Chapter 1

TW: WEIGHT GAIN, FIT TO FAT TF, STUFFING, SLOB, FUNNEL FEEDING, MAGIC

Disclaimer: the following is a work of fiction. The author neither purports to agree with nor condone the opinions and behaviors of the characters therein. Furthermore, any resemblance to real people or events, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

***

THE COLLABORATEURS

Or

DENIAL'S CURSE

A Cautionary Tale

***

Dean's chest heaved as he trudged his way back from the track around campus to his dorm. Despite the chilly weather, his shirt and slacks were soaked through with sweat. With each labored breath, he willed himself onward, until at last he reached his room. His roommate conveniently absent, he stripped off his sweaty clothes and made for the shower.

He wasn't a bad looking guy, he thought to himself as he passed his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Well, right now he looked like a sweat-drenched, stinking mess, but he usually kept his brown hair elegantly tousled with gel and his outfits smart and color-coordinated. At 5'10, he stood at an average height, with amber eyes and a welcoming smile that might've endeared him to plenty of friends, had he not been so socially reclusive. Unfortunately, he had always carried around a stubborn extra few pounds around the middle, despite his best efforts to eat right and his mother's strong caution reinforcing his healthy diet and lifestyle. This year, though, he was determined to finally burn off that pooch.

It was his final year of university, and, as luck would have it, he at last had a girlfriend. Savannah, a pretty incoming first-year, had asked him out just a few days into the semester. Blonde, boisterous, and popular, with a lean, lithe frame from years as a student athlete, she was quick to become the envy of the women on campus and an object of desire to the men.

And when a girl like her asked out a brooding loner like Dean, he had no business saying no.

So now, he was under pressure to kick his arse into shape and prove to their peers that he was worthy of her.

He quickly scrubbed clean and changed, fully intent on curling up in bed with a microwaved Lean Cuisine and his laptop for the night, when a rapping sounded at his door. "Who is it?" he called.

"So you are here?" came the reply, in a feminine, soprano voice that might have sounded musical if its owner wasn't so cross.

"C'mon in, Rory, it's open." He shut his laptop and prepared to talk his best friend down from whatever had pissed her off latest.

Aurora--or, Rory, as she preferred--had been Dean's best friend ever since they matriculated together. His only friend, really, and it went two ways. They were both outcasts--well, his isolation was self-imposed, and he was more than happy with just one real friend, rather than a load of fake ones. Rory, on the other hand, caught flack from their classmates because she was a witch--or, according to them, because she 'thought' she was a witch. But Dean had given her the chance to prove herself off the bat, and after she successfully magicked him the answers to a history exam he'd been worrying about, he had all the evidence he needed.

Today, she was wearing her black Slipknot t-shirt, tight, tattered black jeans, and black leather ankle boots. Her hair was dyed a shade of bluish black you could only pick up in a store, her eyeliner wings drawn short and sharp, and she was glaring as she let herself in.

"What's got your knickers in a knot?" he asked.

"Where were you today?" she snapped. "You were the one who wanted us to study for the Calculus quiz together! I waited all afternoon in the library, looking like a fool!"

Dammit! He'd completely forgotten.

"Sorry...I decided to go out for a run."

"You blew me off…" Her foot began to tap against the floor. "For cardio?"

"I'm under pressure, okay?" he explained himself. "It won't be easy, trying to look good for Savannah. Besides, can't you just magic us the answers like you always do?"

Not that he needed it--he was a good student. In fact, he'd gotten into university on an academic scholarship. He could have easily studied if he applied himself. But why should he waste his time like that when he could just rely on Rory for a magic fix and put his waking hours to better use? There was something to be said for working smarter, not harder.

"Course, I could do that," Rory shrugged. "I don't s'pose you'd like to spend an afternoon with a friend, anyway."

Oof. That--that hit him like a brick to the skull.

"If you'd at least been with Savannah, I'd totally understand. But out on the track, alone, upholding a fitness standard you don't even believe in?"

And that was the cruel irony of it.

"It's not that I don't believe in it. I'd like to tone up a little, and Savannah deserves that, at the least--"

"Has she even said anything about your weight?"

"No, she's been nothing but sweet. But sooner or later her friends will start to talk, and she's not exactly an independent spirit…"

Perhaps her vulnerability was another reason he said yes to her.

He and Rory shared the same dirty secret--well, for shameless Rory, it wasn't exactly a secret. She'd tell anyone who asked, and a fair few who didn't, that she was into fat boys--the fatter the better, with bonus points if her prospective beau would allow her to fatten him up herself. Needless to say, her love life was dead on arrival.

Dean, on the other hand, was so deep in the pantry about his desires, one might as well call him flour or yeast. He'd known one or two girls in his time at school who fit his hefty ideal of beauty, but he'd always been too shy to make the first move. Of course, there was always Rory. At just over five foot and just over ten stone, she was the dictionary picture of pleasantly plump. But she would have wanted him to get far fatter than she was, and he wasn't prepared to take that plunge.

