Schermerhorn

Chapter 1

How much time needs to pass for someone to gain 80 pounds of fat? In the tightest interval possible that's exactly what happened to Brie as she healed up. At this point, one good look at her - nay, a nice long gander - and almost no one would believe that she was once the definitive skinny actress, so dogmatically set into such a bygone standard decades removed from the contemporary that it almost made her a relic.

Back then, she didn't seem to care. But after the weight gain, it was clear that she definitely didn't care, a good thing. She healed. She regained her mental and emotional well-being. She had the balance to actually enjoy her privileged life instead of ruminating over the petty, undying cynicism that surrounded her on multiple levels, and certainly without having to pretend it didn't faze her (while knowing damn well that it did, to the point of fueling her to absurd levels of pleasing the very people who pissed her off). She secured the autonomy that was almost alien to her and those around her. Best of all, she wore it well.

Hers was now the physique of a common stuffed animal, except with the accouterments of sex: tits, ass and FUPA - all ripe enough to sink your teeth into. She carried her plumpness in a way that dared anyone to grab her, squeeze her, try to get her fluids gushing… and when they would inevitably realize how overmatched they were, she would just laugh. She was drunk on her substantial sexual power.

Or perhaps she was under the influence of cannabis by way of a frequent snack food item: adult brownies - the crumbs of which resided in her cleavage at that very moment. She leered down her own shirt, in the process unleashing a pillowy double chin, and picked at the sweet nuggets nestled in/on her bosom. A few of the lucky morsels dropped down further onto her generous tummy, causing her to raise her shirt, the only article of clothing that held back her ample midsection. Her pants stayed unfastened, which was the case any time she was seated.

She licked her fingers and turned her chubby face to the silent, trance-like gaze of her male playmate. “What?”

“Nothing!”, Dave said, hoping his wife wouldn't peek in from the kitchen. Tension was already building since the arrangement to have Brie crash with him and Alison. The suggestion came from Biff but Dave accepted, to Alison’s chagrin. Inconvenience aside, he knew his wife had a lingering envy of her, despite Brie never having been his type. What could go wrong? He became accustomed to her easy going, Falstaffian presence. She was a bro, but with a zaftig touch.

“Dammit”, Brie said as she crawled her jiggly body to the TV to rework the game specs. Her ample assets were displayed to perfection on all-fours. Although they were unzipped, she was bulging out of her short shorts. Dave tried to avert his attention back onto his wife who was preoccupied in the kitchen. Upon seeing how busy Alison was, he hoped to catch a glimpse of Brie thickness on display, but was too late when she barreled back to her fave game spot: on the floor in front of the couple’s luxury couch.

Smugly he teased her. “Punchin’ in cheat codes?”

“Ha!” She laughed. “You wish. You’re already down 6 games to 3.”

“I’m mounting a comeback”

“You wanna mount me and cum on my back?”

He laughed. After a while he gave a nervous response of “What?”. She was still and silent while staring at him with a quizzical gaze. And just that fast in a burst of honesty, he admitted his true feelings. “Yes. I wanna-”

He turned his head and saw his wife Alison to his other side who sat pensively leering at the duo. Shockingly Alison gave him the green light. “Go ahead,” said the brunette.

Brie tackled him. Her newfound heft made it easy since she now outweighed the brown-haired bantamweight bro. She toyed with his short king stature, climbed atop him as he was laid flat beneath her. “I’m outta your league, manlet.”

Alison chimed in. “I told you, she’d dominate your pathetic little ass!” She watched as Brie suddenly had a strap-on and pegged away onto his hindquarters.

“She did.” Brie added “but this is fun. Way more fun than destroying your boy Seth.”

Seth Rogen appeared on the floor beside them, mostly incapacitated.
Then Dave woke up from his daydream. Just that fast, he lost his game.

“I want my $100 in cash”

“Not on me.” Dave added, “ But, I can Venmo.”

“Fine, what’s your phone number?”

Alison blurted out from the kitchen, “Do not give her your phone number!”

His emasculation was both embarrassing and detrimental to his gameplay. Perhaps the scorn caused him to bite back in response. “Damn, babe. You act like you’re jealous or something.”

Upon winning Brie sprang up and lurked for something valuable in their house. As she waddled off, Alison stormed in and hunched over right in her husband’s face. “What did you say?”, she asked menacingly.

“Nothing,” he said with a twinge of fear.

Behind her, Brie held up a glass cylinder. “Hey, how about you gimme this bong?”

