As if It's Your Last

Chapter 1

It was a crisp Sunday morning in August. Morgana made her way across the town square. The raucous chatter of a group of girls sitting around the fountain stopped abruptly as they bowed their heads respectfully to the Headmistress. She paused briefly to exchange pleasantries with the local librarian, who was heading off to walk her dog.

Morgana pushed open the door of the little coffee shop on the square - the only one that served decent coffee. Usually she took her coffee to go, nodding with brisk politeness to whichever members of her staff happened to be clustered around the corner table. She was careful to avoid eye contact. Oh no - she had made that mistake before, and they had waved her over to join them. She dreaded to think how many precious minutes she had wasted that morning listening to them gossip like a nest of vipers, indulging in such empty-headed chatter that she marvelled they were entrusted to educate even the most dim-witted of students.

Today, though, something in their hushed, eager tone made her pause at the counter.

”Have you heard about the Caldwells' land whale of a daughter?"

"Didn't she lose all the weight? I heard the parents spent an absolute fortune - doctors, nutritionists, personal trainers..."

“I heard she went off to university and gained it all back - plus more."

"I heard they had to buy an entire row on the plane just to bring her home. Can you imagine?"

A ripple of scandalised laughter.

Morgana’s lips curved, almost imperceptibly. She paid for her coffee, then - instead of leaving - carried it to their table.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked coolly.

The women quickly reconfigured in a clattering of cups and a shuffle of chairs to make space for the Headmistress.

"Headmistress," Miss Woods said, delighted. "To what do we owe the honour?"

"Oh, just stopping by," she said. "But please, call me Morgana."

By 9am on Monday morning she would allow no such familiarity.

The conversation resumed with fresh energy. They described the modifications to the Caldwell mansion with gleeful detail: the widened doors, the reinforced furniture, the downstairs bedroom. They frowned and sighed, making a great performance of sympathy for her poor parents. How could two such motivated, successful people produce - well. That. How could they be fit enough to enjoy a ski trip while their daughter remained behind, too vast for a commercial flight, too unfit to climb a flight of stairs, never mind a mountain?

“Frankly,” said Mrs. Harrow from the History department, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “You have to wonder what kind of a person allows themself to get that fat.”

Morgana sipped her coffee, letting the silence stretch just long enough to invite the inevitable question.

“You taught her, didn’t you, Headmistress? Senior English. What was she like?”

They all turned to Morgana.

“Liara Caldwell…” She tilted her head slightly, holding the cup in both hands, as though weighing the name. “Now let me think.”

A pause.

“Ah, yes,” she said at last. “A hopeless girl, if I recall correctly. More interested in stuffing her face than filling her head with knowledge. Still-”

She raised the cup again, as if in mild concession, concealing the faint smirk on her lips.

“We mustn’t judge her too harshly. The poor thing probably can’t help herself. Some people simply lack self-control.”

The table murmured agreement - admiring the Headmistress' benevolence, satisfied with her polite condemnation. Morgana allowed herself the smallest private smile.

Five days later, she spotted her.

Morgana had come to the supermarket every day since she heard the news. For lemons. For wine. For flowers she would forget in the car. For her.

And now there she was, lumbering down the bakery aisle. All six hundred pounds of her.

Morgana didn’t approach straight away. She watched instead, from a distance. Her pulse quickened with cold, exquisite satisfaction as she drank in the sight of the beautiful blimp. No amount of rumours or gossip could have prepared her for how massively Liara had ballooned in the years since she’d last seen her.

Her belly had swollen to an incredible size - a quivering mountain of flab under her tent-sized t-shirt.

Her arms were like blubbery pillows, thick rolls drooping over her elbows and swaying with the slightest movement.

Her leggings were stretched so tight over her massive backside that she could see the dimples of cellulite through the straining material. Each enormous ass cheek was like a shapeless beanbag full of lard, shifting and wobbling with every laboured step.

At her size, it was frankly astonishing that she could still walk at all. Some people, Morgana concluded, were simply made to be fat. Immensely, arousingly, gloriously fat.

