrude. Did she want to steal Maxine away from Rea? Not exactly—she was not that callous. Did she want to steal her attention? Absolutely, and she was willing to do anything to get it.

***​

“This was a mistake,” Taylor burbled after choking down another bite of dessert pizza.

She had not stopped eating since the appetizers first arrived at the table. True to her word, she claimed the fries all to herself after allowing Maxine and Rea a taste, and she picked up two wings and onion rings to make up the difference. That left her pleasantly full, but in her effort to impress, the stout girl assured her coach that she could still go on. This was a mistake, as the steak was a beast that demanded respect: it took up three-quarters of the plate and sat atop sautéed potatoes, all doused in her butter. By the time Taylor had swallowed her last bite, it was time for dessert—her current undoing.

“The lady will have a whole chocolate chunks pizza with all the works,” Maxine told the waiter, sealing Taylor’s fate.

‘All the works’ meant adding hazelnut, banana, peanut butter, and roasted marshmallow on what was already a pizza topped with melted milk and white chocolate. It was decadently delicious and deliciously decadent, and were it not for the two large portions Taylor had plowed through earlier, she would have scarfed this down with ease. As it was, she had to force each bite into her stuffed stomach, which was bloated more than it ever had been before. Was this what Rea felt like whenever she ate with Maxine? If so, it was a mystery how she was not already 200 pounds.

“Taylor, maybe you ought to throw in the towel,” the redhead in question suggested as she scooped up another spoonful of tiramisu. “You already ate a ton tonight; you don’t need to eat the whole thing.”

“Not…quitting,” the stout girl burbled. “Still got…room.”

Maxine smirked and mused, “I think I can make a little more room for you.”

Before Taylor could ask what she meant by that, the Amazon reached under the table and deftly popped the button on her jeans. It was embarrassing to think that she had eaten enough to necessitate undoing her pants, but the relief it brought was more than welcome. Sure enough, Taylor stifled a burp and felt a fair bit of space clear up in her stomach. She looked to Maxine for an answer, only for the brunette to wink and waggle her fingers.

“Magic hands,” Maxine hummed. “Now, let’s see you finish that pie, Taylor.”

And she did. For Maxine, Taylor would do anything—even stuff herself stupid.
 
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Vongola27

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CHAPTER 52

After she was screwed out of her title at Global War, Shinobu Misawa spent the rest of November in a deep, dark hole. She went about her days in a trance, going through the usual paces with a thousand-yard stare in her eyes, as she mulled over everything that had transpired. The audience had loved her promise to hold onto the Women’s Championship belt until Mickey Ramone returned to TV, and the bookers assured her they would do everything in their power to keep it around her waist. Unfortunately, Dave Ericson’s faith in the fan favorite decreased as her waist increased, and he made the decision to strip the belt off her. That was insulting enough, but what made it even worse was that it was planned without her knowledge and she only found out when the bell was rung.

She left as soon as she could that night, ignoring everyone that offered their sympathies or condolences; she did not need to be reminded of the humiliating loss. The match in of itself was one of her favorites—it was the most fun she had in a ring for quite some time—but the reason behind her losing was what hurt the most. Shinobu knew the risk when she decided to put on weight, but she could never have known that Dave was so petty and vain that he would strip the title from her because she had plumped up. Though the president had not said as much, she knew that was the reason; no one of a round physique made it far in the GWF.

The last few weeks of November should have been delightful for a growing girl like herself, between all the Thanksgiving feasts and preparations for Christmas. KC Skye, her closest friend in the company, had even offered to host her for Turkey Day, but Shinobu turned her down and holed up in her apartment instead. She could not be around people, her mind was deep in left field, and worst of all, everything she ate and drank lost their flavor. It was as if she were consuming ash and dust; no matter what she did, she tasted nothing but emptiness. So deep was her depression that she actually lost weight for the first time since starting her gain earlier that summer.

Finally, the silence of her apartment and the emptiness inside her could be ignored no longer, so Shinobu decided to make a change. She already put in for time off with the federation, but she extended that into the new year; after what she went through, no one was going to fault her for needing time away. After her time off was approved, she bought herself a roundtrip ticket to Osaka, though she had no idea when she would want to return, if ever.

All through her planning, Shinobu ignored her phone and put off calling her friends for as long as she could. She was not much of a talker to begin with, but trying to find the right words for this were next to impossible for her. How does one tell their friends, ‘FYI, I may not come back to work ever again?’ It was particularly painful when she imagined what KC would say—KC, who had become someone closer than a friend over the last few months. Her heart was torn, and she had no idea how to mend it.

The day arrived before she knew it, and Shinobu was soon on the road to the airport. Her phone was in her hand the entire trip, yet she still could not muster the courage to make that one phone call. Even after getting everything checked in, as she waited in the terminal for her flight, she could not dial KC’s number. If her life had been a movie, that would be the moment when KC called her and professed her love for her, and Shinobu would drop everything and book a flight out to Arkansas instead. But this was no movie, and the pint-sized brawler was soon shuffling onto the next flight to Osaka.

“Sayonara, KC-chi,” Shinobu whispered as she shut her phone down.

A fourteen-hour plane ride is never fun, but it gets even worse when one is a little too big for the cramped airplane seats. Even though she had lost weight in the last couple weeks, Shinobu was still squished into her window seat for a better portion of the trip. She tried to shut her eyes and sleep from time to time, but she was always pulled back to consciousness right when she was about to pass out. Her nerves were eating at her and she had no idea how to control them; not even eating helped, as the meager dinner lunch and dinner did little to tide her over.

As the passenger beside her snoozed, Shinobu watched in envy before returning her focus to a movie she had ordered. Not that she was paying any attention—it was largely background noise to help her drown out her nagging thoughts. Unfortunately, it did its job poorly, as all Shinobu had to do was look down to be reminded of her shame. When she folded her hands over her, they rested on a globular gut that sat on her lap like a beachball full of pudding; when they rested on her arm rests, her fingers tickled her love handles. There was no escaping her fluffy body, which she never would have thought of a few weeks prior, but now, she wanted nothing more than to shed all this flab like a lizard shedding its skin.

Her title—Mickey’s title—had been taken from her because she had indulged her desires too much and blew up like a balloon. Never mind that she maintained her athleticism: in her line of work, appearances were everything, and she had allowed hers to go to pot. ‘Potbelly’ was the more accurate term, considering the stomach that rested on her lap; it was quickly becoming the dominant part of her figure, even though she was plumper all over. Shinobu furrowed her brow and gave her tubby tummy a squeeze, sinking her fingers into a thick layer of pudge before releasing it again.

The worst part was that despite everything, she still loved her fat, squishy body. It was everything she could have wanted; if she wanted more, it was to be even fatter. Shinobu hated the fact that she wanted to feel her thighs touch all the way to her knees, pull two chairs together just to sit comfortably, and have breasts big enough that she could suckle them. Just thinking about getting heavier and doughier made her thunder thighs clench, and she hated herself for feeling that way. She loved overflowing her clothes, but she loved being a wrestler even more and did not want to sacrifice that just so she could turn into a human butterball.

Shinobu needed to do some hard thinking when she got home, starting with whether or not she would lose all this weight. If the GWF did not see any value in her as she got fatter, what would other promotions think?

***​

By the time the plane touched down again, the stout superstar was more than ready to disembark. She worked her way through the mass of people exiting the plane, waddled through the airport, and got herself a ticket for the next train into Morinomiya. Once the train started rolling down the tracks, the familiar sounds and feeling did what an international flight could not do and lulled Shinobu to sleep. The rest was a welcome reprieve for the exhausted girl, who was so exhausted that her eyes felt like they were burning.

Unfortunately, her slumber was not entirely pleasant, as not even her dreams were safe from the doubts that plagued her. Shinobu opened her eyes to find herself at a food stall in the middle of a busy marketplace, with a balding chef glaring down at her. The man sneered, “What’ll it be, mochi girl?”

The wrestler blushed a fine pink and meekly mumbled, “I…I’m not really hungry.”

“Yeah, sure,” the chef scoffed. “There’s no way a pig like you isn’t hungry all the time. With a belly like that, you must eat your weight in food just to feel full. Kids these days, I swear.”

“I’m not that fat!” Shinobu squeaked before the chef shot her another glare.

“Is that right? Then how about you prove me wrong—try not to eat everything I put in front of you,” her tormentor challenged.

The first temptation was a plate of takoyaki—battered octopus. Despite her protestations, Shinobu scooped the balls up with her bare hands and tossed them into her mouth, smearing her chubby cheeks with sauce. She licked her lips and patted her generous stomach as a familiar warmth filled her body. Eating felt so good and right, especially after all this time.

“More for the mochi girl in the Missile Club shirt,” the chef taunted as he set down a bowl full of pork ramen, complete with fatty strips of bacon and two boiled eggs. “Dig in, tubby.”

“Itadakimasu,” the wrestler grunted around a mouthful of soup. She greedily gobbled up the bacon and eggs before slurping up all the noodles in the bowl without taking so much as a breath. Once she cleared the soup of all but the broth, she tossed her chopsticks away, picked up the bowl, and tilted it to her lips. The hearty broth raced down her gullet as Shinobu gurgled happily, even as a trickle of soup ran down her cheeks and stained her shirt.
 

Vongola27

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No sooner had she set the bowl down than the chef returned with a plate of steaming okonomiyaki, piled high with cabbage, kimchi, and more bacon. Shinobu licked her lips and tore into the dish with reckless abandon, covering herself with crumbs and sauce with each sloppy mouthful. Etiquette went right out the window in favor of filling the hole in her stomach now that she could finally eat food again without feeling guilty.

By the fourth plate, it was clear that Shinobu had lost her wager with the chef, even though she had long since forgotten it. He continued to put food in front of her, and the voracious girl would wolf it down in seconds and demand more. This was repeated again and again, and each new dish made Shinobu fatten up a little more. Her arms swelled with blubber until they were fat cones tearing through her sleeves, and her shoulders softened and melded with the thick scarf of flab that coated her neck. The stain-riddled shirt was stretched so tight around her bosom that the words became illegible, and cavernous cleavage presented itself through the fraying neckline.

All this was chump change compared to the mammoth gut that she had grown with every bite. If Shinobu thought her potbelly was fat before, then she was absolutely enormous at that point, as the mountainous stomach filled her lap all the way to her knees. There was no hope of her shirt containing so much pasty pudge, especially when there was no end in sight to all the food. It rested heavily on her mattress thighs and filled her with so much warmth, as if she had swallowed a furnace.

Those thighs were now as wide around as her waist once was, and not only did they touch all the way to her knees—they overlapped the overtaxed joints. They led around to a backside that was full and flabby, oozing over her barstool so much that it was impossible to find the seat cushion underneath. She could hear it creaking, but Shinobu paid it little mind as she stuffed strips of piping hot tonkatsu down her throat.

“Bui!” the porcine girl squealed as she tumbled to the floor.

Thankfully, Shinobu was so well-padded that she only felt a slight bump when she landed on the concrete. Unfortunately, the impact caused her well-worn jeans to tear straight down the middle, exposing polka-dotted panties with a teddy bear at the top. Flat on her back, the overfed girl tried to get up, but like a turtle on its shell, could only wriggle and writhe under the weight of her belly. Her head fell back against the floor and she groaned, too stuffed to breathe, much less get up.

“Looks like I had you right all along, Misawa,” the chef taunted as he walked around from behind the counter. “I knew you were too much of a glutton to be a champion, and this just proves it.”

Howling with laughter, the chef spun in place and changed into the sneering form of Dave Ericson bedecked in flowing red robes with a high collar and golden medallion. He prodded her gut with a pointed boot and jeered, “Look at the state of you! No one wants to see that on a champion: they want people that look fit and powerful, not so fat that running around the ring might give them a heart attack. Admit it, Debu Rider—you’re nothing but a weak pile of lard!”

Shinobu opened her mouth to protest, but all that came out was a thunderous belch. It was hard to deny the accusation, given the absolute state she was in; she might have had a case when she weighed 200 pounds, but not 400. She struggled to get up, to prove the diabolical old man wrong, but she simply did not have the strength. Everything he said was true about her, and she was only now acknowledging it. How had she ever thought she could be a champion and a fat ass at the same time?

“I’m…I’m…”

“Don’t do it, Shin-chan!” a voice cried out.

Shinobu’s eyes went wide and she turned her head to face the source of the voice—one that she knew so very well. Standing at the front of a crowd of onlookers was her beloved KC, bedecked in an orange jumpsuit that clung to every inch of her thickened body. The aerialist’s fists were clenched as she called out again, “Don’t do it! You’re one of the best wrestlers in the world, no matter what you weigh! You can beat him—you just have to try!”

“Silence!” Dave roared as red lightning shot from his fingertips and blew KC into the sky.

That attack was all it took for Shinobu to rally. With a cry of pure rage, she swiped a fat leg out and knocked her treacherous employer off his feet. The overloaded wrestler then rolled to one side, grabbed a bar stool, and used every muscle in her lard-caked body to get to her feet. She hefted her belly up with one hand while the other reached to a glowing belt buckle and gave it a spin.

“Henshin!” Shinobu called out, summoning a wave of colors around her body.

In an instant, she was transformed into the masked heroine known as Debu Rider—defender of honor and justice! She wore a black shirt underneath a green chest plate that normally covered her entire middle, but given the circumstances, it currently left a strip of pale blubber on display. Her lower body was squeezed into a pair of black tights stretched so thin that they were translucent in places. Shielding her head was a helmet designed to look like a pill bug’s face, and though no one could see it, it pinched her plump chin.

“Your days are over, Great Leader Ericson!” the heroine declared. “Surrender to justice!”

“So, you can still stand,” Dave grunted as he pulled himself from the floor. “No matter—I’ve created a weapon that will make sure you never get up again. Ananya!”

Out of the kitchen strode Ananya Patel, bedecked in a gold and red version of Shinobu’s suit. A collar wrapped tight around her neck beeped in time with her heartbeat, and she had a hollow look in her eyes. Shinobu felt a twinge of envy when she saw how her opponent’s suit suited her muscular body, in comparison to her own, flabby form. She choked back those bitter feelings and clenched her fists in preparation for the fight.

“I may be big, but as long as my heart still beats, I’ll keep fighting!” Shinobu announced.

“Then you’ll die fighting,” Dave retorted. “Attack, my Champion Rider!”

Ananya bowed and dipped low into a fighting stance, muscles tightening like springs before releasing and flying across the restaurant. Just before her kick connected with Shinobu’s stuffed stomach, she said, “The next station is Morinomiya. Thank you!”

***​

The moment the kick landed, Shinobu woke up with a start. She was still on the train, still a thick 190, and still not a superhero. At least she was finally able to get some well-earned sleep, even if she felt strangely full after the bizarre dream. Gathering up her two bags, the portly girl waddled her way to the doors and waited for the train to pull up to the station. By the time the doors opened, the dream was all but forgotten, vanished into the aether of her mind.