“Put that down - that’s his dick pump!”, Alison yelled as she snatched it from Brie.

“Holy shit, I smoked outta that!” Brie laughed.

“How’d it taste?” Dave smirked while asking, but soon realized this did not go over well with his angry wife.

A bit later, Alison was wrapping up the process of dressing down her husband while Brie was out of the room. “..Bad enough I gotta babysit her. She is beneath me. But if I catch you beneath her-”

He butted in, trying to be flip. “At her size, I ought to be on top.”

“Shut up!” Alison boiled over. “You're on thin ice, manlet. Rizz her up some more, I'll give you a handcrafted vasectomy!” As Alison left her husband neutered in shame, she stumbled into the kitchen to see Brie shamelessly devouring about a half gallon’s worth of cake batter. The liquid cake poured straight into her already engorged gut, blimping it beyond the mass of the creamy concoction itself, as if it was making her fatter in real time.

Despite her anger, Alison merely stood silently witnessing the whole event with curiosity and a twinge of satisfaction - not that someone really enjoyed her baking - but that with every ounce consumed, Brie’s stellar career (one that dwarfed Alison’s) slipped further away.

With the fridge door open, she guzzled the liquid dough right out of the blender container until it became part of her (still growing) doughy physique. Brie let out a loud “mmm” and a “yes!” of satisfaction, even before she could wipe her face of the tiniest dribble of overrun. Then she licked her hand after doing so - she was too greedy to waste any.

Brie’s dynamic belly bulldozed her shirt and shorts. No one in that house could ignore her midsection. It became rare these days for her stomach to be tight, so she smacked it only to see it still jiggle, to her surprise. Either way, she was impressed by both Alison’s baking and her own eating capacity. Brie tossed the container into the sink and complimented the chef with, “doesn’t taste as good as skinny feels”, she slapped her gut again and rubbed it, adding “because it tastes even better.” She shifted her pants up, waddled off, slapped Alison’s ass on the way out and went back to gaming with Dave. Alison was left frozen still.

Later, Alison was baking again: this time to remake the batter Brie had binged, as well as to finish another batch of Space Cakes for Brie and Dave.. okay, mostly for Brie. Even though she was fattening up her old industry rival, Alison was still driven to total annoyance by the flabby blonde gamer pal lounging with her husband. She couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the conversations they held, which clearly irritated her.

Dave and Brie were playing Marvel’s The Avengers. Brie pointed out how the Captain Marvel in the game looked nothing like her (or at least how she used to look). Dave remarked, “I’m pretty sure it’s because you MCU guys never had it added to your contracts–”

“Pfft, nah,” Brie said. “My agent sucks”.

“But you and Alison have the same agent?” Dave asked

“Point proven,” Brie said.

Alison was pissed at this. So she opened the oven, leaned over the batter in the muffin tin, snorted, got ready to hock a loogie but was interrupted as Biff arrived. Surprised, she shoved the muffins back in, swallowed her phlegm and grabbed a bottle of whiskey to chase it down.

“Hey Alison - where the fuck are the space cakes?!” Brie shouted from the living room.

“This ain’t a bakery, bitch!” She turned to Biff and added “or a halfway house.”

“C’mon, you guys are pals-”, Biff said to Allison.

“She’s pushing it. Hell, she’s gotta be pushing 200 at this point.”

“210,” he replied and added, “but still, human connection is what’s best for her-”

“Aren’t you human?!”

“I’m only human.”

“No shit. She oughta get some exercise”

“Trust me, she gets it.”

“Oh god! You’ve been hitting that?!” She rolled her eyes and added, “I guess fupa sweat makes for a good lubricant, but still get her some meds.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little risky to her well-being?”

“She’s a fat stoner rizzing up my man! He’s not much, but he’s mine! If she doesn’t die soon, I’ll take her out.”

“I’m just saying that weed is safer-”

Alison interrupted by mocking him with a baby-talk voice “ooh, look at me - I’m Biff Couk an’ I think pills are dange-wuss”. She added, “fucking scientologist prick!”

From the other room Brie shouted “Alison, the weed’s not for me. It’s for his neck!”

Dave quizzed her “What happened to his neck?”

Brie said “he got a crook in it from eatin’ me out.”

Biff wouldn’t deny, giving an awkward look of embarrassment to Alison who swigged her whiskey again. Alison then chucked a baggie of primo herbs his way. “That’s all I’ve got for today. Go away now!”