BBW The Superheavyweight Champion (BBW, XWG, Stuffing)

[Vongola27]

When Levi finally rescued Amanda from Melanie, she had already eaten her way through three plates of appetizers and two glasses of hot cocoa. He had found her surrounded by several staff members, all women that had an axe to grind with the former beauty queen of the GWF. Thankfully, Amanda had not been reduced to tears as he had feared she might; indeed, she almost looked like she was having fun. If only he knew that his wide, weak-willed wife was so anxious that she could not help but grin and laugh, and that she wished she were under a rock.

Once the couple had made their way to a conference room to change into their costumes, Amanda clung to Levi’s arm and took several deep gasps of air, as if she had been holding her breath for the last half hour. Levi instinctively held his hefty honey close and asked, “Amanda, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Levi, it was awful,” Amanda sobbed into her husband’s shoulder. “They were all so mean and nasty and now I’m wondering if I was ever that bad and oh god what if I was and—”

“Amanda, slow down,” Levi gently told his wife as he cradled her in his powerful arms. “It looked like you were all having a good time. What happened?”

Amanda sniffled, “Everything they said was a slap in the face. They couldn’t stop talking about how ‘healthy’ I looked, how I must be eating for four, and that they liked how I dressed like I don’t care what people think. It’s Mean Girl 101, Levi! God, if I was ever that catty, I need to apologize to just about everyone at my high school reunion!”

Levi rocked Amanda in his arms and held her close as she shook with pent-up panic. He kissed the top of her head and hummed softly, “Don’t worry about what them; they’re just jealous because you look damned good no matter what. Just take a couple minutes and some deep breaths—you’re going to be fine.”

After her anxieties subsided, Amanda let go of Levi and got to changing into her costume, though it was a very simple change compared to her husband. All she had to do was strip off her sweater and wrap herself in a burgundy cloak with white fur trim, while Levi had to slip into an entire Santa suit plus stuff a pillow under his tank top. He put on a flowing wig of white locks and sprinkled baby powder in his beard, and Amanda threw on a bonnet and a pair of fake spectacles.

“Looking good, Mrs. C,” Levi hummed as he gently placed his hands on his wife’s expansive hips.

“I look like an old biddy,” Amanda grumbled, though she slowly rocked in her husband’s grasp.

“You look adorable, Amanda,” the burly man reminded her. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek and brushed away some of the powder that was left behind. “Now, let’s go make some kids happy.”

***​

The reaction Mr. and Mrs. Claus got when they walked back into the party was enough to put a smile back on Amanda’s face. The parents all acted like it was a big surprise that the special guests had come down from the North Pole and the kids were delighted to see their holiday hero making an appearance at their parents’ boring office party. Levi hammed it up by clapping his fake belly and letting out a jolly, booming laugh, while Amanda smiled and waved like the Queen of England. It was just what she needed to shake off the jitters from earlier.

“All right, folks, we’re going to do things a little different this year,” Levi told the partygoers as he guided Amanda into her throne for the afternoon. “Mrs. Claus and I thought it might be fun to change jobs this year—she’ll be taking your Christmas wishes, and ol’ St. Nick is going to give you a little gift! How does that sound?”

“Sounds like Santa got tired of visiting every mall in America and wanted to share the joy,” Amanda teased, much to the delight of the grown-ups in attendance.

When she took her seat, the fake Mrs. Claus gestured to the side of the throne and told the children, “All right, let’s see if we can’t make a nice line and get started!”

With a little help from Levi and a couple other parents, the kids were able to form a single-file line and waited for their turn with bated breath. The first in line was a moppet that could have passed for Shirley Temple, and she carried a plate with two sugar cookies and a cup of eggnog. Curiously, she did not let go of either, even as Levi lifted her up and onto Amanda’s lap.

“Sweetie, wouldn’t you like to set your snack down?” Mrs. Claus asked in a warm, homey tone.

The little girl shook her head and replied, “They’re not my snack—they’re for you!”

“F-For me?” Amanda parroted, her eyebrow arching in curiosity.

“Mommy said that we’re supposed to give Santa milk and cookies, but since you’re switching jobs, we should give them to you,” the little girl explained. “’Course, we didn’t have any milk—just that gross eggnog—but Mommy says that grown-ups like it just as much.”

Amanda gave a quick glance out to the audience of parents and saw one of the women in marketing taking a multitude of pictures on her phone. She was in the same crowd that Melanie had presented her to earlier, and was one of many who took delight in seeing the former bombshell’s body balloon. No doubt this was one more jab at her weight, but the Little Rich Girl was not going to be baited so easily. She would show those harpies that she could take whatever they threw at her—a couple cookies were nothing.

“Why, thank you,” Amanda hummed as she ate up the cookies and eggnog and ignored the peanut gallery. “That’s so very sweet of you. Now, why don’t you go see Santa for your toy, okay?”

Unfortunately, the brunette billionaire did not know she had opened herself up to a deluge of cookies and creamy drink. It seemed that the moms in attendance had conspired to make a fool of her and their kids had become their unwitting pawns, as each child had a plate of cookies and a cup of eggnog just for Amanda. She had set a precedent with her first visitor and, not wanting to deny any of the children, had no choice but to accept each offering. What had started as a seemingly simple task had quickly become daunting, as all the cookies added up in her belly and the eggnog served to fill every nook and cranny until there was no room left.

Amanda’s stomach was already full of her fast food splurge and her snacks from earlier, and all these gifts did little to help her. She felt like a sack being stuffed to capacity and she worried that the next cookie might be the one to make her pop, but it never came. The only thing she got from holding on a little longer was fuller, until she felt like the water in her blood had been replaced with eggnog and her DNA had been spliced with sugar. Through it all, the bloated brunette maintained a jolly disposition, though she clearly became foggier as the line whittled down.

By the time the final child had come and gone and the partygoers applauded, Amanda was ready to pass out on the spot. Her eyes were glassy, her brain was swimming in all the eggnog, and even more crumbs speckled her ruby lips. While her cheeks had been rosy from the cold and embarrassment earlier, they were now pink from the sheer exertion of consuming a good few dozen cookies. She wanted to rest her hands on her stomach for some comfort, but her arms hung limp at her side like wet noodles and she lacked the strength to lift so much as a finger. The Little Rich Girl was well and truly stuffed, to the point that simply breathing hurt.

“You did amazing, hon,” Levi whispered as he used a napkin to clean Amanda’s lips. “How are you feeling?”

Amanda could do little but gurgle as her head slump back against the throne. “So…full…ate…so…much…”

“Well, you just rest here, and I’ll get you a little water,” the burly man hummed as he stroked her cheek before leaving for the drink table.

As Amanda huffed and puffed, Melanie smirked down at her rival, too stuffed to even think straight. She took one last picture of the fattened heiress and purred, “Merry Christmas to me.”

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 61

As the month of December crept on and closer to Christmas, the holiday found its way into all facets of the wrestling world. Global Wrestling Federation added more and more decorations to the sets for their weekly shows and incorporated festive props into some of the matches in the undercard, like candy canes taking the place of chairs and people getting bashed in the head with presents. It was all safe, campy fun that did little to upset fans and kept the sponsors and networks happy, which was exactly what Dave Ericson wanted.

The independent circuit did this in abundance and, since they did not have corporate sponsors to appease, shows could often go beyond what was allowed on TV. During a show in Extreme Knoxville Wrestling, a wrestler dressed as Krampus interrupted a match, beat one of the competitors with a switch, and dragged off a valet in a burlap sack. The Harlem Wrestling Association once had a group of little people dress as elves to save a Santa impersonator from a kendo stick beating. High Octane Wrestling held a “1,643 Ornaments Death Match”, wherein the ring was lined with the aforementioned ornaments and, over the course of the match, were all shattered and embedded in the competitors.

Dare-Devil Wrestling was no exception to this demented holiday cheer, as each year featured wrestlers being strangled with string lights, battered with snow shovels, and gagged with stockings. It was all part of Jack and Connie Nelson’s plans to provide some alternative entertainment to the standard holiday fare and give their roster a chance to unwind after a long year. The dark humor and creative inversions of the season had become a staple of the promotion, and wrestlers would regularly pitch ideas for their own zany matches.

Of course, not everyone was pleased with these yuletide gimmicks, as was the case with one Maggie Torres. The diva found herself with her tag partner, Sharon Goode, at the headquarters of DDW, which was a small office in a business park—far from the auspicious halls of the GWF. They sat across from Connie Nelson, who did not take kindly to Maggie’s uppity attitude and gave her a stern glare every time she spoke.

“I’m just saying, we’re the Wild Roses! We’re a couple of classy bitches, you know,” Maggie explained to Connie while fiddling with her hair. “If we’re going to be champions someday, it doesn’t make much sense for us to get involved in this kiddy crap.”

“Maggie, everyone on the roster gets involved in this ‘kiddy crap’ at some point or another—even our top draws,” the elderly booker reasoned with her snooty employee. “I ain’t saying you have to enter to Christmas carols until the day itself, but you’ve got to work with me here.”

Maggie rolled her eyes and retorted, “Connie, it’s so not happening. Sharon and I aren’t going to debase ourselves like that—right, Share?”

The bespectacled redhead, who had let Maggie do most of the talking for the meeting, shrugged her shoulders in reply. She told her friend, “I honestly wouldn’t mind it too much, Mags. It could be a good way to get some pops from the crowd, and we could use that when we start going for the titles. We could even make Clip of the Week!”

“Et tu, Sharon?” Maggie groaned.

Connie crossed her arms and looked the diva in the eyes as she explained, “You ain’t got to do anything you don’t want, Maggie, but I’d ask that y’all think about it. I would never send you out there to make a fool of yourself, especially with what we’ve got for you girls coming down the pipe. I just need y’all to trust me and be a ‘team player’.”

The trio sat in silence as they mulled over the situation. Maggie knew that she sounded like a brat making demands, but in her eyes, it was only because she knew her worth as a competitor. She had big plans for her in-ring career, and she did not want prospective promotions to look back at her work and find some hokey holiday act thrown in there. Truthfully, she had far more pressing matters when it came to her career—namely, getting her appetite under control.

Over the last few months, Maggie’s starlet figure had gone to pot—or rather, potbelly. A love of dark beer and a burgeoning hunger had led to her toned body softening at the edges, rounding out her angles and stripping her of her glamorous physique. Unfortunately, she was too vain to recognize that she had truly gained as much as she did; no matter how much people needled her, it could not be anywhere as bad as they said. Thus, she allowed herself to expand until she had outgrown most of her clothes and attended this meeting in a tacky pink tracksuit, which clung to her like a second skin and made her look even fatter than she truly was.

Mercifully, Maggie’s face had remained relatively slender, though her cheeks had gotten a touch softer and hid her cheekbones. Her breasts, once the envy of many, were sagging under their new weight due the flab outpacing the muscle underneath. Likewise, her arms thickened and expanded like two tubes of cookie dough, caking her biceps in a modest layer of pudge that was pliable to the touch. Maggie’s hips still had just enough roundness to remain sensual, but the saddlebags blossoming beneath detracted from her seductive, voluptuous charms. Her thighs squished against each other even while standing, and she had taken to using lotion after a long day on her feet. At least her backside still turned heads, though no one would admit it was because it was far rounder than it had any reason being.

If that were all, no one would have really batted an eyelid at Maggie’s gain, but the part that benefitted from her uptake in calories the most was a bulbous belly that stuck out from her abdomen like a pregnant woman’s stomach. The globular gut was no mountain of blubber, like her cousin’s gargantuan stomach, nor was it a waterfall of flab—it was the tummy of a drunkard. Round as a bubble and almost firm to the touch, Maggie had grown a handsome beer belly that reached out farther than any of her other curves and threatened to block her view of her feet. Like the rest of her fattening form though, the diva turned a blind eye to it and told herself she was still as fit as before.

“Look, I know plenty of people might be fine with it, but I’m not plenty of people,” Maggie told Connie while crossing her arms over her chest and resting atop her stomach. “When I step out there, I want to show people what wrestling really is, you know?”

“With all due respect, honey, wrestling ain’t never gonna be what it used to be,” the booker rebutted. “You can’t put the genie back in the bottle, and you can’t go back to the days of rasslin’; the best you can do is roll with it and give people entertainment they won’t get nowhere else.”

Before either woman got stuck and started spinning their wheels, Sharon chimed in and suggested, “What if we work with that? We could come in and dismiss all this holiday stuff, and the Rodeo Twins decide to teach us a lesson to humble us.”

Maggie and Connie glanced over at the redhead, the latter even waving her hand to show she wanted Sharon to continue. Blushing, the demure woman explained, “They could jump us either after a match or backstage, using all these presents and candy canes and such, and beat us until we’re black and blue. That way, we get sympathy and Maggie can say that she didn’t do a holiday match.”

“That might could work,” Connie mused as she leaned back in her chair. “We use that as a stepping stone, we could start building to something next year.”

Maggie, however, remained nonplussed. She pouted and grumbled, “Why can’t I just beat their asses then and there? Our stock would be worth a lot more if we came out on top.”

“Ain’t how it works, Maggie,” retorted Connie. “Every champion’s got to start somewhere; no one comes out of the gate unstoppable. You want to be booked as unstoppable, you’ve got to earn them titles—no negotiatin’.”

When it became clear that this was the best deal she could get, Maggie sighed and slumped her shoulders. “Fine, but I want to make sure this goes places. I’m a Torres, and we don’t take kindly to being jokes, entiendes?”

“I read you loud and clear. Now, y’all go enjoy the rest of your day; I’ll be makin’ sure tomorrow night’s show is tighter than a sailor’s knot,” Connie told the tag team as she shooed them from her office. “I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

 

[Vongola27]

“She’s going to screw us, Sharon—I just know it!”

Sharon rubbed the bridge of her nose as Maggie complained for the dozenth time since leaving the DDW offices. It was moments like this that almost made her regret partnering with the bombshell; she knew toddlers that threw tantrums softer than Maggie did. Ever since their meeting with Connie, the diva had whined and griped nonstop about how unfair it was, how they were going to screw her over, how no one in the promotion liked her, and on and on. Though she briefly considered steering into oncoming traffic to shut her partner up, Sharon managed to restrain herself. There were better, less risky ways to silence Maggie Torres.

“Mags, how about we get some lunch before we stop at the mall?” asked Sharon as she pulled into the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant.

“Oh my god, yes,” Maggie answered eagerly. Despite the fact she had already eaten a hefty breakfast that morning and a ‘light’ lunch of a footlong BLT that day, her pampered belly gurgled for more food. “I’m probably just a little hangry, that’s all.”

Sharon hoped that a little culinary therapy was all her friend needed, because she was not sure she could handle Maggie Torres’ bitching and moaning for the rest of the afternoon. The two of them walked into the restaurant and were immediately hit with the smell of fried chicken, rice, and sweet and sour sauce. It was a quaint place with a modest décor—not like some of the tackier restaurants scattered around town that pretended like they were in Las Vegas and not Albuquerque. Thankfully, they had gotten in after the lunch rush, and there were plenty of tables for the tag team.

“Can I get you any drinks?” asked the waitress after Sharon and Maggie took their seats.

“Just a water for me,” answered the redhead.

Maggie hummed, “Let me get a Diet Coke—I’m trying to watch what I eat, you know.”

Either the waitress did not quite understand Maggie or she did not believe her, but she smiled and ducked away to prepare the drinks. That left Sharon and her drama queen partner to peruse their menus, but the more sensible of the duo already knew what she wanted. Sharon was a creature of habit, and she always got sesame chicken with brown rice and a spring roll no matter where she went. On the other hand, Maggie had much more difficulty picking something from the menu, as every new item sounded positively delectable.

“Gawd, do I want the sweet and sour shrimp or the Mongolian trio? The happy family sounds pretty good, but so does the mother and child reunion,” Maggie mused as she licked her lips.

“Don’t forget the sides,” Sharon reminded her hungry partner. “You can’t not have some fried rice or pot stickers.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to have a huge gut bomb, Share,” the diva replied as she patted her stomach. “I eat too much, and I’m just going to crash before we even set foot in the mall.”

Sharon bit her lip as she tried not to show how appealing that idea was to her. Where these thoughts and desires came from, who could say, but as Maggie had swollen up over the last few months, so had Sharon’s want for her. She wanted—needed—to see how much her partner could consume, and had taken to slipping her food whenever she could. Sometimes, it would be getting more for Maggie, especially after the diva had one too many to drink; other times, it was offering what was left of her dish. The lush Latina was none the wiser and gleefully lapped up whatever was given to her, which only served to make Sharon bolder.

“Tell you what—why don’t you let me order for you?” asked the redhead. “And you want to see something really cool when I do it?”

“You know it,” Maggie replied with a smirk.

When the waitress returned, Sharon looked up to her and asked, "Nǐ shuō shénme fāngyán?”

Pleasantly surprised, the waitress glanced to Maggie, who shared in the shock. The young woman answered Sharon, “Wǒ shuō pǔtōnghuà!”

After that, the two talked back and forth for what felt like forever, leaving Maggie stunned speechless for the first time in a long time. She had no idea that her partner could speak Chinese, much less fluently, and could only wonder what Sharon was saying. It was a shame she could not understand; if she could, she might have been spared a culinary onslaught.

“My friend is really hungry, so I was wondering if I could get a dinner-sized portion for her?” Sharon asked the waitress with a toothy grin on her face.

“It’ll cost a little more, but that won’t be a problem,” answered the young woman.

“Great! Then she’ll have a plate of orange beef with pork fried rice and an egg roll. Oh, and when you bring her next soda, could you make it a normal? Trust me—she won’t be able to tell the difference,” the redhead giggled.

