Rita

Chapter 1

Rita, 22 years old, lay sprawled across her bed, the mattress sagging deeply under her heavy weight, the blankets twisted tightly around her limbs as if they had a mind of their own. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint creak of the old wooden floorboards that seemed to groan under the strain. Her chestnut curls were a tangled mess, partially obscuring her round, soft face, which was marked by the years of her young life, bathed in the cold, blue light of the moon filtering through the half-drawn curtains. With a grunt, Rita slowly rolled onto her side, the effort leaving her panting and breathless. The room had a distinctly childish flair to it, littered with remnants of her childhood and the memories that clung to them, like the stuffed animals that cluttered the corners. Yet, there was something undeniably sad about the sight of a grown woman trapped in the trinkets and reminders of an age long past.

Rita's struggles to stand were slow and labored. The simple act of trying to pull her heavy body up against the pull of gravity drained her limited store of strength. Pushing herself with one hand against the bed, she tried to hoist herself up, but her attempts were met with frustration and exhaustion. Her muscles trembled and protested under the strain, betraying the immense difficulty she was having. A bead of sweat formed at her brow, and a soft grunt of effort escaped her lips. Each step Rita managed to take felt like a struggle against her own weight. Moving with heavy, lumbering steps, she wobbled towards the bathroom, clinging to the wall for support. Every movement was deliberate and slow, the task of getting there a monumental effort. A determined look was etched across her round face, but exhaustion was slowly setting in.Rita stood in front of the mirror, her eyes slowly taking in her reflection. Clad in a pair of cute, child-like unicorn pajama pants, she could barely see the design, her massive belly practically covering her entire midriff. The once-bright, colorful fabric was now stretched taut, the elastic straining under the weight of her belly, the cartoonish unicorn motif lost under the mounds of her flesh. A sigh escaped her lips as she gently caressed the expanse of her belly. Her hand moved in a circular motion, feeling the softness and the tautness at the same time, the sheer size and heaviness an ever-present reality. The once tight elastic was now stretched to the limit, the fabric desperately trying to contain the mass of her stomach, the stitches groaning in protest. A pang of hunger suddenly gripped Rita, her stomach grumbling loudly in protest. It was a deep hunger, the kind that seemed to come from the very core of her being, demanding sustenance. She stood there for a moment, her hand still resting on her belly, contemplating the idea of getting a snack.

With the realization of her hunger came the difficulty of actually getting her a snack. Rita groaned in frustration, the idea of having to move and navigate the small apartment seemed almost daunting. The thought of food, however, was too tempting to ignore. Slowly, she shuffled out of the bathroom, her movements labored and slow, each step a challenge, her stomach demanding to be fed. She made her way slowly towards the kitchen, the distance seeming to stretch in front of her like an unbridgeable chasm. The hardwood floors creaked with every step, the silence punctuated by her heavy, labored breaths. She could feel the weight of her body working against her, each movement an uphill battle. Rita sat at the small kitchen table, a plate piled high with unhealthy food set in front of her. Beside the plate was a small pink sticky note, bearing a message written in a neat, feminine hand. 'Eat well, my little girl. Love, Mom'. She let out a soft sigh, a mix of affection and resignation, as she picked up her fork and began to dig in.

With each bite, Rita felt a mix of comfort and guilt. The food was fatty and greasy, not something she should be eating, especially in such large amounts. But it tasted too good, too familiar, like a piece of her childhood. She pushed the thoughts of her expanding waistline to the back of her mind and continued to eat, her hand moving mechanically from plate to mouth and back again.The pile of food on the plate slowly diminished, the room filling with the soft sound of her chewing. Her stomach was starting to feel uncomfortably full, the tight elastic of her pajama pants digging into her flesh, yet she couldn’t stop herself. It was like an automatic habit, like a soothing ritual.

With a loud snap, the elastic band of her pajama pants gave way, the overstretched fabric finally succumbing to the pressure of her enormous belly. Rita froze, fork halfway to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. She looked down at the now-loose pant, the elastic band completely broken, and a wave of embarrassment washed over her. Rita struggled to her feet, her stomach now completely free from the constraints of the pajama pants, her ample midriff now fully on display. The sight was both comical and disheartening. As she stood, she tried to grab the loose pant, holding the fabric in her hands as if that could somehow hide her exposed body. It was futile - there was no denying the vast expanse of her belly now, the elastic completely surrendered. With slow, heavy steps, Rita made her way back to the bathroom. Each step felt like a small achievement, her movements hindered by the weight of her stomach. The loose pajama pants hung from her hips, barely holding on, and her heavy breath was the only sound in the silent apartment. Once in the bathroom, she shut the door behind her and leaned heavily against the sink, gazing at her reflection in the mirror.Rita stepped on the bathroom scales, bracing herself for the number that would appear. The display flashed for a moment before settling on the number: 180 kilograms. She could hardly believe it, the number a stark reminder of her predicament. At 160 centimeters tall, her body mass index was through the roof, her weight completely disproportionate to her height.

With great effort, Rita maneuvered her massive body closer to the sink. The counter was just high enough that she could rest her belly on it, the cool porcelain a stark contrast to her warm, soft skin. The sight was almost absurd, her stomach took up almost the entire space, a great, smooth expanse of flesh, its enormity emphasized by her petite frame.Rita stood there, her stomach on display, and sighed deeply. "How did I end up like this?" she whispered to herself, as if the answer was contained somewhere in the porcelain sinks or the white tiles lining the bathroom wall. She took a closer look at her reflection, studying the vast landscape of her belly, the rolls and folds that marked her flesh. Rita's mind drifted back to the time when she was just a child, a time when food felt like love and comfort. She remembered the endless plates of her mother’s cooking, the way her father always encouraged her to have seconds, "to grow big and strong." In her mind, she could almost feel the warmth and joy of those meals, the simple pleasure of having a full belly. But those memories were also tinged with a pang of guilt. She knew that those meals, while filled with love, were also filled with extra calories, extra fat that was slowly accumulating and turning her into the adult she was today. The realization was hard to swallow, but it was there, like an undercurrent beneath the nostalgic memories. She could still feel the echoes of her parent's words, the well-intentioned but misguided praises about her eating habits. "You look so healthy," her mother would say. "You're not too thin, you know," her father would add. Their words of encouragement had planted the seeds of her current predicament, the foundation that had led to her weight gain.

Softly, almost absentmindedly, Rita ran her hand along the expanse of her belly. The flesh was warm and supple, with an undercurrent of firmness. The simple act of touching her stomach soothed her, like a child seeking comfort. The feeling of her own flesh against her palm was both soothing and slightly terrifying, a stark reminder of the reality of her weight. As she massaged her stomach, she couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in the texture of her skin. It was stretched to the limit, the once-smooth surface now marked by stretch marks and creases. It was a sign of the strain her body was under, a testament to the sheer amount of mass contained in her midriff. Suddenly, her touch caused a slight rumble, her stomach grumbling hungrily. Despite the food she had just devoured, her body was already craving more. The craving was deep, almost primal, a hunger that wouldn't be satisfied by just a plateful.