BBW The Uncontainable - by Marlow

I am seriously loving this story! Hope to see more chapters posted soon (but obviously take as much time as you need to!) The stakes, suspense, everything gets better and better it seems. Probably my favorite story of yours to date, Marlow!

 

Chapter 23

Bridget and Miranda stared wearily across the kitchen table at each other.

The refrigerator had been mostly empty, but Bridget had found a few boxed dinners in the freezer and a can of chili in the pantry. The comforting hum of the microwave and the aroma that soon wafted out from the kitchen had been enough to finally lift Miranda from the couch. She’d showered and wrapped herself in an undersized bathrobe and on returning downstairs found an ample spread of cheap food waiting on the table. The two fugitives had sat in silence, slowly and methodically eating their way through everything Bridget had managed to prepare.

Miranda had brought a stack of files in with her and continued reading as she ate, skimming through pages of disconnected rambling about the realm of dreams, the ancient origins of hypnosis, and the wisdom of the dead. There were more letters from the professor at Thalia, though all in a cypher Miranda couldn’t parse, and occasional sticky notes written in the ubiquitous red pen: “Groundskeeper at Kade cemetery voicing suspicions. Invite him to seminar,” or “use long chant on page 751 of the complete edition,” or “the key to the gate, whereby the spheres meet.”

The periodic sweeping of headlights had stopped, but the early rays of sunrise began to creep in through the windows instead. Eventually, too exhausted to read any further, Miranda shoved the texts away. She and Bridget sat for what felt like another hour, rubbing their bleary eyes and listening absently as their gurgling stomachs irritably digested their meals, until a new, unfamiliar sound broke the stillness, drifting in from outside.

“Is that…music?” Miranda wondered, pressing a hand her belly.

Bridget blinked, cocking an ear toward the window. “I think so.” She pushed herself up from the chair and padded over to peek through the blinds. Her free hand reached to massage her modest gut; she’d eventually traded the towel for a sheer nightgown, translucent enough to show just how much of the meal she’d eaten.

Miranda scraped up the last of the chili. She’d outdone Bridget’s appetite considerably, but still felt an urgent need for more.

“I can see down to main street,” Bridget reported. “There’s a big gathering in town. Like a party starting or something.”

“Little early for a party.”

Bridget squinted. “I can’t see their faces, though. They’ve got…oh, they’re all wearing, like, masks or something.”

“Masks?”

“Yeah. You know, maybe it’s that big, like, festival Buck invited us to. The one I was trying on that corset for.” She turned away from the window. “But that’s not supposed to be till next weekend.”

Miranda grimaced and tried to push her chair away from the table. The table moved instead, but it made enough room for her to get up. She hobbled back to the living room and returned with the photo of Ros and her husband.

“Like these masks?” she asked.

Bridget peered at the photo. The couple’s masks were tilted up, but others in the background were wearing them. They covered the top half of the face and were largely blank, save for eyeholes and an elaborate design on the forehead. She nodded.

Miranda gazed out through the blinds. “It’s the play. This festival or whatever, they do it all the time here. Maybe it’s how Diana got people to start going to her seminar things. And the big event is a performance of that…play. Looking at these flyers…it’s been going on forever, but lately it’s been getting bigger and bigger.” She narrowed her eyes, watching the obese townsfolk waddling around the square. “Like everything around here.”

She paced across the kitchen. The robe flapped open, exposing her paunch as it wobbled with each step.

“So, we know Ros and her husband had these masks,” she muttered, looking at the photo.

Bridget nodded. “I saw some up in the closet.”

Miranda folded her arms. “That…could be our chance to get out of here.”

“Now? They’re all out and about. They’ll see us right away.”

“They won’t know it’s us. We’ll just be part of the crowd.” She pursed her lips. “Yeah. We can mingle our way through the square, hidden in plain sight, looking like we belong. That’ll get us into the center of town…and that’s close enough to grab your car keys from the motel and drive the hell out of here.”

