You Become Her (comm)

Chapter 1

CW: Weight gain, stuffing, force feeding, slobbification, bloating, extreme humiliation/degradation/teasing/bullying, fat shaming, force feeding, slob, gas, burping, farting, mentions of popping, indigestion, some sweat and scent kink, dumbification, 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader.

Gwen, your friend, has been very spotty lately; flaky with your plans. And to you, it’s getting a bit ridiculous. How hard is it to hang out with your friend? Apparently extremely difficult, if you’re Gwen. You roll her eyes at the thought. You wouldn’t be surprised if your plans today fell through too. You’ve been waiting for your friend for half an hour and still, no sign of her. It was supposed to be a simple hangout, just window-shopping and eating dinner together. You had even chosen a later time so Gwen couldn’t use waking up late as an excuse.


As you check the time for the fifth time in a row, you utter sarcastically, “can’t wait to see what today’s excuse is.” If you’re getting stood-up again, you hope it at least gives you a good chuckle.


Just as you are about to give up and go home, you spot the telltale pigtails in the crowd to your right. Straightening up, you cheer to yourself. Finally! You’re still going to give Gwen a piece of your mind for being so flaky, but maybe a little less now that she’s finally deigned to leave her house.


Quickly, you school her expression and make it seem like you never spotted Gwen, pulling out your chapstick and fixing it. It won’t do to look too excited to see her. You have a reputation to uphold. Being stood-up a handful of times has given your self-proclaimed reputation a few scratches, but nothing that can’t be fixed.


Quick footsteps approach you, then, and you smirk as you hear a tentative peep of your name, followed by a warm and… sweaty palm falling on your arm. You swivel and take a step back, quickly wiping the dampness from your arm, sneer on your face.


“What do you think you’re-?” You look up then, capping your chapstick and pocketing it. Placing an indignant hand on your hip, you give an incredulous look to…


“Gwen? Is that you?” Your hand shoots up to your mouth as yo gasp, eyes wide.


You get a tentative nod in response and a shy, “h-hi.”


“I almost didn’t recognize you, holy shit.” You breathe. And it isn’t a mystery why that would be the case? Where Gwen’s usual dainty little figure used to be is a fat mess. Well, maybe not fat, just chubby. But in your eyes, they are one and the same. Big and gross. Gwen’s bulging with rolls and folds of lard, positively dripping in it. Not to mention the disgusting sweat stains drenching the crevices of her newly softened body. Her clothes barely fit, too; bursting at the seams.


You can’t help the next words out of your mouth, “is that why you wanted to go clothes shopping? Nothing fits?” You raise your head high and circle Gwen like a predator, eyeing her from top to bottom. Gwen quivers in response. “Or is it the promise of dinner that got you?” It’s mainly meant to be an observation, but as cutting as your words are, it’s no shock that they make Gwen’s cheeks flush. You can't help but feel a rush of power through you, you ask, “seriously, what happened to you? You blew up like a balloon!” You place your delicate hands on the newly formed gut Gwen is lugging around. It’s a soft double belly, stretching the seams of her dress ridiculously. Although…


“You’re totally sucking in, stop that!” You poke your finger into Gwen’s softened side, right between two warm rolls. Gwen squeaks and… “There we go. You’re fatter than I thought!” You cackle, catching the exact moment Gwen stops sucking her gut in. It protrudes against her dress and causes it to lift a little higher on her body. You hum to yourself as you cup the bottom roll of it, lifting and dropping; jiggling the sack of chub obscenely.


Gwen, for her part, looks positively mortified, too shocked at the sudden turn of events to do anything but stand there and take it. A part of you revels in this. After months of dodging you, you have finally cornered Gwen into a position beneath you. “Is this why you’ve been so flaky?” You start, voice a mockery of comfort. “Were you embarrassed you got so fucking fat?” You feel your anger rise and slap Gwen’s belly, delighting in her stuttered denials.


“I-I! I’m not fat!”


But you just laugh. “Yeah? Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Your tone turns gleeful then, pleased at the humiliation the girl is being put under. “I mean, I knew you were never the brightest, but you can’t be that stupid. Look at this huge gut you have! You look pregnant.” You pinch the fat there, bouncing it between your palms. The power coursing through your veins is intoxicating, worth ignoring the little voice in your head telling you you’re going too far. You can’t help the almost devilish smirk that overtakes your face. You splay your hands lower, grabbing at huge love handles and widened hips.“And your ass is barely covered by your dress!” You slaps the slightly exposed flesh, watching the lard-packed flesh jiggle wildly. You feel bumps beneath your smooth palms and grimace. “Eugh, and so much cellulite on your fat ass and thunder thighs. Nasty.”