The waitress tittered along with her and told her, “Not a problem. I’ll be right out!”

As the waitress waltzed off to prepare the order, Maggie leaned over the table and exclaimed, “Share, I didn’t know you spoke Chinese!”

“My family hosted a foreign exchange student for a couple years,” Sharon replied with pink in her cheeks and pride in her voice. “I’m a little rusty, but I still remember a good bit.”

“Sounded pretty fluent to me,” the diva chuckled. “What’d you order for me?”

“Not much—just some orange beef with a couple sides. You don’t need to finish it all if you don’t want to,” answered the redhead.

It did not take long for their meals to be prepared. When the waitress returned, she left a modest plate of sesame chicken in front of Sharon and a hefty plate in front of a shocked Maggie. The lush Latina glanced down at the sizable portion and asked, “Is this really a lunch plate? This could last me for the rest of the day!”

“She said they were a little big,” Sharon fibbed with a shrug. “I’m not really that hungry, so I just got an appetizer size. If you run out of room, I could always take a little off your plate.”

Maggie nodded and replied, “Thanks, Share. Let me see how I’m feeling in a little bit—I haven’t really had much to eat today, after all.”

It was a bold-faced lie, but Sharon was not about to contest it—not if it meant seeing her gorgeous tag partner stuff herself to capacity with greasy Chinese food. She took her time working on her plate, as she had found it helped Maggie forget just how much she was eating, and watched with bated breath as her friend shoveled in bite after bite. Shame that Maggie never really drank during the day; if she had a beer to wet her whistle, she would have found the strength to eat even more than this.

Despite her protestations, the lush Latina happily plowed through her meal without a second thought. It could all be worked off later on, or so she told herself, but the truth was that all the sodium and MSG was going to knock her for a loop as soon as she got back in the car. That would be a problem for Future Maggie though, as Present Maggie was more than happy to eat until she had consumed every last grain of rice and shred of beef.

“Look, I promise this is the last I’ll talk about it, Share, but I just think we need to think about our careers, you know?” the diva asked her partner in between bites. “We’re not going to be in Dare-Devil forever, right? We’ve got to think big picture if we’re going to make it anywhere.”

“I hear you, but there’s no harm in having a little fun,” Sharon contested. “The wrestling industry is changing, Mags, and what the people want to see is stuff they won’t find anywhere else but in the ring. Plenty of folks get into crazy stuff!”

“Yeah, but they’re at a point where they can do that and it won’t impact their careers. If we want to be taken seriously, we need to act like professionals, you know?” Maggie reasoned after gulping down a heaping spoonful of fried rice.

Sharon took a sip of water and answered, “We can still be professionals and have fun, Mags.”

“Only after we’ve made it big,” the diva scoffed, “and I plan on being one of the biggest stars the wrestling biz has ever seen…”

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 62

It was originally supposed to be a nice, quiet trip up to the mountains. Taylor Rose had made arrangements for her mentor and crush, Maxine Kuhn, and friend and rival, Rea Rider, to spend the weekend up in her uncle’s cabin. The cabin had some basic supplies in the form of canned goods, but the girls brought plenty of their own, especially Maxine. Not only did she want to make sure that she kept her two favorite girls satisfied, but also to share in some Hanukkah spirit by whipping up plenty of fried food. Latkes, sufganiot, honey balls, knishes, and more filled the menu in her head, and hopefully, her partners’ bellies. It was shaping up to be a nice, quiet trip with a little alternative holiday fun.

Then the blizzard hit—the worst storm of the decade. The tubby trio was snowed in overnight and woke up to a bed of frost piled all the way to the very top of the roof. A crew would be out to clear the way, but with how treacherous the mountain roads could be, it would take a few days for anyone to get to the cabin. Thankfully, there was a generator to provide power to the building, and plenty of firewood to keep things warm. A quick call into town to let the higher-ups in Youngblood Wrestling know they were safe, and the girls were set for what they assumed would only be a long weekend.

Taylor, ever cautious and observant, had her nose in the news all morning long. Despite Maxine’s assurances that they would be okay until the plows made their way up the mountain, the anxious girl could not help but fret. Her mind filled with horror stories of all varieties, and they all led to the rescue crews finding a gruesome scene when they eventually made it up—if they ever did.

“Rosie, come have some latkes!” Rea called out from the nook across the room, her mouth full of potato. “They’re still hot and fresh!”

“In a minute,” Taylor grunted back at the ditzy redhead. Of all the people she had to be snowed in with, why did one of them have to be Rea Rider? Though she did not hate her as much as she used to, the stout girl still bore some resentment to Rea for swooping in and stealing Maxine’s attention. She was prepared for a weekend together with the redhead, but any longer than that and she might lose her mind.

“Hey, Princess, food’s on,” Maxine told her protégé as she crossed the room with a plate of latkes. “You can take a few minutes to have a snack; the news ain’t going to change anytime soon.”

Taylor sighed and glanced up at her friend, who towered over both her and Rea. Maxine Kuhn was looking more and more like her old self with each passing week, due in no small part to Taylor and Rea’s companionship and the distance between her and Sadie. She was constantly working out, squeezing exercise into most activities throughout the day, which helped burn off the flab she had accumulated over the last two years and gave way to firm muscles. While she was still a thick woman and very overweight, even for someone her size, she felt like a million bucks and carried herself as such.

Her long, brown hair was swept to one side in a cascade of chocolate locks, and she had squeezed herself into a pair of white tights that accentuated her shapely thighs and a sweater that emphasized her diminishing stomach and pronounced bosom. It was not so long ago that Maxine would not have dared to wear such clothes, opting instead for sweats that could hide her bulk, but the encouragement of her lady friends bolstered her confidence and pushed her back into her old comfort zone. It had taken some time, but she was feeling like her old self again—the woman she used to be before she allowed Sadie Storme to sink her hooks in.

“All right, all right,” Taylor relented, mostly because of Maxine’s beaming grin. “Let’s have ‘em.”

“Uh-uh-uh,” Maxine chided with a shake of her head and finger. “TV off, then snacks.”

Taylor rolled her eyes but obliged all the same, turning off the news and rocking to her feet. That was becoming more and more common for her—having to gain momentum in order to stand up—but that was to be expected when she looked and felt like she had a basketball at her waist. Ever since she caught on that Maxine appreciated girls with healthy appetites, the jealous girl had been stuffing herself whenever she was around her Amazonian idol. Lunches, dinners, and post-workout snacks all found their way to her thickening waist, and with her shorter build, each pound gained from these lavish meals were much more obvious. She made a conscious choice to avoid the scale, but there was no way she was anything less than 200 pounds.

When she finally rose from the couch, Maxine rewarded her with a latke that Taylor immediately took a bite out of. She could not deny the little hum of delight that came from her lips, and the stout girl took another, much bigger bite that filled her chubby chipmunk cheeks. Maxine watched with barely contained glee as Taylor finished off the potato pancake and even licked her fingers clean.

“Good, right? They’re my Bubby’s recipe,” Maxine boasted with a puffed up chest, like a very fat robin. “I finally got her to teach me how to make them, even if I had to put her in a half nelson to get her to give it up.”

“Well, I won’t be fighting you for them, but they are pretty damn tasty,” Taylor hummed pleasantly. “If that’s what we’ve got to look forward to this weekend, I can’t wait.”

“Then sit yourself down at the table, and I’ll bring you over some more with your lunch,” the towering hostess told her diminutive partner with a bump to the hip.

Taylor had a blush on her cheeks all the way over to the nook, where she joined Rea on a bench built into the wall. The airhead was chomping away at what had to be her third latke in the last five minutes, and she showed no signs of slowing down when lunch arrived. While Taylor had some reservations about putting on more weight, Rea had taken to the practice like a duck to water. It was difficult to tell if she was trying to please her gargantuan lover or because she honestly loved it, and Taylor was not about to ask for clarification. The less she knew about her rival’s sex life, the better.

“Gawd, that smells so good,” Rea cooed when she took a whiff of the aromas emanating from the kitchen. She then flashed a cheeky grin at Taylor and patted her stomach, saying, “And it’s going to feel even better when it goes in here.”

The Shawnee girl glanced over at her ditzy companion and took stock of how much she had changed since she began courting Maxine. Rea had not been slender to begin with, but she was thick with muscle and had a four-pack of abs that she displayed proudly in the ring. Once she got a taste of being stuffed like a Christmas goose on a regular basis though, her muscles became coated with a fine layer of pudge that made her soft to the touch. Her chest had blossomed into a hefty pair of melons that obscured her view of her potbelly—no easy feat, considering the glob of fat made her look like she swallowed a bowling ball. Regular exercise meant that her backside remained pert and full, but her cheeks were developing serious heft and bounce.

“Some girls have all the luck,” Taylor grumbled to herself before looking away.

“Wuzzat?” asked Rea, mouth full of potato.

“Nothing—nothing at all,” the jealous girl snapped.

Before Rea could probe further, Maxine returned with a platter full of smoked salmon sandwiches and a plate of latkes for Taylor. Distracted by the prospect of more food, Rea giddily clapped her hands together and snatched a sandwich before her girlfriend could even set the plate down. The greediness was not lost on Maxine, who giggled at the display and playfully slapped the redhead’s thieving hand.

“Down, girl—at least let me serve the food first,” the towering woman chuckled. “I swear, you’re as bad as my old dog.”

“But a lot cuter,” Rea teased.

“Debatable,” Maxine retorted with a wink.

Taylor turned her head so neither woman could see her roll back in disbelief. It was moments like these when their relationship became unbearable for her, when she felt like an unwilling third wheel who just had to be witness to their sappiness. Sometimes, she wondered why she even bothered trying to win over Maxine; it was clear that the Amazon only saw her as a friend and nothing more. Suggesting this getaway had been a bad idea, as it was only bringing out the worst in her, and the snowstorm did nothing to help.

 

[Vongola27]

As Maxine sat down to join the two, she looked over to Taylor and asked, “Tay, you feeling okay? Plenty to go around!”

The stout girl was rather hungry and she was certain that the sandwiches were good, but her heart simply was not in it. Instead, she rose from the table and told Maxine, “Sorry—I think I’m going to lie down for a bit. I’ll see how I’m feeling later.”

“Oh,” the giantess replied with a pout. “Well, I hope you’re feeling better by dinner; I’m making up my world famous brisket!”

“Can’t wait to try it,” Taylor said softly before exiting to her bedroom for the weekend. The way she was feeling, she would be lucky if she got anything down; her stomach was turning and twisting into all sorts of knots. Hopefully, some sleep would help settle her fevered thoughts.

Back at the kitchen table, Maxine watched her little friend mope out of the room with her tail between her legs. While she was not aware of Taylor’s feelings towards her, she cared deeply for the rookie, as she was the first real connection Maxine had made when she was sent to Youngblood. She hated seeing the poor girl like that, but she hated even more that she had no idea what was causing it and wished that she could do something to help.

“She’s probably just down because of the weather and getting snowed in,” Rea suggested in between wolfing down one sandwich and starting on another. “All our plans for the weekend all gone up in snow, you know?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Maxine mumbled before glancing back to her thick girlfriend.

“She’ll be fine,” the redhead assured her loving feeder. “Now, how’s about a little help getting these sandwiches down? I’m pretty hungry, but I could always use some encouragement.”

Maxine gave one last look back at the hall before focusing on Rea and smirking at her. She leaned in and hummed, “And I’m more than happy to provide, my plump dumpling…”

***​

When dinnertime rolled around, Taylor was still in no mood to eat and kept herself holed up in her room. She tried to sleep here and there, cocooned as she was in her blankets, but mostly found herself staring at the ceiling and thinking of all the things that made her sick to her stomach. Every time she imagined Maxine and Rea getting cutesy and touchy-feely made her guts churn, and the thought of them canoodling on the couch made her green with envy. It was only when the lights went out that Taylor finally untangled herself from her sheets and dared to venture outside.

With only her cellphone to light the way, lest she attract any attention, the Shawnee girl made her way to the kitchen. Her feelings were a roiling storm inside her, but she had to eat at some point, so she decided to rummage around and scrounge up whatever she could get her hands on. When Taylor opened the fridge, she found a plate covered in clingwrap and a sticky note on top that read, ‘FOR TAYLOR, WHENEVER YOU’RE FEELING BETTER—MAXIE’.

A small smile found its way to Taylor’s lips as she pulled the dish out and examined it. Brisket, as promised, with sautéed squash and zucchini, baked beans, and a very creamy looking slaw all filled the plate to the point where she could not see the bottom. There was also another plate in the fridge that had the remaining latkes, and while they were not explicitly for her, Taylor figured that Maxine would happily make plenty more. So, after grabbing a beer to accompany her cold dinner, the brunette slid into the kitchen nook and tucked in.

Despite being refrigerated for the last few hours, everything on the dish was still delicious and satisfying for the hungry girl. The more she ate, the more she realized how little she had during the day, which made her eat faster, and on and on, until she was shoveling food in her mouth as fast as possible. She tried not to think about Maxine or Rea and focused on her plate, spearing huge forkfuls and scooping hefty spoonfuls into her mouth with abandon until her cheeks could fit no more and she had to pause to swallow.

Before she knew it, Taylor was scraping the bottom of the plate—both plates, as the latkes were reduced to little more than crumbs. Despite eating a very generous dinner, her appetite had been roused and would not be denied more sustenance. The bulbous brunette patted her stomach and whispered, “Okay, let’s just see what else we’ve got in the pantry.”

The pantry was as well-stocked as ever, with canned goods of all kinds lining the walls. There were canned meats that ranged from mystery meat to fine dining, fruits of all shapes and sizes, and enough sea life to fill an aquarium. Since Taylor was rich with choices, she grabbed a little of this and a little of that, not particularly caring what she got so long as she could carry it. By the time she left, she had a dozen cans in her arms—enough to satisfy three normal people or one particularly hungry girl.

“Just a little something to tide me over until the morning,” Taylor reasoned with herself, ignoring how much she was truly carrying. “A midnight snack, really.”

Parking it in front of the TV, Taylor did not bother with prepping any of her selections; that would waste too much time and attract too much attention. Instead, she cracked a can of crab open and dug in with her fork without a care in the world. It could have used a little something to balance out the richness and saltiness of the meat, but Taylor was not going to worry about anything like that. This was all about appeasing a hunger that gnawed at her, replacing the bitterness and envy that plagued her throughout the day. Was she burying her feelings under a mountain of calories? Probably, but it would be so worth it to keep them stifled for a while.

The TV was the only light in the cabin as Taylor ate through can after can, but she did not pay attention to whatever was on the screen; it was simply background noise to keep her out of her head. When she finished one can, she set it down on the coffee table in front of her, followed by another and another, until she was down to a tin of peaches and the table was littered with cans. By that point, Taylor’s hunger had long since subsided, but she still persisted, working her way through the golden fruits until she finished the last slice and chugged the syrupy juice.

“Guh,” the sated girl grunted once she was finished. Her stomach was packed so full and round that she could barely muster the strength to bend forward and set the empty can on the table, but she just managed it. Immediately, she fell back against the couch and let her arms rest limply at her sides as she digested the massive meal in her belly.

That belly had swollen up like a balloon over the course of her glut, to the point that her shirt slid up to reveal a ribbon of pudge packed tight as a drum. Taylor gingerly rubbed along the surface, fingers gently pressing into her stomach and eliciting a soft burp—a small relief, but relief all the same. Though she had managed to chase away such thoughts over the last hour or two of eating, she could not help but imagine what it might have been like if Maxine were the one giving her tummy rubs. She had seen Rea’s face light up whenever she was on the receiving end, so they must have been pretty nice, though that might have been because she was imagining what came after tummy rubs.

“I’ve got plenty of tummy,” the dazed, drowsy girl murmured to herself. “Where are my belly rubs? I could eat way more than that stupid airhead…”

Gradually, her remarks turned to grumbly gibberish and then nothing at all as she passed out on the pillowy couch. Her head slouched back against the cushions and her legs spread ever so slightly to give her stomach a little more room, but she was out like a light. She was so tired that she missed Maxine walking in while getting a glass of water.

“Oh, Taylor,” the ample Amazon sighed when she saw the state of her friend. Taylor had specks of food on her cheeks and stains on her shirt, though it was hard to say what was the culprit, considering the myriad of cans around her.

As quiet as a 6’3”, 215 pound woman could manage, Maxine cleaned up the empty tins at Taylor’s feet before taking a warm washcloth to the girl’s face. When she had wiped away the traces of her binge, save for removing the stain-riddled shirt, the giantess took a blanket from the back of a nearby armchair and draped it over Taylor. She would have tried to carry the girl back to her own bed, but given the state of her belly, Maxine did not want to risk jostling and waking her up. This would have to do, and would at least keep her warm until the morning.

“Sleep tight, Princess,” the brunette whispered as she patted Taylor’s stomach before going back to bed. Poor girl must have felt better and decided to get something to eat. If that was the case, Maxine would be sure to make her plenty tomorrow and however long they would be snowed in!

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 63

After worrying about Taylor most of the day before, Maxine was relieved to see the squat girl join her and Rea for a breakfast fry-up. If she was still full from her binge the night before, Taylor did not show it, as she wolfed down everything her hefty hostess put in front of her. Her appetite had returned in spades, and several strips of turkey bacon, a good half dozen eggs, and four biscuits soon found their way into her belly. By the time she called it quits, she had eaten almost as much as Rea, who was by no means slouching.