“And everybody’ll be too interested in the play to pay any attention to us. Wow.” Bridget bounced with excitement. “Oh my god, I’ve never not wanted to be the center of attention before. This will be so weird.”

“Just keep it together until we’re home. Then you can run naked in the streets for all I care, as long as we’re safely away from here.”

“Costumes! I like this plan. I’ll get the masks. And maybe we can wash those overalls so you can wear something that fits.”

“Wait. Actually, no. We’ll need to find things that don’t fit…find the smallest clothes in the house.”

“I thought you were done being in denial?”

Miranda sighed. “Yeah, but…we don’t want to stand out. We need to look like everyone else in town, right? I need to look like I don’t know I’m fat.”

“So we look like we’re all hypnotized and stuff, too,” Bridget realized. “Right. Wow. Good idea. I should find something fizzy. If I get really bloated maybe it’ll look like I’ve put on weight, too…”

“Bridge—” Miranda coughed, stopping herself. She glanced at Bridget’s food-baby. “Uh, sure, yeah. Go for it. Whatever you think will help.”

 

(23, continued)



The sun was up by the time they emerged from the house. It bathed all of Kade in a golden haze. The sky was overcast, but the summer morning glowed with warmth and steam floated up from the rainsoaked cornfields.

Dressing had taken longer than expected, but Bridget and Miranda were relieved to see they hadn’t missed the crowd. People were still filtering into the square as they approached and it became clear there had been no need to worry: Kade’s was a slow-moving populace.

Cars and trucks had been parked in a ring surrounding the town’s main intersection, blocking the roads to all but foot traffic. Herds of rotund bodies circled ponderously within the square, masks gleaming in the morning sun.

Miranda had seen very few people in Kade who weren’t at least somewhat overweight, but until seeing the entire population—at least, the remaining population—gathered in one place, she hadn’t realized just how pervasive their obesity was.

It was a wonder that, outgrown as all their wardrobes must have been, they were dressed as well as they were. The smaller among them had managed to pull on full outfits, though snugly fit: crop tops rode up from pooching bellies and plump backsides stretched black leggings to transparency. Modesty dwindled as weight rose: the larger partygoers wore unbuttoned shirts and unfastened jeans. The bottom swell of a hairy gut flopped out from beneath one man’s polo shirt while the swell of one woman’s breasts flowed out to the sides from her narrow tank top. The largest locals wore only the tatters of what had once been clothes, but seemed, as ever, entirely unaware of their indecency.

One couple waddled about hand in hand, completely nude save for their masks, seemingly as wide as they were tall and barely staying on their feet. It was likely just a matter of time before they were shunted to the pens to live out their final days as docile livestock, slurping pudding from a trough.

Bridget and Miranda paused behind the shuttered library to collect themselves and check over each other’s costumes.

“You wanna take this?” asked Miranda, handing Bridget the silver pendant. “I’ve got the bracelet. I figure if we do manage get out of here, we’ll need to pawn something for gas money.”

Bridget nodded. She slipped the chain over her neck. The pendant disappeared into her cleavage. “Been a while since someone gave me jewelry.”

“Show your manager the dance I saw you doing at the bar. You’ll have more admirers than you know what to do with.” Miranda pulled out the pair of masks they’d found. “Today, though, I’d prefer not to get noticed. You ready?”

“I’m not big enough,” Bridget murmured, peeking around the corner. “I’m the only one here with a flat stomach. I knew I should’ve had more soup.”

Miranda passed her a mask. “You’re…um. It’s, uh, it’s gonna be okay. Just hide behind me and maybe they won’t see you.”

“I’ll try to puff out my tummy or something. Hm. How do I look?”

Bridget had found a tight checkered blouse and frayed denim shorts. She’d fastened only one of the shirt’s buttons, allowing her braless chest to sway freely and her navel to peek out below. The shorts were unbuttoned and her pooching beer gut had pushed the zipper down a few notches. She’d pulled her hair into pigtails, for some reason, and had raided Ros’ makeup drawer for blush and an excess of lip-gloss.

