Chapter 2 - lesson 002: discerning

Emmerith awoke at some time past noon the next day. Dazed and exceptionally hungover she staggered blearily into her main room. Where she found me waiting for her. I put the academic drivel I had been reading aside to properly greet her. “Ah yes, greetings, can I get you anything for breakfast, perhaps some tea" she asked me. “Oh, I'm quite fine" I told her with a dismissive hand wave. She seemed briefly relieved, but I wasn't finished speaking. “I was going to fix myself some, but I figured I didn't want to deplete your pantry, you seem to be putting a lot of emphasis on not going hungry lately, after all." I told her. “I wouldn't worry too much, even if the pantry is empty in winter, I'll still have good company to keep me warm” she shot back, a slight dig at my lacking social life. In spite many claims to the contrary witches are only instructed in four languages formally during their training. “Sarcasm, Smugness, Sex and Passive Aggression" though not necessarily in that order.

I paused. I had stuffed her into a frilly night gown, on account of the state her other clothes had been in. But I hadn't taken the time to examine her image. At one time I supposed it might've fit her well, but the tight see-through material only highlighted the out of shape nature of her figure. Her breasts once merely shapely had bloated to a noticeable girth, the night gown stretched tight in a fashion which pushed them into one another and highlighted how they heaved with each breath. The effect might've been erotic in another context, but as it was it only captured the image of two overfed pig, attempting to squeeze through a gap in a fence. Her hips had acquired a soft padding as well, and the night gown left them exposed, ensuring their width was visible. They had plumped to the extent of being borderline matronly. Though I had to acknowledge the situation wasn't as bad as it had seemed the night previous. Her middle had acquired an undeniable soft curve that jutted out from what should've been a flat midriff. I was sure if I slapped it would wobble slightly in a suitably humiliating fashion. However, it was a far cry from the bloated dome of beer and tavern food I had seen the previous night. Though I was sure if her indulgences continued, she would certainly catch up to such a size.

“Perhaps I could be that company at least for a while, I'm thinking I might stay here to help with my research” I suggested . “Ah that's absolutely fine, I have my own work to do anyways" she agreed with a dismissive hand wave that wobbled her swollen breasts in their ill prepared confines. She knew full well a refusal would've been an admittance she had something to hide. So, she attempted to go about her business. She put on a pretty good show of it boot. She changed into a gown that was suitably formal, sensual and above all else clean. Then she sat at her study desk and made a good show of attempting to progress magical academia. She flicked through tomes, cast a few spells. Things were good and proper. For a while. Then her stomach growled, and she paused mid book. “Perhaps I should grab breakfast first...food helps feed the mind of course” she said simply, but I could see greed plain as day in her pretty amber eyes.

As it turns out Emeriths favourite location for breakfast, was a bakery with some tables out front to act as a seating area. Her excitement for the place was palpable as she walked me through town towards it, it reminded me of her wonder at magic when I had first started teaching her. I could honestly have thought of worse places with regards to her image as a proper witch as well. A pastry shop is appropriately feminine, and just indulgent enough that it advertises the simple pleasures of the occupation. A single slice of cake every now and then wasn't going to have you looking like Emmie did. With her breasts struggling to escape the neckline of her most formal dress. So, it came as no surprise that as she finished one cake slice, she ordered another. We chatted and bantered all the while. But my eyes were glued to her plate, when one slice was gobbled another would soon take its place. She seemed hardly aware of it as we traded barbs or gossiped about my other apprentices, a topic which seemed to irritate Emmie somwhat. Unlike her previous dress, her new one had no corset, and I was appalled that I could already see the beginnings of a bloated middle. Unlike with the tavern she used a simple spell to teleport her coin purse from her home to her hand in order to pay for the food she had consumed. It informed of two things. Firstly, that it seemed this was an establishment she was looking to avoid being banned from. Secondly, that her aim was still acceptably good when she was sober.