Lunch was much the same, and when dinner rolled around, the awkwardness of the day before was forgotten. Taylor happily ate everything that was put in front of her, laughed and joked with Maxine and Rea, and even joined them for a movie. As they watched the film, the two gaining girls in the trio constantly reached for a massive bowl of buttery popcorn; Maxine only had a couple handfuls, preferring the greasy, salty snack wind up in someone else’s belly. Everything was as it should be in her mind—peaceful and fun, just as intended. The only question was how long that mood would last, considering that they were still snowed in by Monday morning.

With little to do, the girls had to find their own ways to entertain themselves and pass the time while they waited for the plows to make it up to their neck of the woods. Taylor took to practicing her booking: she crafted a fantasy wrestling promotion, staffed it with talent real and imaginary, and workshopped a schedule. Rea drifted to something less creatively stimulating and glued herself to the couch, where she took in the myriad movies and TV shows stocked in the entertainment center. Maxine was the only one who tried to get any exercise, as she refused to let a snowstorm impede her weight loss. When she was not working out, the Amazon could be found in the kitchen experimenting with new recipes and testing them on her companions.

“Who wants to try some fried Oreos?” Maxine cooed as she carried a plateful of golden brown cookies that looked to be State Fair material.

Rea stifled a hiccup and brushed the crumbs from her lips before replying, “I’m still good, Maxie—I think I need to let my tummy settle after those pepperoni rolls.”

“I’ll try ‘em,” Taylor offered from her spot at the nook. “I could probably use some more milk to wash them down though.”

“Be right back with a fresh glass,” said Maxine as she traded the plate of cookies for the empty glass and sashayed back to the kitchen.

While waiting for her milk, Taylor bit into one of the fried cookies and let out a low hum of approval, eyelids fluttering at the gooey richness. Rea, ears piqued by the sound, glanced over and licked her lips. Maybe she had a little room for some dessert after all.

“Gosh, those look good, Rosie,” the redhead chirped from her spot on the couch. “Do you think I could try a few?”

The squat girl shook her head as she popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth and licked her fingers clean. “Nothing doing. Besides, I thought you were still full.”

“Aw, come on,” Rea whined like a petulant child. “Just one? They smell delicious!”

“And they taste even better,” Taylor retorted, a self-satisfied smirk spread across her lips.

Rea pouted and crossed her arms over her increasingly fluffy bosom. Yes, she said she was full, but surely Maxine knew that was just code for ‘Feed me more’. She could always fit a little more in her belly, especially if she had her Amazonian girlfriend helping her. As soon as Maxine reentered the room, the redhead told her, “Actually, Maxie, I think I do have a bit more room after all. Do you have any more fried cookies?”

“Sorry, babe, those were the only ones I made,” Maxine apologized while handing Taylor her milk. “I’ll make you some more after lunch, okay?”

“Okay,” Rea sighed, looking and sounding like a child that was told they could not have a cookie before dinner. She glanced over at her more bookish companion and caught Taylor looking right back at her, smirking as she dunked a cookie in milk and bit into it with sheer bliss. Oh, that bitch.

Thankfully, she was able to get her comeuppance when dinner rolled around and Maxine broke out a large sweet potato pie. Taylor matched Rea bite for bite throughout the meal, but now that the redhead knew she had competition, she would not be outdone. Rather than dial up her gluttony though, Rea dialed it back a few degrees and allowed her shorter rival to overtake her, which meant Taylor was slouched back in her chair with glassy eyes by the time dessert was served.

Maxine hesitated after getting a look at her protégé, but asked, “Taylor, you want a piece?”

“Mmph,” the Shawnee girl replied, stifling a belch as she tried to breathe.

Rea, for her part, dabbed her lips on her napkin and told her girlfriend, “I think Rosie might want to sit this one out. Poor thing looks like she’s about to pop! I’ve got plenty of room though, Maxie, so let me get an extra-big piece!”

“All right, but only because you’re part of the Clean Plate Club,” the brunette hummed as she cut out a large piece for her growing lover.

While Maxine was serving her own slice, Rea took a forkful and slid it slowly past her lips as Taylor blearily looked on. The flavors were delicious, but the redhead played it up as if it were manna from heaven mixed with pastrami from Katz’s Delicatessen. She rolled her eyes back and slid down in her seat while caressing her stomach, groaning every inch of the way. Even though she was fast falling into a food coma, Taylor knew exactly what Rea was up to, and she shot her the best glare that she could manage in the situation.

And thus, a very cold war began between the two. They tried to outdo each other each meal, which soon expanded into snacks throughout the day, which then turned their entire day into one prolonged meal. From the moment they sat down for breakfast (save for Rea’s tendency for an early morning nibble) to the time they finally went to bed (save for Taylor’s habit of a midnight snack), the girls did little more than eat during the snow-in. It helped that they had activities to distract themselves with, but they often glanced over at each other to make sure the other had not outdone them.

Maxine, for her part, was blissfully unaware of the simmering tension between her best friend and her lover. She dutifully served them whatever they desired, and spent much of the day on her feet and around the kitchen. This might have bothered some, but she was more than happy to do so since it allowed her to stay busy during this extended holiday and let her make her two favorite people in the world happy. What more could a girl ask for?

Unfortunately, as another day went by and they reached their sixth day of isolation, the relative peace began to deteriorate. The demand to keep the two lazy girls well-fed had only increased, and Maxine now felt like a short-order cook during lunch rush. If Taylor was not eating, it would be Rea; if Rea could not choke down another bite, Taylor was rearing to go. It got to be that Maxine could not exercise the way she wanted, and though she still kept busy and stuck to her diet, she wished she could get back to her routine.

All of this would have been fine if things had stayed quiet, but as the days seemed to stretch on and on, Taylor and Rea became far less polite with each other. It started with a snide remark from Taylor about turning down the TV, to which Rea retorted that she could just work in her room or put headphones on. From there, they only got worse, as the slightest remark could set either one off and devolve into a screaming match. Maxine swore that when they got back to town, she would personally hug and kiss every referee in Youngblood, because she had no idea how they did it.

Eventually, it all came to a head on the eighth day during a stone-faced lunch. Maxine ate quietly, picking away at corned beef and cabbage while Taylor and Rea greedily guzzled down their bowls. After swallowing a billiard ball-sized mouthful, the redhead slammed her bowl down and let out a deep, guttural belch that would have been over the top in a kid’s movie.

“Jesus, Rea—you ever hear of table etiquette?” Taylor scoffed, nose crinkled in disgust.

“Oh, you want to talk etiquette? Let’s talk about how you can’t chew with your mouth closed,” Rea sniped at the shorter girl. “My beagle has better manners than you do!”

 

[Vongola27]

Maxine sighed, “Girls, come on, it’s nothing to fi—”

Taylor cut off her friend and focused solely on Rea. “Yeah? Then why do I have to keep cleaning up around the couch whenever you’ve finished snacking there? I could build a sandcastle from all the crumbs you leave, you goddamn slob!”

Rea’s cheeks turned red as her hair as she gave a sharp poke to Taylor’s stuffed gut and told her, “How about all the junk you leave lying around after your midnight snacks? If you love this place so much, maybe take better care of it!”

“It’s really not that bad,” Maxine muttered under breath. She was trying to maintain her composure, but the vein popping in her forehead said that this was a losing battle.

“At least I’m being productive instead of turning into a couch potato, cow tits!”

“The hell did you just call me, butterball?”

Suddenly, Maxine slammed her hands down on the table top with all the force of a sledgehammer, silencing the two girls as she glared at them with more fury than they had ever seen from her before. The Amazon glowered at Taylor and Rea with such intensity that she could have melted the snow outside with a single glance. Her companions cowered in their seats as she loomed over them, daring the duo to start bickering under her watch again.

“I have had it up to here with you two,” Maxine growled as she held her hand up to her forehead. “You’ve been at each other’s throats for the last few days, and I am absolutely fed up with it. I can’t get a moment’s peace between cooking and trying to make sure everyone’s happy!”

“Sorry, Maxie,” Rea mumbled, unable to look her girlfriend in the eyes.

“Not as sorry as I am,” the Amazon growled as she stepped away from the table. “If I had known you two would act like a couple children, I would never have suggested this trip!”

Maxine stormed off to her and Rea’s bedroom and returned soon after in a thick coat, snow boots, and a woolen hat. As she slid on a pair of gloves, she told her companions, “I’m going outside to dig a way out of the snow because I’m sick of waiting for the plows and listening to you two fight. You need to kiss and make up by the time I get back, or so help me God, I will tie you both to a tree tonight.”

“Yes, Maxine,” the two rivals answered softly.

With that, the bulbous brawler threw open the front door and pounded away at the wall of snow until she had created a slight slope to freedom. Taylor hefted herself out of the nook and quickly closed the door before all the heat got out, and then turned back to Rea with fire in her eyes.

“This is all your fault, you know,” the shortstack hissed at the redhead. “If you hadn’t been such a gross pig, we wouldn’t be having this discussion!”

“Excuse me? You’re the one that decided to pick a fight,” Rea scoffed at her accuser. “You’ve had it in for me ever since Maxine and I started going out—don’t deny it!”

Taylor clenched her hands in fists of rage and replied, “I won’t. If you didn’t stick your nose in our business, it would be just me and Maxine up here having the perfect winter vacation! And now, just because I’m not some bimbo with cheese curds for brains, she won’t even look at me!”

Rea sarcastically pouted and wiped away fake tears as she retorted, “Boo-fucking-hoo. Sorry, but last I checked, you and Maxine were never a thing; hell, you were never going to be a thing! Why would she go for a fat little troll like you over me and my wonderfully fat ass?”

At that point, all Taylor could see was red. She lunged at Rea, who, still bloated from her lunch, could only fall back in the nook and put her hands up in defense. That did little good for her, as Taylor grabbed her by her hair and yanked her, kicking and screaming, from the nook. Rea tried to strike back at the squat girl, but her assailant was quicker and pulled Rea’s sweater up over her head before slapping her pasty belly with enough force that she left a glowing handprint.

“Call me a little troll, will you?” Taylor growled as she tugged Rea back to the pantry. “I ought to bash your head in with a poker, but you’re so thick, it’d probably just bend it.”

Once they were inside the pantry, the infuriated girl threw her rival down on the cold floor and tugged her sweater up even higher, to where her head was just starting to pop through the collar. Taylor then tied off the garment, thus pinning Rea’s arms over her head, blinding her to the world, and leaving the full expanse of her pale torso exposed. She reached out and gave a sharp pinch to the girl’s blossoming love handle, digging her nail into the butter-soft flab and eliciting a squeal of pain from her rival. Finally, she had her right where she wanted her.

“Can’t see what Maxine sees in you,” Taylor groused as she slapped Rea’s belly from side to side. “But if you’re so proud of your fat ass, let’s give you something to be really proud of.”

“Wh-What do you—mmph!”

Rea was silenced by a hunk of Spam being shoved in her mouth. The salty, savory meat was too much after stuffing her stomach at lunch, but Taylor was quick to pinch her nose shut and ensure that she ate every last bite. It was eat or suffocate, so Rea slowly chewed up the canned meat and was only allowed to breathe when she swallowed the mouthful. She had little time to rest though, for her assailant was soon emptying a can of fruit cocktail past her lips.

“How about I dump every last can in this pantry down your throat, lard ass?” Taylor sneered as she cracked open a can of tuna and scooped it into Rea’s mouth. “Does that get you off?”

The redhead gurgled in response, unable to do anything but eat whatever Taylor deigned to feed her. It was a horrible experience: blind, bound, and pinned by her rival; fed cold canned goods; belly aching with fullness. The worst part was that despite all of those factors, Rea truly was turned on by the force feeding. Her heart raced as a peculiar warmth filled her—the same warmth usually reserved for nights with Maxine and a tub of ice cream. She squirmed as best as she could under Taylor, pained and pleasureful groans coming from her lips.

Curiously, the feeling was mutual. Taylor licked her lips as she watched Rea struggle beneath her, gulping down mouthful after mouthful and packing her stomach to the point of bursting. She had never felt anything like this nor even dreamt of such an event, but this was one of the hottest things she had done in a long time. It would be so easy to toy with Rea some more and push her to her very limits, with all the cans they still had left. Why, imagine if she could feed every last bite to the redhead—Rea would be fatter than she and Maxine combined! It was such a tempting, pleasant thought…but in the end, it was just a thought.

After feeding a can of peaches to her rival, Taylor undid the knot in Rea’s sweater and helped it back down over her globular middle. The redhead was bleary-eyed and punch drunk, and she opened her mouth as if expecting another can. Taylor bit her lip and held back a moan of delight before telling her, “I’m going to clean this up. Go take a nap on the couch. This never happened.”

“Never…happened,” Rea burbled as Taylor helped her to her feet and over to the couch.

The brunette gently sat her rival down on the cushions before continuing, “When Maxine gets back, I’m going to tell her that we hashed things out and you decided to stuff your face again. We’re going to go home soon, and when we get back to Philly, we’re going to act like normal, got it? If I find out you’ve spilled the beans to her, I’m going to feed you so much that your stomach pops.”

“Mmm…beans,” the dazed redhead murmured before passing out.

By the time Maxine came back, Taylor had cleaned the pantry spick and span and returned to her familiar spot at the nook, where she worked on her fantasy booking. The falsified situation was explained to her and, satisfied, Maxine left to change into a set of fresh, warm clothes. Taylor occasionally glanced over to Rea and blushed when she saw the redhead’s sweater ride up over her gut, revealing a balloon belly that she helped inflate.

On the ninth day, the plows finally made it up the mountain and cleared the area around the cabin—at least, what little Maxine had been unable to dig through herself. Good thing too, because they had officially run out of food by then, having made it through the weirdest Hanukkah Maxine had ever experienced.

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 64

A week before Christmas, it was time for the match that Maggie Torres had been dreading the last several days—the holiday match with the Rodeo Twins. It was the last show before Dare-Devil Wrestling took off a couple weeks for the holidays and they were going out with a bang, putting on a stacked card full of blowoff matches and setting up feuds for the new year. The battle with the Twins would be one such match, as the Wild Roses would suffer a humiliating loss that evening before staging a comeback in January. Maggie would have preferred to do without the ‘humiliating’ part, but that was her ego talking; if she had her way, she would be holding all the titles at that point.

The match started with a pre-recorded segment that claimed to be happening at that very moment. A Christmas party was taking place backstage and all the usual merrymaking was in full display: people trying to get kisses under the mistletoe, singing Christmas carols wildly out of key, and comparing ugly sweaters. Carmen and Molly Hill, the Rodeo Twins, were the hostesses of the party, though they were far from the center of attention; if anything, people were having fun despite them. The girls were catty brats who loved to flaunt their wealth and status, and everyone knew that the party was just one more excuse for them to boast.

“Hope everyone’s having a good time,” Molly, the slightly shorter of the two, told the partygoers. “No expense was spared in getting this together! We know none of you could afford any of this, so enjoy it while you can!”

Carmen, taller and leaner, added, “Don’t forget to try the chocolate fountain—it cost more than Jack Nelson’s car!”

The two broke into a fit of haughty laughter, much to the annoyance of everyone around them. Their laughter came to an abrupt end when someone in the crowd, “This party sucks and you know it!”

Carmen’s snide smile turned into a sneer as she searched the crowd for the person that dared to insult her. Molly barked, “Who’s the dead girl that said that?”

The crowd parted to reveal Maggie Torres and Sharon Goode standing by the snack table and glaring holes through the Rodeo Twins. Sharon, in playing to her more sensual character, had slid into a leopard print dress that hugged every inch of her voluptuous body and gave a boost to her already impressive curves. Maggie, on the other hand, did not look quite as flattering in her red tights and long-sleeved halter top, for the tights could only get halfway up her bubbly beer belly and the top ended just beneath her chunky chest, which left a good few inches of belly exposed and overflowing her tights. The two could not have looked any different if they had tried, and the difference was only growing wider by the day, thanks to Maggie’s overindulgence.

“Right here,” the Latina snarked at the hostesses. She munched on a blini covered with caviar before tossing it over her shoulder while her face contorted into a grimace of disgust. “If you’re going to blow hundreds of dollars on a party, the least you could do is serve some good food.”

“And drinks,” Sharon chimed in. The bespectacled redhead took a tip from a wine glass before puckering her lips and spitting out the pricey beverage. “I wouldn’t even serve this wine to my dog!”

“How dare you!” Molly shrieked at the upstarts. “You have the audacity to come to our party and insult us to our faces?”

“You’ve got some nerve, rookies—and we hate nerve,” Carmen snarled.

Maggie glowered at the angered champion, picked up the bowl of caviar, and dumped it on the floor. She threw the empty dish aside and sneered, “Then you’re really going to hate us.”

That was all it took for Carmen to lash out at Maggie. The fashionable brunette whipped her hand across the Latina’s face with such force that it sounded like a shotgun, but that was just the beginning of the assault. Before her opponent could react, Carmen speared her onto the table and punched her again and again and again. Sharon quickly threw a drink in the assailant’s face, but she was taken out by an elbow to the face from Molly. Despite attempts by other wrestlers, no one could break up the brawl, so enraged were the Rodeo Twins.

Thanks to Sharon’s efforts, Maggie was able to wrestle free from Carmen’s grip and hurled a plate of Oysters Rockefeller at the haughty hostess. She followed this up by punching the brunette in the stomach, which gave her a chance to catch her breath before assisting Sharon. Grabbing Molly by the hair, Maggie yanked the shrieking blonde away and slammed her face-first into a tureen full of gazpacho. She dunked her once, twice, three times before tossing Molly aside like a wet paper towel.

