BBW Trick or Treat!, or Flabby Halloween (C)

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Benny Mon

Well-Known Member
Jul 7, 2011
Compound Growth II
by Benny Mon

It had to be the best Halloween party on campus--the best in the whole town. Tyler hadn’t been elected vice president of Nu Phi Kappa and appointed head of the Social Committee only to throw some weak-ass party. He stood next to the dance floor now, an empty shot of vodka dangling between his fingers, taking it all in. A tangle of bouncing, undulating, scantily-clad bodies throbbed around him, moving to the beats of DJ Diabolus. He’d hired the Halloween-themed performer specifically for the occasion, and the dude didn’t disappoint. He wasn’t a gimmick--he knew how to string together a sequence of techno and hip-hop tracks that creeped you out a little but still made you move your feet and shake your ass. Some of the guests had followed the instruction to dress in costume, but barely. There were some sexy nurses and sexy devils and a few guys dressed as stripper-doctors, but that’s about it--and that was all Tyler needed. Some cobwebs dangled from the bannister, a red-and-purple light show for the dancing, a drunk, high brother dressed as the Grim Reaper but giggling his ass off on the porch as people entered: all the right touches to evoke the spirit of the season without, you know, actually fucking scaring people away. It also helped that it was so foggy outside.

Some brash piano notes with bass vibrated through Tyler’s ripped chest, announcing a Cardi B song. He eyed a nearly naked Wonder Woman gyrating in the middle of the dance floor and prepared to make his move. Suddenly, though, he felt a heavy hand on his arm, and he turned to see Brian, jacked arms busting out of a makeshift sleeveless tuxedo shirt, tugging on his bowtie with his free hand.

“Bro,” he said breathlessly, “you gotta come here, something is up!”

“Fuck off, dude.” Tyler was mesmerized by Wonder Woman. “I’m tryna do something right now.”

Brian fiddled anxiously with his backwards baseball cap. “I’m serious, Ty, you need to come right now.”

A twinge of worry stung Tyler. The party had to be perfect. He couldn’t let anything fuck this up. He looked away from Wonder Woman. “Just tell me what it is, Brian.”

“Ty, you gotta come--”

“Just fuckin’ tell me what it is, Brian!”

Brian took a deep breath and squared away his backwards cap. “Bro, I don’t know how to describe this. Like, I was at the door, cuz this girl told me she was coming at 9:30, so I’m waiting there, and like...” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “...I dunno, man, one of them was, like, walking the other one on a leash?! Straight out of the fog, and I couldn’t look her in the eye, and I don’t if the other one is a girl or what.”

“Your girl wasn’t a girl?”

Brian looked back anxiously like Tyler was an idiot. “No, dude, I don’t fuckin’ know who this was! I couldn’t look, though, and now they’re fucking up the kitchen--”

“They’re what? Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”

But Tyler was already off, hissing “Fucking Christ,” through his teeth as he skirted the dance floor and strode through the adjoining rooms. He passed people dancing and talking and sometimes falling over drunk, but he saw none of it, fixated on the alleged kitchen disturbance. He threw open the doors and saw a few girls pulling snacks out of cupboards, surrounded by piles of spilled boxes and cans. The place was ransacked. The doors swung back and forth at the far end of the room. Tyler swore under his breath before taking a closer look at the girls. He squinted. “Steph?”

It was indeed Stephanie, president of the Sigma Gamma sorority, dressed in a cheerleader costume that was barely more than a bathing suit. She was tearing through a family-size bag of cheetos, stuffing them into her face, when she turned at Tyler’s voice, eyes wide and culpable.

“Steph,” he sighed, “are you the one fucking up my kitchen? Are these girls in your sorority?”

Another, unknown girl bumped against Tyler as she entered the kitchen and reached for the cheetos.

“I have no idea who they are,” said Steph, snatching the bag to her chest. “I didn’t do this to the kitchen, I swear! I just got so hungry all of the sudden, and I figured I could find something in here.” Tyler noticed her bare belly was slightly distended, maybe from beer. The snacks wouldn’t have helped that, either.

