"Model Made to Waddle Chapter 6"

Ariel sees some signs of her potential downfall as three different people plot their revenge.

This newest chapter comes out to just over 7,000 words and brings the whole thing so far to over 50,000.

Enjoy!

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Ariel looked at the ice cream as she rubbed her belly.

It was just…. There, staring at her.

It was one of those hot summer nights, and the cool air coming off the freezer alone was refreshing enough, but that ice cream, a simple carton of vanilla, it was giving off some kind of syren song. Ariel hung by one arm on the freezer door as she stood slumped forward and letting her upper body twist to the rhythm set by the door as she contemplated her next move.

Suddenly she slammed the door shut and stood straight up.

Ice cream was a bad idea. She didn’t need ice cream. She was better than ice cream.

Slowly, Ariel’s hand tickled her tummy as she thought about all the food she had already eaten today, including two scoops of that very same ice cream. Sure, she had a rock solid metabolism, but even she had her limits. She didn’t need any more food today- period, let alone that ice cream… that delicious… cool… creamy….

No!

Ariel turned around. She shunned the fridge, matching the coldness of the ice cream with her cold shoulder. As if to double down on her scorn of dessert, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and made sure to let out an audible huff to show that ice cream who was boss. A stomp of her foot reinforced her resolve.

But…..

There was just this itch in the back of her mind, a nagging sensation that kept growing, protesting louder the more she tried to fight it back. It was this strong prevailing thought that demanded to be heard.

Ice cream’s just so good.

Plus, Ariel was having trouble sleeping. Why was that? The heat? Hunger? A combination of both? Ice cream would solve both problems with one scoop… or two. It would cool her down and fill her belly.

Her belly… it was still so bloated. She had eaten so much, been so full for so long, made an absolute pig of herself and now her stubborn stomach was making sure to remind her of that. She needed to slow down. She needed to stop. She needed to cool it- and not with ice cream!

Who was she to be having cravings like this anway? She wasn’t some fatty. She wasn’t like Kelly or Eleanor, or even like what Penelope was on her way to becoming, pudgy Penelope, pathetic Penelope, Penelope who was practically a pig. She was better than her, better than all of them. She owed herself some self-respect and a trip to bed to sleep off the rest of her bloating from already stuffing herself enough that day.

Ariel headed toward the staircase, and there was something about the way the first step creaked, that sudden sound that broke her rhythm, made her pause just enough for that itch in the back of her head to return. It pried at her, slowly starting to strip away the resolve and eat at her self-consciousness as it pushed her toward eating the icecream.

With one hand still on the banister, Ariel spun herself around dramatically, allowing herself to drape down toward the floor, supported only by her one hand on the banister and one foot braced against the bottom step. With her other hand and foot, the very flexible model reached out the refrigerator and let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh.

There was a longing in that sigh, a need, a burning desire that could only be cooled by the sweet taste of that forbidden vanilla ice cream.

She shouldn’t.

But she could.

That was the thought that began to bubble up in her brain as she allowed herself to fall gently onto the floor and then turned onto her stomach as a way to ignore its fullness while she stared up at the freezer with her head in her hands, propped up by her elbows against the floor as behind her she kicked her feet in contemplation.

She could have the ice cream. She could totally eat it. She could afford to.

Kelly couldn’t. Eleanor couldn’t. Penelope couldn’t.

If those three so much as looked at ice cream they would find another inch of fat spread round their thighs. If that ice cream passed their lips it would mean a lifetime on the hips. Those pathetic piggies couldn't afford to risk indulging in a dessert as decadent as a couple scoops of vanilla ice cream.

But Ariel?

She was better than them. She was superior in every way. She was slim and sexy and blessed with a perfect metabolism that one big beautiful bowl of ice cream wasn’t going to wreck. She would never see a pound placed on her perfect figure just from eating some ice cream, even if she smothered it in whipped cream… and drowned it in chocolate syrup. 

Her stomach rumbled.

She was so hungry.

She was so bloated.

“So what?”

Ariel kicked the floor in defiance.