Miranda had given up on Ros’ wardrobe, which had apparently never been updated from that of the svelte bride in the wedding photo. Rummaging impatiently through the husband’s things, she’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants that proved less elastic than they appeared. They weren’t loose enough for her to tuck her paunch into their waistband as she usually did and they could do little but hang halfway off her broad hips. She tugged at them frequently as she walked, trying to keep her butt at least somewhat covered.

For a top, she’d squeezed herself into a preposterously tiny hooded sweatshirt. The sleeves had been torn off, but she had to rip the seams further to fit her flabby arms through. It barely reached over her chest before surrendering to the girth of her abdomen: the entire enormity of her midsection hung exposed, the rolls of her paunch spilling over her waistband and her saddlebags sagging out to their full, wobbling width. She’d ripped the collar open, allowing more space for her neck.

It seemed a ludicrous costume when she’d stuffed herself into it, but, looking out at the crowd, she admitted that she looked the part. As she pulled on the plastic mask, she could feel its edges pinch against her pudgy cheeks.

She rearranged her golden hair around the mask’s string and glanced over at Bridget. “All set?”

Bridget nodded and tugged her mask down over her face.

The masks were porcelain white. They were molded in the shape of a featureless face, adorned only with a familiar design on the forehead: the seven-armed curling sigil, painted in glittering gold.

 

Something tells me Bridgett may become a liability

 

Pigtails? If the town anthem is "Oops I did it again" then the fetish trifecta is complete and the hellmouth shall open. Hmm Hell|Mouth. Perhaps there's something there. Looking forward to more writing

 

Chapter 24

Miranda almost felt small, weaving through the corpulent crowd. She fidgeted with her mask, glancing at each of the blank faces she passed.

She was used to feeling too large for any space she occupied. Anything she touched in life she touched because her lovehandles were too wide to fit, because her belly jutted out too far after a satisfying meal, because her hips simply took up too much room. She was accustomed to brushing up against her surroundings. She was not accustomed, however, to her surroundings brushing up against her.

No one in the crowd of locals seemed to realize the extent of their girth and rubbed up against one another with abandon, standing as close to one another as they would have two hundred pounds ago.

Miranda squeezed herself between a pair of flabby derrieres, trying to twist sideways. The gap closed once she had gone, forcing Bridget to wriggle through with a hurried flail.

“Sorry,” Bridget squeaked, ducking.

“Stop apologizing,” Miranda hissed.

“What?”

“We’re trying to fit in. That means pretending not to realize that we, you know, don’t fit.” She slid past a woman wearing only her mask and a pair of cowboy boots. Their stomachs met in greeting. “Come on, I think the motel was this way.”

The aroma of barbecue drifted overhead. Ribs, hot dogs, and burgers were disappearing into the crowd’s oblivious maws and the pavement was littered with discarded Styrofoam plates. A stereo somewhere was blasting the Band’s “The Shape I’m In,” and the rhythmic jostling of flab seen here and there could have been generously called dancing.

“Miranda,” Bridget whispered.

“Stop saying my name.”

“Sorry. It’s just that…uh, your pants are falling down. People can see your butt.”

Miranda winced. “I know. But…”

“Oh, right. Pretending not to know.” She followed Miranda around a rotund man sucking sauce from his fingers. “Should I take my shirt off? I could pretend not to notice.”

“That’s not—oof—” A distended paunch swung round, nearly bowling Miranda over.

She recoiled and braced herself to shove it back, but quickly reminded herself not to react. Swearing under her breath, she glanced up and found herself belly to belly with an enormous cook.

“Morning! Can I tempt you?” he implored through his mask, gesturing to the opulent spread on the grill behind him. “We made sure to include plenty of diet-friendly options.”

Miranda tore her eyes from the sizzling meats. “Oh, no, that’s alright, I’m…” She caught herself. “Just something light, maybe. I’m already down…fifty pounds and wouldn’t want to, uh, throw off all my progress.”