Two more girls and a couple guys poured into the kitchen behind Tyler, flipping open cupboards, reaching into the spilled piles for something to eat. “What the fuck…?” he muttered, but just then Brian ran into the kitchen behind him.

“Ty, it’s not Steph,” he said. “They’re out on the porch now!”

Tyler looked at Brian, baffled and exasperated, then back at the other end of the kitchen, where the other set of doors still swung slightly on their hinges. He pushed past the small crowd in his kitchen, through a room of people bizarrely fixated on chugging their beers (Stella--no Natty Ice for this party), and onto the huge covered deck out back. It was foggy, and the few brothers here to smoke cigars or weed had fallen back to either side, clearing the path for the two partygoers Brian must have been talking about. One was a tall woman in high, black stiletto boots, covered in a black leather full body suit that highlighted her luscious ass and breasts and the hyperbola of her narrowing waist. It even continued up her neck and around her head like the hood of diving suit, exposing only her smooth, porcelain-white face with its pearly teeth and red(!) eyes. But Tyler didn’t have time to linger on her eyes, as she was holding a chain leash that ended in a collar around the other guest’s neck--covered, like the rest of their body, in layers of white bandages. Like a mummy. They were a little shorter than the first guest and ran a little ahead, eagerly seeking the keg at the end of the deck.

“All right,” Tyler yelled, “nice work. You guys have the best costumes for sure. Can you take it easy now, though? I don’t need a performance. Just have a good time, enjoy the music, all right? And maybe tell me what you did to my kitchen?”

The mystery guests continued as though they hadn’t heard him, the first clacking forward as each boot struck the wood beneath, one after the other, the mummy throwing themselves on their back in front of the keg. The woman stuck the hose in the mummy’s mouth and turned it on, letting the beer (also Stella) flow free.

“Okay,” said Tyler, taking a step forward, “you gotta get your mouth off my keg, that is not going to fly.”

The girl looked back at him, stunningly beautiful, her eyes a dark, intense red, and Tyler had to avert his eyes. He looked instead at the mummy, slurping down beer in gulp after gulp after gulp, only a few sprays escaping their cheeks from time to time. Tyler couldn’t believe how much this mummy could down, to the point that he started to notice their belly bulging out a little.

“You can’t just drink all our beer. Those kegs aren’t cheap! If you keep this up I’m fucking calling the cops.”

“Ty!” One brother tugged on his sleeve, wagging a joint pinched between two fingers. “You can’t call the cops, bro!”

It was all nothing to the mummy, who just kept chugging and chugging, gulping down the beer without a breath. Their belly rounded out slowly but surely, their chest gradually following suit, and even their arms looked a little plumper before long. Soon their belly got so big that strips of pale, smooth skin appeared between gaps in the bandages. That was strangely reassuring to Tyler, that there was living human flesh underneath. flesh, at the very least, right?

Brian burst out onto the porch behind Tyler. “Dude, it’s a fucking mob in there! They’re eating all our food!”

At this moment the girl tugged on the mummy’s leash, causing them to sputter a little as the hose fell out of their lips. They seemed dazed for a moment, then abruptly scrambled to their feet, fat now and ungainly, and hustled toward the back steps of the deck. The girl walked slowly behind, restraining the mummy on the leash.

“You can’t just fucking leave!” Tyler’s heart was racing. He took a few steps forward. “Who the fuck are you?!” But he was bowled over as a crowd burst out of the house, mostly girls but some guys, their faces smeared with crumbs and sauces. They rushed toward the kegs and knocked Tyler to the ground, and he could see them fighting over the beer, wrestling with each other to latch on and suck down more beer into their already taut, overfull bellies. Then someone’s foot collided with Tyler’s head, and he passed out.

Benny Mon

Well-Known Member
Jul 7, 2011
* * *

An egg splattered onto Frank’s shirt, sparking a cheer from the crowd. They stood in a broad semicircle around him, an amphitheater of skeptical watchers, the clearing fog curling around their legs as they scrutinized his words, waiting for him to screw up. Dressed in drag and lingerie and other costumes he couldn’t decipher, they jeered and booed as he ignored the egg and collected himself.

