Patreon Reward: Mercy's Slobby Retirement

Mercy has become a slobby hog of a woman since the disbandment of overwatch, and is starting to enjoy it deep down...

Dr Angela Ziegler, better known as Mercy, yawned and slowly sat up on her messy, stained couch. It had been three years since the disbandment of Overwatch, and the former field medic had done nothing but luxuriate in her free time. Video games and television took the place of missions and research, and her diet swiftly became a steady graze on fast food and high-calorie salty and sugary snacks. The blonde’s slender frame began plumpening just weeks after her ‘retirement’. A small potbelly with love handles grew to become a double-pile up of drooping belly rolls. A bit of thigh flab became wide and blubbery excess leg baggage, and a bit of roundness to her rump ballooned into a pair of saddlebaggy buttocks that took up a couch cushion each. A little extra fullness around her thin arms became stocky, keg shaped blobs of fat that partially swallowed her elbows. Angela stopped wearing bras a few months in, opting to let her increasingly large and flabby breasts droop forward onto the growing mound of her waistline. Her almond-shaped face and high cheekbones grew buried by rotund face flesh and a full double chin. 

It wasn’t just her weight that had changed over the last few years. Showers became few and far between, and her sleeping habits grew fractured and inconsistent. Dark circles had come in under her eyes while her badly stretch marked skin developed an oily sheen. Her sandstone blonde hair had grown out some, hanging limp and greasy around her porcine face and down her back. Shaving fell by the wayside as fuzzy crops of blonde hair bloomed beneath her arms, around the fatted mounds of her sex, and up to her belly button. 

Mercy stretched, sniffing as she took in the haze of body odor emanating from her sweaty, furry armpits. “Urgh...” she groaned, tilting her body slightly and letting a long, rippling PHRRRAAP! of post-nap gas exude from her rump. Mercy straightened her thick glasses and stared at the T.V. for a few moments, soaking up the ending of a trashy reality show she’d become hooked on. “My poor back,” she groaned, grabbing her knee and twisting her unfit body as best she could, producing a loud crackling sound from her overtaxed spine. She repeated the process in the other direction, producing a similar cacophony while she let a sloppy belch sputter past her lips. Wrinkling her nose at her own reek, Mercy pushed her nearly 300 kilogram body off her couch. Her food-spattered sweatpants were riding down on the shelf of her rump and sported a significant damp stain running down their seat. Angela reached beneath her hanging belly and hiked her waistband upwards, the garment settling back down to reveal the crack of her behind once more the moment she let go. “Huch,” Mercy exclaimed in German, weighing her hanging belly in her hands. “I’ve put on more weight this month, I can just feel it...” 

The doctor waddled her way to her bedroom, stepping over and atop empty pizza boxes, delivery bags, and drained bottles of soda. On the way, she grabbed a half-depleted 2 liter bottle of root beer placed haphazardly on a shelf and took a long swig to fuel her laborious trek across her apartment. Her knees ached, and her heart pounded uncomfortably in her chest from the sudden burst of exercise. Squeezing her wide hips through the doorway, Mercy pulled off her grimy, sweat-stained tank top, letting her bulbous breasts hang out in front of her. They were decorated with a mix of white and red stretch marks and crisscrossed with vibrant blue veins. She rubbed at her sore nipples for a moment, then bent down to slide off her sweatpants, another ripple of gas sputtering from her rear as she did. 

“Phew,” Angela gasped, shaking her head at her massively obese physique. Blonde hair was thick on her legs and forearms, and she could see tufts poking out of the fat rolls of her armpits. She gave her belly a scratch, poking her index finger into the hairy cavern of her belly button. Her hands then went over her hair, trying to smooth down the many awkwardly-jutting stray locks blooming out in every direction. Her fingers came away uncomfortably oily. Wiping her hands on her sweaty, naked thighs, Angela sniffed the air, finding the room rapidly fouling from the stench of her armpits, feet, and gas. She added to the aroma with a terse soda belch. “What have I done to myself?” she murmured, catching a whiff of her humid, stuffy breath as she spoke. Her breathing was heavy and labored, sending a wobble through her gelatinous chest with each breath.

A slow, guilty smile spread across her lips as she grabbed handfuls of fat all around her body. “I wonder what the rest of the team would think if I sent them a photo...” the thought of it sent a warm tingle through her fatted sex. Angela reached beneath her belly and lifted it, admiring the puffy mound of pure fat hanging over her equally plump vagina. “If only I could see their faces...” she thought out loud, a hint of eager wistfulness in her voice. Naked, Angela waddled out to her kitchen, grabbing a gallon tub of chocolate ice cream from the fridge before huffing and puffing her way back to the couch, practically collapsing in exhaustion back onto the sweaty, malodorous indentation her weight had made in the cushions.

“Angela, you’ve grown into quite the cow...” Mercy spooned ice cream into her maw, slurping it back between utterances. “Imagine what a physical exam would turn up!” Her behind howled with flatulence as she continued to gorge. “And I’m eating more and more by the day!” she snorted, reaching beneath her belly with a grunt and massaging the mound of fat above her sex, letting out small, moaning gasps. “What will I look like in a year? In five?” she asked excitedly, her eyes glassy with pleasure as her fingers stroked and toyed with her dripping, strong-smelling sex.