A few passersby have noticed the exchange, some just grimace at the clearly too-small outfit Gwen is wearing and move on, while one or two sneakily look on as you dig into her. You can't help but smirk. A part of you has always envied Gwen. So tiny and pretty in her doll-like beauty. And now look at her! An absolute lardass begging to be made fun of. And so you do.


“Look at your face, Gwen! It’s all round now. You have a double chin too, ugh, gross!” You pinch the sagging bit of fat under her chin. “Your face used to be so pretty, too!” You laugh, holding your flat belly at the wet look in Gwen’s eyes. “You look like a pufferfish!” You blow your cheeks out to show what you mean. The laughter grows muffled then, but quickly bursts free when Gwen tries to deny it again.


“No! Stop that!”


But you keep going, “how dumb are you? Stop denying it. You’re an ugly, fat slob now!” Lithe hands gesture toward the sweat stains under Gwen’s pert tits. “I mean, how did you get so fat but gain none of it in your tits?” You fondle the little breasts, snickering meanly. How shameful Gwen is now. “You really should take better care of yourself, fatty.”


That seems to be the last straw for Gwen, as she pulls away, eyes wet but furious. “You’re such a bitch!” She growls out before stomping away. And stomping is right, even her steps are heavier now that she’s chubby.


“Aw, c’mon, Gwen! It was just a joke!” You laugh, smug at having beaten Gwen in this way. The two or so onlookers watch with you as Gwen waddles into the crowd, disappearing. You just roll your eyes. “Ugh, dumb cow can’t handle the truth.” Gwen will come around eventually. She always does. Everyone does with you.


Except… This lasts longer than you would have thought. You thought Gwen would come around after about a week. But as the two-month mark passes and you receive no word, you get slightly worried. It can’t be because of what you said, right? You were just telling her the truth. If anything, she should be grateful. And if Gwen was so upset over your words, then she would have used them as motivation to get back in shape. Hopefully, that’s what she’s doing. As much as you like being so much prettier than her, it’s bad for your reputation to be seen with a blubbery mess.


Oh, well. Not your problem. You’re not the one the size of an actual whale.


It’s another month before you hear anything. It’s in the form of a note. It’s smudged and has grease stains on it, but the message is clear: an invitation to Gwen’s house, an apology for ghosting you for months on end. It leaves you smirking; you deserve an apology after having to put up with Gwen’s shit for so long. And after you went out of your way to help her, too.


And so you are quick to heed the contents of the letter, heading over on the specified date and time to Gwen’s house. When you arrive, the lights are off and the door is unlocked. Strange.


“Hello?” You call. You get no response. But you sense movement in the shadows of the room. Heading to the dining and kitchen area, you say, “Gwen? Is that you?” But garner no response.


Suddenly, you sense a presence behind you. But before you can even investigate, you smell something… sweet in the air. The moment the scent hits your nose, you begin to feel woozy. “Oh, n-no. Gwen?” Is all you can get out before you fall unconscious. The last thing you see is a large, hulking figure standing over you.


It seems to you that only moments pass before you awaken. Your body is heavy, tired; as if you haven't slept in days. It’s strange, a whiplash of sensation that leaves you disoriented, blinking and swaying where you sit.


…Sit?



A surge of panicked energy rushes through you, frantically urging you to check your surroundings. You’re indeed sitting now, but when you attempt to stand, you find that your hands are stuck behind you, held there by glowing binds. Magic. Attempting to kick your legs proves just as fruitless. The bindings, though reasonably loose, do a great job of keeping you where you’re being forcibly kept.


Worse than anything is that you’re naked. You want to cover up and hide, squirrel yourself away like Gwen has been doing for the past half-year. As confident as you are, you recognize a bad situation when you see one. And this is one such thing.


The cold air makes you shiver, leaves you bending your shoulders and knees inward to preserve heat. This is the definition of awful.


“Hello? Gwen? Anyone? Help!” Your cries are distressed, begging for aid that hopefully comes. There is a buzzing in your mind and limbs, the fatigue of before making way for panic.