“You want to keep going? We could do this all night,” Maggie taunted, though her heavy breathing said otherwise. Her thick gut puffed in and out like a bullfrog’s throat as she tried to compose herself and look intimidating at the same time.

Sharon, ever the professional, was quick to pick up her partner’s slack. She reached down and wiped her glasses on Molly’s prone body as she told the champions, “Can’t throw a good party, can’t take a hit…makes me wonder why you girls are even champions at all.”

That lit a fire in the fallen duo. Carmen scrambled to her feet and headbutted Maggie in her jelly belly while Molly grabbed Sharon by her heels and yanked her off the ground. The champions whaled on the upstarts, showing a vengeful, furious side that had helped them secure the titles some months prior. Every time the Wild Roses tried to make a comeback, the Rodeo Twins had an answer for them and responded by pummeling them some more.

Eventually, the ragged Roses were able to escape their tormentors’ clutches and scrambled out of the party, but they did not get far before the twins caught up with them. They brawled down a long hallway that led out to the ring, at which point the pre-recorded footage ended and the rest of the scrap unfolded in front of the live audience. Though the footage had been shot a few days prior, the girls had all managed to maintain continuity, right down to the specks of gazpacho stuck to Molly’s hair.

The twins took their opponents around the ring in opposite directions, with Molly and Sharon going clockwise and Carmen and Maggie running counter that. Molly slammed a dazed Sharon against the ring steps, post, and apron, while her sister bashed Maggie’s head into the mat and dragged her along the canvas until clocking her against the post. When the sisters met, they hoisted the Wild Roses up in front of them like shields and ran them into each other before allowing them to crumple to the ground like limp rag dolls.

“We’re not done with you yet, you uncultured swine,” Molly berated the tag team as she grabbed Sharon by the hair and pulled her to her feet. Carmen followed suit with Maggie, and they tossed their opponents into the ring. “I thought you could do this all night!”

“Bite me,” Sharon spat, which earned her a slap to the face.

The Wild Roses tried to get back up, but the Rodeo Twins were quick to slide into the ring and put a stop to their efforts. Carmen intertwined her legs with Maggie’s as she spun her over onto her belly and wrenched them back while she leaned back until she was nearly sitting on the diva. Molly, meanwhile, sat atop Sharon’s back, locked her arms around the girl’s head, and yanked back until the redhead was howling with pain.

They held the battered, screaming contenders for a moment before Carmen looked over to her sister and told her, “Molly, phone.”

While still keeping Sharon’s head wrenched back, the brunette pulled her phone from her pocket and tossed it to her sister. It only took Carmen a second to pull up the contacts and find just who she was looking for. In a sugary sweet voice, she asked, “Frieda? It’s Carmen. Bring us two—no, three pairs of handcuffs, a funnel, and the rest of the eggnog from the party. Chop-chop now!”

It only took a moment for Frieda, the Twin’s kayfabe assistant, to run out to the ring with a handbasket full of the items Carmen had requested. Both girls quickly dragged their beleaguered opponents to opposite corners in the ring and shackled them to the ropes—Maggie having both hands cuffed while Sharon only had one. The dazed Wild Roses were slapped around until they were more cognizant, but could do little in the hands of the vengeful Rodeo Twins.

Carmen held up the funnel and the eggnog—contained to a gallon jug—for the audience to see before crouching down beside Maggie and tauntingly asking, “Hey, Margarita, you want a drink? Only the good stuff for our friends in Dare-Devil Wrestling.”

 

[Vongola27]

“Puh…piss off,” the weary diva spat at her tormentor, despite the fact that she absolutely wanted a drink. She could not believe she had been talked into such a humiliating, demeaning beatdown like this. It was so one-sided! How was anyone going to take her and Sharon as a credible threat to the titles if they could be whupped so easily?

“Now, that’s not very nice,” Carmen chided Maggie before forcing the funnel in her mouth. “Let’s see if we can’t teach you some manners, gutter trash!”

With that, she tipped the jug up to the lip of the funnel and poured it straight down Maggie’s gullet. She caught the faintest hint of the creamy concoction and was relieved to find that the producers had at least sprung for some quality eggnog with rum mixed in. At least she would get a buzz before this was all over. Since she had nothing better to do, the Latina guzzled down the boozy mix, though she pretended to hate every second of it.

While Maggie was being funnel-fed eggnog, Molly gripped Sharon’s chin and hoisted her up so she could jeer, “See that? There’s your precious Margarita, and you can’t do jack to help her! All you can do is watch as we teach her a lesson she won’t ever forget!”

Sharon was a little too distracted to pay Molly much mind—how could she, when the sight before her was so tantalizing? For the last few months, she had increasingly unusual dreams about her tag partner, and this seemed like it was ripped straight from the Land of Nod. To see Maggie so helpless as she was filled to the brim with a drink that was thousands of calories sent shivers down her spine; the only way it could have been better was if she were the one doing it. This beatdown had been her idea, a way to compromise with the bookers, and she was pleased to see it work out as well as it did.

The audience, for their part, chanted, “Chug, chug, chug,” as Maggie gulped down more and more eggnog. It was not quite the reaction she was hoping for, but then, what else were they supposed to do? At least they were not shouting ‘this is boring’—the diva’s ego might not have been able to take that. She tried to drown out the jeers from the crowd by focusing on the task at hand, which was fitting an entire gallon of eggnog in her stomach in one sitting.

“Hey, how’re you holding up?” Carmen whispered as she leaned in close. “Pull on your right cuff if you need me to lighten up.”

Maggie had taken far more punishment than this when it came to drinking, so she shook her head and continued her rebellious act. She might not have enjoyed her position in this ‘match’, but she was going to prove to Connie and everyone else in the locker room that she was a team player. If this was how she was going to get ahead in the company, then so be it.

As the seconds ticked on and on for what felt like an eternity, Maggie became less sure of her capacity for the creamy Christmas concoction. Her stomach felt tight as a drum and heavy as a bowling ball, yet she still swallowed mouthful after mouthful, filling every nook and cranny in her gut. She had purposefully avoided eating much, knowing what she would be asked to do, but there was still far more than she had accounted for. It was not long before it felt like every inch of her body was full of eggnog, from her toes all the way to her brain. Her arms hung slack above her, feeling more like sacks of concrete than anything else, and she doubted that she could move her legs. A small part of her wondered if this was how her cousin felt at the end of a huge meal…the fat pig.

Another reason for her sluggishness was just how much rum she was consuming with the eggnog. Maggie had requested that they make something strong for her, but just as she had failed to account for the richness bloating her up, so too had she disregarded the effect of so much booze in one sitting. Not that she planned on driving after this, but she would definitely need Sharon’s help for the rest of the night, right up to getting to bed.

Eventually, Carmen tapped the last of the eggnog out of the jug and tossed it out of the ring before looking over her handiwork. To say that Maggie Torres was a hot mess was putting it mildly: her mascara was running, cream trickled from her lips, and she had turned a distinct shade of pale. More than that, her stomach had ballooned to new proportions and forced its way out of her leggings, a bright red ring where the waistband had bitten into the flabby gut. She looked and felt like an expectant mother, but at least this discomfort would be gone well by the next day.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Carmen told the dazed Maggie as she nudged the girl’s bloated belly with her foot. “Maybe you’ll think twice about crashing a Rodeo party ever again. Molly, leave the keys—we’re out.”

The shorter twin shrugged and dropped the keys for the cuffs just inside Sharon’s reach. She spat at the angry redhead and sneered, “Next time we see you, you’re not going to be so lucky, loser!”

The Rodeo Twins quickly slid out of the ring and sauntered backstage as the crowd jeered them every step of the way. Sharon could have given chase but her main concern was making sure that Maggie was all right, both in and out of kayfabe. She knew that her tag partner was a lush and could drink like a fish, but even a fish has its limits—and judging by how Maggie looked, she had hit hers. The diva had been in a bad way many times before, but never quite like this.

“How’re you feeling, Mags?” the redhead whispered to Maggie while she undid her cuffs.

The drunken gurgled incoherently in response before lolling her head around and muttering, “Como Dios…es mi testigo…nunca volveré…a beber…ponche de huevo.”

“Completely understandable,” Sharon replied softly. “Come on, let’s get you to the back and get you cleaned up before we head home.”

That was easier said than done, as Maggie was in no condition to move. Every inch of her body felt sluggish and weighty, as though she was full of wet sand. Even if she had the strength to move on her own, her belly was stretched so painfully tight that the slightest motion made her feel like she would split in two—and after the humiliation of this segment, the last thing she needed was to pop like a zit in the middle of the ring. Sharon did not have the strength to move her deadweight partner on her own, so she beckoned for assistance from backstage by crossing her arms in front of her and was soon answered with a referee jogging out for back-up.

Between the two of them, they managed to heft Maggie up and wrap her arms across their shoulders before dragging her out of the ring. The fans they passed by marveled at the absolute state Maggie was in, with a bold few even reaching out to poke and prod at her gravid belly. The lush Latina was in no condition to push them away, so she begrudgingly accepted their observations of her globular gut, knowing that this was better than them booing. That was the one conscious thought she clung to as she slipped into a drunken stupor; at least people did not hate the segment.

When the girls finally made it backstage, they were greeted with applause and cheers from the rest of the roster. The wrestlers and crew parted like the Red Sea as Maggie, Sharon, and the referee made their way over to a nearby chair, awestruck at Maggie’s condition. Once the drunken diva was seated, they crowded around her, showered her with praise, and prodded her stomach much like the audience had before. Still, the heaps of praise that were thrown her way lifted Maggie’s spirits, even if she was in no condition to understand them.

Eventually, the Wild Roses were approached by none other than Connie Nelson—the woman that Maggie blamed for her current condition. If she could have, she would have spat up on the booker’s feet, but the best she could manage was a bleary-eyed glower. Sharon, ever the voice of reason, looked to the older woman and asked, “So, Connie—how’d we do?”

“Above and beyond, kid,” the grandmother answered with a grin. “I wasn’t expecting Maggie to get that whole gallon in her, but damned if she didn’t! We’ll talk more details after the holidays, but I think you girls just earned yourselves a title shot.”

Hearing those words brought a dazed smile to Maggie’s lips, knowing that all of this nonsense would be worth it if she got a taste of the gold. Sharon squealed excitedly and hugged her bloated partner, making sure to avoid pressing on her belly. Both Wild Roses received claps on the back, especially from the Rodeo Twins, as if to apologize for the rough treatment from earlier.

After Maggie had a chance to rest and catch her breath, the girls went home, though not without a parting gift from Connie. They were sent packing with a Christmas ham the size of an over-inflated rugby ball, despite Maggie’s drunken declaration she would not eat until the new year. Sharon knew better though, and she could already see herself serving it to her increasingly flabby partner…

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 65

“All right, folks, up next is ‘Hog Wild’ Ramone taking on the reigning North American Champion, Roscoe Beck, right here in Madison Square Garden! Ramone has been chasing Beck from town to town to try and claim that title, and tonight might just be the night. If he can do it, this will make Ramone both the North American Champion and Superheavyweight Champion—a feat no one else can lay claim to in the Global Wrestling Federation. And now, our competitors are coming down to the ring, and just listen to this max capacity crowd, folks!”

The crowd in the Garden were on their feet as the two champions made their way to the ring. Roscoe Beck was a former boxer and had a lean, wiry physique that helped him dance across the ring like a discotheque. His jet-black hair was slicked back like a movie star and his lantern jaw was held high as he looked down on everyone he passed by. He walked down the aisle in a glistening, fur-lined robe with all the pompousness of a king. Jeers rained down from on high, but he paid them no mind; after all, why should one concern himself with the rumblings of the common folk?

What he was more concerned about was his hippo of an opponent. When Lou Ramone made his way down to the ring, the people around him swore that the floor shook with every step of his tree trunk legs. There was plenty of room in the aisles for two grown men to easily pass by each other, but Ramone was so wide that his hips brushed against the arm rests. He looked less like a man and more like a boulder with arms and legs, all done up like a greasy biker. His dark hair was thick, curly, and fell past his ears, and he had a matching horseshoe mustache. All of his clothes were custom, from his jeans to the vest that read ‘Hog Wild’ on the back, and any ordinary man would be swimming in them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this next match will determine the undisputed North American Champion,” the announcer declared from the center of the ring. “To my right, we have the current champion—from Seattle, Washington, weighing in at 235 pounds, Roscoe Beck!”

Amidst a chorus of boos from the crowd, the announcer continued, “And to my left, his challenger and current Superheavyweight Champion—from Santa Fe, New Mexico, weighing in at 600 pounds, ‘Hog Wild’ Lou Ramone!”

The audience cheered as one of the largest men to ever grace the squared circle held his fists high and hopped from foot to foot. Ramone and Beck were of a similar stature, but the Superheavyweight Champion was a balloon compared to the former boxer; even those who had seen a sumo match in Japan had never witnessed a man as large as him. Every time he was due to appear in a town, folks would line up to see him, because unlike the fat men and women of the sideshow, Ramone could move with the best of them. Any doubters were to be proven wrong as soon as the bell rang…

***​

“God, I love old school entrances like this,” Mickey Ramone told her boyfriend and manager, Ray Valdez, as she watched one of her grandfather’s matches. “No pomp and circumstance, no flashy lights except from the ringside photographers, and no pyrotechnics. All you need are two guys coming in from opposite corners of the arena, and you’re golden!”

“Yeah, they just don’t produce these shows like they used to,” Ray replied as he refilled a snack tray at his hefty honey’s side. “Want me to get you a refill on soda?”

“Si tu fueras tan amable,” Mickey cooed as she offered up her glass and a peck on the cheek.

As the supersized wrestler went back to her review and tossed some chips in her mouth, she scribbled down a few notes in a nearby book full of info she had gleaned from her grandfather’s matches. She had been researching superheavyweight wrestlers of the past and present to get an idea of how such massive men could move around the ring. If she wanted to bring back the title that her grandfather had held three times throughout his career, she needed to know everything there was to know about being a 500 pound performer. She needed to learn fast, because she was already well on her way to that lofty weight class and would likely overshoot it by the time she made her return.

While Mickey was still nowhere close to her grandfather’s size, she was still one of the largest women in the wrestling business—assuming she was actively competing. Ever since she stepped away in order to lay low and put on the weight required to meet the weight requirements for the Superheavyweight title, La Princesa Violenta had put on three hundred pounds of blubber. She had kept to a strict routine of diet and exercise that had enabled her to remain fat and strong as she ballooned to epic proportions, packing on a pound per day on average. That average had crept up to nearly two pounds a day, and no matter how much exercise she did, she still felt enormously, tremendously, unbelievably fat.

Mickey had never been a skinny mini, but she had always been fit and limber; now, there was not a single slender part of her body. A collar of flab hid her chin and neck from view, and her cheeks were so full that she always looked like she had something in her mouth (which was not far off from the truth). Her shoulders were similarly padded, which spread down to flabby arms that were wider around than her thighs had been and meatball hands with sausage fingers. It had taken some time, but her breasts were nearly as big as her head once was; regular exercise had kept them from getting especially large, but they also stayed much perkier than they would otherwise.

Like so many other women in her family, Mickey had proven quite bottom-heavy as she piled on the pounds, so much so that she wondered if she would be able to squeeze through an aisle when she got to her grandfather’s weight. She had grown so wide that she required two chairs to sit comfortably at the kitchen table, though Ray had promised a better solution at some point. At least she had a pillowy backside to make up for anything lacking in her seats, as both cheeks were bigger than fully inflated beach balls. They hung over thunder thighs that rubbed all the way to her knees, which only remained visible thanks to her expanding calves.

Her pride and joy remained her stomach though, which she and her lover often snuggled with like a stuffed animal. The mass of spongy flab had stayed mostly intact throughout the gain, though a fold had begun to form around her belly button in the last few weeks. It hung so low that it completely covered her sex, which might have impacted her Ray’s love life, but only in the sense that they were experimenting a lot more in the bedroom. In fact, Mickey could even sandwich her lover with her stomach, which was far more pleasurable than either of them could have imagined.

Even if she were not under contract to reach the weight requirement for the title belt as soon as possible, she would have been fattening up as fast as possible since she loved the feel of it so very much. She had been a longtime fat admirer, and though she had some fears earlier in her gain, the immense woman had taken to this experience like a fish to water. Every inch of her body was so soft and pliable like dough, and it felt heavenly to give herself a squeeze; it was even better when Ray showed her how much he enjoyed her new curves. If she had known being this fat would feel this good, she would have fattened up years ago, management be damned.

On this Christmas Eve though, her mind was all on business as she researched her grandfather’s matches. Mickey knew that larger people in wrestling, whether in height or weight, were relegated to being brutes that could take a lot of punishment but almost never left the ground. While she knew that her agility and speed would take a hit from the sheer mass and volume she was accumulating, she refused to believe that she would have to cut her arsenal back to the very basics. If nothing else though, it gave her all the more appreciation for the work her grandfather had put in.

***​

In 1967, the Superheavyweight Champion was locked in a bitter struggle against the North American Champion, with neither one willing to give even an inch to his competitor. Roscoe Beck was far nimbler, but no matter what he did, nothing seemed to faze the lumbering giant that was Lou Ramone. On the other hand, the zeppelin of a man could barely get his hands on his wirier opponent; even when he did, Beck always found a way to slip free. They were evenly locked, trading blows time and again as they gauged each other’s strengths.