Shinobu quickly made her way to the main road outside the station and glanced to her phone. She had already reached out to her parents to let them know she was going to be visiting, but she had yet to get in contact with any of her friends from GWF. There were dozens of messages from several people, especially from Mickey and KC, but shame kept the former champion from responding. Instead, she thought back to a pleasant dream a few months prior and sent out a message to two of her friends from school—Ayano and Miyuki.

Back in town for a while. Want to get together and catch up sometime?” Shinobu hummed into her phone while she hailed a taxi.

She did not need to wait long for a reply. Ayano, ever chatty, answered with a garbled “Sdhjuinmxchjaqmn!

Before Shinobu could ask what that meant, Ayano quickly replied, “Sorry—my fat fingers got in the way. I’d love to get together, Shin-chan! We have so much to catch up on! There’s a new restaurant you’ve got to try—we’ll meet there!”

Miyuki was next to answer, “Oh, Ayano…that does sound good though. Can’t wait to see you, Shin-chan!”

Shinobu smiled softly and sent a kissy face to her old friends before climbing into a cab. Despite the unpleasant circumstances, she was looking forward to being home for however long she planned on staying. So many old faces to see and so many things she wanted to do…which, at that moment, amounted to getting some food. For the first time in weeks, she felt genuinely hungry—so much that it hurt. Maybe she could get some ramen once she checked into the hotel…
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 53

After gorging herself on three bowls of ramen, the most she had eaten in a single meal over the last few weeks, Shinobu was ready to pass out. First though, she had to shower—anything to get the stink of travel and ramen off her. The stout girl sluggishly shucked off her clothes and waddled into the bathroom with one hand underneath her doughy gut. It had been so long since she felt so full, and she had to take shallow breaths just to keep from getting sick all over the floor.

“Worth it,” she murmured before hiccupping. “So very worth it.”

The warm water of the shower was a blessing on her supple skin and Shinobu hummed contentedly as she felt all her weariness wash down the drain. She gingerly rubbed her bloated stomach, gently caressing the firm portion while wobbling the squishy portion beneath. Her fingers slid along the divide of her double-tiered tummy and, on finding her belly button, dipped inside and wobbled it like pudding. In all her misery, the widening wrestler had not been able to enjoy her corpulence like this in days, and she found it to be pure bliss.

“So stuffed…feels so good…more fat for my belly,” Shinobu huffed, her breath catching in her throat with every quiver of her stomach. A familiar tingling between her thunder thighs had her squirming on her feet, but before she could act on it, she felt a cramp race through her side. That burst of pain reminded her just how full of noodles and soup she truly was, so she settled instead for rubbing soap all across her body.

“Spoilsport,” the wrestler scolded her belly. “I thought I trained you better than that.”

When the globular lump of lard grumbled in reply, Shinobu smirked and gave it a loving pat. “It’s okay…you’re just out of practice. We’ll get you back to form in no time, don’t worry.”

After rinsing herself clean and gently toweling off, being especially careful around her queasy stomach, the stout girl stifled a mighty yawn and plodded to her bed. She was out like a light as soon as she tucked herself under the covers, and she was blessed with a dreamless sleep—the last thing she needed was for Dave Ericson to invade her dreams again. The only thoughts running through her head were counting how many calories were in the bowls of ramen she had devoured, and what that would do to her softening body.

When she woke to the sun shining on her, Shinobu grumbled and turned over in a vain attempt for a few more minutes to herself. It nearly worked, but her stomach would not allow her to sleep when there was breakfast to be had. Having digested her massive meal from the night before, her greedy gut demanded to be fed and would not take ‘no’ for an answer. With her mood rejuvenated, it was hard to deny her appetite, and so the bleary-eyed brawler crawled out of bed and into a pair of sweatpants that squeezed tight around her gelatinous booty.

“What do you think? You want to get something quick from the 7-11?” Shinobu asked her belly as she covered it with a flowing sweatshirt. When it grumbled at her like a petulant child, she hummed, “Maybe some Mister Donut would be good—we haven’t had that since we came home last!”

That suggestion was met with a quiet gurgle, which Shinobu took as an affirmative. She patted her stomach like a caring mother would a baby bump and smiled contentedly. It was a good thing she was in the privacy of her hotel room—she would have made for quite the picture, talking to her fat gut like an imaginary friend.

It was still early enough that the streets were quiet, especially near her hotel, which Shinobu was thankful for. She enjoyed the solitude as she waddled down the road; it allowed her to take in the surroundings much easier and remind herself that she was truly home. There was the Takoyaki stall where the vendor always gave her a little extra on her orders, the hobby store that she used to get all her DVDs from, and the alley where she had beaten up a group of thugs who looked at her the wrong way. She had so many memories about Osaka, and they all came rushing back to her on her trek to the donut shop.

When she finally arrived, a line was already forming—those heading into work and those coming back from a late night. Shinobu bided her time by studying the various pastries and planning out what she ought to get; with how vocal her stomach was, she felt like she could eat half the store and still have room. Should she get some green tea donuts, or perhaps some orange? Maybe she should stick with something simple, like a chocolate or strawberry. Why did there have to be so many flavors?

“Ma’am? Are you ready to order?” asked the cashier.

Shinobu snapped to attention and gave an apologetic wave to the people behind her in line before scooting up to the register. She gave one last look to the display case before turning to the attendant and asking, “Could I please have a dozen donuts and a green tea, please?”

“Of course,” the cashier replied politely as he whipped out a box and began gathering up the donuts Shinobu pointed out to him. While he worked, he glanced up to his plump customer and asked, “Say, aren’t you a wrestler?”

Shinobu blushed and tried to shrink into her clothes, but nodded in affirmation all the same. While she appreciated being recognized by the public, she was still rather bashful and tried not to attract attention to herself—not when out of character, that is. She answered, “Yes, I’m Shinobu Misawa. Are you a fan?”

“I watch a little bit online, but one of our girls in the kitchen loves this stuff,” the young man replied with a chuckle. “Let me call her out. Hey, Kanako—we’ve got a celebrity here!”

A tiny, high-pitched voice shouted back, “I’m not falling for that again, Ren! Last week, you said it was Kenny Omega, and the week before that was Hiroshi Fujioka! Not buying it this time!”

Ren sheepishly grinned at Shinobu, who smirked at the mischievous cashier and glanced back at the kitchen doors. She called out, “Kanako? This is Shinobu Misawa. I hear you’re a wrestling fan?”

There was the sound of clattering trays in the back and feet quickly scampering across the floor before Kanako burst out of the kitchen. She was a petite girl, even smaller than the diminutive Shinobu, and wore her hair tied up in pigtails. Her body was stocky and plump, and it was clear that she needed to get a bigger apron. When she saw Shinobu on the other side of the counter, her eyes went wide as dinner plates and she clapped her hands over her mouth. It was a reaction the young wrestler sometimes got from super-fans, and this gave her a good indication of how much of one Kanako was.

“You must be Kanako,” Shinobu politely giggled. “It’s nice to meet you—”

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” the girl chirped excitedly. “Immortal Slayer Shinobu is in my donut shop! Everyone in the wrestling club is going to be so jealous!”

Kanako rushed around the counter and all but tackled her idol when she got close. Shinobu’s face lit up in a grin as the young girl squeezed her tight as if she were a teddy bear stuffed to the brim with fluff. It had been a dog’s age since anyone referred to her as ‘The Immortal Slayer’, her old ring name when she was fresh out of the dojo. That had been her first foray into cosplaying as part of her gimmick, as she died her hair a fiery red and came down to the ring like a character from an anime she enjoyed as a kid. It got over fine with the crowd when she first debuted, but she was destined for bigger and better things.

“Been a while since I’ve been a slayer, but good callback,” Shinobu chuckled as she patted Kanoko on the back.

“Oh, the Slayer is my favorite version of you: with the whole fantasy look, the music, and that cool trick with the fireballs you always used to do at the end of a match,” the young fan gleefully explained before quickly adding, “Not that I don’t love all your other gimmicks! When you went into the Beach Brawl last year as Cammy? That was classic!”

After letting go of Shinobu, Kanoko fished around in her apron for her phone and asked, “Would it be all right if I got a picture with you? It would make my year.”

“For an Immortal Slayer fan? Absolutely,” Shinobu answered with a grin that formed dimples in her chubby cheeks.

Kanoko pulled out her cell phone and held it up and away to get the best shot of her and her idol, while Shinobu helped by wrapping a meaty arm around her fan’s shoulder and pulling in close. They both stuck their tongues out and pumped their fists like punk rockers as Kanoko’s camera went off again and again. The two of them could have taken pictures all morning long, but they were interrupted by an increasingly impatient Ren.
 

Vongola27

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“Kanoko, I know this is cool for you and everything, but I can’t run the register and make donuts,” the young man grumbled. “Besides, Miss Slayer’s order is ready and waiting.”

“Spoilsport,” the starstruck girl retorted. She turned back to Shinobu and puffed up her cheeks in frustration. “Sorry…I really do need to get back to work. It was so cool to meet you! How long will you be staying over here?”

Shinobu shrugged her shoulders while she picked up her box of donuts and handed Ren a crisp bill. “Hard to say, but I do know one thing—I’m definitely coming back here for more. I’m sure I’ll see you around, kid.”

Kanoko squealed in delight before vanishing back into the kitchen once again, where she could be heard giggling like a child that had just gotten a new toy. Shinobu chuckled and shook her head at the display, knowing she would have probably done the same thing if she were in Kanoko’s shoes and Bull Nakano had stopped by. She gave Ren a polite wave as she trotted out of the shop with a spring in her step, something that she had not had in the last several weeks. Perhaps this trip was a good idea after all: it was just her first morning back, and she already felt more like herself than she had since losing the title.

As Shinobu made the short trip back to her hotel room, the aroma of the fresh baked donuts roused her belly like a sleeping beast and it demanded to be fed with a greedy growl. The wobbly wrestler turned a fine pink, glanced around the street to make sure no one was around or paying attention, and then slapped her stomach.

“Hush up,” she hissed at the doughy mass, “you’re going to be fed soon enough, so be patient.”

Rather than settle down, her gluttonous gut rumbled even louder and sent a pang through her side that made Shinobu wince. It seemed as if her appetite were making up for lost time; she could not remember the last time she was so hungry. She wanted to observe some decorum and hold off until she was in the privacy of her room, but her stomach would not be denied. Like a spoiled brat, it was not afraid to kick and scream until it got its way, and like a weary parent, Shinobu was more than willing to indulge it to get it to stop.

“All right, we’ll have one—just one—and then we’ll have a couple back at the hotel,” Shinobu told her belly. “Deal?”

When that seemed to placate her stomach, she opened the box and gazed adoringly at the assortment of goodies arranged so nicely. Since they all looked lovely, delicious, and deliciously lovely, so she shut her eyes, reached in, and blindly fished out a stuffed donut. Shinobu took one bite and let out a long, low moan as sweet red bean paste filled her mouth. It took her right back to lunch time at school and fighting her way to the snack stand to get the best treats.

“Oh, that’s so good,” Shinobu purred. “I have missed you so much, my fried, flaky friends. We’re going to get reacquainted very soon though, don’t worry.”

Fighting the urge to wolf down the donut on the spot, the wrestler took a sip of her tea before continuing her trek back to the hotel, albeit at a much faster pace than before. Her thick thighs brushed feverishly against each other as she powerwalked with all her might; she did not want to run and risk spilling her glorious breakfast all over the cold, unforgiving sidewalk. When she got to the hotel, Shinobu gave the front desk clerks a polite nod before toddling over to the elevators and jamming the up button over and over until one of the lifts opened up for her. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited until she reached the 35th floor, the scent of the donuts taunting her with each passing second.

Finally, Shinobu reached her room, and she all but slammed the door once she was inside. She did up every lock available before running over to the desk and gently placing the box down as if it were a newborn baby. Once she got settled into the desk chair, the ravenous girl threw open the lid and looked down upon the donuts like a fox in a henhouse.

“I really ought to save a few for Ayano and Miyuki, but they’re probably watching their weights right now,” Shinobu reasoned with herself as she plucked a chocolate frosted beauty out. “So if I eat them all, that’s just me being a good friend; I’m just watching out for their waistlines.”

And just like that, Shinobu was off to the races. She was not prone to glutting herself, despite her desire to pile on pounds, but after having little appetite over the last few weeks, she threw caution to the wind. That one donut was followed by another, and then another, and another after that, and Shinobu barely batted an eye. She took a brief pause to wash the donuts with a long sip of tea, and then she returned to stuffing her stomach all over again. It felt so good to be eating again—so right—that she wished she had ordered another dozen donuts to go along with this.

“So, so good,” Shinobu cooed in between bites, reveling in her gluttonous ecstasy. “It should be illegal for donuts to taste this good!”

As she stuffed herself like never before, all her doubts and concerns since her loss at Global War were buried under a growing mountain of fried dough and various icings and fillings. Who cared if she put on a few dozen pounds? She was Shinobu Misawa, one of the toughest wrestlers in the business and beloved by thousands—if anyone should feel sorry, it was the GWF for screwing her out of her title and trashing a storyline fans actually wanted. If she wanted to enjoy herself and eat what she wanted, that was within her rights; Dave Ericson could not and would not control her weight.

Soon, even those thoughts of anger passed in favor of focusing on the spread in front of her. Shinobu was an eating machine: she had one donut in each hand and alternated taking bites from both with a sip of tea. One would think that such calculated gorging would ruin the experience, but the gluttonous wrestler was having the time of her life as she filled her belly to the brim. Each new treat brought with it a tantalizing flavor that doused her taste buds in goodness, to the point that she could not pick a favorite from the bunch.

Before she knew it, Shinobu was eating nothing but air and only slurping up melted ice from her cup. She snapped out of her haze for a moment and rested her hands on the firm bulge in her belly, where her sizeable breakfast had made its way. A few short breaths escaped her throat and she groaned with a new sense of pain as her mind caught up with her body. Not since starting her gain had she stuffed herself so much, and she almost regretted it—almost, until she licked a flake of sugary glaze from her lips and hummed with bliss.

“Damn good donuts,” she cooed before stifling a burp. “Better be careful; don’t want to get fat.”

Shinobu giggled at her little joke and squeezed the soft pudge of her underbelly while she lay back in her chair and let her feast digest. It had been so long since she could genuinely enjoy food, she could not help but overindulge; she would have eaten to the point of popping if she had more. Between this and the ramen from the night prior, her appetite was back in spades, and she was not about to chain it up again. She was going to forget all about her worries over in the Global Wrestling Federation and enjoy her trip here, especially all the food she could only find when she was home.

When she felt capable, the wrestler gently rocked herself to her feet and waddled a few feet over to her bed to lay down again. She treaded carefully, going through each action as if she were in slow motion so as to not jostle her bloated belly. A hiccup escaped her lips as she lay her head down on the pillows and cradled her stomach, fingers tracing over the solid mass of the stuffed portion and the supple lard beneath. Sluggishly, she peeled off her top so she could see the full extent of her damage, and she smiled with pride at the creamy, buttery globe that jutted out from her waist. It was a work of art, and it was only going to become better over the course of her vacation.