So what if she was bloated? She wouldn’t be bloated in the morning, once she actually had a good night’s sleep, even if she did have herself an ice cream sundae. Plus, today was already a wash in terms of diet. Yes. She had stuffed herself silly. So what did she really have to lose? This was a cheat day. It was okay to have ice cream as part of her cheat day. She could have anything her heart desired on her cheat day. She could certainly afford it.

Most importantly, Ariel wanted it.

She wanted that ice cream.

And nobody was going to tell Ariel that she couldn’t have something she wanted, not even herself. Once she had it in her mind that she wanted that ice cream, the matter was settled. Yes. Settled. She was having that ice cream.

After all, who was going to judge her? Who was going to call her a pig? Certainly not herself. And nobody else was around. That ice cream was her right. It was all hers, and she was going to eat it, and nobody else would be the wiser. She wouldn’t have reason to feel bad at all.

It was ice cream time.

Ariel pushed herself up off the floor, completely ignoring the groaning of her bloated stomach, and practically rand toward the fridge. As she neared it, her legs and her heart skipped.

She threw open the freezer, snatched up the ice cream and tore into it before she even realized she was without a spoon. It didn’t take long for Ariel to rummage through her kitchen draws and grab the biggest one she could find. Like a harpoon, she plunged that spoon into the carton of ice cream. She pulled out a heaping spoonful of vanilla ice cream and stuffed into into her mouth. It rolled down her tongue, and she slurped the remnants off the spoon before going back for a second spoonful, stuffing that into her barely empty mouth and then-

No. This had to stop. This was madness. This was savagery.

She needed a bowl.

Soon, that bowl was filled with three heaping scoops of ice cream, and true to her desires, Ariel had buried those scoops, absolutely smothered them in whipped cream and drowned them in chocolate syrup. She even found some sprinkles!

Ariel was a delighted little piggy as she stuffed herself with that sundae. The ice cream felt so good as it slid over her tongue and down her throat. It filled her stomach with its sinfully sweet sugar goodness, and the whole thing just felt so damn pleasant. It was like all her worries about eating and bloating too much disappeared- even though her belly was in fact even bigger thanks to all the sugary ice cream adding to her previous bloating. 

She didn’t even care that she was making a mess. Syrup staining her cheeks was no concern to her. Globs of whipped cream plopping into her cleavage? She didn’t care. She just fished it out with her fingers and sucked those fingers dry. 

She licked the spoon clean too, and when she was finished with that and looked at the dregs of her ice cream in the bowl she thought about running her tongue all along it and licking up every last drop. But she was no animal, no pig. Two fingers run along the side and sucked clean would do. That was satisfying. 

Ariel looked at what she had done. More importantly, she felt it. She felt the weight in her bloated belly from all the ice cream. Her sticky fingers rubbed the swell of her stomach. She pressed down gently and an unladylike burp came out of her mouth. 

She certainly had outdone herself today. She gave herself a lot of credit for that. Even she had to admit that the amount she was able to eat was prodigious and definitely excessive. Overdid it was an understatement. But, in a way, she was proud of herself, proud of what a pig she had been. She had given into her desires, reinforced the idea that she was good enough to have whatever she wanted, and she had gotten to show off in front of Kelly to boot. That was a big plus. 

And so what if there was a little bloating? That would go away. She could afford this day. She deserved this day.

She would have more of these days if she wanted. 

Ariel always got what she wanted. 

And as she dwelled on that thought while pouting like a spoiled brat, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar itch in the back of her head. What she wanted…what she really wanted was….

Well, one or two more scoops of ice cream couldn’t hurt, right?

So she reached for the carton. 

———

“How long does it take to make something a habit?”

The music in the bar was far too loud, and Eleanor was certain that Penelope hadn’t heard her. Her pudgy friend was too busy dancing and hoping to be picked up by some guy or girl- Penelope was not picky- that would notice her. But with her pudgy body, and- more importantly- the erratic nature of her drunken dance moves, Eleanor thought that the chances of Penelope getting picked up at this dive bar tonight were very slim. 