It was far from the fast-paced matches of the future, but the fans in attendance sat on the edge of their seats throughout the battle. They cheered when Ramone managed to get ahold of Beck, booed when Beck slithered free, and winced whenever he managed to pop the biker in the face. Even in the black and white footage, it was clear that Ramone’s head had been busted open, as blood trickled down his face and into his mustache. Nothing could stop the bulbous bruiser, and he retaliated by slamming his knee into Beck’s chest over and over until his opponent was a crumpled mess on the ground.

Once Beck hit the mat, Ramone had him right where he wanted him. The hefty man dragged him over to a nearby corner, grabbed the top rope, and then dropped down with all the force of a falling anvil. The crowd cheered as he did this once, twice, three times before Ramone eventually settled for sitting atop his broken foe as though the North American Champion was nothing but a stool. That might have been the end for lesser men, but not for Roscoe Beck, who became champion with a broken leg. He slammed his cinderblock fists into Ramone’s flabby sides again and again, until the superheavyweight was forced to stand up once more…

 

[Vongola27]

“No, don’t let him get up! You’ve got him right where you want him!” Mickey cried out at her computer as if her voice would travel through space and time to a match twice as old as she was.

While her grandfather’s opponent got his second wind, the Latina crossed her arms around her chunky chest and grumbled in discontent. She knew the outcome of the match, certainly, but that did not make it any easier to watch; if anything, it made her antsier, as she had to wait for this moment to pass or that spot to occur. It was matches like these that made Ray glad he was in the other room, wrapping presents and preparing food for the following day—when Mickey got into a match, she really got into it, and there was no calming her down until the end.

Eventually, Mickey calmed down enough to refocus on the match in an analytical fashion, not some angry fan. There had been several holds at the beginning of the bout, with her grandfather locking Beck’s head in while the boxer tugged on Lou’s hair. As the action picked up, Lou would weaponize his bulk by bouncing Beck off the ropes and into his belly or slamming him into a ring post with his boulder of a stomach. This worked both ways though, as the nimbler Beck would duck around her grandfather or, in one case, leapfrog over him, which would send him tumbling to the mat. The North American Champion would go for a pin, but Lou always found a way to roll out of it, though he could never pin his wily opponent underneath his girth.

“Maybe if I incorporated a bigger variety of holds,” Mickey mumbled while snacking on another handful of chips. “Of course, I’d also have to ask permission to use them unless I modified them.”

Being an innovator, Mickey did not want to be seen as a copycat, even though the wrestling landscape was full of imitators. There were some moves that were old as time itself and used by dozens of people, but there were so many that were intrinsically tied to specific wrestlers. The trick would be in adapting a move so that it was recognizable yet added a fresh twist, which could turn out very well or very poorly. At the same time, she needed to consider just how she would make some moves work with her blimp of a body, since she was no longer as limber and supple as she used to be.

It had been months since she had been able to touch her toes, though not for lack of trying. Mickey regularly stretched as part of her routine, but there was only so much she could do with all the blubber packed onto her body. If she tried to touch her toes, she would only wind up bunching up her stomach while she went face-first into her cavernous cleavage; even when she tried while sitting, she was impeded by the pile of pudge in her middle. It was a damn good thing that she did not have to bend over backwards or spider-walk in her new role, or she would be in big trouble.

No, her biggest concern was getting her new gimmick over with the fickle audience that was the GWF Universe. It did not take much for wrestling fans to shit on something new: some gimmicks were dead on arrival, with fans either loudly voicing their displeasure or, worst of all, being stone silent. Mickey had always gotten by on being bold and brash, rallying against the system everywhere she went and willingly throwing herself into danger, but would the audience take to her gain? Fans loved to see old titles revived and a little splash of legacy never hurt, but she needed to hit it big with this or else she would be up the creek without a paddle or a boat.

The biggest stipulation in her gaining was that, if this new angle did not prove successful, then Mickey would be shipped back down to one of the developmental territories until she lost the weight. That was assuming that the higher-ups decided to keep her on at all; knowing how sizeist the Ericsons could be, she had no doubt that they would screw her over in some fashion. It was honestly surprising that Dave, who was so fatphobic that he had stripped Shinobu of the title just because she had gotten a little plump, had kept to his word and allowed Mickey to continue with this experiment. He was probably waiting to the last minute before yanking the rug out and ripping up her contract, the prick.

“What am I worried about? I’m Mickey Goddamn Ramone,” La Princesa Violenta assured herself as she scarfed up a greedy handful of chips. “If they think I’m too fat, who cares? I love the way I look, and there’s plenty of other people that will too!”

All the evidence she needed for that was in the end of the match, which was fast approaching…

***​

Buck had thwarted all of Ramone’s attempts to grab hold of him, but even a hummingbird gets tired eventually. Though he had peppered the behemoth with several jabs and boots, the Hog Wild superheavyweight refused to go down and pulled from a deep well of stamina to stay on his feet. He lumbered around the ring in search of an opening, biding his time as his opponent tired himself out with constant escapes and attacks. Eventually, the former boxer slowed down just enough for Ramone to grab a hold of him, and the rest was history.

Ramone took Buck by the wrist and slung him into one of the ring posts before slamming into him like a runaway truck. Then, he grabbed the North American Champion by the thigh and throat and hoisted him high into the air. The audience gasped as Ramone held Buck aloft like a strongman would a barbell, and then burst into cheers as he dropped the boxer to the floor like so much trash. And just for good measure, the burly blimp jogged across the ring like a charging hippo, bounced off the ropes, and ran back to Buck with a fire in his eyes. The 600-pound man then leapt into the air like a whale breaching the surface of the sea and slamming down on the prone buck.

The referee hit the mat once, twice, three times, and that was it—Lou Ramone was the new North American Champion! The crowd roared as the new champion climbed to his feet and held his arms high, standing triumphant and basking in the adoration of his public. When the referee presented him with the title belt, which looked like a child’s toy in his hands, Ramone kissed the gold plating and displayed it for all to see. After a long year of chasing the title across the country, crossing thousands of miles by land and air, he did the unthinkable and became a double champion.

***​

Mickey squealed with glee and clapped along with the audience as her grandfather celebrated in the ring with his manager and a few fans that jumped the barrier. The picture of him flying through the air was still up at her mom and dad’s house, as was the shot of him kissing the belt. Watching him achieve victory filled the punk princess with familial pride like nothing else, and it made her wish that she could have known Lou as more than just a photograph and video.

“Did the good guy win?” asked Ray as he returned with more chips and a bowl of queso.

“Hell yes, he did,” Mickey replied with a giddy grin. She happily accepted the new snacks as she rewound the match to Lou’s finishing body slam, which elicited a low whistle from Ray.

“I’m surprised the ring didn’t break under him,” the manager remarked as he watched the spectacle play out. “You ought to hold onto that and save it for when you win the title.”

The lardy Latina shook her head while scooping cheese dip onto a stack of three chips. “Come on, baby, you know that’s not me. I don’t just want to rip off my grandfather’s moves; I’m bringing his title back, but I don’t want to seem like the next ‘Hog Wild’.”

Ray shrugged as he nuzzled up against his blubbery beauty. “Maybe so, but we’re talking about a moment that happened fifty years ago—one that holds a special place in your family’s history. If you can’t homage the past then, when?”

Mickey mulled over the suggestion as she munched on her cheesy chips. It would be a great way to honor her grandfather, but would the audience see it as her trying to capture lightning in a bottle? There was too much at stake; she needed to be careful how she presented herself.

“I’ll think about it,” La Princesa told her boyfriend. “Thank you for the chips, amor.”

“No problem, campeona,” Ray replied with a kiss on her chubby cheek.

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 66

After her ribs were broken in a disastrous segment on Monday Night War, Katherine Donna needed at least a month off to recuperate, and with it being so close to the holidays, it just meant more time at the old homestead. Her parents welcomed her with open arms, having prepped her room just so she would be able to recover in peace. Despite how much it hurt to do even the simplest tasks, Kat tried to look on the bright side—namely, that she was going to have a longer reprieve than usual this Christmas. The holiday season might have been a little slower than usual for the GWF, but that did not mean they stopped at all; the wrestlers were spared only a few days off, which was a more recent trend.

And for the first few days, things were nice! Relatives popped in to say hi, spend some time chatting, and making her feel a lot better than she did when she first got home. It also helped that everyone brought delicious goodies with them, from Uncle Terry’s famous chocolate peanut butter cookies to Aunt Ruth carting in a bulk box of swiss cake rolls. The lion’s share of treats came from her cousin Cassandra, who had plenty of free time while on winter break from grad school. Cass always had something tasty for her ‘favoritest cousin’, often handmade desserts that were out of this world.

“Well, when I started cooking more for myself, I had to learn my way around a kitchen,” the plump girl had explained. “I learned some amazing low-fat recipes that don’t skimp on the flavor, if you can believe it! Don’t worry—we’ve got plenty of time to try them out.”

When Kat heard that, she had assumed that there were just a handful of recipes in her cousin’s repertoire; after all, how many tasty and low-fat recipes could there be? As it turned out, plenty, for Cass brought over at least two or three dishes of dessert with each visit, each more heavenly than the last. Sometimes, it was sweets like brownies or buckeyes; other times, it was savory little corndogs and monkey bread. Whatever came out of Cassandra’s tote bag was guaranteed to be delicious, as Kat’s stomach could attest to.

The wounded wrestler did not have washboard abs when she came home, but all her stuffings on the road had not prepared her for being surrounded by food 24/7. Kat found herself eating constantly throughout the day: her three square meals had become gut-busting affairs, and the time between each was filled with snacking and grazing; if she could creep around easily, she might have even gone for midnight snacks. While she had occasionally eaten herself uncomfortably full during her travels, her appetite was taken to a whole new level now that she was back home. It would have been a scary thought if she paid it any mind, but Kat was in hog heaven now that she wanted for nothing.

“I can just work this off when I get back to the ring,” the blonde reasoned with herself while fixing a BLT that went heavy on the B. “Besides, Nancy said that I need to focus on taking it easy, so that’s just what we’re going to do—just take it nice and easy.”

That was true: in order to make sure her ribs recovered properly, Kat needed to make sure she did not overextend herself; even if she wanted to, she could not exercise. Given how much her sides ached, especially the first few days, she was very much inclined to put her feet up and kick back as much as she could. While she had been taking it easy on her work-out routines before this injury, the formerly fit girl was taking her laziness to a whole other level—not that her family helped matters.

“No, no, don’t get up, sweetheart; you can put the hooks on the ornaments, if you want,” her mother, Brianna, told her as they prepped the tree.

“I’ve got it, champ,” her father, Paul, said as he gathered firewood in the backyard.

“Looks like you need a little more eggnog. Let me get that for you,” Cassandra offered while they vegged out on the couch and watched a corny Christmas movie.

Kat was happy to take it easy over the holiday month, but there was no denying that such a pampered lifestyle was having an expansive effect on her already soft body. Weeks of decreasing gym time had caused her fit figure to atrophy, and any weight she lost in muscle was quickly replaced by butter-soft pudge. While she was chubby all over, the pounds preferred her top half, which made her look fatter than she truly was. The uninitiated would be forgiven for not knowing Kat Donna had once been a fitness model; if anything, she looked like the ‘before’ model in a diet ad.

She always had a round face, but the new weight had given her chipmunk cheeks and a faint, permanent double chin. While her arms had never been muscular, they were at least slender and toned; now, they were soft to the touch and looked more like tubes of dough. Some might have been envious of her cantaloupe breasts, but for Kat, a former high school athlete, it was a new and uncomfortable feeling. Having to constantly upgrade her wardrobe around her expanding chest was aggravating, but the worst feeling was the tug of the hefty globes and how they made her shoulders ache. At least her stomach, as big as it was getting, did not offer such frustrations; instead, it offered plenty of its own to balance out.

The gut, for it was neither small nor cute enough to be considered a tummy, stuck out on her like a sore thumb and nearly escaped the overhang of her breasts. It could not be contained by waistbands, which meant Kat had to let the lump of lard flop out and become even more pronounced. She could feel it quiver when she walked, and she had to fight the urge to readjust her tops every few feet, no matter how much she thought they clung to her jelly belly. This also meant that she needed to be careful about reaching for things or bending down, lest she allow her shirts to ride up and expose her thickening love handles.

Despite knowing that she had a weight problem and receiving a reminder of it every time she looked in the mirror, Kat always believed that she could fix this at some point—she just had more important things to worry about. When she bounced her stomach in her fingers, she swore it would shrink when she got back to work; when she gripped her rump and wobbled it around, she reasoned that it would burn right off just as soon as she hit the road. What she never did was think about what she could do to curtail her gain in the meantime, like think of a proper exercise routine or, even better, a healthier diet. No, that was a problem for Future Kat; Current Kat was not going to stress herself out.

Besides, it was not like her family treated her any differently or got on her case about her weight; in fact, it would be downright hypocritical. Up until recently, Kat and Natalie had been the fittest people in their entire family, with some of their extended relatives even reaching the lofty ‘3-0-0’. While it was true that Kat had packed on a few pounds over the last few months (if 35 pounds could be considered ‘a few’), she was still one of the thinnest at their gatherings, even though she was unintentionally doing her best to catch up.

The only person that really cared about Kat’s weight was Cassandra, who had to fight back a sinister smile every time she saw her cousin straining her clothes. Once the ‘fat girl’ of the family, Cass had been on a crusade to lose weight and catch up to Kat and Natalie so that neither one could make fun of her ever again. She worked her tail off and managed to shed a hundred-odd pounds over the last couple years, but seeing how much her least favorite cousins had plumped up in the last few months felt so much better. Fueled by that schadenfreude, Cass decided that she would take measures to make sure her role was replaced by her cousins—and since Natalie kept skipping the recent get-togethers, that meant she was taking her frustrations out on Kat.

Cassandra had been plying her cousin with sweets and treats ever since the two of them got back home for the holidays, squeezing in time to see her “favorite” Donna Twin almost every day. That in of itself would be a problem for Kat’s waistline, but what no one knew was that Cassandra had discovered a dirty little secret about the once sporty superstar. Not only was Kat so weak-willed around food that she dutifully ate whatever was handed to her—she also seemed to go into a trance whenever she was given large portions. Cass had witnessed this firsthand at Thanksgiving, when her cousin quietly and hoggishly grunted and snorted her way through three platefuls of home cooking.

So far, in the two weeks since Kat came home, Cass had not seen her act this way, but she had to believe that it was lying in wait. All she needed was the right opportunity, and Kat would be eating out of the palm of her hand. That opportunity arrived on Christmas Eve, when the family got together for a Chinese take-out feast before going back to their homes and reconvening for Midnight Mass. As everyone exited the service and went their separate ways, Cassandra reached out to her curvier cousin and smiled sweeter than a candy cane.

 

[Vongola27]

“Hey Katty, you know what would be fun? A sleepover, just like we used to have,” the slightly younger girl suggested. “We could watch movies, have some cookies, and stay up till morning!”

Kat might have passed on such an idea, but only if she had her sister for company. It felt so much lonelier without Natalie around; it was a good thing that Cassandra had come home for the holidays, or she would not have known what to do with herself. Since the Lowerys lived just down the street from the Donowitzes, Cass had spent a couple Christmas Eves with her cousins, watching movies and late night TV when they could not sleep from all the excitement. Maybe a trip down memory lane would help shake Kat from her holiday blues.

“Sounds great, Cass! Just like old times,” Kat replied with a grin, not knowing what her vengeful cousin had in store for the night.

***​

After they had cleared everything with their parents and Cass arrived at her house, Kat changed out of her church clothes and into some comfy pajamas—or what had once been comfy pajamas. The pants were stretched tight around her plump rump, and the Looney Tunes shirt she had worn for years could no longer cover her belly completely. Since she was not trying to impress anyone, she thought nothing of the exposed tummy flab and simply let it hang out.

Kat wobbled her way to the upstairs rec room and found Cass already there with two TV tables waiting by the couch, but there was not a cookie in sight. Instead, the leftover Chinese food had been arranged on a couple trays, and Kat could have sworn they put more of a dent in it than this. There was enough food for four people, easily.

“Um, Cass? I thought we were going to do milk and cookies,” the Donna Twin remarked as she walked towards the couch.

“Yeah, but I had a real hankering,” Cassandra replied. “Besides, doesn’t it smell good still?”

It did smell good, and that was the problem. Kat had been trying so hard to avoid zoning out in front of her family, but she did not trust herself around a spread of MSG majesty. It had taken all her willpower to avoid pigging out at dinner, though she managed to persevere through it. Surely she could hold out for just a little longer, right? Cass had point in that they did not need to eat everything, and Kat would have to hold onto that.

“Fine, but just make sure you stay away from the sweet and sour shrimp,” the wounded wrestler chuckled as she took a seat. “I swear, I could eat that stuff all day and not be tired of it.”

That was a poor choice of words on her part because, unknown to her, Cassandra had been taking careful note of everything her cousin had eaten earlier in the evening. Kat had managed to avoid making a pig of herself at dinner, but there was no denying that she had her favorites and went back for seconds of each. As such, the shrimp joined the pork fried rice, General Tso’s, and lo mein on Kat’s side of the trays while Cassandra kept the healthier options closer to her—not that she intended on eating much of anything.

Unfortunately, it was the shrimp that proved to be her undoing. Distracted by idle chit-chat with Cassandra and the hokey movie playing in the background, Kat mindlessly gobbled through a plate of shrimp and rice down to the last grain. She went back for seconds without hesitation, scooping some lo mein onto her dish and tearing into it as soon as she settled back against the couch. Her meager willpower crumbled against the take-out takeover, and she was soon shoveling food in as fast as she could. At least she had the good grace to use her utensils, but she still speckled her shirt with sauce and grease like a slob.