“Let me just explain--” he began, but someone screamed, “Bring back Queer Night!” They drowned him out, chanting the exhortation over and over, leaving Frank to cross his arms in consternation. Fuck--he peeled his arm away and shook yolk off his hand. He’d already forgotten about the egg. Fuck.

“I’m not saying you can’t come!” he shouted. “The club is open to all sexualities! We just don’t have Queer Night anymore.”

“The club was always open to everyone!” someone shouted back. “You didn’t have to get rid of Queer Night.”

“Do you even want a separate night?” Frank tried. “Isn’t that a form of discrimination? Segregation?”

The crowd booed in unison and pelted Frank with another half dozen egg missiles, two of which sailed past him and exploded on the front door. He threw up his arms and retreated back inside, chased by the boos and a couple more eggs. In the club, dance music drowned out the protesters outside, and it gave Frank a little peace. Not a lot of peace, but not nothing.

Claire, a lanky attendant who checked IDs, rushed up to him. “What happened?”

“Just clean up the front door. And have someone get me a towel.”

Claire dashed into the back, returning with a towel for Frank and another to clean off the door. She barely made it outside, though, before the protestors flung more eggs at her, forcing her back inside and leaving the door messier than ever. Claire wiped yolk from her hair and looked up at Frank. “Are you gonna call the cops?”

“No,” he sighed as he towelled himself off. “Not yet, anyway.”

“No one’s going to come in if they’re attacking anyone who comes by!”

“They won’t egg the customers. At least I hope not; that’s a bad look for them. We’re the ones they want.” And just like that, a couple confused college kids stepped in, looking to Frank for enlightenment.

“I don’t know, guys. Another day, another protest, right? It’s a college town.”

They shrugged, flashed their IDs to Claire, and moved into the dance hall past the vestibule.

“Claire, you know I’m not a bigot, right?”

Claire blinked rapidly and looked straight at Frank, then abruptly to the side. “Of course not, Frank! I mean--of course I know you’re not a bigot!”

He sighed again. “I know it’s not fair to ask you that. I’m really not, though. When I bought this place, I didn’t come in planning to cancel Queer Night. But we weren’t making money on those Fridays! Sometimes we lost money. It’s not easy to run a nightclub these days, and if I’d kept Queer Night it would have gone down with the rest of the club. Two months, tops.”

Claire was rubbing egg out of her hair with the towel. “You might not want to put it that way to everyone else.” She held out her hands like she was framing a newspaper headline. “‘Local Club Owner Blames Gays for Falling Profits.’”

Frank sighed a third time and looked away. “Thanks again, Claire. We’ll get the door tomorrow.”

“No problem, Frank.”

Frank heard the slight squeak of the hinge as the door swung open again, and without turning he said, “I’m sorry about the door, really hope it doesn’t affect your night.” No response. He turned around to see Claire, mouth agape, staring fearfully at the pair who had just walked inside. One was...a fat mummy? Maybe? Mouth slightly open, they just stood there, wrapped in bandages that covered their head well but left much of their rotund, flabby body exposed. You’d think they would have done a more thorough job, Frank thought, but then he looked at the other person, a tall woman in a black leather bodysuit that hugged every inch of her long, curvaceous figure. She was as pale as the moon, with intense red eyes and...was that a little fog still wrapped around the heels of her boots? It seemed to twist up her ankle like a snake before dispersing.

“I, uh….” Frank said. He couldn’t quite look this woman straight in the eye, and the mummy was like a robot, frozen in place. Just then he noticed it was actually gripping a chain rope that ended in a leash around the woman’s neck. “So,” said Frank, “you’re ready to talk now? You throw eggs at my club and then you’re just ready to talk?”

“Frank…” said Claire.

“Okay,” he said, clenching his fists, “you’re right, Claire, I shouldn’t reject an outstretched hand.”

“No, Frank, I don’t think they’re with...with the protesters…?”

But the leather woman’s gaze was fixed beyond Frank, and he saw her walk past him, hips swinging dramatically with each step, dragging the mummy along like a ball and chain. She moved into the club, and he took a couple steps after before stopping.

“Did...did I convince them? They don’t need Queer Night anymore.”