Then, as if cursed with nothing but pure, bad luck, you hear a heavy stomping coming from in front of you. Looking up, you watch as a large, menacing shadow lumbers toward you in a slow waddle. With each step, the figure seems to wobble like jello, heavy breathing following soon after.


“Um, hello?”


It doesn’t take long for fear to make way for curiosity. The waddling movements and soft shapes piled high to make the figure in front of you not as threatening as you thought it was. The soft grunts accompanying each ponderous step just pique your interest more. That is, until the figure gets close enough for the smell of grease, food, and sweat to permeate the area.


You are quick to try and cover your nose, tucking your face to the side as you scrunch your expression into something filled with disgust and revulsion. “ugh, ew!” You clench your eyes shut and try to hold your breath, allowing the… creature to come into the light. Now, you can hear the slapping of skin on skin. And with one final, thunderous step that shakes your chair, the figure seems to stop walking.


Disgruntled at the proximity of the awful smell, you reluctantly open your eyes and breathe in, coming face-to-face with piles and piles of flesh.


The figure is dripping in lard and sweat, a parody of the human form in how cartoonishly obese it is. Cellulite riddles massive, tree-trunk legs that lead to a horribly round ass. It’s a shelf of a thing, you bet you can rest a plate or a small object on it. Jeez, the figure even has thigh-rolls and cankles. Even its feet are fat!


Your eyes continue their horrified journey upward to a massive gut and a roll just under that, preserving the nude being’s modesty somewhat. A double belly sags nastily over front, creating huge love handles and obscuring what is supposed to be a waist. It seems… bloated, packed tight above and below, making these terrible gurgling noises, as if fighting with something; a disagreeable meal, perhaps.


A hand comes down to slap the giant, blubbery gut then, a large belch and fart releasing a moment later. The hands are chubby, looking as if they’d be unable to form a proper fist if they tried. Forearms roll and fold over onto its wrists, connecting to bingo wing arms, rolling at the armpit. There reside two flabby, sagging tits. They sway and jiggle with every movement, sliding off the glutted bloat of its gut.


Finally, your eyes come to rest on the creature's face. There is no neck to speak of, simply a multitude of chins that seem to never end. Twin jowls roll off onto said chins, pursing the thing’s lips and squinting the eyes. The face of it is swollen and fat, bursting with lard.


And through your inspection, you’re unable to stop yourself from feeling sick at the state of it. Clear indigestion, sweat, food stains, cellulite, and stretch marks littering each blubbery inch. It keeps burping and farting, adding to the terrible odor.


The only reason you are able to recognize who it is, is due to the two greasy pigtails that are on the thing’s head. Or, the woman’s head.


It’s Gwen.


“Gwen?” You exclaim, shocked beyond belief. “What the fuck happened to you? You look terrible and smell just as bad!” And isn’t that an understatement? Gwen is just about the ugliest thing you have ever seen! You didn’t even know such an awful-looking (or smelling) person could exist. Yet, here Gwen is, as horrible as a nightmare.


Gwen doesn’t respond. Properly, that is. She does laugh, though. A brainless sounding thing, in all honesty. The look on her face seems much the same. It’s as if her mind has been emptied of every intelligent thought, eyes blank and face slack. Gwen grunts and lets out a large, rumbling belch into your face, leaving you gagging. Case in point.


You call her name again, tentative this time, unsure if Gwen can even understand you with the state of her deteriorated IQ. Another laugh in response, but this time, Gwen speaks, “terrible, terrible. Big, dumb Gwen looks terrible.” She burps again, slowly plodding her way behind you. “Big, dumb slob. Dumb, dumb, dumb.”


What?


Taken aback, you jump as you hear rustling behind you. A second later, two sagging tits flop over your shoulders. They’re sticky and huge, revolting. You try to jerk away, yelping, “what the hell, Gwen? What’s gotten into you? You’re being gross.” But Gwen doesn’t seem to listen, instead, resting her pile of chins on your head as she squishes your slim face between her floppy tits.


“Stupid, gross Gwen and her nasty tits. Just being gross, gross. Smells bad, ugly and fat.” The words are prattled off dumbly, Gwen’s voice low and empty. They’re spaced out by bursts of gas from either end, too. You can hear them happen, with how close her gut is. But the words are… close to what you were thinking a moment ago, and being called out on it, having your words put out there makes you feel… kind of bad.


And so you backpedal. “W-well, I never said that, exactly-“ you're cut off by Gwen taking a step back and burping on you again. You feel the hot breath on your neck and hear the way it slowly peters out.