“Good, isn’t it?” asked Cassandra, who had mostly picked at her plate and nibbled on the occasional vegetable. “Want some of mine?”

“Yesh,” Kat grunted, her mouth full of rice as she snatched up her cousin’s plate.

Cass gleefully gawked at the display of piggishness before her. While Kat was never prim and proper, she always had some etiquette to her, but all of that had gone out the window in the pursuit of filling her stomach. Her theory had proven correct—that all she needed was a little push, and the blonde would turn into a human garbage disposal. Now that she had Kat right where she wanted her, it was time to take things to the next level.

“Be right back, Katty—I’m going to get some more water,” Cass fibbed as she skittered out of the room, completely ignored by her cousin.

Left alone with all the food, Kat was free to let her inner glutton out with aplomb. She piled her plate high with food and dug in with reckless abandon, shoveling meat, rice, and noodles past her lips until her cheeks were full. Her brain had switched to a single track, and all she could think to do was eat until it finally told her to stop—assuming it ever did. Everything was so good, it was impossible for her to resist! And if it was so good, why should she ever stop?

Cass walked back into the room to the cathartic spectacle of her once athletic cousin tilting a Styrofoam container up to her lips to get the last specks of food and sauce contained therein. It was crazy to think there was a time when Kat and Natalie used to give her extra food they did not want to eat; that same Kat was now eating better than a fat woman in a sideshow. The only thing that made it even better was how much the blonde’s belly had ballooned over the course of the meal. The plump globe had expanded like a balloon on a helium tank, and it sat on her lap like a bloated lump of dough—useless and round.

“Time to make it even bigger,” Cass mumbled to herself before speaking loud enough for Kat to hear her. “Hey, Katty, you know what would be fun? Let’s check how much we weigh!”

“Don’t wanna,” the gluttonous girl retorted. “Eating.”

“Would you do it for an egg roll?” asked Cassandra as she revealed a bowl of egg rolls she had hidden behind her back. “There’s plenty for you if you can make it to the bathroom!”

At the sight of the tube of fried goodness, Kat’s eyes sparkled with hoggish glee and desire. That was the only thing missing from her Chinese feast—a nice, savory egg roll or three. With the promise of more delicious food, Kat rocked herself off the couch and plodded sluggishly towards Cassandra, her eyes never once leaving their prize. Cass stifled a laugh at how her formerly limber cousin labored after her, waddling along with a ball belly like a pregnant woman, and she wondered how much damage she could do before they both went back to their lives.

After being led to the guest bathroom, Kat walked up onto the scale that Cass had pulled out in advance and gobbled up an entire egg roll while waiting for her weight to register. Her mind was a million miles away as the digital counter pinged at her; all she could focus on was the bowl of egg rolls and the food that was waiting for her in the rec room. She vaguely registered Cassandra whistling in amazement before the rest of the bowl was put in her greedy hands.

“Okay, Katty, you can have the rest,” Cass told her with a sly grin. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” Kat snorted as she waddled back down the hall to enjoy the rest of her feast.

Cassandra whipped out her phone and took a quick picture of the scale’s reading before it vanished. There, in black and white, was a big, fat ‘184’. In just a few short months, Kat Donna had put on over fifty pounds of sloven fat, transforming herself from a viable contender to an overfed cow of a girl. The icing on the karmic cake was the number Cass got when she stepped on the scale and it came to ‘170’—a loss of thirteen pounds since Thanksgiving.

“I can’t believe it,” the formerly fat girl marveled quietly, holding back a shriek of glee that would have woken the neighborhood. “I’m thinner than Kat Donna!”

Cass never thought the day would actually come, but she was no longer the fat cousin between herself and Kat. All those long hours of exercising and the countless meals where she restrained her appetite had finally paid off. More than that, her cousin was on the fast track to taking her place as the butterball of the family if her gluttonous display was anything to go off of. The only thing that would have made this moment even better would be if she could rub it in Kat’s face, but it would never have gotten through the fog of food that clogged her brain.

“I’ve still got a couple weeks before I go back to school,” Cassandra reasoned as she made her way back to the rec room and caught a glimpse of Kat double-fisting eggrolls, both dripping with duck sauce. There was still plenty of time to cement her cousin’s transformation into an out-and-out hog and get some well-deserved payback for years of mockery…

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 67

Natalie Donna wished she was back in Milwaukee. She used to think that it was lame to spend so much time with her family, but she would have given anything to be chatting around the Christmas tree, eating Chinese food, and singing Christmas carols at Midnight Mass. All of the things she used to hate and roll her eyes at seemed so much brighter and delightful, and she wished that she could have been spending her holiday there. But perhaps that was just the chains talking.

The night before Christmas Eve, her tormentor and sadistic lover, Sadie Storme, had stuffed her to within an inch of popping; telling her that Chinese food was a Christmas tradition in the Donowitz house was a terrible mistake. Natalie passed out with the taste of sweet and sour sauce still on her tongue, the Land of Nod being the one place she could escape from Sadie. Unfortunately, she was roused before long and woke to a blindfold over her eyes, her wrists and ankles in cuffs, and cream being spread across her aching stomach.

“Sadie? What t-t-time is it?” the drowsy Donna murmured.

“The clock just struck midnight, Notapig,” the devious blonde replied as she continued her gentle ministrations across the bloated dome that was Natalie’s gut. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready for the fun day you’re about to have.”

Natalie could only imagine what Sadie had planned for her while they had some time off for Christmas, and what she envisioned frightened her. Ever since the conniving woman had sunk her claws into the naïve diva, she had introduced Natalie to a world of humiliation and pleasure unlike any other. She had done things—on film, no less—that she could have never dreamt of doing before, and was rewarded each time with a mind-shattering climax. All these games had done a number on the Donna Twin, whose old stuttering issues had resurfaced as her self-esteem took hit after hit from her tormentor—to say nothing of what was happening to her waistline.

When Natalie discovered the world of feederism, she let her diet and exercise slip until both became nonexistent after Sadie lured her in on Halloween. She was already soft in the middle before that fateful night, but once her stable leader had total control of her, the diva had expanded to sizes she never imagined herself reaching. Unlike her sister, whose gains favored her upper body, Natalie’s pounds pooled in her lower body, starting with a ball belly that had begun to droop under its own weight like a drop of water. Her hips were rounding out with saddlebags that made her look like she was perpetually wearing jodhpurs, and her thighs squished together almost entirely to the knee. She did not fare much better in the back, as her rump had ballooned to pumpkin-sized proportions.

Worse than being forced to wear clothes until she popped out of them, watching the numbers of the scale tick higher with each day, or watch her toned body deteriorate further was that Natalie loved it. Her descent into this lifestyle had started when she went spying on Sadie for Maxine, who had ballooned while under the blonde’s thumb. It used to boggle her mind that anyone would willingly let themselves get so fat so fast, but after spending nearly every night with Sadie, Natalie could see why. For as cruel as she could be, the leader of the Storme Troop was a hell of a lover and made her want to get even fatter, so long as it meant more attention from her.

“What are we d-d-doing t-t-t-today?” Natalie whispered.

“We won’t be doing anything,” the blonde answered as she rolled a gelatinous love handle in her fingers. “You’re going to have three visitors today, piglet—three girls who are looking forward to playing with my pet hog. I want you to be on your best behavior for them and do whatever they ask you, understand? If I hear you’ve displeased them at all, there will be consequences.”

The threat was punctuated by Sadie digging her nails into Natalie’s tender flab, eliciting whimpers from the chubby diva. She did not need to be reminded of what the blonde bully meant, as she had been on the receiving end of many a punishment thus far. Her stomach still ached from the time she had to guzzle down two gallons worth of ice cream the last time she had failed Sadie.

“I won’t d-d-disappoint you, S-S-S-Sadie,” Natalie squeaked. “I’ll be a good p-p-p-pig.”

“I know you will, Notapig,” Sadie hummed. After she finished applying the cream to Natalie’s belly, she slid off the bed and told her pet project, “Now, I’m going to head out on the town: I found this really cute MILF whose desk job has made her ass balloon, and she wants a little company. You just get some rest—your first visitor should be here in a few hours. Ta-ta, piggy!”

Natalie oinked softly in reply, glad to have a little reprieve before whatever was to come. Unlike Maxine, she did not care that Sadie was a philanderer who spent her nights on the town; she welcomed those times when she found a plaything, since it meant she would not be stuffed until dawn. More concerning to her was the prospect of the three visitors she was to expect, because she had some notion about who they were, but not what they were capable of.

***​

The first one to drop by was Lora Rose, a woman Natalie had once considered a friend but who actually bore a deep resentment towards her like so many others. Natalie had made the mistake of sleeping with Lora’s boyfriend a couple years prior, and while she thought the Appalachian had forgiven her, Lora had never let go of that betrayal. Once she found out that Natalie was free game for humiliation, she jumped on the bandwagon of tormenting the doughball diva and assisted in fattening her former friend.

“Come on out of the bathroom, Natty,” Lora called out from the hotel room proper. “The sooner y’all get started on this, the sooner y’all can finish this. Sooie!”

“C-C-Coming!” Natalie meekly replied before slowly making her way out of the bathroom.

The Donna Twin that waddled out was a completely unrecognizable from the bold diva that used to strut out on Monday Night War in skimpy outfits more befitting of a lingerie model. Besides the dozens of pounds she had piled on over the last few months, Natalie was dressed in a neon pink leotard that might as well have been painted on, leather sleeves that completely cover her arms and most of her legs, and a face mask with a built-in nose hook. Atop her head was a pair of fuzzy pig ears, and nestled deep within her backside was a vibrator that ended in a curly tail. There was not a single shred of class or dignity in her look; instead, Natalie looked like a very specific kind of fetish model.

“I do declare, ya make a mighty fine sow,” Lora chuckled. The brunette had changed into a pair of Daisy Dukes that were short enough to leave the pockets exposed, a plaid shirt that was tied off underneath her perky chest, and a broadbrimmed straw hat. “Y’all just need one last touch. Get down on yer elbows and knees, and put’cher hands on yer shoulders.”

Natalie did as she was instructed, slowly lowering herself down to the floor and resting herself on her elbows and knees. The sleeves had built in pads around the joints, so she was not especially uncomfortable around those spots; instead, she was discomforted by the odd sensation of her belly drooping down. Lora crouched down beside her and buckled her arms together, forearm to bicep, and proceeded to do the same thing with her legs. The diva could feel her heels pushing into her thigh fat, but could do nothing about it, just as she could not stop Lora from pinching the expanse of her cheeks.

“Just look at’cha,” Lora hummed as she jostled Natalie’s flabby body, poking and prodding at pudge where there had been none mere weeks before. “Y’all almost look good enough to eat. Got plenty of bacon on ya, that’s for damn sure.”

She had no idea how she had gotten to this point, but Natalie did not have the capacity to worry about her predicament. Between Lora shaming her and the vibrator rumbling inside her, the Donna Twin’s brain was frying like an egg; it was all she could do to keep herself propped up. If this was any indication of how her day was going to go, she might not make it through in one piece.

After finishing her inspection of the blimpy bombshell, Lora stood back up and remarked, “Well, yer mighty hefty, Notapig, but ya still need a few more pounds if’n yer gonna win the blue ribbon. Good thing I brought just the thing for a growin’ girl like yerself.”

‘Just the thing’ turned out to be a small trough full of cheesy grits with sausage and bacon mixed in. The smell was intoxicating to Natalie and, after crawling over on her bound limbs, she dove in headfirst and began to scarf it down. Not only did she want this humiliation to end sooner rather than later, but she was also just that much of a glutton.

 

[Vongola27]

It took her a couple hours to get through the grits, especially since Lora refilled the trough time and again whenever she got near the bottom, but Natalie made it through. Once she finished, Lora undid the buckles around her arms and legs, but that was all the help she was going to get from her jilted friend. After stripping off the pig suit and removing the vibrator, which nearly made her collapse, the bedraggled diva crawled into bed for a fleeting nap. Her rest was painfully brief though, as her next tormentor arrived not two hours later.

“Notapig, you stand accused of vanity, whorishness, harassment, and most recently, gluttony. How do you plead?” asked a regal and resplendent Dame Elizabeth Knox, done up like Queen Elizabeth I, complete with broad collar and gown. Ridiculous attire, sure, but it did not hold a candle to Natalie.

The disgraced diva had a black hood over most of her head, though her mouth was left visible. Her portly frame was somewhat covered by a burlap sack that only just reached the top of her thighs, which left everything below the belt exposed. She had been made to kneel on the ground while her head and hands were locked into a wooden stockade that Elizabeth had used from time to time in her gimmick. The goofy thing used to make her chuckle, but now, Natalie could find nothing funny about it.

“G-G-Guilty? Not? I d-d-d-don’t know what you want me to say,” Natalie whimpered as she wriggled around, bare bum bouncing behind her.

Elizabeth sneered at the quivering girl and waltzed behind her to deliver a sharp smack to her rump. “You are so very guilty, you little tart, and you must be punished.”

“P-P-Punished?” asked the captive diva, but her tormentor did not reply. Instead, she waited until something sweet and rich wafted under her nose; despite everything surrounding her, she could not help but drool over the delectable scent.

“This, Notapig, is sticky toffee pudding with vanilla custard,” the domineering Elizabeth explained while she slid a forkful of the cake into Natalie’s mouth. “Quite good, isn’t it?”

“Delishush,” Natalie hummed around the mouthful.

“Good, because your punishment is to eat sticky toffee pudding until you pop,” Elizabeth sneered. Before her plaything could reply, she grabbed the slice of cake and crammed it into Natalie’s open mouth, smearing crumbs, sauce, and custard around her lips.

It was at this point that Natalie was sure that she was dreaming. There was no way any of this madness was really happening to her; as much as the girls backstage would love to humiliate her, they would never go to such insane lengths. She would wake up at some point in her hotel bed with an empty belly and a note from Sadie to stuff herself at the intercontinental breakfast downstairs. And if this was a dream, then she might as well try to enjoy herself, no matter how demeaning it might be.

“F-F-Feed me,” the disbelieving diva murmured as she licked her lips clean.

“As you wish, Notapig,” Elizabeth sneered while preparing the next of several cake slices, “but what does the piggy say?”

With her heart pounding in her chest, Natalie let out a throaty, well-practiced, “Oink-oink!”

***​

By the time her last captor arrived, that was all the bedraggled butterball could say. Natalie ate pudding after pudding until she could not eat another bite, though not for lack of trying; by the time she stopped, it felt like she was full all the way up to her throat. She was given another brief reprieve before the last visitor made it, but she did not even make it back to the bed this time. As soon as she was released from the stockades, the diva slumped onto the floor and promptly passed out—her one comfort being a pillow Elizabeth slipped under her head.

“Mewosamasu, buta,” commanded Anzu Bonny, the woman who hated her most.

When Natalie opened her bleary eyes, she found that she was lying on the bed again but was naked from head to toe. She could feel hooks pulling her nose up again, the sting of clamps biting into her sensitive teats, and the tug of ropes all across her body. Her arms were yanked behind her back while her legs were spread wide, and a quick tug revealed that her hands were tied off to her ankles. The cords dug into her stuffed stomach and flabby thighs and forced her breasts up and out, but her attention was more on the knotted portion of the rope that rubbed against her aching sex. It was the most surreal torment she had endured in some time and only cemented the notion that this was nothing but a bad dream.

“Just look at you,” Anzu mused as she loomed over Natalie and ran her hand over the diva’s thick curves. “To think that there was once a time I was afraid of you. I should thank Elizabeth and Lora for getting you prepped for me; I just hope there’s still room in your gut for more food. By the time I’m through with you, Sadie might not even recognize you.”

“Umf,” Natalie grunted while she wiggled around on the bed, her mind fraying a little more with each movement. “Oink-oink!”

Anzu cackled like a witch at the sight of the woman she despised most brought so low. “So many times, I ran and cried because of all you’d say and do to me. You always said I’d never amount to nothing, that I should just pack my bags and go back to the rice paddies. To think that I used to be afraid of such a pathetic loser like you; I must have been out of my mind.”

The vengeful woman’s hands explored every inch of Natalie’s bare body, squishing and prodding her like she was testing a piece of meat. The sensations rolling through Natalie had her eyes rolling back as she struggled for words—not that she could say much if she found them. Being toyed with for hours on end by two of her rivals had left her mind a tattered mess, and the thought that all this was just a dream only made it easier to let sanity drift away.

“You’re soft as mochi, but still not big enough for my liking,” Anzu decided while squeezing a handful of Natalie’s rump. “I have prepared something very special to put some pounds on you, buta. Would you like to see what I have in store for you?”

Natalie nodded as drool trickled out her open, expectant mouth. At this point, she did not care what she was fed—all that mattered was her belly be filled. “Oink-oink!”

Anzu slinked away for only a moment before returning with a keg. She fixed a tube to the tap and slid it into Natalie’s mouth, at which point she began to pump. The diva was surprised to find that it was a sort of gelatin being pumped down her throat, and it had a strong coffee taste to it. Regardless of what it was, she greedily gulped it down while she let out a muffled squeal of delight.

“You like the coffee jelly, do you, Notapig? I thought you might,” Anzu remarked with a sinister smirk. “Now, just so you don’t get bored, why don’t we put on something? I know—how about a playlist of your greatest moments in the GWF? That should be hilarious, at least for me.”