“Frank!” Claire’s voice was firmer. “They’re not protesters. I don’t know who they are, but I don’t like them! I think we should check them out.”

“You stay at the door,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on them.” He walked cautiously into the club, and at first he couldn’t spot the newcomers. He saw only the crowd, lit by multicolor strobing lights, drunk and high and dancing to some song he was at least fifteen years too old to know. But then he spotted a commotion at the bar, where the woman was downing a bottle of bourbon and the mummy was dumping plates of fries into their mouth. The robbed guests yelled at the mummy, even punched them, to no avail, even as two bartenders couldn’t wrest the bottle out of the woman’s hand.

Frank worked his way along the edge of the room, pushing through clots of people, eyes on the woman, who seemed to visibly plump out as she latched onto another bottle. Was he seeing this right? She’d been curvy, of course, but thin, and now she looked chubby. Love handles pushed out the leather just above widening hips, and the curve of a belly was slowly expanding in between them. Focused on the bar, Frank ran straight into a group of girls dancing, who shrieked and fussed as he tried to extricate himself. When he made it through and looked back to the bar, the woman was even larger, her breasts burgeoning, her arms rounding out. She grabbed a couple beers and began walking toward the other end of the bar, pulling the mummy along--and was the mummy fatter, too? What the fuck was happening?

At the bar, Frank slipped on spilled beer and crashed to the ground against the heels of his palms. They stung, but he pushed himself up, only to see the pair enter the kitchen at the other end of the bar.

“I need a beer.”

Frank spun around to see a tiny girl, drunk off her ass, staring him down.

“The bartender can help you.”

“Just give it to me,” she said, trying to push past him, so Frank had to hold her back forcibly. Another girl appeared behind her asking for the same, and then he spun around to see that someone had already climbed onto the counter and put his head under the tap, draining an IPA straight from the source. A small mob was forming around the bar, people just pushing in for free food and drink.

Benny Mon

Well-Known Member
Jul 7, 2011
“What the shit?!” he muttered, and he jumped over the bar and ran into the back while the bartenders tried to fend off their assailants. In the kitchen, things weren’t going any better. The mummy was slowly delivering a string of cured sausages into their mouth, scattering the cooks in fear, as the woman strode up to a basket of fries bubbling in a vat of oil. To Frank’s shock, she simply reached into the oil entirely unscathed and began feeding herself by the fistful.

“Cut that the fuck out!” he yelled as his cooks cowered in the corners.

But nothing could stop this woman, who consumed pile after pile after pile of hot, sizzling, steaming french fries. He watched her grow as she ate, plumping and plumping until a seam ripped down her right hip, freeing a length of pale, fatty flesh that burst out like rising dough. The sudden explosion snapped Frank out of his funk, and he dialed 9-1-1.

“Police?” he said. “I need the police out here right now. These two vandals have broken into my club and are wreaking mayhem. I’m at 555 Fifth St.”

“Sir,” said the dispatcher, “it’s going to be a while. We’re getting calls like this all over town. All our officers are tied up.”

“All of them?!”

“It’s a small town, sir!”

“Then call in the state police! Do whatever the fuck you need to!”

“We’ll do everything we c--”

He hung up and peeked back into the club at the sound of a clatter, only to see the bar overwhelmed by a sea of hungry, desperate patrons. He turned back into the kitchen and whined in defeat as he watched the mummy slowly stuff themselves and the woman indulge in an outright feeding frenzy. That seam rip had been the first of many. As she ate, she swelled ever outward, her hip fat forcing its way through, splitting the right seam down to her knee and forcing the left hip seam open slightly. Her belly ballooned fully beneath the leather, though less than the rest of her, but her arms burst open the leather around them. Finally the body of the suit followed the rest, and this woman stood there, gnawing on a hunk of cheese, clad in black lingerie, stiletto boots, and the “hood” of the suit, a sort of cowl now, clinging to a very full, very smooshed face.

Frank felt faint as he looked at this obese intruder, her vast, flabby arms rippling as she ate, her gargantuan thighs wobbling around the much smaller frame within. Then the door burst open behind Frank as the mob spilled into the kitchen, desperate for more, carrying him toward the now enormous and belly-heavy mummy. Looking over from its sausages, the mummy--more and more smooth, pale grey flesh wrapped in the same amount of bandages--spotted the threat, clubbing Frank in the head with one of their bandaged hands. Frank’s vision flickered, and he felt his skull crack against the ground as he lost consciousness.