You squeal and thrash, “stop it! I-“


So focused on trying to get away from the gas that Gwen released onto you, you fail to notice what Gwen is up to until it’s too late.


“Mmph?”


A soft tube has been forced into your mouth. Looking up at it, you deduce it’s connected to the ceiling and, following the tube, you notice a huge machine buzz to life. It’s a giant vat, seemingly filled with gallons upon gallons of liquid slop. If the transparent window into the vat is to be trusted. You try to shake your head and dislodge the tube, but every time you do, it seemingly follows you, as if enchanted by something. There is a faint hue radiating from it and the vat, now that you really look closely. More magic, you realize.


Oh, you are so screwed.


Still kicking up a fuss, you glare when Gwen waddles in front of you, slowly walking closer and closer until her obscenely glutted gut is pressed right against your face.


This close, you can hear and feel the indigestion happening within. You hear gas bubbles build and expand before being released into noisy expulsions that leave you grimacing. It’s as noisy as a bubbling cauldron but ten times as disgusting. It vibrates your face a little, gives you a grumbled warning before a bubbling fart is released. Gwen sighs in relief, giving her belly a satisfied pat. All you can do is sob in disgust.


“Such a big belly, ugly and fat. No one would want Gwen now!” Gwen cries. She takes a step back and looks down at you as best she can. Her chins seem to be providing some resistance. And the angle just makes her look even worse. Gwen’s right, no one would want her now. But you would never say that. To her face, anyway.


Gwen smiles suddenly, vindictive; the only bit of complex thought or emotion that has passed through her in the short time she and you have been together here. “Gwen knows how you feel. Think Gwen is dumb and fat and worthless.” A nasty burp follows her statement, trailing off into smaller, airy ones afterward. “Gwen will make you feel like that, too. Show you how funny it is.”


You feel the hand of ice-cold fear grip your chest. A moment for it to sink in, and then you’re thrashing, muffled shouts coming from around the tube. You don't want to be fat! You’ve worked so fucking hard to keep your body as slim as it is, you don’t want that to be ruined! You’re hot, smart, perfect! Gwen can’t ruin this for you!


But, unfortunately, that’s what Gwen seems keen on doing. As a moment later, a glow surrounds her chubby hand. She says, “soon, you will be just like-“ Gwen chokes on a burp, slapping her gut afterward as if to stop it. “Just like big, dumb Gwen!” The machine behind her hums to life, and you squeal.


When the first bit of the slop touches your tongue, you want to puke. It’s a thick slurry, tasting of butter and sugar, oily but sweet. It’s just off. It’s as if Gwen poured actual grease or lard and pure sugar into it.


You try your best to stop yourself from drinking it, but you soon find yourself choking, forced to swallow the sludge puffing your cheeks out. It’s heavy going down, slowly, begrudgingly sliding down your throat and settling like rocks in your stomach. It instantly sends your insides into a tizzy, gurgling loudly in protest at the strange mixture. Your tummy feels heavy and bloated, and it’s only been a few seconds. It leaves you moaning sickly, watching Gwen warily.


Gwen, for her part, is back to her new, brainless self. She takes a couple more steps back again, able to look at you without fighting her chins for movement as much. “Dumb, dumb, dumb. Gwen sure is dumb!” She fiddles with her greasy pigtails, cackling to herself like she told a funny joke. “Will you have big boobs like Gwen? A nice ass? Will you have a greedy gut, too?” Gwen questions, fondling her dirty fat rolls.


You want to protest, to scream and hit and run. But all you’re able to do is swallow and whimper, to watch the slob in front of you seal your fate into a similarly monstrous being.


It hasn’t even been that long but you feel sick. Your belly is groaning, blushing red and huge, begging for it to stop. The slop settles so heavily in your gut, expanding it with each swallow. Seeing such a round and glutted gut on your tiny frame sickens you. That’s not supposed to be there, you’re supposed to have a flat tummy. You never eat so much that your stomach looks like this. But here Gwen is, forcing you to.


You try to get Gwen to stop, making muffled noises against the tube, trying to tell her you feel you may be sick or explode! But Gwen seems to mistake your pleas as the opposite.


“Do you want more? Don’t worry, soon you’ll be even bigger than me! Look, your body is already changing!”


It’s then that you become aware of a growing warmth and stretching sensation taking over your body. Looking down, it takes only a second for pure horror to settle in your chest.