Natalie was too detached to register her old self slinking across the screen, her toned body a sight to behold and a testament to a healthy diet, steady exercise, and not giving into temptation. The woman on the television was a far cry from the fattened hog that guzzled down gelatin to sate her gluttonous appetite. If the old Natalie could only see what she would become…

***​

An alarm blared to Natalie’s right, but she was too weak and groggy to reach it. Thankfully, Sadie was there to turn it off for her, though she quickly returned to her laptop. The drowsy diva groaned as she fought the urge to drift back to sleep and asked, “What t-t-time is it?”

“A little after 8,” Sadie answered, her eyes not leaving her computer. “I figured you should get some rest after yesterday’s events.”

“Yesterday? B-B-But yesterday was the T-T-Twenty-third,” Natalie murmured as a sickening realization dawned on her. “T-T-T-Today’s C-C-Christmas Eve, right?”

Sadie turned in her chair, allowing Natalie a glimpse of what was on-screen, and she gawked when she saw herself bound with rope and squealing giddily. The blonde sneered, “Why, it’s Christmas Day, Notapig. And the girls all agreed—you were the best Christmas gift they could ever ask for!”

 

[Vongola27]

Christmas Morning should have been a quiet, restful time for Mickey Ramone. She ought to be able to sleep in with her loving boyfriend, have breakfast at her own time and pace, and spend several hours in her pajamas. Not only was it a holiday—it was also her birthday, and she should have been able to spend it however she wanted. Most years, she would have taken her sweet time with the day before heading over to her parents’ house for presents and dinner. This was not most years though, and Mickey was experiencing one of those rare moments where she regretted her decision to chase after the Superheavyweight Championship.

“Estúpida aspiradora,” the butterball growled at her vacuum as it died out for the third time that morning. “Tienes que dejar de mamar, y empezar de succionar!”

“Cursing at that isn’t going to make it work any better, babe,” Ray called out from the kitchen, where he had been most of the morning.

“Métetelo por el culo!” Mickey retorted before giving the vacuum a sharp kick. When it sputtered back to life, she begrudgingly continued cleaning up the remnants of her midnight snack.

The reason for the cleaning was because, unlike the normal Christmas routine, Mickey was having her parents over to her place. Part of it was to make sure she remained as incognito as possible while she gained, but also to make up for missing Thanksgiving Day, and there was no way they would not celebrate their not so little girl’s birthday. Thus, La Princesa woke herself up at the ungodly hour of 7 AM on Christmas Day and got to work cleaning up and making sure the apartment was spick and span. She knew it was going to be rough, but she had no idea how taxing it would be trying to shift her ponderous body around to clean as much as she could.

Mickey wiped a thick forearm across her brow and fanned herself as she vacuumed. The apartment was not especially warm, but all the blubber swaddling her body bumped the temperature up a few degrees. As such, the wobbly wrestler was bedecked in a tank top that was the size of a garbage bag and shorts that could have fit two of her before this experiment began, and she was still sweating like a pig. Her chubby cheeks were flushed red and she took a long drink of water before continuing with her chores, but all she could think of was being done so she could sit down.

“Mick, do you want me to take over for a bit? I whipped up a snack for you if you need a break,” Ray offered as he exited the kitchen.

To the outside observer, one would be forgiven for thinking that Raymundo was the wrestler in his and Mickey’s relationship. He had been steadily dropping weight and working out as his lardy lover grew bigger and fatter by the day, and it had gotten so eight months in, he looked like a completely new man. His flabby gut had been traded for a stout barrel chest, his chunky arms had tightened into firm biceps, and he no longer waddled with a penguin-like shuffle. On top of that, he had been letting his hair grow out for the last few months and now sported a thick, curly mane and scruffy beard.

“No, no, I want to do it,” Mickey insisted, even though she felt like she could melt at any moment. “I need to work on my endurance if I’m going to be a credible contender when I come back. And if I can’t handle some housework, how are people supposed to think I’m championship material?”

“Princesa, it’s Christmas and your birthday. If ever there was a day you could take off, it’d be this,” Ray hummed as he crossed over and patted her on the hip. “Let me give you a hand.”

Despite her determination to prove that she was capable of cleaning her own apartment, size be damned, Mickey melted at her lover’s touch. The couple had never been chaste before, but ever since La Princesa began her plan, they had been unable to keep their hands off each other for long and had spent many a day going at it like rabbits. One would think that all this time together would mean such rampant love-making would get boring after a while, but as Mickey expanded throughout the year, they had plenty of new options to explore. Just the night before, she had capped off the evening by wrapping her cantaloupe breasts around Ray’s member and bringing him to completion—something she could not have done even a few months prior.

“Just let me spoil you today,” Ray cooed in her ear while his fingers slid into one of her belly rolls and gave it a squeeze. “You can always help out tomorrow.”

“But I wanna help now,” Mickey whined softly as she shut the vacuum off and let it rest against her. “I don’t want to be like some lazy housewife munching on snacks while her man does all the work.”

“Mick, you’re one of the hardest working women in show business. You’ve spent the last eight months building up a body that would take years for other people to cultivate. If anyone deserves a day off, especially on their birthday, it’s you,” the scruffy man reminded his lardy lover. He kissed her chubby cheek, took the vacuum handle from her, and whispered, “Grab a seat and I’ll bring you a little snack to get some strength back.”

Mickey shivered as Ray gave her blubbery love handle a wobble before acquiescing and waddling her way to their kitchen nook. It had once felt quite cozy, but as she grew to the size of a baby hippo, the pudgy punk found it getting smaller by the day. Once she crossed the 300 pound threshold, it became impossible for her to squeeze back into her usual spot, so she had to make do with sitting with her back to the living room—the widest part of the nook. On top of that, she now had to use two chairs to sit comfortably; she was not so large that she filled both to the max, but her rump could not be contained in a single seat.

“Wonder how long it’ll be before I outgrow this whole place?” Mickey asked herself as she took her seats while Ray finished up in the kitchen.

It was a question she had asked herself time and again as her gaining progressed over the course of the year. The life of a wrestler meant that Mickey did not spend a ton of time at her apartment, but she adored the little getaway; it had always been there for her when she needed to take a breather or rest from a real injury. Like her wardrobe though, she was fast outgrowing the two bedroom apartment, and she found herself thinking more often about what the next step would be. Should Ray and she spring for another, larger apartment—preferably on the ground floor, since stairs were becoming a monstrous obstacle? If they decided to go with a house, what should it be like? And perhaps the biggest question of all, how fat was she really going to get?

Mickey had reached elephantine sizes in a short time, and she still had a few months to go before she made her grand return. Her goal was to be the first Superheavyweight Champion in decades, but how long would she hold onto the belt? Would she stay this weight, lose it over time, or grow even bigger? That last thought made her tremble with excitement and she squirmed in her seat as she thought of getting too fat to move, much less wrestle. She still had a good few years in her, but it was so tempting to just let go and pile on the pounds until she was big enough to fill a ring.

“Someday,” she murmured to herself just before Ray set down a plate of eggnog French toast. As she tucked into the sinfully sweet dish, Mickey was certain of one thing—no matter how fat she got, she was going to have a damn good time getting there.

***​

After her mid-morning snack (which was more like a second breakfast), Mickey spent the next two hours getting herself ready for her parents’ visit. That might seem extravagant for most people, but for someone of her size, she needed all the time she could get to go through a standard routine. Showering was taking longer and longer by the day simply because there was so much bulk that she needed to scrub clean and she did not have the flexibility to reach much of her body. Then came dressing, which often required a second set of hands for the same reasons as showering, in that Mickey could no longer bend over quite so easily. At least she had some decent clothes she could squeeze into and did not leave her flab exposed—provided she barely moved.

The wobbly woman had poured herself into a lightweight blouse and sweater that just barely covered her belly; if she so much as lifted her arms, a sliver of caramel flab would peek out. That mammoth belly was bisected by her slacks, creating a thick roll that oozed over the waistband and a generous FUPA that pushed against the fly. The seat of the slacks was stretched tight around her rump, to the point that she could hear threads creaking with every ponderous step she took. She hoped that one of her gifts was a gift card for some new clothes, because she was in desperate need of some at the rate she was growing.

 

[Vongola27]

When noon rolled around, Mickey was the first to get the door when she heard the bell go. She brushed her dark locks back, checked herself in the mirror one last time, and then swung open the door with a joyous, “Feliz Navidad!”

“Feliz cumpleaños, Michaela!” Santigo and Elena Ramone crowed as they hugged their daughter as best they could. Between the two of them, they could reach their arms around her; alone, they would not have had a chance.

Santigo was a stout man with a jolly face and a full head of gray hair, while Elena was diminutive and lean, to the point that her daughter was almost four times her size. They had both once been in the wrestling business together, with Santigo competing in the Southern territories with Elena as his valet, but they had long since moved on. The father operated a game room décor business and spent much of his days putting together items like billiard tables, and the mother worked at a thrift store—respectable businesses for respectable folks. But though their time in the wrestling world was long past them, they had done all they could to support Mickey in her dream of making it big, quite literally these days.

“Gracias, Mama y Papa,” Mickey replied as she hugged her parents in return. She made a quick mental note of much she dwarfed them both before stepping aside and allowing them in. “You guys had a good morning so far?”

“Oh, fine, fine,” Elena answered as she hung up her jacket. “I spoke with Lora this morning, and she wanted to wish you a very happy birthday; she might stop by later with her gifts.”

“I’m sure she’ll also want a little break from the festivities at her house,” Mickey giggled, knowing full well how chaotic the holidays were at the Torres household. When she noticed her father had not yet taken off his jacket, she asked, “You planning on staying, Dad?”

Santigo grinned and explained, “Just need help getting something out of the car. Is Ray in?”

“Just finished putting something in the oven,” the man in question answered as he sauntered into the room while wiping his hands on his apron. “Merry Christmas, Santigo; merry Christmas, Elena.”

“My goodness, Ray, I barely recognized you!” Elena marveled. “I never pictured you as the bearded type, but it looks good.”

Ray blushed beneath his scruffy beard and replied, “Thanks. Not sure if I’m going to keep it after the holidays, but Mickey says she likes it, so we’ll see.”

“I think it makes him look more rugged,” his butterball girlfriend remarked before kissing him on the cheek. “Would you be a doll and give my dad a hand?”

“Of course,” Ray answered as he followed Santigo out the door.

When the two men left, Mickey glanced down and realized that not only was her mother carrying two bags of presents—her father had left two behind as well. She rolled her eyes and told Elena, “Mom, you really don’t need to get so much for Ray and me.”

“Of course I do,” her mother retorted as she made her way into the living room. “You’re our daughter, Ray’s basically our son, and if we want to spoil you, let us! Let an old lady feel some happiness by giving her kids tons of presents.”

“You’re barely over fifty, Mom,” Mickey sighed. Bending over to pick up the other bags was no easy feat, what with her belly bunching up in front of her, so the globular girl made do by tilting over at the side and grabbing them that way. She trundled behind her mother and set about distributing the gifts where she and Ray would be sitting—Ray in his armchair, Mickey on the loveseat that she almost filled to completion.

After all the presents were laid out where they should be, Mickey plopped down on the love seat and tugged on the collar of her sweater. She had no idea what had possessed her to wear a full sweater; no matter how low they set the temperature in the apartment, she was going to be steaming. Elena took note of this, as she filled a plate with snacks and passed it to her doughy daughter, along with a full glass of ponche.

“Mom, you didn’t need to do that for me,” Mickey meekly protested, though she still took a bite out of a marranito. “You’re my guest—if anyone should be getting food for someone, it’s me for you!”

“Nonsense, mi conejita gordita,” Elena hummed as she patted her daughter’s chubby cheek. “We only get to do this once a year, so you just put your feet up and let me treat you.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” the massive woman mumbled even as she filled her mouth with gingerbread. She liked taking it easy as much as the next girl, but she did not want to make a habit out of it. To take her mind off the fact that there seemed to be a concentrated effort to make her lazy, Mickey asked, “Can I get a hint on what the boys are bringing in?”

Her petite mother tittered, “You can’t wait a few more minutes, mija? So greedy, even after all these years. I’m surprised it took you this long to get so big, the way you used to sneak cookies and snacks when you were little.”

Mickey turned a fine pink at the gentle teasing from her mother. While she would not necessarily describe herself as greedy per se, she would be the first to admit that she could be impatient and want a little more. She distinctly remembered her sixth birthday party, where she wanted the biggest slice of birthday cake with the most frosting and then promptly getting sick when she ate it all. Her childish gluttony gave way to an exuberance and drive for wrestling as she got older, but with how much she had filled out over the last year, there was no denying she had fallen back on old habits.

“I’m just curious, that’s all,” La Princesa retorted. “I want to make sure you guys didn’t get us a big TV or furniture.”

Elena waggled her finger at her daughter as she sat down across from her and told her, “This is going to be the year where you learn the virtue of being patient, Michaela.”

“Spoilsport,” Mickey giggled before sticking her tongue out.

It did not take long for Ray and Santiago to return, and from what Mickey could hear, it sounded like whatever they were bringing in was heavy. She tried to crane her head around to the entryway, but that proved to be nigh impossible with how round she had become. The best she could do was wobble around until she sat sideways on the loveseat, and by that point, her boyfriend and her father had already marched into the room with their load.

When she saw what it was, she clapped her hands over her mouth and gasped. In their hands was a dark cedar bench with wrought iron arms and legs, just like one would find at a park. That alone would have been surprising enough, but Mickey’s shock grew even greater when she saw that burned into the back of the bench was her name, exactly as it appeared on GWE television. There was even a big red bow placed right on top, as if it were a Lexus in a Christmas ad.

“Is that for me?” Mickey asked as she all but bounced in her seat.

“Don’t see any other Mickeys around here, mija,” Santigo grunted as he shifted the bench around in his hands. “Ray told me about your set-up in the kitchen, and no daughter of mine should have to deal with discomfort when she’s eating.”

“First thing first though, we’ve got to get it into the nook,” Ray added through gritted teeth. Even though he had been getting stronger over the last several months, he was struggling to keep the bench up, though not as much as Mickey’s father, who had to take a break at the top of the steps.

When it became clear that the guys were having a hard time with the bench, Mickey sighed and rocked herself off the couch. She waddled over to Santigo and told him, “Papa, let me take care of this.”

“But it’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” Mickey sternly told her father, a deathly glare in her eyes. The older man relented and held on just long enough for his daughter to take over, only to be amazed when Mickey hoisted the bench without breaking a sweat. She helped Ray the rest of the way into the dining room and set the bench down before brushing her hands off and asking, “Now, who wants to open presents?”

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 69

After getting the bench settled at the kitchen table, Mickey helped fix some drinks and snacks for everyone before returning to her spot on the couch, her eyes darting to the presents at her feet. She might have been put off by her mother’s teasing, but there was no denying that she could be impulsive and impatient when she wanted. If it were up to her, the floor would already be covered with torn wrapping paper and discarded ribbons; there were no toys in the lot, but that did not stifle her childlike impetuousness. La Princesa managed to restrain herself though and bided her time, sipping on mulled cider and making idle conversation with her family as she waited for her turn to tear into her gifts.

Just when she started to drum her fingers on her thighs and thump her foot like a rabbit, everyone decided it was about time to open their presents. Thankfully, they could all go at the same time, which meant Mickey was unfettered and went through her stack of gifts like a whirlwind. She paused just long enough to reflect on each item and graciously thank either her parents or Ray, and then it was onto the next. Her sausage fingers made quick work of the wrapping paper, savagely ripping it apart and leaving a good stack by her feet without a care in the world.

“Just like when she was 10 and woke up at 4 in the morning,” Elena remarked with a smile.

“Ate all the candy in her stocking, was wearing all her new clothes, and put all her toys through the wringer, all before we ever got out of bed,” Santigo chuckled at the memory.

It was a good haul for the Ramones and Ray that year, from tickets to New York for Mickey’s parents to a collection of El Santo movies for La Princesa to exotic cookbooks for Ray. Mickey was also treated to a few new items for her wardrobe, which Elena insisted she show off due to how ridiculously big they were. Though she did not change into them immediately, the wobbly wrestler was more than happy to show how her parents could both fit into her new jeans, her dad in the left leg and her mother in the right. Her new dress was so large and flowing that it nearly covered her arm chair, and she would have been swimming in her new blouse if she was still the same size she was last year. Each outfits served as a stark reminder of how wildly obese she had become in so short a time.

Eventually, it came time for supper, and Mickey escorted her parents to the table while Ray got everything together. The plump princess was delighted to find that the new bench fit her perfectly and was far more comfortable than spreading out across two of her dining chairs. She wiggled about happily on her seat and told her father, “Dad, this is just fantastic! I didn’t have to go through the trouble of making this just for me!”

“For you, mija, it was no trouble at all,” Santigo replied. “I got the idea from your old tortilla press—that little wooden one I made for you when you were just una niñita. If you’re going to keep getting bigger, you’re going to want to be able to keep your seat at the table, and this should hold you until you get the title.”

“And I can’t wait to see that happen,” Elena sighed wistfully. “Your grandfather would have been so proud to see you carry on his legacy—and sticking it to your polla of a boss.”

Mickey blushed at the comparison to her grandfather, having wondered several times just what he would have thought of her new gimmick. It was an odd legacy to fight for, but it was her family’s, and by God, she would fight for it with everything she had. The only thing standing in her way was Dave Ericson’s narrow mind, and while she had followed their agreement, she did not trust him to uphold his end of the bargain. If she got any hint of their deal going south, La Princesa Violenta would live up to her name and remind Dave why no one ever screwed over a Ramone. She had never been afraid to stand up to a promoter before, and she would not cow down to the most powerful man in the business.