“I might just get bigger than Mickey before this is over,” Shinobu purred while rubbing her hands across her gut like it was a genie’s lamp. Thoughts of her immense friend and rival filled her head as she drifted off to sleep once again, and she wondered what everyone would say if she waddled off the plane twice as big as Mickey Ramone. She could see them all gawking at her balloon of a belly leading her way, slapping against her knees with every lumbering step she took, and it filled her with desire. She wanted that more than any championship, and no one was going to deny her ever again...
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 54
After sleeping off her early morning gorge, Shinobu threw on some proper clothes to meet her friends for lunch. Her outfit for the day was a long skirt that fell almost to her ankles and a blouse beneath a fluffy sweater, both of which were chosen for how they masked her gain. Though the waistband bit into her balloon of a belly, her skirt was flowing and billowed out enough to hide how wide she was getting. Likewise, the sweater was able to hide her fluffy arms and pillowy middle, leaving only her face as a sign that she had put on any weight. It was not as if she was ashamed of her gain anymore, but rather, she did not want to shock Ayano and Miyuki with how plump she had gotten since their high school days.

It had been years since she had seen the girls, and though they spoke occasionally, they had never had a chance to meet up since graduation. Shinobu had been busy traveling the world, while Ayano and Miyuki had apparently gone into the restaurant business. She was proud of her friends and what they had accomplished; in just a few years, they had become successful businesswomen in their own right. In fact, they were going to have lunch at their establishment, right in Q’s Mall Base, to commemorate the reunion.

It was a short hop and a skip from the hotel to the mall, but Shinobu was not about to waste precious calories with all that walking. Instead, it was a quick taxi ride to Q’s Mall Base, and from there, she simply needed to find the restaurant called Friendship. There were a number of tantalizing restaurants in the mall, and they covered a wide range of dishes. If she so desired, Shinobu could have gotten pizza, pork buns, or ramen, and then gotten some donuts, ice cream, or cake rolls for dessert. There was a plethora of options and she would be sure to taste them all over the course of her sabbatical, but she had her heart set on one thing only.

At last, she found Friendship—a cozy little shop with red walls and a modest interior. Shinobu waddled in and told the hostess, “Excuse me, I’m here to have lunch with Miss Urai and Miss Shirai?”

“You must be Ms. Misawa,” the hostess remarked with a polite smile. “Let me show you to your table, and I’ll let the managers know you’re here.”

Shinobu followed after the hostess and took the opportunity to get a lay of the land. The restaurant was unassuming, which fit with Ayano and Miyuki; of their friend circle, Shinobu had always been the most outgoing. Still, the atmosphere was pleasant and inviting, and the patrons all seemed to be enjoying their food. And the food itself? Shinobu had to fight the urge to steal a bite from each plate she passed by. It all looked and smelled exquisite; it was easy to see how her friends had become successful. Chunky beef curry, crispy tonkatsu, and golden tempura dishes filled her vision, just to name a few, and Shinobu could not wait to get a menu in her hands and see what else was available.

“Here we are. Ms. Urai and Ms. Shirai should be right out,” the hostess told Shinobu once they arrived at a table in a more secluded part of the restaurant.

“Thank you very much,” the wrestler replied as she took a seat.

It was only when she sat down that she noticed there was a picture on the wall across from the table, and a pink blush filled her cheeks when she realized what it was. There, for all the world to see, was a picture of the moment she won the Women’s Championship earlier that year. It felt like it was a lifetime ago after all that had happened in the ensuing months, but she could never forget the exhilaration that filled her when her hand was raised by the referee and she held the title belt aloft. Though she had put on several dozen pounds of flab since then, the memory brought back feelings of pride that had been buried under misery and pity over the last few weeks.

Shinobu was so caught up in her memories that she did not notice her old friends approaching—at least, not until she heard heavy plodding like a hippo had wandered in. When she turned around in her seat, her eyes went wide as dinner plates at the sight of a very different Miyuki and Ayano. Gone were the petite girls she had known in school; in their place were two whales masquerading as women.

Miyuki was the thinner of the two, though she was still far plumper than the average woman. She kept her bleached blonde hair in a pixie bob, which was about the only thing that had remained the same about her. A once sharp and angular face had rounded out with soft cheeks and a pinchable double chin, and her arms were thick tubes of pudge that tested the sleeves of her coat. Bouncing atop her belly were a pair of breasts that had become generous handfuls, though they paled in comparison to the gut that lay beneath. Miyuki’s stomach surged outwards as if she had shoved a pillow up her blouse, and the undersized garment struggled to contain her girth. Her lower body was not nearly as impressive as the rest of her, but her clothes still strained around her overfilled curves.

Compared to Ayano however, Miyuki looked like a twig. Ayano was a head shorter than Miyuki and even Shinobu, but she made up in weight what she lacked in height. Not a single inch of her body was thin: her face was swaddled in thick fat that completely hid her neck, her arms were bigger than her waist in high school, and her breasts were as big as her head and full of blubber. Her sausage fingers fiddled with her blouse, tugging fruitlessly in an effort to keep her mammoth belly contained while still keeping her buttons. That blimp of a gut bounced and wobbled against her fat-caked knees and stuck out so far from her body that much of the ground was hidden from her. All this was complemented with a massive backside and hips that could have served as a table for two.

Shinobu was at a loss for words, and she was not sure if it was because of how fat her friends had become or that she was now the slimmest of the three. Nevertheless, the initial shock quickly passed and she slid out of her seat with a squeal of glee.

“Miyuki-chan! Ayano-chan!” the wrestler exclaimed as she hugged her friends. “It’s so, so good to see you again!”

“You too, Shin-chan!” Miyuki giggled. Hugging her was easy enough, though Shinobu was pleasantly surprised with how plush Miyuki now felt. It was a far cry from the stick-thin girl that had worked her way through high school and never seemed to absorb a single calorie.

Hugging Ayano was a different story, though wonderful all the same. When Shinobu wrapped her arms around the short girl, she found that not only could she not wrap her arms all the way around Ayano’s expansive back—she could not even get her fingers to touch. Squeezing Ayano was like playing with a soft, pliable ball of mochi, and Shinobu felt that if she held on for too long, she might just sink into the layers of blubber that encased her friend.

“You look amazing, Shin-chan,” Ayano remarked after releasing Shinobu. “Of course, you’ve always looked good, but you might be in the best shape of your life!”

“Oh, stop,” Shinobu giggled and brushed off the compliment with blushing cheeks. “I’ve done a little bulking up since I became champion—a little too much, if you ask my bosses.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we’re not wrestlers then—we wouldn’t even make it to the ring,” Ayano laughed in turn.

As the trio sat down, Miyuki pulled the unused fourth chair around and set it beside Ayano’s, which confused Shinobu until she watched her globular friend try to sit. Ayano had become so vast that her backside required both chairs to sit comfortably, and even with those two, her flab still rolled off on either side of her. Not that it seemed to bother her though—the petite pile of pudge looked to be as happy as a pig in the mud.

“How’s it feel, being back home again?” asked Miyuki. “The flight wasn’t too bad, I hope.”

Shinobu waved off the concern and answered, “It’s nothing I can’t handle. At least I didn’t have to rush to be on time for a show—I swore I would never do that again after we scrambled to get to Charlotte after performing in Saudi Arabia.”

“Well, it’s great to see you again all the same,” Ayano replied. “How long do you think you’ll be here? Long enough for us to get together more than just this once, I hope.”
 

Vongola27

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It took Shinobu a moment to answer, largely because she herself did not know how long her sabbatical would be. She finally answered, “We’re definitely going to make up for lost time, Ayano-chan, you can count on that. I need some time away from the ring—that ring, to be specific.”

She punctuated her response with a point at the picture on the wall, and Miyuki nodded in understanding. “We don’t watch every match, but we try to keep up when you come up in the news. I’m sorry about what happened—you looked like a good champion.”

“Definitely the coolest,” Ayano agreed. “But you just forget about all that while you’re here. We’re going to have a good time, and we don’t need any wrestling to do that. What we need is some good cooking—Friendship cooking!”

“I’m looking forward to getting a taste,” Shinobu remarked with a grin. “Everything looked and smelled so good, I had to resist swiping a little from every plate I came across.”

“Then let’s get you your own plate,” Miyuki chuckled, “but I’ll warn you, we have some big portions here. Think you can handle them?”

Shinobu smirked and leaned on the table as she replied, “Miyuki-chan, I can take whatever you throw at me; I didn’t get to eighty-seven kilos by skipping any meals.”

“That may be true, but I don’t know if you can eat like we can,” Ayano remarked with a pat to her gelatinous gut. It wobbled beneath her clothes, and Shinobu could swear she heard threads straining from the motion, and only stopped when Ayano rested her hand against it. “I’m already a fat ass in mind and body, and I don’t think a skinny little thing like you could keep up.”

That only served to spark the competitive fire in Shinobu. She leaned back in her chair and tugged her sweater up so her friends could see her gut struggling to break free from her skirt as she told the two, “Skinny little thing? I may not be as big as you, Ayano-chan, but I’m pretty beefy. I think I can hold my own against you both.”

Ayano put a finger to the ring of fat she called a chin and asked, “Care to make it interesting?”

“Always,” Shinobu answered with a cocksure grin.

“We’ll hold a punishment game: if you can keep up with me for the entire meal, you get to choose a punishment for me; if you stop, I get to give you a punishment. Deal?” Ayano asked as she stuck out a fat hand as thick as a mitten.

“Deal,” replied Shinobu.

After the two shook hands, Miyuyki waved a waiter over and they all placed their orders. The sensible one of the trio ordered a meal plate consisting of a hamburger patty, fried shrimp, a shrimp cream croquette, and fried chicken, along with rice and miso soup. To keep things comparable, Ayano and Shinobu both ordered hamburger curry—a favorite of Shinobu’s ever since she was a child. They chatted pleasantly about this and that while they waited for the food to be prepared, but Shinobu always had one eye on the kitchen. Now that she was in an impromptu eating contest, her appetite had skyrocketed and she felt like she could eat everything in the restaurant.

When the food finally arrived, the wrestler was not disappointed. In front of her was a large plate of rice with one half coated in thick brown curry sauce and topped with a juicy burger patty. Before digging in, she clapped her hands together, bowed to the delectable bowl, and hummed, “Itadakimasu!”

After that, Shinobu was off to the races. She ate without abandon, as if she had not gorged herself on a dozen donuts not a few hours prior, and shoveled rice, curry, and burger into her mouth at a frightening pace. It was so hard to find Japanese style curry in the States, and even then, it did not taste quite as good as this. There was something about the warm, savory flavor that reminded her of home—of curling up under her kotatsu and spending a cold winter day watching TV. It was so good, she wolfed it down in a matter of moments, before Ayano had even finished her bowl.

“It looks like I underestimated you, Shin-chan,” the portly girl marveled at her friend’s speedy eating. “And here I thought you were a lightweight.”

“Nothing—ulp—light about me, Ayano-chan,” Shinobu replied with a sly grin, marred only by an onset of hiccups. “I might just win this after all! I’ll have to think up a good punishment for you, missy.”

Ayano shrugged her hefty shoulders and told her cocky friend, “It’s a marathon, not a sprint, Shin-chan. Keep eating like that, and you won’t have room for long.”

The widening wrestler scoffed and slapped her stomach. “Please—coming home has brought back my appetite like you wouldn’t believe. I can’t lose!”

***​

“I am so going to lose,” Shinobu groaned as she struggled to finish her fifth bowl.

After such an impressive start, the homecoming wrestler thought she could maintain her pace throughout the meal, but she began to falter midway through her third bowl. Rice and beef will fill a person up, and with the way she had been eating, she was filling up fast. Her belly was inflating like a balloon as she filled it up, and it pushed against her waistband in an effort to escape the confines of her skirt. She would have rubbed it for comfort, but all her energy was focused on lifting her spoon to her lips—and even that was becoming a challenge for her.

“Something wrong, Shin-chan?” asked Ayano, who was also on her fifth bowl. Unlike her smaller companion, she had maintained a steady clip over the course of their lunch and caught up to Shinobu with ease. “You look a little green in the gills.”

“Just…just catching my breath,” Shinobu muttered as she brought another spoonful of curry-soaked rice to mouth. Her body had become so sluggish that it felt like she was trying to lift a spoonful of marble granite and her arms felt like they were filled with wet cement.

“I think you’re doing wonderful, Shin-chan,” Miyuki complimented her friend. She was taking her time with her meal, savoring the flavors of each piece before moving onto the next. It was why she was nowhere near as fat as Ayano—Miyuki favored quality over quantity and only ate until she was pleasantly full.

Shinobu stifled a belch before replying, “Thanks, but I’m not sure I can keep going. Guess you were right—you really do have some big portions here.”

“That’s why you’ve got to be smart when you eat,” Ayano chuckled while she dug into her bowl. “You don’t get a belly like mine by stuffing yourself until you’re sick.”

“Guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach,” Shinobu muttered. She put a fist to her mouth and let out a low burp. “Oof…excuse me. You win, Ayano-chan—I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Sure you can’t finish off that bowl? It’s just a few spoonfuls,” Miyuki asked the bleary-eyed girl.

She really did not need to finish it all; she had thrown in the proverbial towel for a reason. All that curry and rice had Shinobu feeling like a lead balloon, and she feared that just one more grain would make her pop. Still, it would be rude to not finish it after making it that far, and she had only her greedy gut to blame for getting her into this challenge. She could always pass out at her hotel room again when this was over, assuming she did not burst before she got there.

With spirit rekindled, Shinobu picked her spoon back up and resumed her struggle. Eating her way through this final dish reminded her of the first time she had truly pigged out—lunch at Mickey Ramone’s apartment last June. She thought about how much things had changed in the span of the past six months: she had become champion, rediscovered her desire for gaining, lost the championship, and might have fallen for one of her best friends in the industry. It had been a whirlwind ever since that first lunch with Mickey and KC, and now she was back in Osaka, gorging herself on hamburger curry until she was up to her eyeballs in the stuff.

“Well done, Shin-chan! You ate it like a true champion!” Miyuki applauded.

Shinobu gazed with bleary eyes at the empty bowl in front of her and realized she had managed to eat every last grain of rice and speck of beef. Her stomach felt enormous and she deftly slipped it free from its confines for a slight bit of comfort. It was packed fuller than it had ever been before and was hard to the touch; she could bounce a coin off it, though she feared even that slight disturbance would make her stomach rupture.

“You did a good job for such a tiny thing,” Ayano teased her friend as she sluggishly slouched in her chair. “We’ll help you get better while you’re here, don’t you worry.”

Before she passed into a food coma, Shinobu mumbled, “Great to be home again.”
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 55

It was supposed to be just another episode of Monday Night War. A lengthy, meandering skit would open the show and eat up about twenty minutes, followed by matches and backstage segments of varying quality, and then wrap up with something that would hopefully entice the audience to come back next week. Among other matches on the night’s card was a title defense—the Women’s Championship, still held by the wildly unpopular Ananya Patel. The challenger was Katherine Donna, who had been given a push by management over the last few weeks after forsaking her sister and striking out on her own. It was supposed to be just another episode—what could possibly go wrong?