It was funny to think of Penelope as pudgy, not that Eleanor found it amusing- well- not that amusing. What Eleanor found funny was the oddness of it all. It wasn’t a joke it was just weird to see that the person that Eleanor had known for so long as a slim and sexy model was suddenly so porky. 

That was the truth. There was no denying it. Penelope had porked up. She had pigged out and piled on the pounds and-

Eleanor briefly chastised herself for thinking so much like Ariel. (Perhaps old model habits die hard even when you’re now clinically obese and far from being one to judge others.) But then she got right back to looking at Penelope and her new pudge which was once again prominently on display in and ill fitting pink dress. (Like, girl, why would you wear pink of all colors?) And Eleanor couldn’t stop thinking about how carelessly chunky Penelope had gotten. 

Her fat was even more noticeable as she danced. 

Penelope’s pudgy belly had quite the bounce to it and this bounce was further accentuated by the tightness of the dress that she had stubbornly insisted on cramming her stomach into. Now the fabric clung to her tubby tummy like saran wrap, highlighting every curve of it. But it had enough give to stop it from being in place, and just let that belly jiggle as much as it wanted to.

And it wanted to jiggle a lot.

Her belly lacked the support of stomach muscles to keep it in place because Penelope had always been naturally thin prior to her plumpening. She had never known the need to workout and develop her abdominal muscles back when she was a super slim babe and thought she would stay that skinny forever. Unfortunately for Penelope, she was not as genetically gifted as Ariel and her lack of exercise regime was a large part of the reason she had gained weight so quickly, that and her garbage junk food diet. The lack of exercise also meant that when she packed on the pounds all of that fat just hung off of her as saggy flab which meant her stomach was extra soft and squishy hence why she was walking around looking like ten pounds of pork squished into a five pound bag with a chubby belly whose chunk wiggled and jiggled at the slightest movement.

And dancing was a lot of movement.

So that belly bounced a lot.

It bounced up and down and side to side, and even when the rest of Penelope would pause for a moment to catch her breath, which was often, her tubby tummy would take a few more moments to settle down. When Penelope reached for a drink, her stomach surged forward. When she sat down, her pot belly plopped into her lap. That soft sack of fat was super noticeable even when Penelope was sucking in, like when she was trying to flirt.

Penelope used to be good at flirting. Everyone was drawn to her, and she loved that. She used to know how to rock her body, and she oozed charisma. 

Now her flirting was stilted, awkward. It wasn’t that Penelope was suddenly unattractive just because she had put on a few pounds. Plenty of people would have said she was hotter than ever. But her chubbier body had tossed her confidence out the window, and the charisma that she used to have was replaced by the ooze of cheese whiz filling her mouth as she spent another lonely night at home lamenting what her social life had become.

This was trending toward being another one of those nights.

But at least tonight Eleanor had something to cheer Penelope up with. They could talk about Ariel! About the party, about the early success of their plan and what to do next. That was all Eleanor wanted to talk about after she had slept off her hangover, and she wanted to just visit Penelope at her apartment, but Penelope had insisted on coming out to this bar for “Ladies Night” and Eleanor only agreed to go along because Penelope had been to stubborn about it- and because, truth be told, this place had amazing Buffalo wings.

Eleanor was sucking down her seventh wing as she continued to watch Penelope who would just not stop dancing.

As Penelope danced, her thighs clapped together.

It was subtle. Her thighs weren’t completely full of thunder just yet, but the storm clouds were gathering on the horizon. They were certainly far chunkier than they used to be, and they had the distinct hint of cellulite, the first wave of a foe that would absolutely ravage her thighs if she wasn’t careful, if she got fatter. Her thighs held plenty of weight in them already and looked like they were ready to take on far more. It was easy to imagine her plump legs growing larger, heavier, fat enough that that flab pressed together and robbed her of her mode strut forever. Penelope’s drunken dance moves were already awkward. It would be quite the scene to see plus-sized Penelope waddling about on the dance for shifting from one fat foot to the other with her thunder thighs quaking.