“No, no, of course not. I get it. I used to worry I’d get so big the apron woudn’t tie around me, haha. Not anymore! Here, I’ll get you something guilt-free.” He turned, revealing the unfasted apron strings, and loaded up a plate with a stack of gristly ribs and a pile of potato salad.

“Yeah, thanks. Keep…keep up the good work.” She looked back for Bridget, but was greeted only by the sight of more locals. Miranda spun around, craning her neck and peering between their bulky bodies, but there was no sign of Bridget.

The cook clapped Miranda on the shoulder. She stiffened, but he merely pushed the overloaded plate into her hands. Cheese and barbecue sauce dribbled down.

“Dig in,” he said, biting into a burger of his own. “What an occasion, right? After all these years, I finally get to see the last act.”

Miranda shuffled her feet, eyes darting desperately across the crowd. “Last act?” she asked absently, hoping it sounded conversational.

“Didn’t you hear? They’re doing the whole play, all the way to the end. It’s gonna be huge!”

“Wow, uh, no, I hadn’t heard that. Lucky…us?”

He beamed. “Right? Finally. You always hope, you know, but you never think this would be the generation!”

“Uh-huh. Listen, I…I gotta go find my friend. Gotta…tell her the good news.” An opening had finally appeared in the throng of partiers. Miranda shoved her way in, instinctively clutching her plate.

The forged cautiously through the crowd. It had only grown more tightly packed as more locals had waddled into the square. The milled about with dreamy smiles, their undersized masks pinching against their puffy cheeks. Several carnival-style booths and activities sat ignored as the revelers orbited the cookout area.

Miranda squirmed through any opening she could find, quickly losing all sense of direction. Looking up, she caught sight of a storefront’s awning and desperately forced her way forward.

She emerged, panting, at the base of a porch. Balancing the plate with one hand and pulling up her sweatpants with the other, she climbed the steps and caught her breath.

Turning and resting her weight against the railing, she found that the porch was just high enough to allow her to gaze out across the crowded square.

“Bridget?” she mewled, squinting and scanning the congregation. “Bridget, please…”

Far to her right, she could see the parking lot of the motel. Every spot was taken, but between a pair of minivans Miranda saw what looked like the faded yellow of Bridget’s decrepit pick-up truck.

“Oh my god. We’re so close. So close. Bridget, come on.” Miranda turned back to the crowd. “Come on. All these fat people and I’m looking for the one…skinny little…” Her eyes narrowed. “…bitch.”

Far to her left, at the edge of the crowd, a pair of partiers separated themselves from the others. The unmistakable figure of Bridget bounced into view, pushing up her mask with a coy smirk to kiss her dance partner. After a moment Miranda recognized him as the bearded firefighter, Buck. He pulled Bridget closer, pressing her modest gut against his pot-belly and locked his lips with hers.

“Oh my god.” Miranda pushed her hair back with a quivering hand. “Fuck. Fuck. Bridget…what…fuck.”

The last fanfare of horns faded out as the song ended. Those in the crowd who had been swaying with the music grew still and conversations fell abruptly silent. Bridget and Buck continued their passionate kissing a moment longer and she reached to unfasten her tiny blouse, but they paused just before the last button could be released.

A shadow passed over Miranda, followed by several more, as a flock of crows suddenly sailed overhead. The birds—there seemed to be hundreds of them—circled the town square, crying in their horrible voices, and then flapped away to the west along Kade’s main thoroughfare.

Without a word, the crowd turned to face west. Those on the far side of the square began waddling ponderously down the street. Others fell in to follow in order behind them in a slow, wobbling procession.

Hand in hand, Buck and Bridget joined the parade. Bridget’s diminutive form disappeared behind an apple-shaped matron, but Buck’s tall frame kept his head in view.

Miranda stared. The crows flew on along the road, toward the rise of the Whately farm hill.