Kat felt her hands twitching with anticipation as she changed in the locker room. She could not believe that she was finally getting the chance to really prove herself as a singles competitor after working the tag team division with Natalie for so long. After she had long since given up asking for such opportunities, the decision had blindsided her, but she was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The sporty Donna was going to ride this push for as long as it went on and drum up as much support as possible. By the time she was done, people would know her not for being a pretty face, but for being a damned good wrestler who also happened to have a pretty face.

“Got to change first though,” Kat whispered to herself as she came back to Earth. “No one won a championship in their underwear.”

Changing into her gear was getting harder week by week, and it was not hard to see why—Kat Donna was fattening up. Ever since discovering a love of eating a few months prior, the Wisconsonite had ignored the consequences of said eating and allowed her time in the gym to lapse. Not nearly as much as her sister, who was blowing up like a balloon, but enough that she could not mitigate the effects of her increasingly common binges. It did not help that whenever a dish was set in front of her, she felt compelled to eat it and became a single-minded eating machine.

But then, how could she be expected to control herself when there were so many delicious things out there? Just earlier that day, she had a sinfully delicious cheeseburger with bacon and onion rings and chili cheese fries as a side and a chocolate milkshake to drink. Kat licked her lips as she remembered the myriad of flavors and how she licked her fingers clean up grease and cheese when all was said and done. That should have been enough to satisfy her, but her belly rumbling said otherwise.

Kat blushed and glanced around to see if anyone noticed her greedy belly talking to her. When no one turned her way, the blonde pinched her paunchy gut and whispered, “We’ll get to craft services in a bit, and then we’ll get something good on the way back to the hotel later, okay? But keep your eyes on the prize!”

The struggle with getting into her ring gear these days was that everything was so very, very tight on her pudgy body—they were the tightest tights she had ever worn. Hiking up her black pants was not so bad, at least until she got up to the swell of her rump; even though it was a far cry from Natalie’s doughy donk, it was still a smidge too big for her britches. Kat had to work the pants up her backside bit by bit until they snapped into place around her thickened waist, which only served to create love handles that could actually be used as handles.

Ever since her belly started oozing over her waistband, Kat had switched out from crop tops and sports bras to more conservative choices, but there was no hiding the glob of dough at her waist. Let loose, it would wobble about like a gelatin mold in an earthquake; contained, it was a ball of dough that bounced more than a basketball in the NBA Finals. The blonde opted for the latter and squeezed her way into a sleeveless top that completely covered her stomach, though it clung to her like a second skin and left the indent of her belly button clearly visible. As if that were not enough, leaving her arms exposed meant that the world could see she was developing a pair of twenty-four inch pythons, though not in a muscular sense.

“At least these are big enough to distract people,” Kat mused to herself as she glanced down at her bosom.

While she had always been curvy, her chest remained much more petite than her sister’s, which suited her just fine when she was focused on athletics. Now, the Donna twin had plumped up past her sister and into the upper echelon of the women’s division, sporting a pair of melons that jutted out almost as far as her stomach. Kat was deluding herself if she thought her bountiful cleavage would distract from the rest of her, considering that she looked soft to the touch all over, but she had to bury any thoughts deep in her mind. Her concentration was solely on performing to the best of her capability, nothing more.

A nudge to her fluffy midsection shook Kat from her reverie and she glanced over at Terra Carter, who nodded over to the locker room entrance. All chatter ceased as Ananya Patel stormed into the room with all the presence and aura of a mammoth storm cloud. The women parted around her like the Red Sea, not wanting to get in the way of one of the most miserable members of the roster lest they take a very real beating.

“Dead girl walking,” Terra whispered to Kat as they watched Ananya set herself up at a locker far from everyone else. “Word is that Dave and she have been at each other’s throats, and he’s looking to take the title off her as soon as possible. Play your cards right, and they might just put it on you before the month is up.”

Despite what everyone else thought about Ananya, Kat truly felt sorry for her. The former weightlifter had been put into an unenviable position: used by management to take the title off of Shinobu Misawa and put her on a pedestal as the first Indian woman to hold the belt, only to have her push yanked out from under her when she refused to play ball. Ananya had been picking fights ever since the events at Global War, be it with people backstage or in the audience. That might have been tolerated back in the day, but this was the 21st century—you could not get into a screaming match with the fans unless you wanted to earn the ire of the corporate sponsors.

“I’m going to talk to her,” Kat decided. “I’ve got a match with her, and I want to make sure we’re good.”

“Bad idea, Kitty Kat,” Terra told her coworker. “Best to just leave sleeping dogs lie—she don’t look like she’s in a talking mood.”

“All the more reason to make sure we’re good for tonight—if we’re going up in the ring, I want to know what’s coming,” Kat replied before smirking. “Besides, if she tries to start anything, I’ve got a dozen other women here to back me up.”

With confidence filling her ample chest, Kat strode across the room and stopped at Ananya’s side to take a look at her competition. There was no way to put it nicely—Ananya Patel looked like a hot mess. Her eyes were bloodshot and dark, heavy bags sagged underneath them. The part of her hair that was still long was a greasy, tangled mess and hung limply in her face. She stared blearily at the locker in front of her, hands twitching as she sat on the bench. Kat felt all her confidence sink when she saw the despondent champion in such a state.

To make matters worse, the former weightlifter was letting her figure go to pot in a hurry. Her arms, which were once firm muscle, were bloated and soft to the touch, and her t-shirt only accentuated their puffy status. She had not developed much in the chest, but her belly was making up by swelling outwards in a thick layer of pudge that scrunched up into three distinct rolls when she sat down. Ananya’s real trouble began below the belt, as saddlebags were bubbling out from her hips and her thighs touched halfway to her knees. She was not the powerhouse she was a few weeks prior, and Kat wondered what she could have possibly done to get so big so fast.

“Um…Ananya?” the contender mumbled to her opponent. “How’s it going?”

There was a pregnant silence between the two women for a moment before Ananya replied, “What do you want, Donna?”

“Well, uh…we’ve got a match tonight, and I wanted to run it by you, if that’s all right,” Kat meekly explained to the brooding woman.

“Match? We don’t have a match this week,” Ananya grunted as she flipped her mohawk away from her face. “We’re rasslin’…wrestlemen…wrestlin’ next week. Where’s that spider chick? I’ve got a match with her soon.”
 

Vongola27

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Kat’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of what Ananya was spouting. She was sure her match that night was with the champion, and then there was the slurring and dazed look about her. It took a moment, but it finally clicked in her head and Kat clapped a hand to her mouth.

“Ananya, are you drunk right now?” the Donna twin whispered as she sat down beside her opponent. “What were you thinking? They’ll kick you out for this!”

“So? Not like anyone wants me here anyway,” grumbled Ananya, rubbing her bleary eyes. “The fans don’t want me out there, no one wants me in the locker room…I could give the title to some rando in the ring crew, and they’d be overer than me.”

While there was certainly some truth to that statement, Kat was not about to voice that to the despondent champion. She patted Ananya on the shoulder, only for her gesture to be shrugged off, and told her, “Look, just take it easy back here for a bit. Get a shower, get some food…relax. You’re in no condition to compete tonight, so I’m going to go talk to someone and see what we can do.”

“You do that, pussycat,” Ananya hummed softly. “I’ll just be here, minding my own, trying not to get fired from a job I don’t want.”

Kat’s mind was racing a hundred miles an hour as she got up and glanced around the locker room. It should not have been her job to make a last second change to the night’s card, but that was the position she found herself in. She could have allowed Ananya to go out and make a mockery of herself on live TV, but not only would that put her at physical risk—she could not bear that weight on her conscience. Whether she liked it or not, it was up to her to make sure that Ananya kept her job and she got a match.

“Okay, okay, you can do this,” the chubby girl told herself. “Just need to find someone to work with that would make sense. Who to pick, who to pick…”

It would have been simple enough to grab any woman in the locker room and throw a match together, but Kat was versed enough to know that a random match would be better received if there was even a little sense to the booking. Unfortunately, Ananya had been wrestling local talent for the last few weeks, ever since she punted Dave in his million-dollar melons, and no one wanted to associate themselves with the obvious train wreck. If she wanted to pull something together, she had to look at the bigger picture and think about who else was waiting in the wings for a shot at the title.

Kat was close to giving up hope when she spied Elena Roma, the Red Widow, applying her face paint at one of the mirrors. Ananya was due to wrestle the unhinged woman on next week’s show, but maybe they could bump the timeline up a little. Besides, if there was ever a wrestler eager to wreak havoc, it was Elena Roma, who was always ready to throw someone into barbed wire and thumbtacks.

“Hey there, Elena,” Kat chirped as she approached the Red Widow. “How’s it going?”

The painted wrestler gave the Donna a sideways glance before returning to her work. As she drew black circles around her eyes, Elena replied, “What do you want, Katherine?”

“Well, I know that you have a match against Ananya next week and I’m facing her tonight, so—”

“I’m not taking your place,” Elena butted in. “You take your regularly scheduled beating, and I’ll take mine.”

Kat shook her head and answered, “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that, well…I think that Ananya’s sick or something. Maybe the flu? I don’t know—I’m not a doctor.”

Elena cocked an inky eyebrow at that and glanced around the corner at Ananya, who was moving slower than molasses in January and teetered left and right. When she turned back to Kat, she told the blonde, “That’s not sick—she’s just drunk.”

“If anyone asks, she’s sick,” Kat insisted, the glower in her eyes telling Elena to roll with it. “Look, she’s in no condition to wrestle tonight, so I’m going to go to management and ask them to change our match for the evening.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Elena as she painted jagged red lines down her cheeks.

Kat cupped her chin and pondered for a moment before an idea came to her. “What if you jump Ananya while she’s on the way to the ring, and then I run back to make the save and we have a backstage brawl?”

Elena covered her lips in an obsidian gloss before answering, “Not bad, but you don’t really have a reason to make a save, do you? I’ll take Ananya out, and then I’ll come down to the ring and chase you backstage for our brawl.”

It was not the best compromise: Kat had hoped that she could come out of this looking like a brave heroine, but she had to take what she could get if she wanted to stay relatively safe and keep Ananya out of trouble. Reluctantly, she nodded and told Elena, “Okay, I’ll do that. I’ll run that by management, and let you know what they think.”

“Oh, before you go, I have a suggestion,” the Red Widow told Kat.

Curious, the blonde stepped in closer to her new competitor for the night. Elena sat her paint brush down in her kit before turning to Kat and explaining, “When we get into our brawl, we’re going to go to catering and tear it up, among other things. While we are in catering, I am going to try cramming food down your throat, understand?”

The intense stare from Elena told Kat that this was not a suggestion—it was a demand. She turned pink in the cheek and asked, “Wh-Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I have seen what your sister has been doing these last few weeks, and I want to test if you are the same as her,” Elena answered matter-of-factly.

“What are you talking about?” Kat wondered. “Natalie hasn’t—”

Her opponent silenced her by whipping her hands out and pinching her love handles like a vise. “Your sister has turned into a prize pig, and everyone wants a piece of her. Just last week, I saw her face down in a bowl of pudding while Anzu spanked her ass red; the week before, it was Lora Rose funneling apple cider into her until she looked ready to pop. And here’s the funny part—your sister loved every minute of it.”

Kat squirmed in Elena’s grip and tried to wrap her mind around everything the woman was saying. She knew that Natalie had put on more than a few pounds lately, but there was no way she was letting half the locker room feed her bigger, right? Her voice was squeaky and soft as she squealed, “That’s not true! Natalie’s got class—she’s better than that!”

“Not from what I could tell,” Elena sneered, “and you don’t have any room to talk. I’ve seen the way you’re looking at food these days—like you can’t wait to shove it down your gullet. You’re just as much of a glutton as she is, but you’re a different kind.”

“Let me go, you little psycho!” Kat whimpered, her tone sapping any strength in her words.

Rather than let go, Elena reached up and squeezed both of Kat’s chubby cheeks into a pucker as she got in close enough for the blonde to smell the paint on her face. “She does it because she loves to be humiliated, and what greater humiliation can there be than being stripped of her gorgeous, supermodel body? You’re different though—you eat because you love eating and filling your belly until you’re one crumb away from popping. Face it, hog, I’ve got you pegged.”

Kat would never admit it to Elena, but she was right on the money. Eating had never been so enjoyable as it had been the last few months, and she was no longer satisfied with the meager portions she used to consume. In the few times she had tried to curtail her appetite, she had been left feeling empty and wanting, so she ate until warmth filled her stomach and she could barely breathe. Much as she wanted to deny it, she was just as much of a pig as Elena said.

“Fine…I’ll eat whatever you want,” Kat begrudgingly agreed.

“Good,” Elena replied with a patronizing smirk. “Now, go get ready—I’m not holding back, hog.”
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 56

Getting Elena Roma on board with the new booking turned out to be the hardest part of Kat Donna’s plan for the night. When she lied to the backstage staff and said that Ananya Patel had the flu, they agreed wholeheartedly to the change. Whether it was because they did not want to risk spreading anything or they knew that the audience would not miss the despised champion, who could say. They rewrote the planned match in the hour before the show began, and the rest was history.

It was a bog-standard War by all accounts, which was typical of the shows at the end of the year—fewer people were tuning in during the holidays, so, unless there was a major storyline going on, everything cooled down and dialed back. The wrestlers did not mind, as they used the month as something of a cooldown after a long year; it was the closest to an off-season they would get. What happened with the Women’s Championship would prove to be a highlight for the audience, but whether it was good or bad was entirely up to the viewer.

The ball got rolling when Kat jogged down to the ring to a fair pop from the crowd, though not so much because of her specifically—more for the fact that she was not Ananya. The plump competitor tried not to fidget too much with her clothing, regardless of how it pinched and rode up on her. She swore that she would get another size up the next day and prayed that her gear would hold on for the night. It would be embarrassing enough with Elena stuffing her later on; she did not need the added humiliation of her breasts flopping out for everyone to see.

While Kat was making her way to the ring, Ananya staggered down a hallway, clearly in no condition for a fight. Her eyes with dark with gloom and frustration, but she was ultimately glad that Kat had changed the plans for the night. It meant less work for her and she could get out sooner rather than later, which was fine with her. She expected Red Widow to jump out and sneak attack her, just as they had planned backstage—what she had not expected was the conniving woman dropkicking her in the back and sending her crashing into the wall.

The jumbotron at the top of the entrance ramp cut to footage of the attack in progress, showing Red Widow battering a prone Ananya and trying to rip the belt from her waist. As the painted wrestler struck at her opponent, she screeched, “I want that title! Give it to me—now, now, now!”

Officials and producers ran in to pull Red Widow off the champion, and Patricia Nicholson told the savage woman, “Widow, you can’t just take the title! Ananya has a match with Kat Donna tonight—you’ll get your shot next week!”