Of course, her fatter thighs were accompanied by a bigger booty, a butt that had blown up just a bit from a perky posterior to the beginnings of a mushy mess. Her butt cheeks were chunky and lacked rhythm as the wobbled while she danced. They were big which drew some positive attention, but they were far softer and squishier than Penelope, and most people she seemed to meet, would prefer.

Eleanor was pretty sure Penelope’s butt had once been firm, but the more she saw of those squishy ass cheeks shifting under the stretched out fabric of her dress, the more she questioned if their previously perceived firmness was just a result of Penelope’s overall skinniness. Now that she was more plump, the plush nature of her posterior was far clearer. 

The sway of Penelope’s bloated butt cheeks was almost hypnotic. Her chunky cheeks were plump and juicy, and there was something about the way they moved that made them very inviting, and when she stood still, Penelope’s big butt looked like a mushy peach. It was still by far her best feature, and it’s a shame that her butt’s squishy nature sapped her self-confidence otherwise she could have worked it in her favor. 

Instead she just kept dancing awkwardly and drinking more. The sugary calories of those drinks were sure to cling to her butt, thighs, hips, belly, everywhere. 

While Penelope’s belly, butt, and thighs had been the most prominent places her weight gain had settled, they were not the only places. Penelope had grown softer everywhere; it was just that some of the growth was more subtle in places. One had to really look for the way fatty deposits had affected those aspects of her previously completely slender figure.

For instance, Penelope’s arms were softer, but she hadn’t developed a big set of bingo wings yet. Still, previously she had a delicate line that delineated her biceps from the rest of her arms, and now that line was gone. Her arms just looked like soft tubes, and the only real part of them that hadn’t shown any sign of weight gain so far were her hands. Her fingers had yet to swell up like Eleanor’s had- into thick sausages- and they remained as dainty as ever.

The same could not be said for her breasts which looked quite a bit sloppier than they used to. Her weight gain hadn’t grown them very much at all, but they had contributed to a fair amount of sag that had any bra she wore working overtime. The lack of growth to her breasts was one of the things that made Penelope’s weight gain so frustrating to her. It felt like she was getting fatter without any of the benefits.

Eleanor just shook her head as she watched Penelope dancing there with her belly bouncing about. That belly was still the most noticeable thing about her. In Eleanor’s mind, at least she was used to her body, she had gotten adjusted to life as a fat girl, and while she wasn’t happy about it, she had come to terms with it. Eleanor was fat. She knew it. She lived accordingly. 

Penelope was chubby but she was still vainly clinging to her past as a skinny woman which put her into a rather awkward phase in her life. It was like she was becoming a fat girl who just didn’t know it yet.

And that’s of course untrue. Penelope was VERY aware of her weight gain, but her actions made it seem otherwise at times.

Still, Penelope’s weight gain had filled Eleanor with some hope- not that she hoped Penelope would get even fatter of course- though that did seem inevitable- but the fact that it had happened at all had proved inspiring. Eleanor had been slim and sexy and gotten fat. Penelope had been slim and sexy and was getting fat.

So why couldn’t it happen to Ariel?

That’s exactly what Eleanor wanted to talk to Penelope about if she ever stopped dancing, damn it.

Luckily for Eleanor, Penelope did stop dancing. Her weight gain- and alcohol consumption- meant that she wasn’t capable of dancing for as long as she used to (which at one point could have been all night), and the lack of positive attention that she was getting was admittedly demotivating. So she eventually just settled for getting herself another drink, after lamenting that she had to pay for it herself, and then wobbled back over to the table, winded and sweaty.

“How long does it take to make something a habit?” Eleanor asked again now that Penelope was once again in front of her and far more settled.

“What was that?” asked Penelope as she was still coming down from her physical activity, and apparently the blood rushing to her head had hindered her hearing.

“I said… How long does it take to make something a habit?”

“Why does that matter?”

“For Ariel.”

“For?”

“For Ariel!”

“Oh!”

And then Penelope sat there for a long time staring off into the distance, and then down at her drink, saying nothing until Eleanor finally got tired of the awkward silence.

“I wanted to talk about Ariel!”

