House arrest

chapter 3

After her masturbation session, Ivy went into the bathroom and stepped on the scale. 146. She had gained almost 40 pounds in 2 months. The old Ivy would have been mortified. She may have even committed suicide if she had just woken up like this. But now, she was much calmer, more lethargic.
She looked at her naked self in the full body mirror. She was not fat, even she thought that she wasn't. She saw her breasts hanging slightly lower than they used to. She saw the bloated but soft at the bottom, smooth belly which threatened to expand into a set of rolls and overhang if she didn't change her lifestyle. She saw her thighs that were beginning to touch, just in one little spot, about halfway in between her vagina and her knees.
She turned around. There, she saw where the weight had been hiding. It was as if all the time she spent laying down caused the fat to settle in her posterior. The tops of her thighs were starting to look jiggly. They sure felt jiggly. And she finally saw the ass that she had spent the last twenty minutes or so feeling and squeezing. It was starting to hang a little bit over her thighs, but it seemed to be mostly expanding towards the top. "Fuck it," Ivy told herself.

"Fuck it", is a great way to describe how Ivy continued to live. She started looking forward to the sound of the ice cream truck, as it pulled through her apartment complex every day at either 2 or 4, and sometimes both. When it came twice, she came out twice and bought a plethora of frozen snacks. She always bought more the first time it came though, in case that was the only time it would come that day. Sugar was her new addiction.
And it showed in places other than the scale. Her once smooth, flawless complexion was now interrupted by 3 or 4 red pimples at all times. They usually appeared on her cheek or chin, just below her mouth. She didn't seem to care. 'You're getting your way, Judge, you sure are getting your way,' Ivy thought nonchalantly.

The months rolled by. It was now June. Summer had begun again. Most 19 year old girls are out in bikinis, flaunting their tight bodies on the beach or on a boat. Ivy had been a girl just like that the previous summer, but this one was different. She was different.
The old fears of being trapped crept back in. She had to fight the desire to cut off her ankle bracelet and run off into the night. But she hadn't run in so long. The ankle bracelet would beep if she walked past the apartment's dumpster, which was about 50 feet in front of her door. It was June 24th, when Ivy sat in the sun in a lawn chair wearing a loose fitting sundress. She didn't want to take the chance of anyone seeing her fat. It was her fat, she was possessive of it, and she had grown to enjoy playing with it. Though she wanted to go back to being the thin, carefree social butterfly that she was just one short year ago. Ivy felt torn apart. She began to cry. Tears rushed down her chubby cheeks, mixed with sweat from her forehead, and the salty liquid dripped between her cleavage, eventually pooling within her belly button.
She now weighed 171 pounds. When sitting down, especially hunched over crying, she had three prominent rolls of fat on her stomach. Her back fat had expanded slightly, and her upper arms had doubled in size.
Ivy kept crying until she heard the ice cream truck. She got three fudge bars, and went back inside. She slept for 14 hours, and awoke the following morning. She immediately went to the mirror. She saw a double chin forming beneath a pimple. "Alright, you fat bitch, today's the day!" she scolded herself.