Metroid

CHAPTER 2 - The Pick-Me-Up

The Samus that looked back from the mirror in the head the night before landing made her chuckle. The chuckle made the Samus in the mirror bounce.

She was always prone to reckless decisions after finishing a mission, and this wasn’t the first time her figure had suffered for it. Since she would be landing for a while, she reasoned, she might as well use up all the raw materials in the ship’s replicator. Constant nakedness, solitude, emotions, and the bottomless stomach of the athlete had exhausted a year’s worth of supplies in a month.

Gratefully, she thought, it had all gone to the right places, and she got an electric thrill looking at herself, and touching her body. Her boobs were nearly as big as the shoulders on her suit, her hips bulged out like the shoulders of a wide-necked beer bottle, but as soft and deep as overstuffed pillows. Turning, she admired the statuesque curve of her buttocks, and fingered the deep fold of fat in her back as she twisted. Her thighs touched all the way down to her knees, two alabaster tree trunks of swaying, jiggling softness. But she obsessed most over her belly. The moments when her hands were not full of food, they were full of her belly. She kneaded it like dough, patted it and rubbed it and lifted it, warming her hands underneath it. It was her favorite feature. Her boobs were always getting in the way, her butt was taking up too much p-way, but her belly was always there for her. Soft, reassuring, feminine.

Her slender neck and shoulders, soft cheeks with a healthy pink flush, her long, soft, golden hair that fell straight and shimmering around her down to her belly like the Lady Godiva, and her dainty, greasy fingers all gave her an inordinate measure of pleasure as well.

An uninterrupted month of solitary reckless abandon had had quite the effect on her. Given the state of her physique, she reflected as she squeezed herself sideways out of the tiny head, pulling her vast, lily-white hips and belly through the doorway, she could hardly offer her services as a bounty hunter. She was now considering offering services that would require markedly less athleticism.


Ordering at the replicator had started taking so much time that she was considering getting another one installed as soon as she had some funds secured. For the time being, she had moved a shipping container in front of it for her to sit on as she waited, snacking while the machine pumped out more of her orders. Often enough this started a loop where she never got up to bring them back to the couch, as her appetite outpaced the replicator’s ability to produce her dense orders, and her butt grew into softer, wider seat cushions in slow motion.

She sat there finishing her third triple bacon cheeseburger with glazed donut buns in a row and sucking her slender, messy fingers thoughtfully, occasionally picking a crumb from between her deep cleavage or wiping the flowing grease as it dripped down her chin.

In this world, danger is value. Her ability to destroy dangerous monsters and thwart dangerous research had made her valuable. Now, she thought wryly as she grabbed a handful of belly fat, her genes made her dangerous. And if that was the case, her genes were valuable.

The space pirates engaged in all manner of illicit activity. They had no home world, running (often mishandled) secretive projects out in deep space, or carving out an underworld on some moon near a lucrative target. They had no morals, no scruples, and generally not much intelligence either. But they were well-known, and well-connected. The perfect combination that Samus needed to stay hidden, but able to earn an income now that all her terrestrial assets and accounts had been seized.

She stretched luxuriously, the doughy mass of her body unmoving beneath her as her soft, perfectly round, but still-slender arms reached out above her sunlight-blonde head, and stars popped in her eyes. She certainly wouldn’t be doing any acrobatics tomorrow, she giggled happily to herself.

She stood from the crate, crumbs that had worked their way too deep into the soft abyss between her breasts for her to recover now tumbling their way down her belly to the deck. She rubbed her tummy, temporarily satiated, and decided to wash up before donning the Zero Suit again for the first time in a month.

The shower stall on the ship was miserably small, and she admittedly had not used it as much recently because of that. It took longer than usual to clean up, not only because of the cramped quarters, but also because of how long it had been since her last shower, and her messy eating habits of late.

Carefully rubbing a hand towel around her body and between her breasts and belly, the fold on her back, her chest, her neck, she was eventually satisfied that she had got most of the muck off, washed her hair, and stepped out of the shower.

In the past, she would have done some exercises straight out of the shower to stay sharp. Now she reached for the towel and luxuriously wiped down every inch of her body while gazing into the mirror. Why had she ever let herself get so thin, when this felt and looked so much better?