But maybe things could be different with Savannah. A girl that sweet and impressionable, who lived to please others...perhaps he might sway her into giving him some more of herself to love…

Rory suddenly looked up to where he sat on his bed, elevated on sturdy posts over his desk. After holding him in her long, contemplative gaze, she murmured, "Wait a minute."

"What?"

"I might just have a spell that can kill both your birds."

"You mean...you can help me lose weight, and get Savannah to put some on?"

"Yes," said Rory, "but unlike exam cheats, this'll be complicated magic. I'll need something of Savannah's, like a strand of hair, or else something she's touched...oh, and I won't do it for free this time."

"What's your asking price?"

"£50," she declared.

"Consider it done!" He bounded out of bed, descended the ladder, and made to retrieve his wallet.

***

Acquiring a piece of Savannah's hair was proving difficult. She kept her clothes immaculately rolled for lint, and Dean couldn't exactly pluck one off her head without her noticing. He knew he could use something she'd touched, but he felt bad about the idea of stealing one of her personal possessions. Finally, after three days, he arrived at Rory's dorm holding a piece of chewed gum from Savannah's wastepaper basket.

Standing in the doorway, Rory took it between her fingers and narrowed her eyes in disgust. "Well...it'll do."

"And everything else is ready?" asked Dean, hating himself for the level of eagerness his voice and his smile betrayed.

"Almost." Rory led the way into her dorm and sat down, where she had a small ceramic bowl of leaves set up on the floor. She knelt before it, and Dean took his place on the floor across from her.

"Magical herbs?"

"Most of it's just kindling, but there are a few potent ingredients. I'm just missing one thing: I need something of yours, too."

"Like some hair, or--"

"More like blood." She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a small folding knife. "Or bone marrow. Or maybe a tooth! An eye would be really good. But I have a feeling you'd rather part with a few drops of blood. Oh, and remove your shoes please."

He kicked them off to the side and, cautiously, took the knife. He was beginning to have second thoughts...but she'd gone through all the trouble to gather these supplies. Obviously, she was invested in this spell, if only for his sake. He'd feel like a disappointment if he pussed out now, not that he didn't always feel like a disappointment. Besides, how much longer could he stand to feel Savannah's pointy elbows poking him in bed? How much longer could he stare at her collarbones and shudder inside? He was doing this for her just as much as himself. This way, he'd be able to love her the way she deserved.

Anyway, Rory had probably already spent the fifty pounds.

"I'll tell you when I need it," she said as she set to work.

She pulled the gum into a long string, rolling it thinner at the ends before producing a length of red silk ribbon from her bag and winding the two around one another. "Bleed onto the ribbon now, please," she said, holding it taut.

Grimacing, he sliced his palm and balled his fist, squeezing a few drops of blood onto the fabric. She tied the ribbon in a knot at the centre while muttering the words, "Ligabis eos." The knot seemed to faintly glow, but only for a moment.

"What just happened?"

"You and Savannah are now magically bound," explained Rory. "Now, the fun part." She struck a match and threw it into the bowl. Its contents immediately caught flame. Dean flinched. Rory only laughed. "I do love a good fire!"

"Is it s'posed to burn that high?"

"Relax," she waved him off. "I've performed this spell for dozens of different people before."

"How do you find so many feeders?"

"This isn't just a weight gain spell...although, I can see how its procedure holds a certain feedist appeal."

"Procedure?"

"May as well go over the minutiae with you, while we wait for the fire to burn out. The spell is called the Transference of Desire. It makes you the master of your desire, and it makes your desire into her reality. But every spell needs fuel. This one requires food. Put simply, everything you eat will leave your body and be put towards the fulfillment of your desire: in this case, it'll all turn straight into fat on Savannah's body."

Dean was guiltily giddy at the very thought. "Let me get this straight: I'll be able to eat whatever I want and not gain weight, because she'll be gaining it in my stead?"

"In your 'stead'? Bloody Hell, you're a dork." Rory let out a barking laugh at his expense. "But yes: in fact, she'll gain more than you would have because instead of the calories being put towards walking or breathing or sustaining a heartbeat, it'll all go straight to her hips. Or her arse. Or her tits, or her gut, or wherever it ends up. I'm afraid I don't have a spell to spot-target the weight distribution, if you had a certain preference for pears over apples or whatever have you…"

"And it's that easy? All I have to do is eat?"

"After we actually do the spell, yes."

"And she'll welcome it?"

Rory bit her lip. "Well, I never said I could do that…"

Dean weighed his options, mulled over his situation…

Savannah would end up fat in the end anyway--that was just what happened to women once their metabolism gave out. Would it be so bad of him to accelerate the process?

And she'd end up depending on a man no matter what. She'd been a cheerleader before university, but had given up her athleticism to pursue a biology major with her sights on veterinary studies, but she simply lacked the brain. Since she'd chosen him, she might as well give him something in return for the security he'd one day guarantee her, right?