“Next week?” Red Widow growled through gritted teeth. “I’m not waiting for next week—I’m getting that title tonight! Kat Donna has a match? Then I’ll just make sure she can’t compete, and then you’ll have to give me a shot!”

She then wheeled around and latched onto one of the cameras on the scene. As the Widow held tight, she leered down the lens and hissed, “Stay right where you are, Kat—I’m coming to skin you.”

Still standing in the ring, Kat felt a pit form in her stomach and her legs turned to jelly as the Red Widow disappeared from view. She realized now that her original plan of running back to make a heroic rescue would never have worked; between her warpaint and her vicious nature, Red Widow had a way of inspiring fear like few others in the business. Even if she wanted to run backstage and act like a hero, there was no way her legs were going to cooperate with her. The only thing she could hope for was that her attacker would not be quite as violent with her as she was with Ananya.

The instant Red Widow ran through the entrance curtains, Kat backed up to the opposite end of the ring and swallowed a lump in her throat. She watched as her opponent spun into a cartwheel before rolling into one, two, three backflips and landing belly up on her hands and knees like some kind of demented spider. When the painted fiend skittered towards the ring, Kat let out a shrill screech and slid under the bottom rope in an effort to escape. Though she tried to keep an eye on the Red Widow, the fiend had disappeared by the time she got around to the other side of the ring.

Just as she turned to the entrance ramp, a hand shot out from under the ring apron and grabbed at her heel. Kat fell to the floor, her front-loaded curves squishing against the mats, and turned to find Red Widow’s clawed hand around her foot, slowly dragging her into the darkness under the ring. She squealed in panic and kicked out with her free foot, just managing to get loose before the psychotic woman could take her. Once she had her freedom, she wasted no time in hoofing it up the ramp, regardless of how much she bounced and bobbled.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Kat gasped as she sprinted up the ramp. She was quickly regretting asking for Elena’s help in putting this together; the woman simply did not know when to dial it back. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that, as the Red Widow had crawled from under the ring and was chasing after her on all fours like a hellhound.

That was motivation enough for the wobbly wrestler, and Kat put everything she had into her weak legs just to get some distance from her devilish opponent. She made a mad dash backstage and ducked around cast and crew alike, even throwing things into Red Widow’s path to distract her, but there was no stopping the woman. Well, there was one way—Kat just wished it did not have to go that way. She had made a deal though, and now she had to stick to it, one way or the other.

The chase went through the entire backstage set-up before coming to a head at catering. Normally, there would be a more elaborate arrangement if there was to be a scripted fight, including a set that could be destroyed as need be, but the women had to make do with what they had. The Red Widow leaped onto a table and launched herself at Kat, only for the blonde to swat her out of the air with a folding chair. She was going to lose this fight, but she would be damned if she let herself come out looking like a complete coward.

“Come on, you psycho,” Kat taunted Red Widow as the other woman rose to her feet. “Come get some!”

Which was just was the vicious wrestler did. When Kat took another swing at her, the Widow dodged to the side, booted the blonde in her flabby belly, and wrenched the chair away from her. Kat was rewarded for her efforts with several blows to the back, the Red Widow howling like a maddened wolf with every strike. Hot tears formed in her eyes as Kat struggled under each blow, and she held onto one of the tables for a meager bit of support.

Once the Widow tired of the chair, she tossed it to the side and grabbed a handful of Kat’s locks instead. Her victim let out a shriek of pain as she was yanked to her feet but Red Widow paid her little mind as she dragged her to the loaded catering tables.

“Time for you to shine, sow,” Elena whispered to Kat before slamming her down onto one of the tables. She gave the sporty blonde’s hair a tussle and leaned in close to hiss at her, “Try to enjoy yourself, at least.”

Kat howled in agony as she hit the tabletop, but not because she was trying to work the audience—a sharp, wracking pain raced up and down her side. It did not matter what she did: roll around, lay in place, or simply breathe; everything hurt. She had felt a similar pain once as a child when she went sledding and crashed side-first into a lamppost, and the result was two cracked ribs. If Elena had broken her ribs, she was going to absolutely murder the psycho bitch, assuming she survived this impromptu brawl.

“Widow, wait—”

Her attempt to stop this crazy train was halted when her painted tormentor crammed a sandwich in her mouth. She gagged around the mouthful of mediocre catering and struggled to choke it down before the Red Widow stuffed more in. After all the delicious things she had sampled and gorged on over the last few months, the basic ham sandwich was lacking just about everything Kat looked for in food. When Elena had pitched this idea to her, the devious part of her brain had piqued at the notion of being stuffed, but if this was what the Donna twin had to look forward to, this was going to suck.

The Red Widow gibbered in tongues as she stuffed Kat with whatever she could get her hands on at the table, and none of it was satisfying to the bemused blonde. She was obliged to eat after her tormentor agreed to work with her, but between the bland offerings and her ribs aching with the slightest movement, it was tough going. Were it not for the eventual assistance from referees and security, Kat would have lashed out at Red Widow with everything she had.
 

Vongola27

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There was chaos and unintelligible shouting as Red Widow was pried away from Kat and the crew checked over the beleaguered blonde until the cameras cut off. Once the audience was no longer watching, security gently let go of Elena and Kat swallowed the last remnants of a handful of chips while a couple referees helped her to her feet. She clutched at her side and let out a hiss of pain when one of her helpers gingerly touched her middle.

“I’ll buzz Nancy,” the one told the other as he pulled a radio from his belt. “Think there might be a couple cracked ribs.”

As miserable as Kat was, Elena was all smiles when she sauntered over to the benched girl and asked, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

Kat gritted her teeth and waggled for her opponent to come closer. Obliging, Elena leaned in and was rewarded with a headbutt to the face. Blood flowed from her nose while she staggered back in shock and pain from the blow, and she looked to the blonde in disbelief.

“You just broge my dose, you bish!” the savage woman growled, her blood mixing with her warpaint to create a ghastly image.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Kat asked as she stormed over to Elena and gave a sharp kick to her shins. “You think that was fun for me?! You broke my ribs and shoved food down my throat like I was a fucking garbage disposal!”

“Begause I foughd you’d lige id!” Elena retorted.

“Yeah, well, don’t do me any more favors!” Kat spat at her opponent before clutching at her side. “You ever pull anything like that again, I’ll break more than your nose.”

Before their fight could escalate, they were separated by officials and led to different parts of the backstage area to be tended to. Both would be taken to proper hospitals for further treatment, but with an incident-prone business like professional wrestling, the backstage medics were capable of prepping them for the trip. Nancy du Pont and a couple assistants tended to Kat and were strapping a bag of ice to the blonde’s side when Ananya appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, blondie,” the disgruntled champion greeted her would-be opponent. Her eyes did not look as bleary as they were earlier, nor was she staggering so much. “How you feeling?”

“Been better, not going to lie,” Kat winced as Nancy ran another ribbon of tape around her.

“Just a little more, Katherine,” the doctor assured her pudgy patient. “You’re doing great.”

The blonde nodded and glanced over to Ananya. “How about you? You look like you’re doing all right.”

“I got myself something to eat, some water, and some black coffee,” Ananya replied with a shrug. “Still not a hundred percent, but I’m hanging in there.”

Kat let out a gentle sigh of relief and released a breath she had been holding all night long. “Well, I’m glad. I just hope that you beat the shit out of Elena next time you get in the ring with her. If not for me, than do it for that bitch of a dropkick she gave you.”

“You know I will,” the champion chuckled, a smirk forming on her lips. She fidgeted in place as she tried to find the right words for her wounded peer—no easy feat, given her condition was only just improving. After a pregnant pause, she told Kat, “Thanks for putting this together, Kat…really.”

The Donna twin glanced down before asking Nancy, “Nance, can you give us a minute?”

The doctor looked between the two wrestlers before answering, “Okay, but we need to get you out to a hospital sooner rather than later.”

Once Nancy and her attendants left the room, Kat beckoned for Ananya to sit beside her in one of the nearby folding chairs. As the champion did just that, Kat explained, “I know how hard this business can be, Ananya: my sister and I have had it easy, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t seen wrestlers just implode on themselves. Have you ever heard of a wrestler named Kaylee Thorne?”

Ananya shook her head and Kat continued, “Well, she and I were in developmental at the same time in this place called ‘Mid-West Championship Wrestling’, and Kaylee was the real deal. She knew a dozen different submissions and could make you tap out in seconds, but she was also fun on the mic. We had some good matches together—some of the best of my career, but she could make just about anybody look good. It wasn’t long after she got started that they made her champion, because it just made sense, you know?

“Thing is, Kaylee wasn’t ready for that level of responsibility and she knew it. The pressure of being champion got to her in a bad way, and she took to doing anything she could to forget about it. She would drink a little before shows just to get some courage, and then drink herself stupid afterwards to shake the nerves out. Pretty soon, she was drinking on the way to shows and even right before her matches, all because she thought that she wasn’t good enough for the role. And once her work rate started slipping and she fumbled on the mic, they finally took the title off her.”

Ananya asked, “Did she clean up after that?”

Kat shook her head and gripped her chair until her knuckles turned white. “No…at that point, the damage was already done—something was broken inside Kaylee and she couldn’t get it back. She only got worse and worse until management decided to fire her. We were supposed to have one more match before she left, but Kaylee didn’t show up that night and didn’t even call until five minutes before my new match was supposed to go on. She told me that she always enjoyed our matches and that she wished she could have been there for this one, but she had to do something back home. I tell one of the producers that she didn’t sound right, and they say they would send someone to check on her.

“I finish my match and head backstage, and everyone’s gotten real quiet. I ask what’s going on, and they tell me that an officer found Kaylee with her head in the oven and a bottle of whiskey on the table.”

Kat struggled through the last few words as she got choked up, but when Ananya put a hand on hers, she swallowed her sorrow and finished, “I still get scared when I get a phone call I’m not expecting. When Maxine Kuhn was kicked down to Youngblood and called me out of the blue, I just about jumped on the first plane out in case anything went wrong. I never want to see anyone struggling like that ever again if I can do something about it.”

Ananya gave Kat’s hand a squeeze and asked in a soft voice, “What…what would you say to someone who’s having those problems?”

“That they’re not alone,” the Donna answered as she cast a knowing glance to the champion. “That there are people who love her and respect her, and that they’ll always have at least one person in their corner. They don’t need to give up just because they’ve gotten a shitty deal.”

Ananya nodded and put her other hand atop Kat’s. “I’ll be sure to tell them that,” she replied with a slight smile. “They might need a little reminding from time to time though.”

“I think they know how to find me,” Kat said with a wink and a sly grin. “Now, I’ve got a couple ribs that need looking at—mind helping me out to the parking lot?”

“For you? Anything,” Ananya hummed as she gently wrapped an arm around Kat while the blonde rose to her feet. “And don’t you worry about Elena—next time she gets in the ring with me, a broken nose will be the least of her worries.”

“I can’t wait to see that,” Kat giggled, despite how much it hurt to laugh at that moment.

***​

As the two wounded wrestlers were driven to the nearest medical facility, Dave Ericson was sitting in his office in Connecticut and stewing over everything that had transpired that night. Bad enough that Ananya Patel was in no condition to fight—because of the sudden change in booking, two of his women’s wrestlers were sidelined for the next several weeks. While he had hopes for Ananya at first, they were crushed when he realized that she was not ready for that position and she would not play ball. He needed someone who had no problem being cutthroat, handling herself like a professional, or towing the company line—and he had just the woman in mind.

“Sadie? It’s Dave,” the old man said over the phone. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 57

Theresa Hartley was a good many things: mother, former champion, incredibly fat, and determined to rid herself of that third descriptor. What she was not was a baker, which was why her current task was the most difficult thing she had to do since her sixty-minute iron woman match—making macarons for her wrestling school’s cookie exchange. She did not normally make something by hand for these sorts of functions, opting instead to purchase something pre-made from the store, but unlike the snobs in the PTA, she actually wanted to impress the girls in Rose’s class. They had been so good to her since she first joined; it only seemed right to treat them to something tasty in return.

To that end, she had researched a maple bacon macaron recipe and practiced it over the last few days to make sure she had gotten it right. By the day of the party, she had gone through a dozen batches that improved with each new attempt but could never meet her standards. Theresa looked down at her tray of rosy cookies with consternation, unsure if these were any good but lacking any time to make another batch. She still had to get cleaned up and changed; these had to be good enough.

“Tessie, you’ve outdone yourself,” her doting husband remarked after sneaking one of the cookies from under her nose. “This might be your finest work yet!”

Noah was not just saying that to be nice: he would never sugarcoat anything for his wife; she could sniff out a lie from a mile away. Besides that, he had been her taste tester over the last week since Theresa was trying to cut back on sweets, which meant he had experienced a broad spectrum of cookie quality. These were the best ones she had made by far, and while they might not win her a contest, they were sure to impress her students.

“Oh, thank God,” Theresa sighed in relief, letting out a deep breath she had been holding in her belly. She could not afford another failure this close to the party, and she refused to show up with something bought from the store—her girls deserved better. “And with enough time to spare to get ready, because I sure can’t show up like this.”

The former Queen Heart tended to be self-deprecating, but she was accurate in this case; not only was she clad in casual clothes she did not mind dirtying up, but she was sweating up a storm and red in the face from bustling around the kitchen. Her purple and black plaid top stuck to her like a second skin, and the top two buttons had been left open so she might get some ventilation for her roasting bosom. The painfully tight apron did a good job of keeping her clean of everything otherwise, but it also could not mask the swell of her belly as it bounced and bobbled with her every step. On top of everything, the back of her black slacks had a streak of flour from where she had bumped into her work station, miscalculating how much her backside stuck out behind her.

“I can box these up for you if you want to hop in the shower,” Noah offered as he slinked into the kitchen. He undid Theresa’s apron strings, which pinched into her flabby back like the netting on a pork roast, and peeled the dirty covering from her bulbous body. “And if you need help with anything else, just give me a holler.”

“Thanks, hon, but I’m actually getting better on my own,” Theresa replied, a smile sprouting on her splotchy cheeks.

It was not so long ago that the retired wrestler had been pushing four hundred pounds, almost all of it weak, useless flab. Theresa needed a lot of help at that size: getting cleaned, getting dressed, and sometimes just getting out of a seat. Her bouts with depression did not help, but her bulk meant that she was simply too unwieldy to do the little things in life that most people took for granted. She was trapped by her blubber, locked into a suit of fat that she could never remove; the best she could do was chip away at it little by little.

After joining her old mentor’s training school and reconnecting with the life she left behind, Theresa had been inspired to lose weight like never before. She knew that it would be a long time before she got back to top condition, if she ever got back there at all, but the aid of her husband, her best friend, and all the girls in the school helped her stay strong. It was their continued support that had seen her drop from a peak of 385 pounds to a practically twiggy 320.

