Chapter 1 of 7: in the examination room

The receptionist said, “Okay, Opal, the doctor’s ready to see you.”

“Thanks, Janey,” Opal Briggs said. She closed down her tablet, and pushed herself off her bench. The chairs were a little too small for comfort. The arms pinched her hips. Opal took a moment to put her thoughts in order and then went in to confront Dr. Wren.

Dr. Wren was behind his desk, a small, thin man with wavy blonde hair and a mustache. Narrow nose, thin lips, blue eyes. Opal could just pick him up and squeeze him to death. “What can I do for you, Opal?”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wren, I promise not to take up too much of your time but I have a few things I need to speak to you about.” Opal lifted her arms and turned in a slow circle. Opal had skin light enough so the tattoo of the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man on her left arm showed clear and wore her hair in a medium-length natural. Her glasses had thick cherry-red frames and she wore an old Steven Universe T-shirt, black leggings, and Tai Chi shoes. Opal was tall, five-ten barefoot, and her plentiful flesh had a loose, liquid quality to it, soft and flowing. When she stopped, she said, “You see how tight my clothes are? It’s like that for all of us. You didn’t warn us that we were going to be in a closed campus situation and we need new clothes. I'm the one complaining but it's not just me. We all need new clothes.”

Dr. Wren nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Someone really should have thought about that ahead of time. We’ll have something worked out in the next day or two.”

“Thank you.” Opal thought she’d felt Dr. Wren’s eyes on her body and he had a nervousness to him so bored, lonely Opal decided to see what happened if she pushed things. Ever since she’d gotten her shot, she’d wanted some trouble — she’d felt invincible and horny and the feeling had built over the last month until she was coming out of her skin. “Could we please talk in your examination room? I’d prefer a bit more privacy.”

Dr. Wren nodded again. “Certainly, of course.”

Inside the examination room, light through the Venetian blinds striping the same tobacco-brown carpet that was in the foyer and Dr. Wren’s office. Opal stepped to the scale and onto the platform. “We should check my weight.”

Dr. Wren went along with her as though it was his idea. He came up to Opal’s shoulder and as he balanced the weights on the slides, she felt an urge to pull his face to her chest and bury it between her breasts and hold him there until he squeaked. He was so little she could hardly stand it. He said, “Three hundred and thirty-six pounds and nine ounces.”

“That’s nearly twenty pounds in one month.”

Dr. Wren bristled. “I’m sorry, but you were warned —”

Opal smiled. “I’m not complaining. I read the agreement, I knew what I was getting into. But this this is why I wanted to talk to you privately. May I ask you a sensitive question? It’s important.”

Dr. Wren stepped back, away from the scale and nodded. “All right.”

Opal stepped off the scale and approached Dr. Wren, wanting to be close enough to impose on him without being so close he could call her on it. “All right. I have been watching and thinking and I need to know. When you’re alone in your office and you’re looking at our files and studying our doses and our weights and our food diaries and you’re making your charts and filling out your reports, do you ever think of us out there getting fatter and fatter? Does it ever give you a thrill?”

Dr. Wren blinked and slowly opened his mouth but he didn’t say anything.

Opal put her arm on his shoulder. She’d seen the answer in his face, heard it in his silence. “All right, I need you to go lay down on the examination table.”

Without speaking, without looking Opal in the face, he did.

Cortisone is a strange drug, part of that element of medicine that exists as much despite science as because of it. Nobody knows the full range of its actions, nobody understands exactly what it does inside the body. It has a seemingly infinite number of uses and a decidedly infinite number of side effects. Many doctors refuse to use it on themselves. Many doctors prescribe it every chance they get.

One of the problems with Cortisone is that for those people who find it therapeutically effective, they are only able to take a fixed number of doses before the side effects are too damaging to make it worthwhile. Dr. Wren was testing one side effect of Cortisone-OB, a new variant that could be used indefinitely. In theory, this could help a lot of people and make a lot of money.

But one of the side effects of Cortisone is weight gain. And Cortisone-OB had that particular side effect triggered by interactions with other drugs. The people involved in the study would be compensated for any weight gain and if necessary, the study would supply lawyers to help those in need to get a disability income afterward. The participants were given one long-term shot at the beginning of the study which would effect them for six to nine months. This was all Opal felt she was really able to understand; she was smart enough to know what the Dunning-Kruger effect was and that she wasn’t a scientist.

The paper on the examination table crackled as Dr. Wren lay down.

Opal met his eyes, smiled, and stepped out of her tai chi shoes, then took off her leggings, draped them over the back of a chair, then did the same with her shirt. In bra and panties, she stepped to the examination table.

Dr. Wren stared at her, face looking stunned.

Opal said, “Scoot down.”

Dr. Wren did.

Opal said, “Good,” climbed onto the table and straddled Dr. Wren. She took her bra off, then lowered her breasts over his face. She felt his mouth open, felt his teeth and tongue. He was so cute and tiny under her… “I promise not to tell,” she said. “It’s just between you and me, I know it could cause problems if rumors got around. But I need two things from you.” She sat up, put her hands on her hips, and thrust her breasts and belly forward.

As if of their own will, Dr. Wren’s hands lifted into the air and cupped Opal’s heavy, pendulous breasts, nipples pointing down into his palms.

“I’m bored, I need somebody to play with my new body, there’s no point in getting fat if I can’t enjoy it.”

Dr. Wren tried to sit up so he could get his face back between her breasts.

Opal fell forward, obliging him. “You like this, don’t you, baby? That’s good, I like this too. We’re going to be doing this for nearly a year, we need to have some kind of fun.” She could feel Dr. Wren nod, so she sat up again and let him breath. “The other thing I want? I want you to make me fat.”

Dr. Wren shook his head. “What?”

Opal said, “Like I said, I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this. I knew you were going to make me fatter.” She leaned forward and got on her knees, then lay down directly on top of Dr. Wren, her body completely covering his, her bulk the only thing keeping their faces apart. She smiled and looked him right in the eye and wiggled as he wiggled, keeping him pinned and helpless. “Why don’t you make me your own experiment? Don’t you want there to be more of me?” And when he spasmed, she felt it, she didn’t come herself but she felt the energy of it go right through her. She knew she’d think of it the next time she touched herself and she knew she’d won.

Opal rolled off the doctor and the examination table. The paper on the table was crumpled and torn and the doctor’s hair was a hilarious mess and there was a wet spot on his khakis. Opal went to the paper towel dispenser and wiped her belly dry, dropped the towel in the medical waste container.

Dr. Wren sat up and looked at her, then brushed his hair back. “You know we could get in real trouble for this. This study is a big deal and big pharm does not play games.”

Opal said, “I do this kind of thing a lot and I haven’t gotten in trouble yet.”

“I could be sued. I could lose my license.”

Opal wiggled.

Dr. Wren got up and went to a cabinet and got out a syringe and a vial. “I don’t know what this is going to do to you.”

Opal said, “We both know that. This is an experiment,” and sat down on the examination table, still in bra and panties.

Dr. Wren filled the syringe and went to Opal. “This is a terrible idea,” he said, and wiped her arm with an alcohol swab, gave her the injection, and bandaged her. Then he moaned, low and long, while pressing his face into her breasts and grabbing her round, drooping belly as if he’d fall if he lost his grip.

And Opal was not bored.