At last, the fire had burned down, and the smoldering pile of ingredients in the bowl let off swirls of black smoke. Rory stretched the ribbon over the smoke between her hands. "Put your hands on mine," she said. He did as he was told. "Now speak the incantation: eam desiderio."

He chuckled. "This is just like Harry Potter."

"This is nothing like Harry Potter. Now, I can speak the words, but it's your intention igniting the spell. So you have to say the incantation before the smoke is gone. Say it with me now."

"Eam desiderio," he muttered in time with her.

"Louder! With conviction!"

Wind started to swirl around them. Fighting his apprehension, he focused on what he wanted.

"Eam desiderio!" they chanted again in unison. There was a blinding flash. Then, he passed out.

***

He came to bleary-eyed on Rory's floor. She was up and about, cleaning and putting away supplies. "Is it done?" he asked.

"Just one more step." She helped him up and handed him the ribbon. "Are you right or left handed?"

"Right," he answered.

"Tie the cord tightly around the right bedpost at the head of your bed. When you're ready for Savannah to stop gaining, just cut the cord with this." She handed him the knife they had used in the ritual and he pocketed it, making a mental note to keep it close.

When he returned to his dorm that night, he heeded Rory's instructions--his 'bedpost' wasn't so much a bedpost as a small wooden knob, but hopefully, it would do. Once the ribbon was secured in place, he figured there was nothing left but to start eating.

And that was the part that scared him.

Rory had told him once that she had a 75% success rate with magic. So far, he had never seen her fail. The spell would most likely work, but what if it flopped? Then he'd just be dumping calories into his body for no reason.

But he'd never know if he didn't try, right? Anyway, he had to eat sometime. And the odds were three in four that he'd end up with a great big jiggly girlfriend to adore.

Thinking of his prize, he reached for the first food item he could find.

Pizza leftover from whatever party had raged through his and the neighboring dorms while he'd been off practicing witchcraft was far from ideal, but it would have to do.

There were six slices left in the box. He heated two of them up in the microwave his mum had sent him to school with on the expectation that he'd be sticking to low-calorie, frozen meals from the grocery store rather than greasy dorm caf slop. In his years of university, he'd kept his promise, but if Rory's spell truly worked, there was no reason why he shouldn't abandon his greaseless, carbless, joyless menu in favor of something a little more decadent.

He pulled the slices out of the microwave and settled down on the couch with his plate and the unopened dipping cup of ranch from the pizza box. The first bite was all it took for him to lose himself in the tastes and textures delighting his tongue: sinfully salty cheese, chewy crust, and the tangy, slightly spicy kick of red sauce. He finished the first two slices mindlessly, his hand seeming to move of its own accord as he dunked the ends of each crispy strip of crust into the cup of zesty, creamy ranch dip.

Only after he'd wolfed down both slices did their impact finally hit him. He felt heavy, lethargic, and yet somehow peaceful, even as his stomach churned discontentedly at its contents, unused to and unprepared for an onslaught of sodium and fat. Through his daze, a glimmer of panic rose to the surface of his thoughts: what if he puked? Or worse: what if he didn't? What if he'd completely undone this morning's workout?

Then, that weighty sensation started to fade. He could literally feel his stomach gently emptying, no doubt directly into Savannah's fat cells.

It had worked.

It had worked!

Ecstatically, he got up to grab the rest of the pizza and shoveled the remaining four slices down cold. It was fortunate that his roommate was gone for the night, no doubt whisked away to the dormitory of some horny drunk girl. He'd have been mortified to be caught gorging himself as fast as he could like an unrestrained hog. But as debased as he felt, it was also exciting: the reckless abandon with which he allowed himself to eat, the rush of the pure controversy of it all, the slow, dull ache of fullness as his belly bloated, only just barely, before emptying out again. The pizza was gone all too soon, and it wasn't enough. He needed more.

Fumbling with his phone, he hastily downloaded every delivery app he could find and set to work ordering from every fast-food establishment that was still open. One by one, the deliveries arrived, the drivers occasionally passing each other on the steps to his dorm. "Whoa, having a party?" asked the girl from Doordash with his McDonald's as she arrived at the doorstep behind the boy from GrubHub with his wings.

"Nah, it's just me. I'm on a bit of a dirty bulk," he lied before slipping them each a cash tip: hush money.

Between deliveries, he gorged himself on juicy chicken tenders, generously dressed and sauced burgers, thick, creamy milkshakes, onion rings and tubs of mash with gravy and fries on fries on fries, all washed down with several liters of soda. It became a thrill, a game, almost, to see just how far he could get his belly to distend, taut and packed with the most calorie-laden fare there was, before it began to empty out again, the caloric atom bomb within destined for Savannah's figure.

After hours of determined consumption, his eyes began to grow heavy with sleep. He was exhausted from the mere repetitive act of chewing and swallowing, and a quick glance out the window told him it would soon be light outside. He bagged up the evidence of his massive feast and quickly ran it out to the dumpster before trudging through his nighttime routine and collapsing in bed, smiling in anticipation of a plush, pillowy Savannah to cuddle up to.