Suddenly, Penelope’s eyes brightened with life again like a robot turning on or more like a drunk person popping into a moment of lucidity.

“Oh yeah! Wasn’t last night great? I was… I was really on.”

She was. Penelope had been at her best, a real lynch pin of the plan, clever and adaptive, and it was those qualities that made this current situation so damn frustrating for Eleanor.

“Yes. You were. It was great. But what’s our next move?”

“What’s your hurry?”

“I want to strike while the iron is hot.”

“More like strike while the iron is FAT!” snorted Penelope.

It was patently ridiculous as a metaphor and barely even reached the qualifications for a pun. And Eleanor was having none of that.

“Can you get it together, please?”

Penelope let out a long winding whine as she sulked down onto the table, an action that caused her softened arms to quiver. Eleanor couldn’t see it, but she assumed that, under the table, Penelope’s tubby tummy was wobbling quite a bit too.

“Can’t we just savor the moment for a little while longer El?” asked Penelope as she rode that ear grinding whining note for as long as she could.

Eleanor practically had to cover her eyes, and she was genuinely afraid that her glass would break.

“Yes. Yes. It was lovely. Everything worked out really well. Ariel ate a lot.”

“A LOT!”

“Yes. A lot. But if we want her to keep eating until she gets fat, we need a plan.”

“Plan later.”

“Plan n-”

“Soon.”

“N-”

Penelope cut off Eleanor’s demands for prompt planning by pressing a finger to her lips.

“Shhhhh. Savor now. Plan later. Let’s…. Let’s just talk about last night for a bit, okay? I really want to enjoy it again.”

“But-”

“Oh, come on. Indulge me.”

There was something about the way Penelope pouted that made her face look fatter, but Eleanor was powerless to resist those sad puppy dog eyes, so decided that she was indeed going to indulge her.

“Yeah. Last night was amazing, far better than I ever thought it would go. Ariel made a complete fool of herself.”

“And she ate so much!”

“Yes she did.”

“Like a pig!”

“Yes, she ate like a pig. It was really dazzling to watch her just eat appetizer after appetizer and then still have room for multiple helpings at the buffet plus dessert. She made a total pig of herself, and so many people watched her do it. I could hear them whispering about how much of a pig she was being, judging her. It was so refreshing. And the was so drunk and oblivious that she just kept eating, and eating, and eating, absolutely stuffing her face to an unreal degree. I would have thought I was dreaming it. But it was real. She really did eat that much. Slim and sexy Ariel really did go hog wild and completely pig out.”

Penelope had a wide stupid smile on her face as she tapped her forehead with her middle and index finger.

“And we know….”

Then she reached under the table and began to prod Eleanor’s big blubbery double belly.

“We all know where the food is gonna be goin…”

Gently, Eleanor reached down and removed Penelope’s hand from her stomach. She placed her hand back on the table and gave it a small chastising pat.

“Yes. That’s right. We all know at least a few of those calories are going to settle somewhere, probably her tummy. Her belly just looked so damn bloated from all that food, more bloated than I’d- then we’d- ever seen before, more bloated than we could have ever imagined. It was too good to be true.”

“But it was true.”

“It was. It was the most out of control I’ve ever seen Ariel, the most vulnerable she’s ever been in her life, probably, and she didn’t even realize it because she was too drunk and hungry to notice how much everyone was laughing at her for eating like a big fat greedy pig.”

“Fat. She’s going to get like so fat,” chuckled Penelope. 

“Yes, Penelope, and that’s just what I wanted to talk to you about. How to make her-“

“Fat. She’s gonna have a big fat belly, fatter than mine. And she’s gonna have big fat thighs and a big fat ass, but not like a nice one. She’s gonna have a big fat dumpy ass, one that’s really like soft, and saggy, and covered in cellulite. She’s going to look so stupid with a fat flabby ass and a big gut and like and like…like…and… thunder thighs. She’s going to have big fat flabby thunder thighs that rub together. She’s gonna be a model made to waddle.”