Theresa still looked like a ball of dough when she shucked off her clothes, but she felt much stronger and firmer than she had in a long time. Now that she was exercising regularly again, she was cultivating muscle for the first time in years, which helped her not only handle her blubbery body much easier—it also helped her gelatinous curves firm up and combat the effects of gravity. Her pumpkin-sized breasts looked fuller even though they were shrinking little by little, and her roly-poly stomach no longer sagged like a sack of pudding. The effect was not lost below the belt, as she could tell that her ham hock thighs and rump were tighter, even if the effect was lost on the casual observer. If only her spider veins and cellulite would get the memo and get lost, then she would be happy.

“Not going to think about any of that today,” Theresa told herself as she looked over her globular physique in the mirror. “You’re going to have fun at the party, and you’re not going to think about how you weigh more than three of those girls put together. And you’re absolutely not going to eat any cookies—not unless you want an extra half-hour on the elliptical when you get home.”

Satisfied with her pep talk, the queen-sized Queen Heart stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash away the weariness of baking all morning. She had already been to several functions with her students—why should this one be any different?

***​

“Moms in the house!” Tara announced as Theresa and Carolyn waddled into the party room at the Lotus Club.

The girls of Rose Manson’s wrestling school lit up like a Christmas tree and cheered as the portly pair made their way inside. Carolyn had once joked that she wished she got that sort of reaction whenever she got home, but Theresa had to agree—the students had embraced them like sorority sisters to a housemother. It helped that they balanced out the harshness of their teacher; Rose was not heartless, but she was made of sterner stuff than they were used to. The fact that Carolyn always brought snacks to class did not hurt either, much as Rose tried to curtail the habit.

“I’m trying to whip up cream of the crop here, not a bunch of butterballs,” the elderly woman would snip at the soccer mom who had inadvertently become a part of her class.

“Oh, but the darlings deserve a treat after working so hard,” Carolyn would fawn in return, oblivious to the truth in Rose’s statement.

Though none of the girls would admit it to themselves, they had all bulked up a fair bit since their wrestle moms joined the class, and not all of it from muscle. Ring gear did not fit right, appetites were not as easily appeased, and they had to work harder every day to keep up with their thickening bodies. While neither Carolyn nor Theresa were doing anything to actively fatten up the students, having the two heavyweight matrons around helped them feel better about their own figures. Even if they put on a few pounds, they would never get as big as either of the doughy duo, and no student held to that belief more than the troublesome Nina Neverland.

“Uh-oh, better hide your plates—the buffet-wreckers just came in,” the snobby girl taunted, even as she worked on a fully-loaded plate of appetizers.

Nina was many things—catty, snarky, rude—but above all else, a hypocrite. For all her snippy comments about Theresa and Carolyn’s weight and appetite, she had put on the most weight out of everyone in the class and never held back when it came to her food. She refused to admit that she had put on so much as a pound nor would she cut back on her eating, which was why she was in sorely undersized clothes.

Her thick legs were covered in black leggings that had seen better days and were so threadbare in certain places that they were almost see-through. Somehow, she had squeezed herself into a leather skirt which accentuated the roundness of her stomach and hips and creaked ominously with her slightest movements. While half of her tummy was tucked into her skirt, the other half pooled over the waistband like bread rising in an oven. The metal band name on her shirt was already illegible, and stretching it across her plump chest did not help. Despite how obviously tight everything was on her, the vain Nina never considered that it was because she had crested 160 pounds just the other day.
 

Vongola27

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“Really, kid? You can’t even chill for the holidays?” Theresa asked Nina.

“Are you kidding? The holidays are when I’m at my peak,” Nina retorted before biting into a dumpling. “There are so many lardos that just stop watching their waistline this time of year—just look at everyone in the class! They’ve got more rolls than a bakery!”

Theresa cast a cursory glance around the room at the revelers and could not deny that they were all looking softer, even though they had just had class the day before. It did not matter whether they were tiny sprites like Vidya Anand or a brick house like Conner Trent; whether their pants were tighter or their faces fuller, it was undeniable that all the girls were plumping up. And judging by the way size of the plates they took from the buffet, they were not going to slim down anytime soon.

“Well, whether it’s true or not, you don’t need to be a horse’s ass,” Theresa reminded her most rebellious student. “And just remember that what goes around comes around.”

“Ch’yeah, whatever,” Nina snorted derisively before popping another dumpling in her mouth. “You’d never catch me as fat as some of these butterballs.”

As the two mothers walked away from the snotty brat, Carolyn whispered to her friend, “I hope that when karma hits her, it hits like a steel chair.”

Theresa cast a glance over her shoulder and, spying Nina’s rump as she made her way back to the buffet for seconds, replied, “Oh, it’s already hit, but it’s got a sleeper hold on her—the only question is if she taps out.”

At the back of the room sat the head of the wrestling school, who looked decidedly Grinchy compared to the rest of the merrymaking around her. Rose slouched in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, a glass of beer in hand, and a stern glare in her eyes, though they were covered by bulky black glasses. She sipped from her beer now and then, grimaced, and then went back for another drink, on and on.

“Merry Christmas, Rose,” Carolyn greeted the nonagenarian. The elderly woman had not taken to her nearly as much as the students had due to her aforementioned snack-bringing. Though the bubbly soccer mom tried her best to impress, nothing ever seemed to take.

“And a bah humbug to you, creampuff,” Rose retorted with a sneer. “Have you made the rounds yet? I don’t think Tara’s pants have popped yet; you should get on that.”

Carolyn gritted her teeth and glanced to Theresa for support, who nodded to Carolyn’s purse. Time for Plan B—bribery. The hefty soccer mom reached into her purse and pretended to fish around, even though what she wanted was right in her grasp. “Well, I know it’s a little early, but I wanted to get you a little something to say thanks for letting me be a part of your class.”

“What, deep-friend Oreos? You can’t buy me off with sweets, kid—that stuff is poison to me,” Rose replied with a cocky smirk.

“Nope,” Carolyn rebutted as she slammed a bottle down on the table. “Diesel—100% grain alcohol. Your favorite.”

Rose immediately snatched the bottle up and gave it a thorough inspection before cracking it open to take a whiff. Once the sharp aroma hit her nostrils, she screwed the cap back on and whooped, “Damn, creampuff, you got the good stuff! You could use that for paint thinner! Sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

Carolyn lit up in a glowing smile and turned to get a thumbs up from Theresa. When she sat down though, Rose poured some of her new liquor into a glass and passed it over to the bloated blonde. “You’re going to love this, kid—it’ll tighten up your saggy tuchus better than a week with a Thighmaster and scrunch up that jelly belly into something resembling abs.”

“Oh, um, I don’t really drink,” Carolyn tried to explain, but Rose would have none of it.

The elderly woman tugged her glasses down and glowered at her guest. “You turning down my gift to you, blondie?”

Carolyn fidgeted under the bitter glare and meekly replied, “N-No, ma’am.”

“Then you best get to drinking, or I might be offended,” Rose sneered before tipping the bottle to her lips. “Now, drink!”

Theresa gave Carolyn a pat on the shoulder to wish her luck and left before she was dragged into having a glass. The last time she had some of Rose’s grain alcohol, she had woken up on top of a guy and beneath a girl in a motel bathtub after a show. It was so potent that it could double as fuel in a car, yet Rose drank it like water. Given what she had heard of her mentor’s time on the road, she was amazed that Rose was not only still alive, but that she had somehow outlived most of her contemporaries.

“Mrs. T! Over here!” a giddy, if drowsy, voice called out to Theresa.

The redhead glanced over to a nearby table and spied her favorite student, Jamie ‘JJ’ Jacobs, tucking into her lunch. Out of all the girls in the school, JJ had taken to her the most; she was the most eager to learn and followed Theresa’s every word. Funny, considering that she always looked like she was half-asleep and stoned like a heretic. The girl was not immune to the gaining bug that had caught on in the school; in fact, she was a close second behind Nina in terms of the total pounds she had put on since October. What separated her from her classmates was that she was not only aware of the weight gain—she embraced it.

When JJ smiled at Theresa, slight dimples formed in her round, soft cheeks, and she had a hint of a double chin when she tilted her head down. A healthy pair of grapefruits had grown in at her chest and could not be disguised behind her ugly sweater, unlike her squishy, pinchable stomach that had just begun to pooch out onto her lap when she sat down. Though her lower body paled in comparison to the increasingly portly Nina, JJ’s thighs had expanded to the point that they touched together even while standing and her jeans were stretched tight as a drum over her backside. She was far softer than the lanky girl Theresa had met a few months prior, and her redheaded instructor had a sneaking suspicion that she had some “medicinal” help in that.

“Hey there, kid,” Theresa greeted her favorite student with a warm embrace. “How you doing?”

“Hungry,” JJ giggled in reply. “Don’t tell Rose, but Nina and me might have had a little something to enjoy before we got here.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” the former Queen Heart told JJ before miming locking her lips. She glanced down at the girl’s sweater—a bright red with a turkey near her shoulder and the words ‘GOBBLE TILL YOU WOBBLE’ printed down her torso. “Should I take it that’s your goal for today?”

JJ nodded and popped a piece of crab Rangoon in her mouth. “You know it, dude. I freakin’ love Chinese food so much; I could eat it for, like, ever and never get sick of it.”

“Well, between you and Nina, I hope you save some for the rest of us,” Theresa chuckled. She gave the hazy brunette a light pat on the stomach and teased, “And pace yourself—we’ve got this room for the next couple hours.”

JJ turned a fine pink at the playful touch and grinned bashfully as she returned her attention to her food. Despite Theresa’s words, or perhaps because of them, she began to eat even faster, as if to quell the feelings that bubbled up every time her coach was around. Theresa tittered at the shy reply and gave JJ another pat on the shoulder before making her way to the buffet so she could finally get her own plate together.

While everyone was settling in, chatting, and eating their fill, Nina kept one eye on the table full of cookies. Everyone had brought in enough for everyone to have at least two or three, whether they were homemade or store-bought, as was the case with the rebellious girl herself. She slowly made her way over to the table, making sure that no one was watching her as she went; they would not get into the cookie exchange until after the white elephant exchange had finished, and for once, she did not want to attract attention.

“No one’s going to notice a couple missing,” Nina scoffed quietly as she plucked a couple from each box as a start…
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 58

Carolyn Brown was in Hell. She had to be—how else could she explain the agony she was experiencing? Her throat felt like it was melting from the inside out, her head was swimming, and she felt like she wanted to cry, fight someone, and vomit all at the same time. Was this because she had stolen a candy bar from that Wawa when she was six, or was it her punishment for having a drunken make-out session with her roommate back in college? Whatever the case, she was suffering, and her tormentor was a curmudgeonly old biddy named Rose Manson.

“Holy schnikes, Rose, how can you drink this stuff?” Carolyn gagged after downing another shot’s worth of Diesel. “It tastes like gas fumes smell!”

“That’s what makes it so good, creampuff,” Rose answered with a smirk. “You could win the Indy 500 with a bottle of this. I know it’s probably stronger than the chocolate milk your candy ass is used to, but if you’re going to hang with me, you’ve got to be tough.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes and retorted, “I’m plenty tough, thank you.”

The elderly woman across from her snorted, “Don’t kid yourself—you’re as tough as a stick of butter. You want to talk tough? Let’s see you get your throat crushed in a folding chair, and then we’ll see how tough you are.”

“Oh, big deal,” the pudgy soccer mom snipped. She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a splotch of pink, tender skin on her left arm. “A couple drops of boiling bacon grease flew out of the pan a couple weeks back and gave me first and second degree burns.”

If Rose was impressed, she did not show it, and her dark glasses only made it harder to judge her reaction. She remarked, “Okay, so you got a grease burn—tough titties. Take a look at my forehead, kid, and tell me what you see.”

Carolyn leaned over and studied Rose’s forehead on request. Between her swimming vision and the ring veteran’s wrinkly skin, it was difficult to tell what she was looking at, but she thought she could see a number of scars lining her forehead. The doughball woman shrugged and answered, “I don’t know. Looks like you might have fallen down a lot—probably from drinking all this moonshine.”

“Not from falling over, you corn-fed bimbo. Those are my stripes—all the times I bladed for a match,” Rose sneered. When her response earned her a blank look of confusion, she scoffed, “Don’t tell me Theresa ain’t told you the lingo. Back in the day, before we had to curtail to prissy sponsors, we used to use hidden blades to cut ourselves to give the matches a little more juice. Nothing got a crowd going like seeing someone get smashed into the ring post and come away with a face full of blood.”

“Yawn,” Carolyn ho-hummed at the nonagenarian. “Big freaking deal—I used to do that all the time in high school, and you don’t see me showing off to anyone.”

Before Rose could ask for clarification, Carolyn poured herself another shot and added, “Besides, I’ve seen some of your old tapes, Sarge—what about all of those negligee fights? Not exactly a bastion of brutality, if you ask me.”

“In this business, you’ve got to take what you can get sometimes, kid,” the elderly woman retorted. “I’ve been through it all: put through a table, nearly drowned in mud, and even took a dive in a pool of gelatin. Let me tell you, that ain’t kinky fun like people make it out to be.”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” Carolyn snickered before downing her next shot. Strangely, it no longer felt like she was pouring battery acid down her throat; it was far from pleasant, but she did not feel like she was going to melt from the inside out. That was a concerning thought—that she had drunk enough to acclimate to the vile liquor.

“Gonna call it quits, creampuff?” asked Rose as she swished the bottle back and forth. “For such a tub of goo, you’re a real lightweight.”

The blonde growled through gritted teeth as she held her glass out for another drink, “I’ll show you what a lightweight I am, Crypt-Keeper—pour it.”

***​

While Carolyn did her best to keep up with Rose, Theresa was enjoying a much less stressful Christmas party. She had fixed herself a plate of Peking duck pancakes and slowly worked her way through it while chatting with JJ and the other girls that flocked to their table. It felt surreal to be the center of attention after being out of the limelight for so long, but Theresa reveled in having a captivated audience once again. She forgot how fulfilling it was to have a crowd hanging on every word she said, and the girls in the school were practically eating out of the palm of her hand.

“What was it like, training in Rose’s basement when you were younger?” asked Conner as she sucked the meat off a batch of sticky ribs.

“The most excruciating pain I ever went through,” Theresa answered, though the wistful look on her face said otherwise. “What you have to understand is that it wasn’t just some rinky-dink operation Rose was running down there; it was a legitimate school, and we’d get wrestlers from all over the world training in that dungeon. I was locking horns with girls from Japan, Mexico, and Canada—some of them twice my age back then—and everyone that came through there wound up winning gold somewhere in the industry.”

“Dang, dude,” JJ hummed around a mouthful of orange chicken. “That’s so rad.”

“Hell yes, it was rad,” the rotund redhead agreed. “Let me tell you—if that house was still standing, you can bet that your little butts would be down there, training like your lives depended on it.”

As Theresa reminisced on her training, JJ zoned out, though all her focus was on the massive matron. She could not explain why it was that the former champion enraptured her like she did, but ever since Theresa Hartley had waddled in on Nina and her training, JJ was unable to get the redhead off her mind. It was not as though she was a superfan of wrestling while growing up; that was always something her brothers would tune into and she’d watch if she happened to be in the room. When Nina, her best friend since eighth grade, suggested that they try out the sport after they graduated high school, she took it up simply because she did not have any other prospects.

