chapter 1

Margo is a petite, pretty girl, with fluffy red hair, big eyes, and a bright smile. She's confident, whip-smart, and intense. I'm really going to enjoy breaking her. She moved in with me a couple of months ago, and I've been quietly planning for her future. Margo thinks she'll finish her degree, she'll find a good job, we'll get married-- my plan is for her to get so fat she can't leave this apartment. There's nothing more arousing to me than the challenge of turning an intelligent, ambitious girl like Margo into a dumb, gluttonous farm animal.

Right now I'm making her breakfast, like a good boyfriend does. Of course, I'm spiking her meal with a few additives. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. First off, I'm scrambling an appetite stimulant into her eggs. She's going to be hungry constantly, and ideally she'll just end up eating whatever's in arm's reach.

There's lots of calorie-rich snacks around the apartment, and I've thoughtfully added some to her backpack as well. I'm also slipping in a tranquilizer, with the intention of making her feel sleepy and stupid. The eggs are cooked in lard, obviously, with lots of salt and butter. She's also getting some nice, greasy bacon, and a health shake featuring weight gain powder and yet more lard.

"Shoot, Dan, what'd you put in this? It tastes great," she says, wolfing it down. I smile.

"A magician never reveals his secrets," I say. She laughs, a couple of crumbs spraying out of her mouth.

"Oh my god, you dork. Thank you so much for breakfast, usually all I get before class is a banana," she says. She finishes her food, and gives me a hug.

"I packed you a lunch too," I whisper into her ear. She kisses me on the cheek.

"You're amazing. A lifesaver," she says.

"I know," I say, "I know."

When Margo comes home, she's eating from a box of donut holes that I didn't send with her. I don't call attention to it.

"I am exhausted!" she says, taking off her coat and hanging it on a hook. I can see through her button-down blouse that her stomach is distended from the sheer amount she's eating. Her skinny jeans are probably feeling a little tight right about now.

"I don't want to ask you to cook again, but I have a ton of homework to do," says Margo through the donut holes she's crammed in her mouth.

"I'll grab takeout, I know your workload is a lot right now," I say. She nods, and double-fists too more donut holes in her mouth.

"For some reason I've been starving all day. I must have not been eating enough this week," she says.

"Yeah, I've noticed you being forgetful about that lately," I say. My poker face is top notch. Margo goes to our room to work, and leaves her backpack behind after taking out her laptop and notes. I check inside to see she's eaten everything in it. Score. I run out to get McDonald's, and I take all of her food out of the packaging and put it on a plate. Don't want her to see the calorie count.

I don't think it would've mattered anyway, because the second I bring the food to where she's sitting on the bed, Margo immediately forgets about everything but stuffing her face. She pauses only to take gulps of soda and burp loudly. As I watch from the sidelines, she unbuttons her jeans, freeing her tight, bloated stomach. Crumbs and grease are falling onto her shirt.

When she's finished eating, she immediately passes out, thanks to the tranquilizers. I reach over to take her laptop, and she doesn't stir. Sitting cross-legged next to her bed, I go through and delete everything she's been working on. She'll assume it was a glitch, probably, and she definitely won't suspect me.

Margo rolls out of bed late the next day, but as soon as she's up she starts eating again. I add the drugs to her morning coffee, and within a couple of minutes she's rooting around in the fridge. I watch her polish off a dozen donuts, jamming them into her mouth and drooling on herself a bit in the process. She's still wearing her clothes from yesterday, the grease-stained blouse and unbuttoned skinny jeans. I upped her dose of sedative today, and when she speaks, her voice sounds a little slurred.

"Thanks for the... uh... donuts. Imma, I'm gonna be late for class, I needta go," says Margo.

~~~~~~~

Ever since yesterday, I've felt super tired and foggy, not to mention ravenously hungry 24/7. For some weird reason, all I can think about is food. Speaking of food, I wonder if I brought any snacks with me. I can't remember. I reach over and dig around in my backpack, and find a box of Twinkies. I start popping them in my mouth. Ugh, I wish I could go home and go to bed. I walk into the building my class is in, and my stomach grumbles, so I go for another Twinkie. Wait, the box is empty? Must not've been full. I reach into the backpack and find a bag of potato chips. I rip the bag open with my teeth and pour some chips into my mouth.

When I walk into the classroom, a couple of people turn to look at me. The professor is already in the middle of the topic. I sit down at my desk, and open my backpack to dig out a container of cookies and a soda. Can't stop eating or my stomach will hurt again.

"Margo Johns?" says the professor.

"Uh... yeah?" I say. I stand up, and some cookie falls out of my mouth. Dammit.

"Now that you're here, you can give your presentation," he says. Holy crap, I can't believe I forgot. I pull out my laptop and walk up to the front of the classroom. I am going to scream if I didn't finish my work last night, I can't remember jack so I have no clue. I open up the laptop and find... nothing. Where are all of my documents?

"Um..." I say, starting to feel drowsy again. I need another cookie so badly.

"Have you prepared your presentation?" says the professor.

"Yeah, yes..." I say, trailing off. It's like everything's been deleted! I start to say something else, and that's when I burp. The rest of the room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I clear my throat, and then my body decides to let rip with what is probably the loudest fart in recorded history.

"I dunno where, uh, where my... my present-shun... my pres-- my stuff is," I say, trying to explain myself but somehow unable to formulate the words. Now everyone is staring at me, including the professor. I realize that I'm still wearing my clothes from yesterday. My jeans are unbuttoned, my blouse is stained with grease and has crumbs all over it, and my stomach looks... huge. Like I've swallowed a beach ball. What is wrong with me? Why can't I stop thinking about the cookies sitting at my desk? I run back to my desk, grab my food, my soda, and my backpack, and run out of the room.

~~~~~~~

Margo comes home crying.

"So I'm already late, and I go up to the frontaclass, and I'm, I'm, uh... I dunno where any of my stuff is that I wrote," she says. Between the sobs, the sedative making her slur her words, and the slice of deep dish pizza she's chowing down on, I can barely understand what she's saying.

"And I'm so tired, and I'm always hungry, and I jusdunno what's happening..." she says. She finishes her slice of pizza, and pauses to slurp down some soda before putting a handful of french fries in her mouth.

"I'm sorry, honey," I say, and pat her on the belly. She burps. She dumps the rest of the carton of french fries in her mouth, and licks her lips. The buttons on her shirt are starting to get strained.