“Well, you know me—I’ve never been one to sit on my laurels,” Mickey admitted. “I don’t want to be one of those wrestlers that gets complacent and stays in the same role for their whole careers. And really, it doesn’t matter to me what the management thinks; I just care about the fan reaction.”

“They’re going to love you, dear,” her mother replied. She reached over and squeezed one of Mickey’s hands, silently marveling at how even that was plump. “You’ve been able to win over crowds everywhere you go; they care about you as a performer, not your looks alone.”

“Gracias, Mama,” La Princesa said softly, a sweet smile crossing her lips. While her cup ran over with confidence, it always helped to have reassurance from someone less impulsive than she, and to know that she had the support of her parents meant the world to her.

As the Ramones conversed about this and that, Raymundo brought out dish after dish from the kitchen until the entire table was covered. Mickey’s parents marveled at each dish as it was uncovered, amazed at the spread that lay before them. They knew that Ray loved to cook before this, but they had no idea he was this accomplished.

“Raymundo, you’ve really outdone yourself,” Santigo remarked. “Elena and I would have been satisfied with the basics, but you’ve got a smorgasbord out here!”

“Well, Mickey’s little experiment has given me a chance to really spread my wings,” Ray explained when he brought out the last dish—a large bowl of chicken pasole. “I’d be remiss if I just served her the same old things, so I decided I’d try a little of this and a little of that.”

“I keep telling him that he ought to open a restaurant,” Mickey chimed in while placing a pair of tamales on her plate. “His talents would be much more appreciated there than with the bookers.”

It was something of a joke, but there was also truth in what she said. Ray had never been a big man on the totem pole when it came to the booking committee in the GWF, and ever since he decided to stay home with Mickey, his role had diminished to the point that he was almost an afterthought. As much as Dave Ericson talked about how he appreciated people who worked hard and reached for the proverbial brass ring, the fact was that some people had ‘it’ and some did not—and in Dave’s eyes, Ray did not have ‘it’. The couple had talked about making a change when they got back to work, but until then, they would have to make the best of the situation.

“But enough talk about work,” Elena told everyone at the table. “We’ve got a lovely dinner here, and I’m sure I’m not the only one ready to eat. Mickey, be a dear and say grace, would you?”

Mickey nodded, reached out for Ray’s hand as she took her mother’s hand again, and bowed her head. Thoughts of the past year filled her head: how she had made new connections while still mostly cooped up at home; how she had seen her cousin break out in the business; how she had been given the chance to explore some of her deepest fantasies. While not everything had been stellar, she would not have traded the last eight months for the world; if anything, they just made her look forward to the next year that much more. There was so much that she wanted to say, but she was with her mother in wanting to tuck into the feast.

“Lord, thank you for this meal we are about to receive and all the blessings we have had this last year,” Mickey hummed. “For letting Ray be with me every step of the way, for letting me see my parents today, and for all you do to keep me strong as I grow, we thank you. But if you could find a way to get the title back on Shinobu, that would be great. Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone echoed, though not without a cheeky grin from Ray.

With the formalities finished, everyone dug in and ate heartily from the assorted dishes. Attempts at conversation were made here and there, but by and large, every person at the table was too enamored with the food to talk that much—none more so than Mickey. While she still maintained a sense of decorum around her parents, her months of overeating had ballooned her appetite to immeasurable proportions, causing her to make quick work of anything that hit her plate. La Princesa would not break any records for speed-eating, but the fact that she was able to maintain her pace throughout the entire meal was more than impressive.

Of course, Mickey Ramone was not simply a glutton who devoured everything that was put in front of her. Ray’s culinary experiments over the last year allowed her palate to expand with the rest of her body and gave her an appreciation for the finer parts of her meals. When she bit into some boneless ribs, she could pick apart and identify each spice used in the rub; when she had her fill of fruit salad, she could appreciate how fresh each ingredient tasted. As such, she let out little hums of delight throughout the feast—hums that would have likely been a bit more adult had her parents not been right next to her.

 

[Vongola27]

One by one, the Ramones and Ray put their utensils down and threw in the towel, but Mickey kept going as if she had not eaten more than all of them combined. While her folks had been around for various meals here and there since she started her gain, this was the first time they had ever seen her eat so much in a single sitting. It was a sight to behold, and while some might have been put off by La Princesa’s unbridled indulgence, Santigo and Elena were simply in awe.

“Goodness, mija, did you get a black hole put in your stomach?” asked Elena, her eyes dipping down to her daughter’s belly. Like a balloon, it had filled up over the course of the meal and now resembled a medicine ball in how round and full it was.

“Nope,” Mickey chuckled after clearing her throat with a swig of cider, “I’ve just been pushing that bad boy to its limits so much that it’s stretched out like a shirt.”

“Something tells me that you won’t really have to worry about leftovers after tonight,” Santigo chuckled while silently taking stock of how little food there was left on the table.

“We’ve stopped using that word around here,” Ray replied with a grin. “It’s been weeks since Mickey couldn’t finish everything in one sitting; even if she couldn’t eat it all right now, she’d just go back to it an hour or two later.”

Santigo let out a low whistle at that, amazed at how his little girl had grown up into a round all-rounder. It seemed that no matter what she did, she would always commit herself to it one hundred percent; nothing less would suffice. He had some reservations about this plan of hers when it first began, as any parent might, but after Mickey laid it out for him and Elena, Santigo came to accept it. She might have outweighed him two to one, but she was still the same Mickey that begged for wrestling lessons, gave more importance to her debut match than her quinceañera, and wore her tights under her graduation gown because she had a show to get to after the ceremony. Mickey had never done anything in half-measures; why should gaining weight be any different?

Big and voracious as she was, even Mickey had her limits and finally set her utensils down for the last time. She leaned back in her bench and rubbed her stomach through the sweater, gently working the stress out of the stuffed dome and helping her hefty meal digest. A gentle groan came from her lips which might have sounded like pain to the uninitiated, but for Ray, he knew all too well what that meant. The half-lidded gaze Mickey gave him only solidified the meaning, which meant that it was time for the Ramones to say farewell.

Thankfully, he did not have to kick them out, as Elena looked to her watch and remarked, “Oh, we’d best be on our way! I promised Lora I would stop by later to watch Love Actually.”

“Which means I’ll be watching a game in the other room,” Santigo added with a wink.

“Well, it was great having you over,” Ray replied, with Mickey nodding in agreement. He rose from his chair and offered, “I’ll help you get your gifts to the car.”

“Gracias, Ray,” Elena told the burly manager. The spritely woman wrapped her arms around her doughball daughter and pecked her on the cheek as she said, “Happy birthday and merry Christmas, mija. I hope you have a good rest of the day.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Mickey cooed, too full to wiggle around and return the hug.

Santigo gave her a hug goodbye as well, though not without adding a teasing poke to her stomach. “Enjoy the rest of your holiday, mija, but best take it easy—one more bite, and you’ll pop!”

Mickey rolled her eyes at the joke and swatted her father’s hand away with a smile. “I’m a big girl, Dad, and it’s going to take a little more than food to take me out.”

Once Ray helped her parents get their belongings together and led them out, La Princesa began the arduous task of getting to her feet. It might be hard for a layman to imagine such a simple feat taking any sort of effort, but for someone who had a veritable boulder stuck to their midsection, it could feel like a Sisyphean endeavor. Mickey had to rock herself back and forth to gain some sort of momentum; grabbing onto the table would only succeed in overturning the IKEA purchase, as had already happened once before. Thankfully, her bench did not scoot around like her dining chairs did, which meant that she did not have to worry about losing any ground in her efforts.

Finally, the mammoth girl rose to her feet and paused to catch her breath. She rested her hands atop the swell of her stomach and gazed down blearily at the empty table that lay before her. Between the four of them, they had managed to put away enough for eight, with Mickey eating the lion’s share. Her tongue slid across her lips, recollecting the myriad flavors that passed through during the bountiful feast and imagining just what all those calories would do for her.

“Oh, you are so very well fed, aren’t you?” she asked her stomach as she cradled it in her arms. It had grown out of control, like a flower bed left untended, and was now so big around that she could not hope to join her hands except at its peak. “You like to just eat and eat until you can’t fit another bite, not that you won’t try. Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

“I could say the same of you, cerdita,” Ray growled playfully as he slinked up behind his plush girlfriend and sank his hands into her hips. “I should have known since that cake back in September, but there really is no stopping you, is there?”

Mickey trembled at the touch and wiggled around in her lover’s grasp, which looked more like a balloon bobbing from side to side. She nodded guiltily, like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and replied, “No…I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.”

“And I’m sure that even after all that, you could probably still fit more in that big ball of flab you call a tummy,” her boyfriend teased, his beard tickling her tender skin as he planted a series of kisses on her neck that made her swoon.

“Always,” La Princesa moaned, her pent up desires coming out in throaty, dusky groans.

“Good thing I made extra just for you,” Ray whispered. As she trembled in his grasp, his hands worked their way around to the hem of her sweater and slowly dragged it up, exposing the thick roll of blubber oozing over her pants. He tapped at the straining button on her pants and murmured, “I’m going to make it so you can’t wear these pants ever again.”

Mickey felt like she might collapse as her lardy legs turned to jelly. She reached a hand back and stroked along Ray’s bearded cheek, cooing, “Feed me, Ray…I want you to make me so fat that no clothes will ever be able to fit me.”

“Como desées, mi amor,” Ray hummed. He gave her one last kiss before patting her gelatinous backside and telling her, “Go waddle this sexy ass into the bedroom, and I’ll be in with your birthday cake in a few minutes.”

The wobbly wrestler tittered with glee and tickled his chin as she replied, “All right, but don’t keep me waiting; I might just take an after-dinner nap if you take too long.”

“Not if you could see the cake I made for you,” the beefy man teased.

With the promise of cake, her lover, and cake with her lover, Mickey found new wells of energy and waddled off to their bedroom faster than anyone would think her capable. She worked to get her sweater off as quickly as she could, fed up with how hot it made her but also wanting to savor Ray’s touch that much sooner. Promises of the night ahead danced through her mind as she plodded along, her heart racing at the thought of what awaited and her stomach grumbling for yet more food.

“Happy birthday to me,” she hummed contentedly as she made her way into the bedroom, still struggling with her sweater.

While Mickey got herself ready, Ray fetched the cake from the fridge and set it out on the counter, along with a few other items. First were a few brochures for houses on the market—a last minute gift from Santigo and Elena, who were helping Ray with house hunting. They were thrilled at the idea of the young couple getting their own place and offered to help however they could, starting with scouting out a few places on the way over. The other was a jewelry box that Ray had just gotten a few days prior, had taken a good few months of saving, and was holding onto for just the right occasion.

“Otro momento,” Ray mused to himself as he pocketed the box and picked up the cake. It was a big question, and one he did not want to make while he fed his oinking girlfriend thick slices of gateau…

 

[Vongola27]

CHAPTER 70

Getting her cast off was the best belated Christmas gift that KC Skye had gotten in years; not even the tickets to her first Showdown Supreme back in middle school could compete. The sound of the doctor’s saw cutting through plaster was music to her ears, and she would have jumped for joy if she was not deathly afraid of reinjuring her leg. After spending the last several months sitting on her duff as she recovered from the grisly break, she wanted nothing more than to race to the nearest gym, but she knew better than that. If KC wanted to get back into the ring, the best thing to do would be to follow her doctor’s orders and work her way there.

“Well, Ms. Skye, looks like everything healed up nicely,” Dr. Ralston remarked as she rolled KC’s calf around in her gloved hands. “The color should come back with time, and the scar will fade too. You might notice some discomfort for a bit, but that’s perfectly normal.”

“It’s been uncomfortable for the last six months,” the grounded aerialist grumbled as she ran her hand down the length of her leg. “What’s a few more days?”

She had been around enough injuries to know that it was never pretty when the bandages first come off, but she had not expected it to look so gruesome. There were splotches of yellow discoloration here and there around a gnarly scar that ran clear from her calf to her thigh, along with dry skin that reminded her of a lizard. Her dark skin had paled to a stony gray, and the smell was nigh unbearable, but KC paid none of this any mind. All that mattered was that she was free of this ungodly burden, and that she could work on getting back into proper shape once again.

“Now, I’d take it easy for the next couple of days as you get used to being out of the cast and off crutches,” her doctor recommended. “After that, we’ll get you set up with a physical therapist who can help you get back into shape; now that you’re up and about, there’s no excuse not to work off some of that flab from the last few months.”

There it was—the ol’ Dr. Ralston bedside manner. The old woman never hesitated to speak her mind and giving her opinion on what her patients were doing wrong, regardless of whether or not they were physically capable of doing anything about it. It had been her recommendation in the first place to take it easy and not try anything too strenuous, so where did she get off on harping on KC for getting a little soft during her recovery?

“Guess so,” the wrestler growled. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” Dr. Ralston replied, oblivious of the murderous intent radiating from her patient. “Just take your paperwork to the desk and you’ll be good to go. We’ll see you in a couple weeks to check how you’re holding up and how the therapy’s going.”

The last thing KC wanted to do was come back, unless it was to deliver a dropkick to the old bat, but she bit her lip and nodded. Following directions had gotten her this far; she could last a little while longer. Whatever it took to get back to the GWF, she would do it, so long as it gave her the chance to deliver the most well-deserved beatdown in history.

She hobbled out to the waiting room on her own accord, refusing any help and carrying her crutches under arms. Walking on her own two feet again was a surreal sensation, as her right leg felt as strong as ever but her left leg felt like it was filled with pins and needles, as if she had let it fall asleep. For someone who used to fly around the ring with all the grace of a falcon, finding walking to be so difficult threatened to drag her spirits back down into the muck, but she kept her eyes on the prize. KC was going to make some changes and get back into a wrestling ring, come hell or high water.

Thankfully, her cousin was waiting in the lobby to help buoy her. When Agatha saw KC shuffle out, she immediately leaped out of her seat and ran over to offer a shoulder to lean on, only for her baby cousin to shrug her off and give her a thumbs up. The older woman lit up like a Christmas tree and bounced like a kid in a toy store as she watched KC walk through the lobby without her crutches.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Cassie, that’s amazing,” Agatha gleefully remarked as she fought the urge to tackle her cousin in a hug. “Does this mean you can start your physical therapy?”

“Bingo,” KC answered as she continued to slowly make her way out to the waiting car. “Gonna take the next few days to see how things are looking and get my leg cleaned up, but when I do, I’m going to push myself like never before.”

Agatha eyed her cousin warily and retorted, “Within reason, I hope. I’ve seen some of the videos you used to post of yourself in the gym, and I think that you’ve got a ways to go before getting back to that level again.”

KC grimaced at the reminder of how far she had fallen from physical perfection six months prior. She had once been so fleet and nimble that any circus would have been lucky to have her on their card; it had been a joke among the family that if wrestling did not take, she could always have a place in Cirque du Soleil. Unfortunately, the metal rod in her leg meant that her days of flying through the air with the greatest of ease were in the past. She would have to undo years of practice and learning to develop a whole new arsenal of moves if she wanted to continue doing what she loved.

That was the biggest obstacle in her way, but a close second was the weight problem she had developed since breaking her leg. It seemed like she had been packing on the pounds from the minute she crumpled onto the mat back in July, having gained close to a hundred pounds in the last six months. Even though she was friends with two very fat women in the form of Mickey Ramone and Shinobu Misawa, KC had never imagined getting quite so fat herself—or fat at all, for that matter. She had been a lean, mean, flippy machine, but her slender physique was now buried under several inches of lard.

Even before she trained her body into a wrestling machine, KC had never been blessed with curves; the difference was that she used to be merely scrawny as opposed to ripped. Perhaps they had been waiting for the right time, but ever since the injury, her body had filled out in a ridiculously voluptuous hourglass. What had once been mosquito bites on her chest had blossomed into a bountiful bosom that needed a DDD-cup bra to support, and even that was getting tight. They eclipsed the thick layer of pudge that had accumulated at her waist, which some women might have been grateful for—not KC, who saw every extra inch as an unwelcome settler on the holy land that was her body.

Most disconcerting was her lower body, which had exploded in lard and cellulite since she started soaking up calories. KC had been extremely relieved when she was allowed to upgrade from a wheelchair to crutches, as her expansive hips had grown to the point that she was afraid she would be wedged in the seat. It was a good thing she upgraded when she did, as a quick glance at her side revealed that her hips stuck out so far that she could not set her hands down perfectly straight. There was no chance that she could fit in the wheelchair they had first given her after her surgery, and several pieces of furniture in Agatha’s home were becoming uncomfortably tight.

That would have been humiliating enough, but the gain carried on through the rest of her body. She used to carry a small amount of pride that she did not fit the stereotype of being bottom-heavy, and that pride had been dashed when she realized that it looked like she was smuggling basketballs up her skirts. Her rump had grown exponentially over the last few months, swelling up like someone was slowly inflating it with helium, until it got to the point that she could actually tell a difference whenever she sat down. Between that and the swell of her hips, buying underwear that actually fit had become a nightmare, as it seemed that she needed to size up every few weeks.

And then, there were her pride and joys—her legs, which had helped carry her to one reign with the Women’s Championship and two reigns with the Tag Team belts. KC used to be able to do standing flips, front and back, but even if her bones had not been broken, there was no way she could have been able to do that. Her thighs rubbed clear to her knee and were streaked with stretch marks along the inside and cellulite on the back, to say nothing of the flabby saddle bags that had sprouted near her hips. Even her calves had expanded more than she expected, swelling up like a pregnant woman’s and ballooning to the point that she had blossoming cankles. If anyone looked at her now, they could never have imagined her so much as jogging, much less doing a moonsault from the top rope.