Chapter 1 - part one

Camille shoved another forkful of mashed potatoes past her lips and seethed in silence. The creaky orange booth she’d chosen had somehow loosened itself from the floor, and every slight movement caused another exaggerated creak. It wasn’t her, per se, (Right? She wasn’t THAT big yet…) but it did nothing to ease her fears regarding her increasing weight.

It was right before lunch on a dreary Wednesday. Outside, the quiet patter of the rain amplified the sullen interior of the KFC. There was a noticeable lack of customers. The normally packed lines of hungry white-collar workers hadn’t arrived yet, leaving the mouthy clerk to pace back and forth as he stole occasional glances at the loaded table in front of her. It was humiliating, though not nearly as bad as when she had first walked in and given her order. Who in their right mind orders three buckets of chicken with sides? The sheer amount had startled the greasy worker, who’d taken the moment to crane his head to look around Camille as if searching for a family or two that clearly didn’t exist.

She’d gotten used to it. The bewildered look was always the same.

It didn’t bother her now.

What really ground her gears was that the look was becoming increasingly rare as her body ballooned. A skinny pregnant chick ordering a practical feast gets a smirk and slight giggle, but at a certain point the joking replies and sympathetic pandering becomes caustic before morphing completely into “what a fat bitch!” territory. Camille didn’t know exactly where that line was, but she was rapidly approaching it. In fact, this was probably going to be one of the last booths she set in for a while. It’d been hard enough to squeeze into when she first set down, but now her food addled gut had begun to dent in from where the flesh pressed firmly against the table’s unyielding edge. She’d tried pushing herself backwards in her seat, but that, too, was difficult when one’s ass had grown enough to fill all the space behind her as well. She could just move to one of the well-lit tables across the way, but… well… that would require getting up and she preferred taking on one hurdle at a time.

She scowled as she ripped the last morsel of meat from a now clean chicken bone and dropped it on the pile before her. Large as it was now, the mound of bones and discarded wrappers completely covered the red serving tray. Thank God there wasn’t much left. Just a little further…

Her phone chirped, and Camille wiped her hands on her undone jeans. Additional napkins required movement. Motion was not in the cards right now. She let out a long, low belch, mouth uncovered. She was long past caring.

Times almost up. Finished grazing?

The messages were never lengthy. A complete sentence was abnormal. Anything longer was nonexistent. She’d vaguely wondered if this was on purpose and concluded it most likely was. Everything was purposeful. She had just begun typing a message in return when the table’s stubborn edge bit too deep into her now larger orb, forcing her to push against the table’s edge with both hands. Fuck. When had she outgrown booths? Was it this tight of a fit last time? No. No, she vaguely remembered her belly barely rubbing the edge. Oh fuck, how she’d grown. No thanks to this fucker. Neither the table nor booth moved, though she was rewarded with a series of creaks that once again drew the clerk’s wandering eye.

Camille cocked her head at him before slowly raising her fist and extending her middle finger.

How much more? I’m full. Are you going to tell me what you really want? We’ve been doing this for months now.

Months was not an understatement. It’d become a daily thing. Another hurdle to be jumped through during her day. Certain as coffee in the morning and showers at night, consistency of the moon and tides. Every day. 10:30 on the dot, she’d get the first text giving her the time and place and what to order, along with the time limit she was under to finish. The meal was always the fattiest shit the place served. Always.

Do or I squeal. Simple. Finish.

She wanted to smash the phone, heave it against the wall and watch it shatter into a thousand bits of glass and plastic. What could she do? Apparently nothing but eat and get fucking fatter. She was doing just great at that.

At first, the whole thing had been so confusing. Laughable. Hell, she’d even enjoyed it in the beginning. An excuse to get away and completely overindulge. She met every craving leaving weighed down and breathless. The steady drumming of her gurgling belly was a constant reminder of her sin. But all that food had to go somewhere, right? It’d caught up with her. Fast. Now she’d be lucky to get out of this booth. Camille belched again, dropping another discarded drumstick on the pile.

By the time she got home, Naomi was waiting for her. “Where have you…. Oh.” She wheeled himself back from her desk and sighed. “Again? Seriously”

“I don’t want to hear it. Not a fucking peep.” Camille’s engorged belly protruded through the open fly of her stretchy faux jeans. Having forced the zipper completely down, the normally firm mound drooped ever so slightly due to the sheer weight of Camille’s overindulgence. The shallow indention of her naval could be seen through her stretched top as she valiantly held it in place with one hand.

“I thought this had stopped. Didn’t…”

“No. Nothing has stopped. They let up for a bit, but now it’s practically every day I’m getting a text.”

“Or two.” Naomi stared at Camille’s barely covered middle, watching as her shirt threatened to slide up the mountainous curve of her gorged bump with each breath....

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A short teaser for a two (maybe three) part story I'm currently working on. You can see more on my Patreon.

Appreciate any comments about my work and thank you for reading! As always, if you like my work please consider supporting me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/beeboz. It’s only a buck, helps motivate me, and you get fun exclusive stories.