Benny Mon

Well-Known Member
Jul 7, 2011
* * *

“Tom!” Rita yelled from the next room. “We’ve got more trick-or-treaters!”

Tom, lanky and piled awkwardly into an armchair, looked up from his phone and muted the Scream re-run he was half-watching. That left only the sound of Liza barking.

“You think I don’t hear the dog?” he yelled back.

“I’ve got Liza,” came the response, “if you can get the door.”

“I got it,” he said, easing himself out of his chair, “I got it.” Tom made his way through the house, past the sleepy, caged birds in the family room, through the cobwebs and orange lights left in the kitchen from their Halloween party last weekend, to the front door. He opened it, apologizing for the barking dog, assuring that she was harmless and being kept in another room, until he saw he was speaking to...teenagers. Three girls, probably college students, vapid and barely costumed. “Trick or treat,” the shortest of them managed listlessly.

Tom didn’t even reach for the bucket of candy. “How old are you?”

They blinked, shocked and perhaps slightly offended. “Like, 14,” said the one who had already spoken.

“Like hell you are.” He pointed at her. “What are you even supposed to be? Is that just a bed sheet? With a bed sheet the least you could do is go as a ghost.”

The girl just stared back at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Get out of here.” He waved his hand.

“Dude,” said the girl, “what the f--”

“Git!” Tom slammed the door shut.

He heard the sound of a dog released and her collar clinking and bouncing as she ran to him, barked once out the front window, and returned to nuzzle him. Rita padded on bare feet into the front hallway too, all legs and long blond hair, wearing jeans and an ugly Halloween sweater.

“That was like the tenth time tonight,” said Tom, crouching and scratching Liza absently.

“I don’t know about tenth…”

“You know what I mean. These damn college kids! Some nerve they have.”

“Well, we did choose to move to a college town so you could work in their fundraising department.”

“What happened to all the little kids?”

“It’s late. We had a bunch of them earlier.”

“When I was a kid, we’d stay out trick-or-treating till midnight!”

Rita laughed. “You sound like a middle-aged man. And that sounds completely false.”

Tom shook his head and sighed. “All I’m saying is these students are ruining Halloween. You love Halloween, and you don’t look like you’re having a good time.” He stood up. “Want to come watch Scream with me?”

“No, that’s okay. I’m replying to some emails.”

“See!” Tom pointed his finger in half-serious accusation. “Not having a good time!”

Rita laughed again and came and kissed him on the cheek. “Go watch your movie.”

So he did, returning to the family room with Liza in tow, spreading himself on the sofa this time while he dangled an arm to rub his pit bull, curled on the floor. Tom was more tired than he realized: he didn’t even catch himself falling asleep. He only knew he had when he woke to the sound of screaming on the TV, paired with Liza’s bark and the sound of the doorbell. The bell rang over and over again, and Liza barked and barked.

“Oof,” said Tom, sitting up and trying to wake up, too. “Hold your horses.” He sat on the sofa, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, vainly shushing Liza. “Do you always have to freak out and run to the door?” he asked her. But then he realized that she hadn’t run to the door: she was barking from within the family room, unwilling to cross the threshold into the rest of the house. There was a slight whine in her bark, too, a hint of uncertainty, even fear.

“Don’t worry, girl,” he said, standing up. “I got it.” The birds were awake now two, cheeping and freaking out. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Everyone needs to calm down.”

Tom left the family room, passing through the decorated kitchen, bumping into a sleepy Rita in the hallway.

“You fall asleep, too?” he asked amidst the din of the doorbell.

“Mm? Mhm,” she replied, rubbing her own eyes.