Liara leaned her weight against the trolley, desperate to ease her overburdened legs. As she did, her lower belly oozed out from beneath her t-shirt, spilling over her waistband in a thick, pale roll. Morgana caught the glimpse of the fat girl's tender underbelly - soft, vulnerable. Delicious.

All around her, her shocking obesity drew the inevitable stares and whispers.

“That’s what happens if you don’t watch what you eat,” a woman hissed at her chubby daughter, voice sharp with warning.

“Jesus. Wide load in aisle ten,” a boy laughed under his breath to his mate, phone raised to snap a picture.

Others fell into a hushed silence, edging away as though her size might be contagious.

The obese girl loaded her trolley with the most fattening treats the store had to offer. One last binge - then she would change her greedy, gluttonous ways. Morgana had heard it all before.

She had fattened enough piggies to know precisely how their minds worked - all those empty promises made with mouths stuffed full of food. If the road to hell was paved with good intentions then the road to six hundred pounds and beyond was paved with thousands upon thousands of calories of broken promises.

Liara reached for a jar of Nutella from the top shelf but it slipped from her clumsy, sausage-like fingers. The jar rolled down the aisle and came to a stop at Morgana's feet.

Liara froze. Her mouth fell open in mute surprise. Her jaw sinking softly into her double - no, triple - chin.

"Mistress -" she whispered, then she flushed. "I mean - Morgana. Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Why, shopping of course," Morgana replied brightly.

Morgana reached down for the jar of Nutella and pressed it into the girl's hands, letting her touch linger there.

“Hello, my piggy girl. Have you missed me?” She traced a finger along the girl's plump cheek. “Because I've missed you.”

Liara shivered at her touch, her chins wobbling as she swallowed nervously.

"I'm not supposed to see you," she said weakly.

“Supposed to?” Morgana smirked. “It looks like you’ve not been doing what you’re supposed to for quite some time. You tried so hard to be good…” Her voice dropped, merciless. “But now here you are - too weak and lazy to exercise, too greedy and lacking in self-control to commit to any diet. And-" Her eyes travelled down to where Liara’s thighs squeezed together in a futile attempt to hide how wet the humiliation - and the promise of more - had already made her. “-too helplessly aroused to ever stop yourself getting fatter and fatter.”

Morgana took the jar of Nutella from her and swirled a finger through the thick, glossy chocolate. She brought it slowly to Liara’s mouth, her lips parted instinctively.

“I know you’re hungry for more,” she said softly, almost tenderly.

“Starving,” Liara whispered, voice trembling with need.

She closed her lips around Morgana's finger and sucked the chocolate off - slow, deliberate - never breaking eye contact.

“Good girl,” Morgana said, her voice low, approving.

Then, louder now, her tone shifting to cool command: “Now, first things first, fatty - your tree-trunk legs are already trembling from carrying all this weight. Go ask for a mobility scooter. And tell them exactly why: because you’re too enormously fat to walk ten aisles without collapsing. Say it clearly. Let everyone hear what you’ve done to yourself.”

Liara’s eyes filled with tears of mortification, but the desperate, shameful heat in them betrayed her completely. She would obey.

Morgana savoured every second of the humiliating spectacle: the slow, laborious waddle to the service desk, the stammered confession (“I… I’m too fat to walk the store”), the employee’s open grimace of pity and revulsion, the fresh wave of stares and whispers that rippled through the aisle behind her. She watched Liara heave her enormous bulk onto the creaking mobility scooter, belly pressing hard against the handlebars, thick thighs spilling over both sides, ass engulfing the entire seat.

She would almost feel sorry for the pathetic porker.

Almost.

If she didn’t know that every judgemental word, every disapproving look only made the girl soak her gigantic panties even more.

Morgana directed the slow-moving scooter through the aisles, encouraging Liara to reach for the most caloric items while shoppers gawked and judged.

By checkout, Liara was trembling uncontrollably with humiliated arousal.

Drive-thrus next.

Then home.

Liara excused herself to use the bathroom almost as soon as they crossed the threshold of Morgana's house.

The fat girl would be comfortable in there at least. There were... certain modifications for someone her size. Later tonight, if she hadn't melted into a pile of gluttonous lust, the girl could use the shower room with the extra-wide reinforced bench and hand rails too.