Eleanor couldn’t help but smile along. She nodded at everything Penelope said, something that really made her double chin wobble. It was certainly a nice dream, imagine Ariel so fat that her model strut reduced to a slow waddle, thinking about slim and sexy Ariel struggling to fit into her designer dresses, bursting through the seams with her big butt and even bigger blubber belly. She wanted to savor all that had happened and all that could happen, but she also knew that it wasn’t helpful to just live in a dream world, dwelling on what had been and might be. Eleanor wanted to find a way to bridge those two things together, to make it all real. She was so close she could taste it. 

And it all hinged on getting Ariel to eat more. 

“That’s really great, Penelope. And I want that too. Believe me, nobody want to see Ariel waddling around and getting laughed at, facing the same kind of humiliating judgment she throws at others, more than me. I’d love to turn her into a real cow, get her fatter than I am. But the question is- How?”

“Or yeah… like how cow? Cow how?” Penelope drunkenly stroked her chin thoughtfully which had the inadvertent effect of pulling down some softer flesh as if she was teasing out a double chin. 

“It’s possible. It just takes planning.”

“Right. We should like plan.”

Eleanor’s hand hit her forehead so hard that it threatened to give her a concussion. Eleanor was glad it didn’t. Having to put up with one Penelope at the moment was frustrating enough. If she were to suddenly be seeing two of them, it would drive her up the wall. 

“That’s… what… I’m trying…. to do.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Long. Painful. Silence.

“So what’s the plan?”

Eleanor slumped down and her head would have hit the table if her big belly and breasts didn’t act like airbags and prevent that from happening as they both pressed against different parts of the table first.

“Habit. We need to get her to eat a lot as a habit.”

“She already eats like a lot.”

“Yes but not all the time.”

Penelope, her mind still slowed by alcohol, nevertheless began to tape the table with her fingers in thought. 

“But she did with us, we can like totally get her to eat a lot with us. We know how to do that.”

“Yeah, but we can’t keep being there with her all the time. So- okay- plan A, right? We definitely want to have brunch be a more regular thing. And we definitely need to encourage more ladies' nights, even if we somehow just get her to stay in and watch movies and eat a hell of a lot of ice cream or something. That all works. That’s all good. That will all help. But eventually she’s going to realize something is up. Even if we get her to gain weight with our strategy of lots of food filled nights out, she’s going to eventually realize that and take some kind of action. So that means we need to figure out two things: One, how do we delay her realizing she’s gaining weight for as long as possible? And two, we need to figure out how to make her eating a habit so that she does it without us and she does it even after she realizes she’s gaining weight. We want to get her to the point where there’s no going back, where she’s stuck on the downward spiral into fatness.”

“Mmmmmmm, I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah. It’s nice sounding, but now we need to figure out how to actually make it all work.”

Penelope paused for a long moment and looked at the ice in her empty drink when it hit her. 

“Alcohol,” she said. 

“I know you want another drink, but let’s focus.”

“I am. If we keep making sure Ariel drinks lots of alcohol when we’re with her, she’ll eat more and like forgot more about what she ate. And then like, if she eats with us enough times and we keep her fridge stocked maybe- like then she’ll form a habit of eating and probably snack.”

Eleanor followed along and liked about half of what she heard. Drinking certainly was a weakness they could readily continue to exploit. 

“But I’m not sure we can reliably keep her place stocked with snacks. That would be crazy suspicious. We’d be going out of our way.”

Penelope nodded in agreement which made the start of a double chin appear on her face. Then she snapped her fingers as a new idea hit her. 

“Weed!”

“Weed?”

“If we get her to smoke weed, take the edge off, come down after a party, or at a party, or like whatever. If she smokes weed enough with us and then kinda kept that going as a habit that would give her the munchies. That would get her eating more and like ya know that stretched stomach thing. Once she gets the hunger she’ll like stop fighting it. She doesn’t have the willpower. And then boom- She’s fat and getting fatter, fat and helpless, a helpless fatty.”

Eleanor took a while to mull that over. It was certainly something to think about. It could work. 

“I like it. It’s a direction. Could get us going, but the food is an issue. We need the food to be there when we aren’t and get replaced by someone other than us too.”