“Emerith, this doesn't appear to be the route to your home?” I asked her though it was more a statement of fact. “Ah yes, while it's hard to think on an empty stomach it’s even harder to do so with a dry throat" she said, her tone playful. “Ah so we'll be stopping by the tavern then?” I asked her already knowing the answer. “Well, it is the most convenient place to get a drink" she shot back with a shrug that heaved her plump chest. I sighed pre-emptively. It was only midday, her overindulgences had been minor. Sure, cake for breakfast was hardly ideal, and borderline hoggish. But if she curbed the excess there it would be only a minor foot note. She turned her nose up at me. “You still baby me after a literal century, I'm a woman many times over at this stage, I don’t have a problem" she insisted crossing her arms and pouting. “I'm going to stop in for one drink to quench my thirst, that's all" she insisted as she led me over the threshold into the establishment.

Four drinks deep, the idea of telling her I told you so hardly mattered. She was once more drinking without paying first, slogging back cheap brews and guzzling them down to try and build a buzz. With the foam occasionally sloshing down to her plump breasts. In truth she would've been banned from the establishment if I hadn't gone back to pay her tab from the previous days drinking. While there I had also pre-paid another tab for her. It was enabling, but while having a sloppy gluttonous apprentice was a problem. Having one who wouldn't pay up was an issue of an entirely different calibre. Yet she hadn't seemed to have noticed the knowing glances between me and the bar tender as she poured the drinks down her gut. It was beginning to return to prominence as she filled it with excess booze. Her tight dress growing only tighter. She could've at least been chugging down wine, but there was something so undignified about bloating herself stupid and tipsy on the raw cheap brew of the common man. Where she had gotten a taste for it I had no idea in the slightest.

“You know I'm almost certain we covered basic arithmetic in your studies, but it seems you've forgotten how to count" I chastised her as she emptied her flagon and burped softly into her sleeve. “Alright so I'm not a perfect paragon of willpower, so screw me" she slurred as the bartender filled her another flagon, and she took another long swig of brew. I could almost hear that pretty dress of her creaking. One thread of its fabric was worth more than the entire tavern, but it seemed close to shedding a few. “I don't have a problem, having a vice is perfectly normal" she informed me, she was aiming for stern but her slurred speech ruined the effect. I nodded in a knowing fashion that only seemed to incense my former student further. “And you can commit to that, that you don’t have a problem?” I asked her, reaching out and patting the bulge of her bloated middle. It almost sloshed slightly at my prying fingers and dislodged a drunken unladylike burp. “Of course," she said sternly slamming her fist on the table signalling the bartender to supply her another drunk.

“I've got a big urp problem" she whined leaning on me as I walked her up the steps of her home. It was anything but unexpected, but her dress had torn from the neckline to her belly button, after beers beyond counting. Drunk and so bloated I basically had to roll her out of the establishment, it seemed to be dawning her the magnitude of her own debauchery. “It'll be fine, we have nothing if not time, a slight slip down a wrong path is only to be expected” I told her as I used a spell to unlock the door. Usually, the wrong path was the dark arts, and not beer and pastries, but I left that part out. “Yes...plenty...plenty of time" she murmured happily. I led her down to the kitchen table and let her take a seat on her chair. Idily one of her hands drifted to her bloated dome of a stomach, and she began to passively rub it, occasionally stifling a burp. Her eyes half lidded. “When you put it that way...I guess it's not a big problem...relatively speaking it's a small problem” she said adopting a dull drunkards smile, giggling a little through the pain.

It felt odd yet nostalgic as I took to readying to put the poor drunkard to bed. Lightly clearing up the clutter, I noticed something that had slipped under another piece of furniture. The house itself was as much of a mess as she was, so it was easy to miss. But it was a letter emblazoned with a purple crest that practically stopped my heart, I gingerly picked it up, already knowing its content. “Teacher, what's wrong?” she asked, despite my panic over the letter I almost chuckled, she hadn't called me teacher in a very long time indeed. “Nothing, you just peel yourself out of that dress" I told her making a show of a dismissive hand wave. That was a lie. The truth struck me, as I combined the contents of the letter with the ensuing sight of her struggling in a wobbly, burpy, uncoordinated display. That she didn’t have a big problem. She had a huge problem. Though for just that night, I figured it was easier to let her sleep it off.