She wondered - not for the first time - if the girl had ever questioned why her home was all on one floor or why the doorways were so wide.

It wasn't her first time accommodating a pig of Liara's proportions.

And it certainly wouldn't be the last.

She smiled to herself and turned toward the kitchen where the groceries and paper drive-thru bags waited on the counter, already sweating with grease.

By the time Liara returned, Morgana had it all laid out on the dining room table: towering stacks of burgers, extra-large pizzas, mountains of fries glistening with salt and oil, tubs of ice cream already beginning to soften at the edges, piles of doughnuts, cookies and cream cakes. A veritable feast for her insatiable fatty.

Morgana stood beside the table, arms crossed, watching as Liara paused in the doorway. The girl bit her lip - nervous, uncertain, eyes darting from the feast to Morgana’s face and back again.

“Come here, piggy,” Morgana said, voice low and coaxing.

Liara took one careful, waddling step forward, then another, the floorboards groaning beneath her. Her belly swayed ahead of her like a heavy pendulum.

Morgana closed the space between them in two easy strides. Without a word she reached for the hem of the girl's t-shirt and removed it. Breasts and belly billowed out.

She uttered a soft sigh of relief as Morgana unhooked her bra - the soft, pale flesh of her breasts spilling onto her belly, now unrestrained. Morgana traced the cruel red indentations where the bra straps had bitten into the fat girl’s tender rolls, almost sympathetically. Poor piggy. But it couldn't be helped, she was afraid. That was the cost of gluttony: always squeezing into a size too small, never able to keep up with her swelling dimensions.

The obese girl shivered as Morgana's hands moved lower, tracing her stretch marks with her fingers - the faded, silver lines etched there by her own desires. And the deeper, red lines carved there by Liara's lust-fueled gorging.

"Beautiful," Morgana sighed. "All this gorgeous, luscious fat. You won't try to lose it again. Will you, piggy?"

Liara's face reddened from more than the exertion of her brief walk. She shook her head slowly in mute resignation. Her breath caught as Morgana's hand slid lower still, gripping the heavy underside of her belly possessively, lifting it slightly - just enough to feel its weight - and then letting it fall with a soft slap.

"Wh-what do you want me to do, Mistress?" Her gaze drifted longingly to the table laden with food, she licked her plump lips in anticipation.

"Oh, my sweet girl, what I always want you to do," Morgana laughed. "The very thing that you do best - I want you to eat."

She stepped behind Liara, hands settling lightly on the girl's wide hips, guiding her to the table.

“Lean forward,” she commanded. “Rest your weight on the table.”

Liara obeyed, lowering her hulking body until her forearms rested on the wood. Her voluminous breasts squished together, merging with her extra chins. Her nipples hardened, pressing against the cool surface. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she reached for the first doughnut and took a bite.

Morgana had missed this. The way the girl ate. The soft, needy moans that escaped when chocolate melted on her tongue, the little grunts of pleasure as she forced another cake past her lips. The way she bit, sucked, licked - it was utterly obscene. As though eating turned her on so deeply that she was practically fucking the food with her mouth - making love to it with every bite.

She ate with shameless abandon, too ravenous to care about her fattened body on display, her bloated rear end in the air. Too helplessly submissive to resist anything Morgana might do to her in that vulnerable position.

Morgana pressed in close to the cushion of the girl's huge backside, enjoying the sensation of her own lithe body against Liara's rotund form. Her hands roamed the vast expanse of her - groping, fondling, squeezing every part of her abundant body that she could reach.

She grabbed great greedy handfuls of the heavy underside of Liara's belly, lifting the apron of fat and letting it drop with a heavy slap, then kneaded the thick rolls that spilled over her hips. Her fingers dug into the plush fat of Liara's lower back, squeezing the overflowing love handles, tracing the deep creases where flesh folded over flesh.

The fat girl moaned in pleasure around another decadent mouthful of cream cake as she continued to stuff herself fuller and fuller, belly swelling bigger and rounder with every bite.