“Well, hopefully when she gets the cravings she’ll get the munchies and get the food herself or order it in or like whatever.”

“Maybe. But we can’t just count on that. If we want this to work we need to be sure. We need to be perfect with our plan. I think there’s something else we have to consider.”

“What?”

Eleanor reached across the table, put one fat hand on Penelope’s shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. 

“We have to get help.”

— — —

Kelly had fallen down a rabbit hole.

What a day it had been. Was it all real or just some kind of dream? 

A smile stretched across Kelly’s fat face.

Real. It had been real. Kelly had really gotten to spend the day fattening Ariel, not just feeding, fattening. She was actively contributing  to that skinny bitch, that slim sexy model gaining weight. She was in the act of making the vainest, coldest, most arrogant bitch she knew into a big fat pig. What a turn of events!

She could still smell the grease of the sizzling bacon from the bacon egg and cheese sandwich for breakfast. The taste of the cream sauce from chicken and pasta lunch still lingered on her tongue, and the smell of taco seasoning still danced inside her nostrils.

Kelly liked to close her eyes and replay every moment of the day in her head like she was playing a video tape, rewinding and rewatching until the tape itself broke. In those moments when she could no longer handle it, when visualizing just wasn’t enough anymore, Kelly plunged her spoon into a fresh pint of chocolate ice cream. And she ate. She ate, and she ate and she ate. But it wasn’t her eating. It was Ariel.

With every new bite of ice cream, Kelly kept her eyes closed and fantasized about being Ariel. When she stuffed her face with a spoonful of ice cream so large that her mouth couldn’t contain it all and it dripped down the sides of her chins, that was Ariel making a mess, being a pig. As she felt the tightness of her pants, that was Ariel dealing with the consequences of her bad piggish habits, not Kelly. When Kelly squeezed her fat belly with one hand while shoving another heaping spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, she really did feel like Ariel, this must be Ariel, Ariel in the future but also right here in the moment. She imagined it, and she moaned, and her lips parted to let out what Kelly felt Ariel would have to say at this moment.

“Oink. Oink.”

And then Kelly squeezed her belly again and giggled.

By the time Kelly opened her eyes again and let herself out of her fantasy of being Ariel, the pint of chocolate ice cream was completely gone, and the rest of the can of whipped cream she had been periodically spraying into her mouth was mostly gone. It’s last gasp of cream went into Kelly’s eager mouth as she once again opened up her laptop.

It was time to get back in the rabbit hole.

For most of the night since she had gotten home, Kelly had been on her computer saving recipes, finding the most fattening ones she could and pinning them to her favorites to review. Some she read over and over again. It was like she was becoming obsessed with calories counts, running numbers in her head, doing math and scientific theorizing that was far beyond what she was actually capable of and that may have stretched the limits of actual reality a bit much. But Kelly didn’t care.

From researching recipes and fattening foods and how to get people to eat them, that all led Kelly to quite a few feederism sites that she bookmarked. And she read herself a few stories that were so in line with what she wanted to do with Ariel that she hoped she could use these fictional pieces as instruction manuals of sorts. She knew ultimately that that couldn’t possibly be the case, but they still served as some extremely erotic inspiration.

Kelly had never felt like this. In all her years of making fun of fat people, and all her years of getting fat herself, she had certainly never found the idea of weight gain to be arousing, especially when it was her fit figure that had turned to fat. But there was something about the idea of ruining Ariel’s slim and sexy figure, of making her fat- making her into a total pig- that made Kelly’s head spin, made her breath catch, and made her wet between the legs. And Kelly couldn’t help but wonder if her own downfall had played into it. Would she have been aroused as much by turning Ariel into a fatty if it didn’t so closely mirror her own story?

When it got to that kind of thinking, Kelly trained her eyes back on the computer. She could unpack all of that with a therapist once she finished turning Ariel from hottie to fatty. For now, it was just enough to enjoy the fattening journey and ensure that she was on the road to real results.

And the recipes were all well and good. They were a start. She could start sourcing them into categories based on usefulness and feasibility, along with keeping in mind which recipes would be better down the road because they might cause too much attention now. Kelly had a knack for organizing things. It’s what made her a good assistant. 