“I’ll get the door.” He grabbed the big bowl of treats, still brimming with candy, and unlocked the door. The bell fell silent, and Tom pulled the door open to reveal two bizarre, horrifying trick-or-treaters. One, he thought, was an obese mummy, barely wrapped in bandages that mostly covered their head and hands and otherwise wrapped tightly and scantily around their enormous, pale gray body. The other was...what, a dominatrix, maybe? She, too, was supermorbidly obese, but less in her belly than in her monstrous, flabby, pallid white limbs. Some sort of leather cowl wrapped around her fat face, and she stood (somehow) on high, black stiletto boots.

Tom sighed. “I am sick of you goddamn college kids.” He left out the insults he wanted to make about their weight--greedy, entitled brats. “Just go.” But then he made the mistake of looking into the woman’s bright red eyes, which rooted him to the spot with fear. He dropped the bowl to the ground with a clatter, and the trick-or-treaters immediately stooped their overfed bodies to feast on the contents. They inhaled the candy, chomping on everything, wrappers and all, making quick work of the treats. Tom took a step back in horror and disgust.

“Hey,” said Rita’s voice behind him, angry but uncertain. “You freaks heard my husband. Get off our porch!” Liza continued to bark from several rooms away.

But the candies, somehow, were gone, and the trick-or-treaters, it seemed, even larger. Tom threw his hands in the air. “That’s all we have. That’s it. Just go.” The figures ignored him, struggling to their feet and suddenly lurching into the house. They bowled Tom over, and as he fell to the side he saw the fatties knock Rita heavily against the wall, opening a cut on her forehead. Tom roared to his feet and followed them into the kitchen, where the mummy was eating leftover cookies off the counter and the woman was already chugging a gallon of cider from the fridge. With every gulp her body pulsed and grew, layering fat over fat, her belly even beginning to catch up with the rest of her. The mummy’s own belly, already massive, swelled ever outward, developing small rolls at the margins.

“That was supposed to last all month!” Tom hissed at the woman. He rushed her, but the mummy tripped him, and he fell awkwardly to the floor. He flailed around and grabbed at one of the mummy’s loose bandages, but they moaned and tugged their foot back, ripping the bandage stingingly out of Tom’s grip.

At this moment Rita jumped into the room wielding a handheld vacuum. She shattered it against the mummy’s head, dazing the creature and sending it to its well-padded ass. Tom spun around to face the woman again, now unbelievably obese, hundreds and hundreds of pounds of shapeless, heavy flesh layered onto her bones. She was eating butter and washing it down with cream, totally immersed in the activity, enough that Tom could leap onto her back and choke her. She sputtered and flailed, her massive, tippy body almost-but-not-quite tumbling, as Tom pulled tighter and tighter around her neck. Her arms were now far too fat to reach back and grab him, but finally it occurred to her to simply fall back and try to crush Tom under her weight. Thinking fast as she began to tip, he leapt off to the side and gripped her cowl, tugging her neck awkwardly.

Suddenly the fleshy neck and cheeks beneath the cowl could be contained no longer, and it ripped open, revealing her flesh in all its fullness and a scalp covered in flame. The woman shrieked, tottering unevenly as the flame spread down her neck and consumed her white flesh, until she collided with the mummy and lit them on fire, too. Tom and Rita scrambled to the side as these creatures flailed heavily and awkwardly, unable to go far as the flame ripped through them. Their forms grew less and less defined, silhouettes that melted and crumbled until the fire was spent and nothing was left but piles of ash mixed with melted candies and steaming cider and beer and goopy cheese and so many other things. The smell was wretched, but they were gone.

Tom clutched Rita’s hand struggled to catch his labored breath. They kissed and nearly cried, and Tom sprawled out on the kitchen floor, panting still. Their fire alarm honked in the background, adding to the symphony of chirping and barking from the family room.

“Hon,” said Rita.

“I know,” said Tom, staring at the ceiling. “We have the most cowardly dog on earth.” It was a joke, but he felt numb.

“Yes, but hon?”

Tom looked over at Rita, still propped on an elbow, the blood dripping from her forehead mingling with saliva gathering at the corner of her mouth.

“I can’t explain it,” she said, “but I am so hungry.” She looked back at the counter. “Did they finish the cookies?”

Tom’s brow furrowed and his eyes went wide.

Rita turned back to him, her gaze distant, her face flushed. “You need to get me something to eat,” she said. “Now.”