chapter 2

Before Lady Penelope’s eyes, she went from slightly curvy to pleasantly plump to matronly. Her belly flowed outward, filling her dress until it was stretched uncomfortably tight across the mass of flesh. Her breasts swelled and grew, beginning to spill over the top of her bodice in a quite unbecoming fashion. The fat on her arms became significant enough to sag slightly, and her rear, which had always been quite flat, was suddenly a mass unto itself fit to balance out her breasts.

As the wave of transformation ended she gaped at herself. She was fat! She looked like the poor pudgy lady from the countryside who the other women of the court always laughed at – whatever-her-name-was, Alys or something.

She rubbed both hands over her swollen gut, pushing slightly on the soft flesh as if that would banish it back to wherever it came from. As she did so, she felt a warm flush of excitement in her loins. Was she enjoying this?

She gave herself a look in the mirror. The mysterious weight gain was distributed over her body, but most of it had very clearly gone to her newly plush belly. She turned to the side and rubbed it up and down again, letting herself admire it – it was a smooth single curve outward with no rolls. If she didn’t know better, she would say she might by pregnant by the appearance of things.

Looking around as if someone were about to walk in on her and catch her, she gave her belly an experimental shake. Obligingly, the thing jiggled wildly, sending little shockwaves through her torso. Surprised by the strange sensation, she giggled.

As she laughed, the warm sensation started again, but this time she leaned into it, laughing even harder. Under her hands, her belly spread out in front of her while her bosom swelled out even further.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth that had washed over her body. It was the most purely pleasurable thing she’d ever experienced and she allowed herself to just enjoy it – until she heard a loud rip.

Her eyes snapped open. She looked in the mirror again and saw that, much to her distress, her dress had more or less been shredded. No, she comforted herself, that wasn’t entirely true – it had just split down the seam and it could likely be repaired, but it dawned on her as she looked in the mirror that there was no way she was ever fitting into it again.

Her belly had lost its pert, rounded shape as it became too large to hold itself up, forming thick rolls and starting to hang down over her groin. Her breasts had lost their perk, resting gently on top of the mass of fat below. With her dress essentially destroyed, she could see stark pink stretchmarks against her pale skin as it protested what the magic had done to it.

A little thrill of excitement went through her as she looked at her newly fuller, rounder face. No! Why was she enjoying this? This was a disaster!

She began to pace, the floor creaking ominously under her as her new body jiggled with every step. Clearly, she’d botched the potion somehow. One, she very much still looked like herself, only fatter, and the book had given her the impression that it would somehow change her features – the color of her hair, the shape of her nose, that kind of thing. She still looked exactly like Penelope, and she was absolutely sure that Alasdair was not interested in Penelope.

Two, there was absolutely no way that this was anyone’s ideal woman. She walked back over to the mirror and looked at herself again. The full cheeks, the enormous belly, the fat, saggy arms – each one of her thighs had to be thicker now than her waist was before!

As she looked herself over, she felt the same strange contentment. Maybe that was the problem – maybe the potion had turned her into her own ideal woman. She’d always secretly liked the looks of larger girls, but had never admitted it openly. Perhaps the potion had picked up on her secret desires and transformed her into this strange parody of them.

She began to wonder – could she go about her life like this? She put a hand up to her face. Things might be a bit harder, she supposed – she could feel herself getting a little winded just from her pacing, but it wasn’t as if her life as a lady-in-waiting required a great deal of physical exertion. There would be social backlash, and she’d have to admit that she botched a spell on herself, but…

No! This was ridiculous. As much as she liked the new look, she couldn’t live her life like this without a better reason. Besides, if she ever wanted to find a husband – Alasdair or otherwise – she couldn’t be waddling around in this condition.

With some difficulty she got down on her knees and pulled her cloak out from under her bed. Miraculously, it more or less covered her body, so at least she wouldn’t be going out into the street naked.

She wobbled over to the trap door and began lowering herself down through it. She would take one of the horses from the stable – preferably a strong, sturdy one that wouldn’t object to a large load – and ride back to her home village. She’d find her mentor, the old woman who had taught her magic, who would certainly know how to fix this.

Unfortunately, she did not accurately judge her ability to squeeze through the space – or the capriciousness of the effects of the potion – and now here she was, trapped.

Giving up her struggle, she folded her arms and rested her head on the cushion of fat. What was she going to do?

Just when she thought her situation could get no worse, she heard a familiar voice from down below.

“Hello?” Alasdair’s uncertain voice quavered as she let out a small sound of misery. “Do you need help, milady?”

She called back, “I’m quite alright!” She pitched her voice up and affected an accent, praying that he wouldn’t realize it was her.

There was silence from below. Finally, the voice came to her again, “You seem to be stuck. Do you want help!”

“No!”

Alasdair didn’t respond, but she didn’t hear his footsteps going away. She thought of the prospect of being stuck here for hours and heaved a sigh, bidding adieu to the last scraps of her dignity.

“Yes, I’d like some help, Lord Alasdair.”

“Alright,” he called back up. Penelope gasped as she felt hands grip one of her thighs. A flush of arousal battled bravely against a swell of embarrassment. “I’m going to pull on three. Do try to suck in, alright?”

“Alright,” she yelled.

“One… two… three!”

She tried to let all the air out of her body and sucked her belly in as she felt a hard, sudden tug on her leg.

“Did you move at all?”

She sighed. “No, not really.”

“Wait, let me get a better grip.” She felt him release her leg and sighed with relief – until, that is, he wrapped both arms around her tree-trunk legs, holding them tight to his body.

“I’m sorry, milady, I know this is terribly improper,” he said. She could believe it – having his face pressed up against a log of fat could hardly be pleasant.

“It’s alright,” she said miserably.

“On three?”

“Very well.”

“One… two… three!”

Another hard tug, and this time, she felt herself slide down a little. She called down, “Again! It’s working!”

“One… two… three!”

“Once more!”

“One.. two… three!”

Finally, with a plop, the widest point of her body was no longer trapped in the doorway and she tumbled down the ladder, onto the waiting Lord Alasdair.