Morgana hooked her fingers under the straining waistband of Liara's leggings and slipped them down, tugging to get them past the flabby folds that had formed in her inner thighs. The girl gasped as cool air met her backside and as Morgana's hands moved dangerously close to the heat between her legs, pinching and playing with the doughy flesh there.

She paused for a moment to admire Liara's ass. She had once been a perfect pear, but her ever-increasing corpulence meant that the rest of her was beginning to catch up. If she kept piling on the pounds, it wouldn't be long before the girl's body wasn't any recognisable shape other than blob.

Still, her ass was impressively massive. Her globular ass cheeks were like two balloons filled with cottage cheese. Morgana cupped one, fingers sinking into the soft, yielding flesh. Then she drew her hand back and gave it a light spank, enjoying the way it jiggled at even the slightest touch.

Another slap, this one harder, landing on the opposite cheek. The fat rippled in slow, hypnotic waves, pale skin blooming pink where her hand had been.

The girl uttered a cry, muffled by another greasy burger passing her lips. The spanks were not cruel, just hard enough to remind Liara just how big she was with every jiggle and wobble of her obscenely obese body.

When she had finally finished her feast, Liara shifted her vast bulk as best she could, parting her thighs in silent, shameless invitation - the same plea she used to give after a good stuffing, begging for Morgana’s tongue as reward.

Morgana laughed, low and cruel.

"Do you really think you've earned that?" She demanded.

Not daring to move from her position without instruction, the girl turned to look at her imploringly.

"Please," she panted. "I've been a good pig. I did everything you asked. I ate everything you wanted."

"Oh no, my piggy girl. I'm afraid it will take more than that to get back in my good graces. But -" She smirked. "You're welcome to get yourself off if you want - " she paused. "That is, of course, if you still can."

Liara's face was hot with shame and arousal.

"I - I don't know. I haven't tried. I usually use my vibrator."

Morgana could only imagine what kind of vibrator would be big enough and powerful enough to satisfy a greedy blimp of a girl like her.

"Try."

Liara's face drained of colour. Her eyes were wide with horror. "What?"

"You heard me," she said calmly. "I want to see if you've eaten yourself so fat that you can't even pleasure yourself." She inclined her head slightly. "So go on. Try."

It really was quite the sight - watching the fat girl helplessly shift and stretch, twist and contort her body in futile effort. Her belly pressed harder against the table edge, rolls spilling everywhere; her thick arms stretched as she reached down between her thighs, fingers straining against the deep creases and overhangs of fat that locked her needy sex away in a prison of her own making. She huffed, panted, whimpered - each movement jiggling her arm fat, her thighs, her belly - but she could not reach. Not even a single chubby digit could slip past the chastity belt she had built with blubber.

Finally Liara sagged against the table, defeated, face crimson, chest heaving with wasted exertion. She turned her head toward Morgana again. Her eyes were pleading, desperate. Her fattened thighs shifted restlessly against each other, slick and trembling with unspent need.

Morgana did not move. Her face was cold and expressionless.

“Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “it looks like you’ve grown far beyond your own reach, fatty. I suppose you only have one choice left: get yourself off using your own fat.”

“No,” Liara whispered, voice cracking. “Anything you want. Just… not that.”

Morgana’s lips curved into a cruel, slow smile.

“I’m afraid there’s only one thing I want.” She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “To see you fuck your own fat.”

The girl's shoulders sagged. She was silent for a moment but when she met Morgana's eyes again there was heat. Without looking away, slowly she began to move her hips, sending ripples through her lard-inflated body. As her desperation grew she rocked frantically, grinding her swollen thighs together, the hanging apron of her belly slapping with clumsy, desperate thrusts. The friction was awkward and humiliating - her heavy and unwieldy bulk made every movement a struggle, fat slapping and wobbling obscenely. She moaned louder with every failed attempt to get enough pressure, grunting with effort and frustration.

Morgana watched the whole degrading performance, unmoving and triumphant, until Liara finally shattered - coming with a guttural cry of pleasure, body crashing in tidal waves of flab.

When the tremors subsided, the obese girl collapsed into a sweating, panting heap of blubber.

Morgana brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead.

“Welcome home, my piggy girl."

She doubted she would ever leave again.