Chapter 1

The room smelled faintly of dust, wood, and adrenaline. A fan in the corner of the drama studio made a rhythmic clicking noise as it struggled to push air into the heavy afternoon heat. It was the kind of day where every breath felt full, like it had weight.
Professor Larken clapped his hands with manic glee.
“Today,” he announced, “we break boundaries. We melt into the absurd. We BECOME what is impossible.”
The drama students exchanged the usual wary glances. They’d suffered through improv as barnyard animals, angry vegetables, even cosmic dust storms. Nothing was off-limits in Professor Larken’s domain.
Then his eyes landed on Miles and Harper, two students who often partnered in scenes but never quite clicked. They had chemistry—but the combustible kind. The “I dare you to flinch first” kind. Miles was tall, lean, with shaggy dark curls and a habit of raising one eyebrow like he was constantly critiquing the universe. Harper was blonde, sharp-featured, unapologetic. She didn’t do “cute.” She did command.
“You two,” Larken said, finger wagging like a conductor selecting instruments, “will be playing a married couple. On the edge of collapse. Bitter, exhausted, emotionally constipated.”
A few snickers erupted from the class.
“But!” Larken spun toward a wheeled rack behind the stage curtain. “You will play this couple… as if they each weigh over 400 pounds.”
The room blinked. Then—
“Wait, what?” Harper narrowed her eyes.
“You’re serious?” Miles asked, a nervous chuckle in his throat.
“I’m always serious about the truth of the human condition!” Larken bellowed. “And here’s your truth!”
He yanked back the curtain to reveal a collection of garments that could have clothed a family of giants: sweaters that looked like sails, stretch pants wider than car doors, puffy bathrobes, and what had to be at least two duffel bags of assorted pillows.
The class erupted into laughter.
“Oh my god, try this one!” someone shouted, tossing a cherry-red 5XL hoodie at Miles.
“You're gonna disappear in that thing,” Harper muttered, arms crossed—though a smirk played at the corner of her lips.
“Not before you do,” Miles shot back, grabbing a pillow. “What, afraid to be squishy, Harper?”
“I don’t do squishy.”
“Today,” Larken chimed in gleefully, “you do.”
They were ushered behind the makeshift curtain in the corner of the studio, now transformed into a chaotic dressing room. Students swarmed around them like mischievous stylists, grabbing cushions, hauling garments, laughing and teasing.
The clothes were already ridiculous. But it was the way they were brought out—with laughter, with eager hands rummaging through the theater baskets like kids digging through costume trunks—that made the air feel thick, loaded with more than just silliness.
Miles stood shirtless, jeans undone, eyes locked on the growing mountain of pillows at his feet. His chest rose slowly, nervously. The makeshift dressing room behind the stage curtain was warm and faintly humid, the air heavy with sweat and anticipation. Harper, beside him, wore only a sports bra and leggings, her blonde hair twisted into a messy bun, her expression caught somewhere between cynicism and disbelief.
“This looks like an elephant’s wardrobe during an existential crisis,” she muttered, holding up a gray 6XL sweatshirt.
“This looks like my nightmare in polyester,” Miles replied, lifting a T-shirt that read ‘Feed me and tell me I’m pretty’.
Harper let out an involuntary laugh. So did he.
“All right, who’s first?” asked Dani, a classmate armed with an elastic belt and a stack of cushions. “I vote Miles. Alpha male takes the lead.”
“Always the alpha male,” he grumbled, but stepped forward.
Dani and another student began by slipping the first shirt over his head. “Arms up.”
The fabric slid down over his bare skin—cool and slippery at first. Then came the first layer of padding: a square cushion pressed against his back, another against his chest, then a smaller one at his stomach.
“Strap on the dad bod,” someone joked behind him.
Miles tried to stay still, but the sensation caught him off guard. The weight of the cushions was immediate—awkward, swaying, like carrying around a body that wasn’t his. The elastic straps cinched tightly around his sides while Dani and the other student tied the pillows to him like medieval armor—except plush.
“Jesus. It’s already hot,” he muttered.
“We’re not even halfway there,” Dani replied, brandishing a pair of even bigger cushions. “Now comes the belly.”
Two hands braced him under the arms as a wide round pillow was velcroed beneath the sweatshirt. His abdomen surged forward, bulging like a fully ripened watermelon under fabric. They had him bend slightly as they pulled up sweatpants that looked like they’d been made from parachutes. Then more stuffing—hips, back, thighs, glutes.
“If I trip in this, I’m suing,” Miles muttered, trying a test step. It was a waddle. Like walking with two sacks of bread tied to his thighs.
Then it was Harper’s turn.
“All right, Queen XXL, ready?” one of the guys teased.
She gave him a look. Chin up. “Do your worst.”
First came the padded bra inserts. Dani handed over two massive foam domes and slipped them under Harper’s cotton top. Her breasts swelled from modest to massive in seconds. The fabric stretched tight across her chest, and she could feel every seam pressing gently against her skin.
“Oh my god, I literally have, like, a fifth dimension,” she muttered, cupping the fake tits in her hands.
Pants came next: wide, soft, beige stretch pants. They made her squat slightly as students packed tight cushions along her hips—left and right—then stuffed her legs. Each piece was placed, tugged, cinched with careful craftsmanship. Her thighs exploded outward. The air grew warmer with each layer, and sweat tingled beneath the dense fabric.
And finally—the belly. Two hands supported her from behind as a large, oval cushion was strapped around her waist. Her navel vanished beneath layers of softness.
“I’m literally rolling inside an IKEA couch,” she gasped, laughing.
Miles, now fully transformed, looked at her. His eyes traveled over the way her fake curves jiggled slightly as she tested her balance, shifting side to side.