It was also what was going to make her so good at fattening Ariel. 

But the other thing that Kelly needed to do was to learn how to cook, properly cook, to make things that were irresistible and to figure out how to make things secretly fattening so that Ariel wouldn’t catch on for as long as possible, until it was too late to turn back. So she searched and searched until she found a reasonable online cooking course that she could take, and she figured she could find some occasional drop in classes around town too. She didn’t need to be a master chef. She just needed to be good enough to fatten Ariel into obesity. 

Obesity. 

The word really rolled off the tongue, and thinking about how it rolled off the tongue got Kelly thinking about all the fat rolls that Ariel would soon have. She particularly enjoyed thinking about Ariel having a big blubbery belly that rolled over the waistband of her pants, that rolled onto her fat lap. 

But while she was thinking about that, Kelly also realized she had another problem. All her plans could certainly work in the short term. But for the long term? There were just so many variables she hadn’t even accounted for yet, there was so much time where she wouldn’t be around Ariel. There was just so much to think about, and she was only one person. 

She was going to need help. 

And that’s how, in two different parts of town, three people all had the same ideas about fattening Ariel. 

Meanwhile…

The empty carton of ice cream lay rocking on the floor, and Ariel laid next to it with her head resting on the couch. Somehow she had ended up sliding to the floor and now lay there slumped against the couch with the spoon she had used to finish off the ice cream still clenched in one hand with her other hand cradling her bloated belly. 

Her lips were stained with white cream and it felt like her whole body was sticky either from the ice cream feast itself or from the sweaty exertion of stubbornly eating it all. 

Ariel felt like a total pig. But she also felt like a very successful one. It was like she had won something, a prize that nobody was around to see her claim. 

And she was very grateful for the solitude. 

Normally, Ariel was proud of her displays of gluttony, at her ability to eat so shamelessly and still look so good. It was a sign of strength, a weapon to wield against all those who were lesser than her. She inspired their jealousy and reminded them of her own superiority. 

But this felt different. 

This felt so much more unhinged. 

It was like something deep inside her had taken over. Suddenly she had a craving and she had to give into it. It was beyond a simple want, beyond even desire. It was a need, a deep seeded need. 

And giving in was so delicious. 

The ice cream, simple vanilla, had been so captivating, the most delicious trap she could have possibly fallen into. 

Delicious. 

That word kept rolling around in her brain, teasing her. Ariel had certainly enjoyed plenty of things in her life. She was always one for indulgence, but over this last day it was as if the word delicious had truly entered her vocabulary for the first time and now she was suddenly obsessed with it which was bad. 

Fat people got obsessed with food. 

Fat people were greedy. 

Fat people were lazy. 

Ariel was not a fat person. 

She was slim and sexy and in control. 

Yet here she was sitting on the floor next to an empty container of ice cream after a day of lounging about and stuffing her face between naps. 

And it had been fun. 

That was the scariest part. It was enjoyable. And it was easy. Her hands both went to her stomach, and she ran her sticky fingers along the curve. 

It felt so big. And Ariel still felt mostly confident that it would all go away like it always did…

But the bloating hasn’t gone away from the night before. 

And now there was more of it. 

So what if that didn’t go away either?

Could that really happen?

Could she actually find herself stuck with an actual pot belly and not just a food baby?

No. It was impossible. She was perfect and she would always be perfect. Lesser people had to worry about calories. Lesser people got fat. 

Ariel reached out for the carton. It took an effort thanks to the size of the food baby trying to hold her back. Her bloated belly made her groan as she rocked herself forward until she could grab hold of the carton. 

Then she ran her two fingers along the inside and scooped up whatever melted dregs she could. 

And soon those two fingers were in her mouth getting licked clean as Ariel greedily sucked down every last bit of that ice cream. Deep down there was a part of her that knew if there was another pint of ice cream to be had in her freezer, she somehow could have managed one more bowl. 

Delicious. 

 Ariel knew then that she had to be careful. 

This could become a habit.