All that changed when Theresa joined the class as a student-teacher. Since that first impromptu lesson on how to perform an Irish whip properly, JJ had done her best to impress the Queen Heart every chance she could. She tried harder in the ring, she cleaned up her apartment any time Theresa was going to come over, and she did her best to ensure her favorite coach never had to lift a finger. In return, she got big, squishy hugs that made her feel like she was enveloped in pudding—a dream she had had more than once since Theresa entered her life.

Perhaps that was why JJ was plumping up as much as she was—in some unconscious effort to match her mentor and inspiration. While never a light eater, the brunette had stepped up her game in the last few weeks, ending many a night with a stuffed belly packed to the brim. She was never a physical marvel, being a golfer in high school, but all her glutting was undoing whatever tone she had to her name. Her body had become soft to the touch from head to toe, and when she was high as a kite, she enjoyed sinking her finger into the increasingly pillowy consistency of her tummy. It was a far cry from how she used to look, but she still had a long way to go if she ever hoped to match Theresa.

As JJ fawned silently, her coach continued to revel in stories of her days on the road. “Now, the guys will tell you that they had all the fun while they were on the road, but don’t believe it—we got into some pretty crazy stuff when we were out and about.”

“Like what?” asked Zahara in between bites of sweet and sour chicken.

Theresa smirked and leaned back in her chair as she answered, “How about the fact that I’m banned from renting a car in North Carolina because me and some of the girls got into a little bit of vehicular combat?”

“Shut the front door!” Vidya gasped in surprise, hands clapped over her mouth.
 

Vongola27

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“That’s right, kiddies,” Theresa chortled as the memories came back to her. “Me and two other girls—Sissy Keene and Katya Romanoff—were driving down the freeway to a show in Greensboro when someone started honking at us in the next lane over. It was another group of gals on the card for that night: the Valentinos, Fiona and Roberta, and the champion at the time, Dominique. They start jeering at us and calling us out, and so Sissy rolls down the window to snap back at them. All of a sudden, they pull right up beside us, grab Sissy like a bunch of pirates, and try to drag her out of the car and into theirs. And keep in mind, this is all going on while we’re both going at least 80 miles an hour.

“Well, Katya grabs hold of Sissy by her jeans while Sissy scratches until Roberta eventually gives up. We thought that was it, but nope—that was where it all began. They speed up to get in front of us, and then the Valentinos poke their heads out and just start chucking everything they can get their hands on except their bags. We got hit with snacks, water bottles, beer cans, and even a bottle of champagne they were supposed to be saving for the next night’s show—and when they ran out of food, they switched to stuff that came with the rental car. I kid you not—they actually hurled a jack at us and took out one of the side mirrors.”

Conner froze in shock, her hand in mid-air while delivering a forkful of shrimp to her lips. She asked, “How did you not die from all that?”

Theresa smiled and offered a lackadaisical shrug before answering, “That wasn’t my first rodeo with Dominique and the Valentinos, Conner. Soon as we lost the sideview mirror, I pulled off at the nearest gas station to refuel and get a load of the damage.”

“And call the police, I hope,” Tara interrupted.

“Hell no, we didn’t call the police,” the former champion scoffed. “We were settling the score, first and foremost. Sissy and Katya ran inside the 7-11 and bought up a small fortune in snacks, beers, and sodas before we hit the road again to try and find those skanks. Not like they had anywhere else they could go—we were all heading to the same place, so we were going to catch up with them one way or another. Well, we found them again, and then we gave them a receipt by throwing everything and the kitchen sink at them. I think it was Sissy—no, Katya—who threw a two-liter bottle that took out one of their headlights.”

“It’s a miracle you dudes didn’t die,” JJ remarked. Equal parts shocked and awed, the story only served to elevate Theresa in her eyes. “Like, how did you all get away with something like that?”

“Different time,” Theresa retorted. “Used to be you could throw a tire iron at your friend’s car and it’d be no big deal. Anyway, by the time we got to Greensboro, our cars were totaled; we were lucky to get them as far as we did. Since the cars were in my and Dominique’s names, we were put on a ban list through the entire state—doesn’t matter which company.”

The students around her immediately broke into conversation, with some trying to talk to Theresa and others chatting amongst themselves, but all about the story they just heard. The obese orator whistled to attract their attention again and told the group, “Let me just say right now—I am not condoning that in any way, shape, or form. If I find out any of your little asses are doing that, I’ll lock you in a cattle mutilator until you’ve learned your lesson. Got that?”

“Yes, ma’am!” the gallery of girls replied, eager to please and avoid punishment.

“That said, let me tell you about the time Dominique found out her boyfriend was cheating on her, and she set fire to his duffel bag while he was in the middle of a match,” Theresa began before one of the other students ran over to the table.

“You guys, Miss Brown is in a drinking contest with Sarge! Come on,” the girl told her classmates before returning to the action.

Despite weighing twice as much as any of her students, Theresa was the first to her feet and trundled over to Carolyn with all the speed of a charging bull elephant. The last she had seen the bubbly blonde, she was about ready to leap over the table and choke the life out of Rose, but that was the best case scenario if she was trying to match the elderly woman. Theresa had never been around a drunk Carolyn Brown before, but Rose had a way of bringing the mean drunk out of someone. That was the last thing any Christmas party needed—a drunken fight between a fat soccer mom and a senior citizen.

Thankfully, the scene she came upon was far more amicable. Carolyn and Rose were both still alive and breathing, though the younger of the two was swaying in her chair as if she were at sea. The bottle was full when Theresa had left, but between the pair, they had managed to drink it down to a quarter. All around them, the girls gathered and chatted about who they thought would win; some even waged bets and exchanged snacks in place of money.

“You had enough yet, creampuff? With how doughy that ass of yours is, you must be soaking up all this hooch like a sponge,” Rose taunted her opponent.

Carolyn scoffed and shook her head, her golden locks flopping about her face. “Not even close, battleax—in fact, I think I’m getting my second wind.”

With that, the hefty woman peeled off her wooly sweater, leaving her in a long-sleeved shirt that clung her thick arms and pudgy belly. Carolyn wiped her forehead free of sweat and loose hair before smirking at Rose, “Pour me another, Skeletor.”

Theresa stepped in beside her bosomy buddy and whispered, “Carolyn, what the hell? Since when do you drink--much less moonshine?”

“Aw, it’s not even that bad!” the blonde giggled as she held up her glass.

The redhead took a whiff and recoiled as if struck by lightning. She gagged, “It smells like jet fuel that’s gone bad, Care! How have you almost gone through the entire bottle?!”

“Sheer spite, Tessie,” Carolyn retorted as she returned her attention to her competition. “I’m going to drink this zombie under the table, one way or another.”

“In your dreams, tubs,” Rose sneered. “Now, shut up and drink!”

As the girls whooped and hollered around them, Theresa rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did all of the school’s get-togethers have to end in debauchery and shenanigans? Between getting stoned off her broad ass on Halloween and getting into a fight on Black Friday, she wondered if she would ever be able to do anything normal with her students. Then again, these were up and coming wrestlers she was talking about, and when did wrestlers do anything half-assed?

“Reminds me of, like, Christmas at the Jacobs House,” JJ chuckled slothfully as she waltzed up beside Theresa to watch the show. “It’s so not the holidays if someone doesn’t pass out drunk, dude.”

“Just wish that she wasn’t the one about to pass out,” Theresa grumbled as Carolyn nearly hit the table while reaching for her glass. “Her driver’s seat is broken and can’t move back, so I have to squeeze my big Buddha belly in there.”

JJ turned pink at the thought of Queen Heart trying to cram her bulky body into a too tight car, tits blocking her view of the dashboard and belly squished up against the horn. She pushed those delightful images out of her mind and offered, “Like, you can take my car and I’ll drive Miss Brown’s—no skin off my back.”

“Thanks, JJ,” Theresa replied with a warm smile for her favorite student. She reached around the girl’s shoulders and pulled her in for a soft, gooey side hug and told her, “Merry Christmas, you little knucklehead.”

“M-Merry Christmas, Mrs. T,” JJ said, a dopey, uncontrollable grin sprouting on her cheeks as she leaned into the hug.

***​

While everyone was busy listening to Theresa’s stories and watching Carolyn and Rose try to outdrink each other, one member of the school was left to her own devious devices. Nina Neverland pulled a Grinch and swiped each and every box of cookies as her classmates were distracted, leaving not even a crumb for the rest of them. It was only fair after all: everyone else was so busy with their own things, who would notice a few cookies? She had started with a couple from this box and a couple from that box, but when it became clear that her classmates had forgotten about the exchange, the greedy girl helped herself to the tasty treats.

“Besides, it’s not like their fat asses need the temptation,” Nina snickered, even as her own keister tore a hole along the side of her skirt.
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 59

The Global Wrestling Federation’s office Christmas party had been an annual tradition ever since Dave Ericson first moved the business aspect of the promotion to Stamford, Connecticut in 1985. While the wrestlers generally held their own festivities wherever they pleased, the office party was almost exclusively for the people that worked behind the scenes. Accountants, sales representatives, and warehouse workers alike all came together to celebrate another year, and while the occasional performer would drop by to bring gifts or thank them, it was an unspoken rule that the talent did not attend. Not that no one minded having them there, but after the Great Caliph and Crusher Malone destroyed the buffet in ’92 in a drunken brawl, the wrestlers kept their distance to avoid Dave’s wrath.

One of the time-honored traditions of the party had been Dave and his wife, Wendy, dressing up as Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Dave would entertain the staff and take down the wishes of their kids, and Wendy would distribute treats and toys for children and grown-ups alike. Even though her political career often kept her away from the GWF throughout the year, the Ericson matriarch always made sure to attend the party just to see the look on the kids’ faces when she handed them a toy. On the other hand, Dave relished being the center of attention and spreading goodwill and cheer in the name of good publicity for the company.

Eventually though, Dave and Wendy decided that their children and their spouses could take on the role, allowing them to sit back and enjoy the festivities for a change. Lane, the couple’s son and oldest, had tried it once before leaving the GWF to pursue other avenues for a decade, and while he had been a perfectly fine Santa, the fact that he dared to leave the company had been a sore point between him and his father. As a result, the role of Mr. and Mrs. Claus had gone to Amanda, the daughter and baby of the family, and her husband, Levi Hunter.

To say that they put a different spin on the roles was putting it mildly. When he originally started donning the fake beard and red suit, Levi was rather gruff and stilted, though he mellowed out over the years and became a father himself. Amanda, meanwhile, traded in her mother’s conservative, classy costume for something a little slinkier and more appropriate for the bedroom than the boardroom. It was a sleeveless red cocktail dress with white fur trim along the bust and the hem, black opera gloves, and knee-high, high-heeled boots—in all, something much more becoming of an exotic dancer than the company president’s daughter, much less Mrs. Claus.

Still, people enjoyed it and the kids did not mind what Mrs. Claus looked like, so long as she still passed out presents and candy. The only ones who minded the scanty Amanda were a few of the women who had nothing but envy for the Little Rich Girl. Hopes that she would one day be too fat for the costume were dashed year after year, as Amanda always kept herself thin and fat, and any pounds she gained were lost as soon as they appeared. Still, hope springs eternal, and they waited for the day when the billionaire bitch would have to at least add sleeves to the slinky number.

As fate would have it, that day had arrived. Amanda Ericson had been dreading the Christmas party for the first time since she was a teenager and unable to relate to anyone there—this time though, it had nothing to do with being an awkward age and everything to do with her appearance. She had long since accepted that she would be unable to fit in her MILFy Mrs. Claus outfit, but as her pregnancy continued and her waistline ballooned at record pace, she became increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of being so on the spot. It did not help that this would be the first time most anyone had seen her since she first left on maternity leave; they would get to see how she had put on over fifty pounds in six months, and that terrified her.

“Honey, I don’t know if I can do the Christmas party this year,” Amanda told her husband after he saw their daughters off to bed and fetched a treat for her from the kitchen. “Can’t Lane and Melanie handle it?”

“Not without your dad being sour about it for the next year,” Levi answered with a shake of his head. “What brought this on?”

He sat down beside his wife on the sofa and handed her a large bowl of ice cream over a warm chocolate chunk cookie—Amanda’s latest favorite. They had not talked about their late night rendezvous from Thanksgiving a fortnight prior, as they could never quite find the words to say. For Levi, it had been exhilarating to see his once slender wife become a greedy, bloated glutton like one of his fantasies; for Amanda, having her husband be so firm and commanding had sent shivers down her spine like never before. Though she ate everything he fed her that night, they had not done anything quite like it since then. The biggest change was that Levi was much more eager to bring her food when she asked, but that was small change compared to what she was already consuming each day.

As she tucked into her third dessert of the night, Amanda failed to realize that she was eating from a soup bowl rather than a more modest cereal bowl. She scooped up a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and Cool Whip before explaining to Levi, “I just…I’m worried about what everyone will think. It’s been so long since I was at HQ; I think the last time I was there, I was just starting to show.”

“All the more reason to check in and let people know that you’re doing all right, hon,” Levi reasoned as he paused the movie playing in the background. It was some shmaltzy holiday flick that Amanda made sure they watched every year, and the only reason he stuck around for it was because she got extra cuddly whenever it was on.

Amanda pouted and whined, “But I’m not all right, Levi! Sitting around the house with nothing to do all day but snack has turned me into such a foodie—and worse, a fatty. Do you know I’ve had to get extra-large maternity clothes? None of the stuff I’ve had since Nicole fits right anymore.”

Hearing those words sparked a fire in the general manager, though he tried to play it cool by consoling her and saying, “Amanda, come on, you’re not a fatty. You’re carrying triplets; you were bound to be bigger than you were with any of the girls.”

The Not So Little Rich Girl grumbled around a mouthful of ice cream and cookie before retorting, “Yeah, well, maybe in the belly, but my ass is officially out of control. I had to bulk order a bunch of panties since every single pair I already have fit like a thong, and not in a good way.”

“Agree to disagree,” Levi growled playfully as he wrapped an arm around his heavily pregnant wife and pulled her close. “I think you are turning into one hot mamacita.”

“More like massive-cita,” Amanda mumbled while leaning in against Levi’s broad chest and resting her head against his shoulder.

Despite her protestations, she never once put down the ice cream, and that was the problem. Amanda knew that she was getting fat; even if she were blind, she would have been able to tell. Every day, her body seemed to jiggle a little more and her clothing got tighter and tighter, and there was nothing she could do to fight it. She had to take medication to help with a chemical imbalance that would have made this pregnancy even more difficult than it already was, but one of the unfortunate side effects was a massive spike in her appetite and severe drop in her metabolism. This meant that she was spending most of her days in one piece of furniture or another, stuffing her face with food, sleeping, and then repeating the process all over again.

