Storyteller
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The Treatment
by Storyteller
by Storyteller
You were dragged in by your stepsisters and mother, four chic blond nymphs out of place in the gray waiting area. “She’s here for the special treatment,” your step sister said, smug in her expensive athleisure. A well manicured daily Pilates devotee, she pulled you up to the desk with surprising force. Pretty for sure, but she may as well have been invisible next to you. You were impossibly fit, toned, and curved in all the right places.
“The special treatment,” repeated the lady at the front desk. “Why does she need that?” she looked you up and down, taking in your flat tummy and natural curves, enhanced by hard earned muscle in your thighs and ass. "She doesn’t look dangerously underweight. She looks fit and healthy.”
Stepsister scowled. “Mentally,” she spat. “Our sister's not well. She’s become obsessive.”
“But I haven’t become obsessive!” You protest. “I lost 50 lbs through healthy eating and exercise!”
“Obsessed,” your other stepsister agreed. “She’s always waking up early for jogs, drinking green juice.” She scrunched her nose in distaste. “She’s supposed to be the chubster.”
“Yeah! We want our little roly poly back!” The sisters smirk as you shake your head, a whirlwind of pale blond.
“I worked so hard to shed the weight,” you plead. “Besides, I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m healthy.”
“That’s not what the court says!” The first stepsister oozes with satisfaction as she waves an official looking document in your face before handing it over to the front desk. “We have full legal authority over her mental health, and we want her to get the treatment! We want her nice and plump.” She grinned broadly.
The treatment is usually reserved for wealthy anorexic girls, a more luxurious and lengthy alternative to a traditional hospital stay. Unlike a traditional hospital, the treatment we offer here will restore you to a weight well above a healthy BMI.
“I don’t want to be chubby again,” You whispered. “I worked so hard! Please don’t do this to me.”
But your stepsisters, jealous of your beauty since you had lost 50 lbs of baby fat, had convinced their mother to use her wealth to make you their legal ward. Now here they were, committing you to 6 months at a facility for treatment resistant anorexics. You would be fed a huge surplus of calories, fattened up, and wouldn’t outshine them anymore.
“We want her filled out here, especially!” One indicated your belly.
“Oh yes! A big fat belly on our dear little sister!”
“Remember how stout she used to be!?”
“How squishy!”
They cackled with glee at the thought of your svelte figure melting away, overfed and softened up like dough.
“We just want what’s best for you,” they assured you, as you looked around desperately.
“Becoming thin isn’t healthy for you,” your step mother agreed. “You’ve become self-absorbed, vain.” She tisked. “Have you packed her size 14s?” She asked your stepsisters.
“I don’t want to be a size 14 again!” Angry tears burned your eyes.
“See? This is the vanity I mean,” your mother scowled.
“We all liked you better chubby!” A stepsister blurted.
“Don’t worry, girls, she will be.” Stepmother smiled wickedly . “She’ll be so chubby we’ll hardly recognize her next time we see her.”
“Ohhhh mom, can I take that outfit she has on?” One said. “She won’t be able to wear it very long!”
“I’d like to see how it fits her when we visit,” stepmother said cruelly.
You were crying now, and I willed them to leave so I could take you away.
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