“You look…”
Harper narrowed her eyes. “Go on. Say it.”
“…hot,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
She blinked. Definitely not what she expected.
“Look who’s talking, sexy Michelin Man.”
They laughed—but beneath the laughter was something else. Something neither of them was quite ready to name. The volume, the slowness, the imposed softness was changing something—some invisible rhythm between them.
“Come on,” Dani called. “You’ve gotta see yourselves.”
They were led in front of the enormous mirror mounted on the side wall of the theater.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Miles saw a man who wasn’t himself: massive, belly-forward, arms thick as tree trunks, pants straining to stretch over swollen thighs. Beside him stood Harper, transformed. Her curves burst in every direction—breasts, stomach, hips. Her shoulders were round, her arms swaddled in sleeves that made her look nearly childlike.
But there was something mesmerizing about seeing themselves like this: unrecognizable, rebuilt, gigantic. Movements slowed. Breathing heavier. Every gesture required space. Every moment lingered.
Harper studied her reflection, her gaze roaming over the false curves. She reached down and touched her swollen belly, fingers brushing over the tightly stretched sweatshirt, then hefted her foam-filled breasts and let them bounce with a grin.
“I feel like a giant foam doll,” she whispered.
“It’s like having a body… without the real weight. Just volume. Like the world got slower.”
They looked again—this time not just at their reflections, but at each other. Their eyes met in the mirror, framed by fake bellies and sagging, overstuffed clothing.
“We look ridiculous,” Harper said, but her voice was warm.
“Yeah,” Miles agreed. “Ridiculously… intriguing.”
And there, in front of the mirror, dressed as two ridiculous padded giants, a thick silence settled between them.
“Okay, big guy,” Harper teased, eyes flicking down to where a fake belly now protruded from under Miles’s tight sweatshirt. “Let’s get this over with before we both suffocate.”
The class settled into chairs, a circle of voyeurs awaiting the absurd.
Harper and Miles stood in the center, their movements heavy, limbs swinging awkwardly. Their padded thighs brushed. Their bellies pressed lightly when they faced each other. Every step was a wobble. Every gesture was magnified by softness.
“Begin!” Larken commanded.
There was a long, slow silence.
Then Harper scowled, voice low. “You never take the trash out. Never. It’s like you expect it to vanish into thin air.”
Miles snorted. “You never stop complaining. Maybe that’s why the neighbors moved.”
The class laughed. But beneath the sarcasm, their voices held a new tone—warmer. Closer. Something was brewing.
Their bodies circled, not like actors, but like planets with pull. Harper moved to sit on the loveseat, but her padded rear end caused her to bounce and nearly miss.
“Jesus,” she muttered, laughing. Miles helped lower her down, their padded hands brushing, staying.
Their lines became slower. Less exaggerated. More intimate.
Harper reached up, her hand trembling slightly as it caressed the curve of Miles’s swollen cheek—fabric, padding, and all. He leaned into it.
“I miss you,” she said, almost a whisper.
“I’m right here,” he murmured.
They stared. The class held its breath.
Then she kissed him.
At first, it was just a brush of lips, an improv cue. But they didn’t break.
The kiss deepened.
Their padded bellies pressed. Their arms wrapped around wide shoulders, pillowed torsos squishing together with ridiculous softness, heat growing under every layer. Harper felt the weight of the moment—literal and emotional. Her breath caught. It wasn’t the kiss of strangers pretending. It was real.
When they finally pulled apart, the room was dead silent. Even Larken was speechless.
“…and scene?” Miles said, voice hoarse.
The class erupted into awkward applause, a few whistles.
“Damn,” someone muttered. “That was… committed.”
The room cleared out. Harper and Miles collapsed onto the floor, limbs spread, chests rising and falling under the bulk of their ridiculous outfits.
“That was… intense,” Harper said, cheeks flushed.
“Understatement of the year,” Miles replied, still panting.
“Let’s just… breathe a sec before we try to get these off.”
“Right. Oxygen first. Dignity later.”
The others filtered out, waving, giggling, making comments they were too breathless to hear. Then the door shut behind the last one.
Silence.
Except for the click of the fan. And the loud thump of Harper’s heart.
She turned her head slowly toward him. He was already looking at her.
“…Was that—”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I liked it.”
Another beat.
“You want to try it again?” she asked, voice lower now. Sincere.
“In these?”
“I think I only want to try it in these.”
Miles let out a breathless laugh. “You’re insane.”
But he rolled toward her anyway. Belly pressed to belly. Their padded thighs awkwardly tangled. They didn’t care.
When they kissed this time, there was no script. Just heat. Their mouths found each other with urgency, lips sliding, tongues teasing. Their hands fumbled over absurd layers of fabric and stuffing, clawing, tugging, squeezing through softness.
Miles groaned. “You feel…”
“...Ridiculous?” Harper whispered, grinding into him with a slow press of her fake belly against his.
“...Fucking amazing.”
They writhed, clumsy and slow, every motion exaggerated by mass. The pressure of their padded forms made them gasp, their bodies sliding, bouncing, caught in a storm of softness. Each moan was muffled by fabric. Each gasp swallowed by flesh that wasn’t theirs—but had somehow become theirs.
Miles nuzzled into her padded neck, whispering, “I can’t get close enough.”
“You’re inside my tits, Miles,” Harper growled, laughing breathlessly.
“Not close enough.”
She pulled him down, rolling on top, the motion rocking them like waves. The impact made pillows shift, slide—one popped out between their legs and was kicked aside.
They clawed through the barrier of padding with frantic passion, the sound of fabric on fabric loud in the empty room. Moans caught. Teeth bit. Eyes locked.