This vicious, delicious cycle had led to Amanda plumping up more than her wildest nightmares. Her once toned, firm stomach had swollen to globular proportions, but that was to be expected when carrying triplets. What she had not expected was the thick layer of pudge that camouflaged her baby belly to the point that a random person off the street would be unable to tell if she was pregnant or fat. It did not help that her breasts, already large and heavy from a little cosmetic surgery twenty years prior, had swollen to the size of cantaloupes, easily surpassing their gains from her first three pregnancies. Her backside, pert from years of Pilates and jogging, had ballooned and sagged under its weight, and Amanda was not sure if she felt like crying about that or her newfound case of cellulite.

“Besides, I’m not going to be any fun,” the brunette billionaire added after licking her spoon clean of gooey chocolate. “If I’m on my feet for too long, I’m going to be exhausted; there’s no way I could get through giving out all the toys this year.”

That was a fair point in her favor: Amanda’s stamina had shrunk down to nothing; the only time she could muster up a well of energy was when food was put in front of her. Thanksgiving had been something of a wash for her for that exact reason because, in an effort to show restraint around her sizeist father, she nearly passed out. It had led to her gorging herself on the leftovers after everyone had left, so at least it had a silver lining.
 

Vongola27

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Levi stroked his bushy beard in thought before snapping his fingers and suggesting, “What if we trade jobs this year? The kids could sit on your lap and tell you what they want, and I could hand out the toys at the end; that way, all you have to do is take a seat and pose for pictures. How does that sound?”

Despite her trepidations, Amanda had to admit that the proposal sounded nice. She took after her father and craved attention, regardless of how much weight she had packed on, and this would ensure she would still have her limelight. The kids would love her, their parents would get their pictures, and she would barely have to lift a finger—what more could she ask for?

“I guess it doesn’t sound too bad,” the billionaire replied, not wanting to sound too eager about the opportunity to sit around and do nothing.

“Great! I’ll see if I can get a costume together for you,” Levi hummed as he moved his hand down from her shoulder to her side, feeling her blossoming back rolls along the way. “Want me to get you a refill?”

Amanda turned to give her husband a questioning look before glancing down at her bowl and realizing it was empty. There were six scoops of ice cream, a whole cookie, and enough whipped cream to completely cover the lot just a few minutes ago, right? How had she managed to wolf down the whole dish without even knowing it? She desperately needed to get her appetite under control, or else they would be rolling her into the delivery room—and not in a wheelchair.

Still, she could not bring herself to outright refuse her husband’s offer. Amanda mumbled, “Oh, I don’t want you to go through the trouble.”

“Of scooping ice cream and microwaving a cookie? I think I can manage,” Levi chuckled.

“But it’s so late, and all that sugar’s going to keep me up all night.”

“Then what’s the harm in a little more?”

Amanda fumbled for an excuse or the magic word that would end this madness, but all she could manage was, “I, well…um…it’s just that—”

Levi cut her off by cupping her plump chin in his fingers and tilting her head up until she was looking him in the eyes. There was a smoldering fire in those hazel eyes and a captivating stare that could command a locker room, and Amanda found herself melting in his gaze. He leaned in to give her a kiss, his prickly beard tickling her soft cheeks, before pulling away and licking his lips.

His next words came out in a rumbling growl. “I’m going to bring you another bowl, greedy girl, and you’re going to eat every last bite because you’re a hungry little pig. When you finish that, I’m going to bring you another and another and another, until we can’t fit one more drop of ice cream in that black hole belly of yours. Do you understand?”

Amanda’s lips opened and closed wordlessly as she struggled for a reply. When nothing came to her, she squeaked out a soft, “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” Levi hummed. He stroked one of his large thumbs over her cheek, kissed her again, and then untangled himself from her arms in order to fulfill his promise.

If she was in a clearer state of mind, Amanda might have wondered what in the blue hell had gotten into her and her husband. They had their moments of passion for sure, but never anything like this; Levi never tried to coax her with food, and she had never been so demure to him. It had to be the medication screwing with her head again—there was simply no other explanation. There was no way she, the Little Rich Girl and heir to the GWF throne, got off on being mollycoddled and fed like some kind of suckling pig!

That thought went out the window when Levi returned with a fresh bowlful of ice cream and placed it in her softening hands. She stared longingly and hungrily at the dessert, but before she could take her first bite, her husband scooped up a spoonful and brought it to her wanting lips.

“Open wide, Amanda,” Levi cooed, though his eyes still had that same smoldering gaze.

The billionaire whimpered softly and wanted to contest him, but found herself opening her mouth all the same. When the first spoonful hit her tongue, she closed her mouth and let out a low, guttural groan while her eyelids fluttered. Her mattress thighs squirmed together in uncontrollable delight, and she eagerly opened her mouth for another bite. That one proved to be just as good as the first, as did the next, and on and on until she was licking the bowl clean.

“M…more,” the greedy brunette whined as she lay back on the couch like an overfed housecat. “Please, baby…I need more.”

Amanda was in an absolute state by the end of the second bowl. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the cold of the ice cream and a few loose hairs clung to her spongy cheeks, while her tongue lolled out of her mouth and cleaned her lips of the frozen treat. Her shirt had retreated up her stomach from all her fidgeting, revealing a thick swath of pale belly blubber, and she lacked the good sense to pull it back down. It was as if she had waddled out of one of Levi’s fantasies.

“Anything for my growing girl,” Levi growled playfully as he bent down and gently nibbled one of Amanda’s love handles, eliciting a delirious moan from the stuffed matron.

When he left her to get another bowl of ice cream, Levi caught a glimpse of his bloated wife rubbing her stomach and cooing softly to herself. He had no idea what was going through her mind, least of all his own, but he was going to milk this for all it was worth. Little by little, incident by incident, he was becoming bolder in fattening Amanda, and he wondered if there would come a time when he could admit it to her. Yet every time he wanted to breach the subject during the day, the words escaped him and he resorted to giving her larger portions and coaxing her with another helping of this or that until her belly was full to the brim.

“Someday,” he told himself while waiting for the microwave and listening to his wife’s soft hums of pleasure in the next room. “Someday.”

***​

Across town, Lane Ericson was enjoying a quiet night in with his wife, Melanie, while they watched Silent Night, Deadly Night 2 after putting their boys to bed. As the movie played on in the background, Melanie glanced over to her husband and asked, “Hey, the office party is next week, right?”

“I guess so,” Lane answered with a shrug as he tossed a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “Why?”

Melanie pursed her lips as she answered with another question, “Your sister…is she still going to be doing the whole Mrs. Claus thing?”

Lane let out a long sigh. Melanie and he had been together for almost thirty years, and in all that time, she never once got along with Amanda. There was always something that got between them, whether it was something important, like Levi being given greater authority in the GWF, or petty, like taking shots at each other’s fashion sense. When it came to the annual Christmas party, it was a case of the latter, where Melanie joined others in their envy of Amanda flaunting her tight, perfect body.

While no one in their right mind would call her fat, Melanie had always been thicker than her sister-in-law, especially below the belt. She was shorter than Amanda, which the Little Rich Girl had often flaunted over her, and she was lacking in bust size, though that was more down to Amanda cheating and getting some silicone assistance. Reaching middle age had not helped either, as her stomach softened and she had to work even harder to fight the ravages of time compared to her domineering sister-in-law.

“Mel, it’s going to be fine this year,” Lane assured his pouty wife. “Amanda’s mellowed out a lot since her doctor got her on this new prescription; she’s as docile as a lamb.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Melanie huffed. “I just know that if she gives me that smarmy little smirk of hers, I’m throwing eggnog in her face.”

“Please don’t,” the eldest Ericson groaned. “I know I’ve been asking this for twenty-eight years, but could you try to get along with her just this once?”

Melanie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in consternation. It would be a cold day in Hell before she got along with that rich bitch—in fact, it would likely be longer. It was far more likely that Amanda Ericson would pork up before they got along…fat chance of that happening, right?
 

Vongola27

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CHAPTER 60

In the days leading up to the office Christmas party, Amanda’s appetite grew even ravenous as her nerves got the better of her. The last time she had been in front of everyone at the GWF, headquarters, she had been a lean, mean, business conducting machine, but that was months ago. Ever since then, she had done almost nothing but eat and grow fat, wrecking a figure that had remained tight and toned since her college days. For all her talk of being a model of restraint and different from all the rest of the lazy, overgrown stay-home moms, the Little Rich Girl found she was no better than anybody.

Levi and she made their way out to the party a while after it started, neither of them wanting to risk Amanda overdoing it. They would have enough time to drop in, mingle for a bit, and then change for their turn as Mr. and Mrs. Claus, which would take a little longer than normal, given the heavily pregnant matron’s unwieldy body. On the way over, Amanda’s fingers twitched and she checked herself in the mirror more times than she could count, a swarm of butterflies fluttering about inside her mammoth belly. If she was still the same size she was a few months ago, she might have been able to handle this without fear, but now, she was debating whether or not she should take the wheel and drive back home, where no one would judge her for getting so soft and flabby.

Sensing his wife’s distress—not that it was not glaringly obvious—Levi asked, “Babe, you want to stop and get a snack? A little treat might help take the edge off.”

Amanda shook her head and folded her hands over her belly in an effort to stop them shaking quite so much. As she meekly protested against more food, her breathing grew quicker and her words became as frantic as her anxious thoughts, “The last thing I need is more food, Levi. I had to pour myself into my clothes this morning and just getting into the car wore me out. I’m going to be talking with people I haven’t seen in months and they don’t know what I look like now and I feel like a huge, big, disgusting blimp but I’m too tired to do anything about it and—”

Suddenly, an invasive straw cut her off mid-panic attack. So distracted was the brunette that she failed to notice Levi had pulled up to a drive-thru, purchased a large milkshake, and put it in her hands, where she started guzzling it on instinct. The sweet, rich taste of eggnog filled her mouth, and before she could snap at her husband, she went back for another long drag on the straw. Whether it was the flavor, the temperature, or simply that she was filling her belly, Amanda felt a little better, even though she knew all those calories would be far from helpful.

“Thank you,” the meek matron murmured.

“Anything for my princess,” Levi hummed as he reached over and rested his hand on her belly. “You just nurse that until we get to the party, okay? Take a couple deep breaths, count to ten, and think about the how the kids are going to love you.”

Amanda nodded and returned to her milkshake, calmed down to the point that she was no longer in danger of hyperventilating. Levi was right: she needed to slow down, cool her jets, and not worry about what people were going to think. Today was supposed to be about the kids, and they would not care what Mrs. Claus looked like, so long as she was nice to them and told them what they wanted to hear. This would be a piece of cake for her—as easy as cutting a deal in the boardroom. All she had to do was sit back, sip her milkshake, and relax…although, now that she thought about it, the milkshake was missing a little something to offset the sweetness.

“Babe, can you swing through another drive-thru? I could do with some fries…”

***​

By the time the couple arrived at the party, Amanda had finished her milkshake, a large box of fries, and a 12-pack box of spicy chicken nuggets. Her stomach still grumbled for more, but she knew that she had to start showing some restraint once she got inside. People were going to see she had gotten fat in her time off; they did not need to see her making a pig of herself. She pinched her hand to snap out of that line of thinking, lest she start spiraling again, and took Levi’s arm as she waddled into the GWF headquarters.

The party was held in its usual place—the dining hall, which had been dressed to the nines in all sorts of Christmas decorations. Tinsel was draped this way and that, fake snow sprinkled all about the room, and tree trimmings adorned each table. A large tree and snowman had been placed in the center of the room, and up against the far wall was a red and white striped throne meant for the afternoon’s entertainment. They had come a far cry from the early days of the annual party, when the GWF was stretching its wings and budget in its national expansion, and all they could afford was elementary school-level decorations.

The first people to spot the couple were Lane and Melanie, and their reactions could not have been any more different if they had planned them. Lane, who had stopped by every other week or so and knew about Amanda’s expansion, greeted his sister and brother-in-law with open arms and a smarmy grin. Melanie, on the other hand, had not been over a single time since Amanda first announced her pregnancy; she kept her distance in general and had been sick Thanksgiving Day. Thus, when she got her first glimpse of her now rotund rival, Melanie had to try with all her might to not let her jaw drop to the floor.

There was no way the woman in front of her could be Amanda Ericson Hunter—the Little Rich Girl who ruled with an iron fist. She had Amanda’s face, but it was puffy, bloated, and, in an unintentionally festive way, rosy-cheeked. Everything about her was so round and bulbous, it was as if someone had stuck a hose in the commissioner and turned a helium tank to full blast. This chunky caricature stretched her clothes to max capacity, and Melanie was sure that if she listened close, she might hear threads straining. She also thought she saw a hint of crumbs around the fat girl’s lips, which Amanda would never be caught with. No, this was not the woman Melanie had been feuding with for years—this was a doughball who could not control her appetite, let alone a global corporation.

“There they are!” Lane enthusiastically greeted his sister and brother-in-law. “We were starting to worry you wouldn’t make it, and that we’d have to cancel Christmas this year.”

Levi chuckled and rubbed the nape of his neck as he lied, “Well, we got caught up in traffic. Holiday shopping, you know?”

After Lane gave his sister a hug and a kiss on the cheek, he went off with Levi, leaving the two wives alone for the first time in forever. Melanie did her best to hide her schadenfreude, but there was no denying the Grinchy grin that spread across her thin lips at the sight of a very plump and very nervous Amanda. While she wanted nothing more than to tear her nemesis a new one, she had promised Lane that she would at least try to get along with his sister. That did not mean she could not be catty; it just meant she had to be a bit more subtle about it.

“My god, Amanda, I hardly recognized you,” Melanie hummed. “You’re positively glowing!”

Amanda cast her head down and let out a nervous chuckle, “Oh, I’m…I’m really not.”

“Nonsense! Motherhood suits you, especially with this third go-around,” Melanie remarked. She reached out and gave Amanda’s massive baby bump a rub, which made the brunette squirm in place. With a wicked smirk, she told Amanda, “My gosh, you must be ready to pop any day now!”

“N-Not for another few months,” the Little Rich Girl admitted, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment. She recognized Melanie’s taunt as something she herself had said to her sister-in-law during each of her pregnancies, never expecting it to be turned on her at some point. All her fears about coming to the party were coming true, and Amanda wanted nothing more than to run back to the car and hide for the next few hours.

Melanie clapped a hand over her mouth in false shock and apologized, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Amanda! It must just be because you’ve got triplets this time. Let me make it up to you by getting you some snacks—Rita in accounting made some millionaire’s shortbread that is to die for.”

“I really shouldn’t; I had a pretty big lunch before we left the house,” Amanda fibbed. “I…I should probably get ready for the kids.”

“Oh, come on, it’s just a couple cookies between friends,” Melanie goaded her sister-in-law. “Besides, you can’t just run off without saying hi to everyone! There’re a few gals here who would just love to see how you’ve been coming along.”

With that, the dark-haired woman wrapped an arm around Amanda’s shoulder and pulled her in close before making their way into the party proper. Amanda could not find the strength or courage to break out of Melanie’s grasp and meekly accepted her fate. After years of taunting and acting like she was still the queen bee of high school, she knew that she deserved this. All she could do was hope that her tormentors had the decency to give her backhanded compliments rather than out and out insults.
 
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