emilyEW
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Sainte-Isabelle (Ch: 1, 2, 3)
🕑 Added 2023-10-05 10:19:11 +0000 UTCI wrote this story up as an idea on Dimensions forum ages ago. The trouble with posting stories there, of course, is that I only found out afterward that they lock them and you can't change them once they are written. Grrrr! That's not how I work.
And to cap it all, they threw me off and told me I had to join up and become a paid member before I could post any more chapters. Hmph!
But anyway ... I wanted to put a bit of a 'British-y' facelift on it, but couldn't at the time. So here goes ...
Chapter 1
"But I don't wanna get fat!" wailed Sophia, honking loudly into a wet Kleenex tissue.
Emma stared at her newly-met roommate with amazement. What sort of skimpy-arsed little blonde was this, who couldn't think of anything better to do than come to one of those posh private schools? Especially THIS school. The finest girls' college in the whole country.
You didn't just walk in off the street and become a student at Sainte-Isabelle. Either you scored highly in your entrance exams - proving you were the 'Right Material' - or you were born into the Right Family. Preferably both.
Why hadn't the sobbing cow stayed down in her dungheap of a suburb getting knocked up instead of coming up here to start moaning about the First Rule of St Belle's. It was too much to take.
And it wasn't even lunchtime yet. Less than an hour since Emma had marched beneath the huge gateway, swelling with pride and excitement, looking ahead to four glorious years of her life. The towering grey granite facades of the school loomed before her like the portal of another world. She went beneath a carved stone archway proudly bearing the legend SAINT ISABELLE INSTITUTE FOR THE DEVELOPMENT OF YOUNG WOMEN.
History hung heavily about the place. Heavily.
And here was Emma, right in the middle of it. A few dozen paces further ...
She glanced around at the other Freshers, milling about with their suitcases giggling and squawking at one another. A few were plump, like Emma, others were slightly heavier set, but by the end of the four years, they would all be walking out of those gates barely recognizable! Emma sniggered to herself. Well, perhaps not *quite* walking. More like waddling. Maybe pushing each other along in wheelbarrows, too, for some of the more overachieving ones.
A stocky girl came to a stop beside her, her ballooning belly jammed into a scarlet miniskirt, dragging a little pink case behind her. Breathless, she looked up at the vast school buildings stretching away on either side as far as the eye could see. "Bloody hell," she gasped incredulously. "It's fuckin' enormous!".
Emma took a deep breath. In for a penny ... she shut her eyes briefly; swallowed the lump in her throat and walked through the main gate.
...and now THIS. An hysterical room-mate. Just as Emma was opening her mouth to say something horribly sad like 'That's sad,' the door burst open, and a whirling tornado swept inside. The same over-stuffed scarlet micro-skirt she had seen in the quadrangle.
"This the One-thirty-four?" The fat girl puffed. "No fuckin' signposts anywhere, ended up a floor bellow in thirty four. I knew somethin' was up, 'cos them bitches were fuckin' enormous. Golly! If they're only Sophos, we're gonna end up like great big whales by the grads." She looked around and wiped her forehead. "You two dildos are my roomies? Shit!"
She dumped her pink case in the corner and flopped down heavily on an empty bed.
"Well, name's Abi, but you can call me Abigail. What's up with this one?" She indicated Sophia, who had been dabbing at her streaming eyes with her sleeve. "Lost your cherry, kiddo? Long overdue, if you ask me."
Sophia dissolved into tears again. Abigail looked at Emma appealingly. "Somethin' I said?"
Emma shook her head.
"Well, there you are then," said Abi, "Must be Freshers' Fever. It must've got me, too, coz I'm desperate to see if my arse will grow as big as my sister's by Christmas time. But you won't catch me moaning about it. She hasn't even been to Sainte-fucking-belle, my sister. Just your bog-standard college, but she still got one of these fat arses. Bet you didn't think that."
"She doesn't want to be here."
"Course she don't want to be here. One fuckin' blimp per family she says. That'll be *me*, then. She's all right really, once you get past her being a total cow. Good breeding stock, though, if you can afford double-doors around your house."
"No, not YOUR sister," Emma pointed at the sobbing girl. "Her!"
Abi sniffed contemptuously, as if sucking on a wedge of lemon dipped in malt vinegar. "Oh! One of *them* then!"
Sophia's tears eventually dried up, although it was some time before she could speak. Then she poured out the story of her step-mother - a Sainte-Isabelle girl herself - who had browbeaten her into applying for admission.
Emma couldn't believe it. She'd spent weeks going through interview after interview, form after form, essays by the yard. 'Individual Growth Plan', 3,000 words, double spaced. It would take no effort to fail to get admitted.
"Just don't gain an ounce," she suggested. "They'll throw you out before the winter holidays are over. Anyway, that's what my school careers adviser, Miss Cantelopian, said."
But Sophia had pointed out that her Step Mum held the purse strings of her Trust Fund, so she'd be right on the streets selling her looks for bus fare if she got kicked out.
"Total waste," said Abi, shaking her head in contempt. "I mean, with a figure like hers, you'd have thought she would know better!"
Sophia looked at her blankly. Emma wasn't too sure about what was going on either. "Well... yeah! Stepmothers!" she offered her support.
"No, not HER fuckin' step-mum. *Her*!" Abi wagged her finger at Sophia. "Blondes look fuckin' fantastic with an extra three or four hundred pounds on top of everything else."
She wasn't helping matters much. Sophia began weeping uncontrollably again.
---
"What a colossal waste," Abi repeated again, and banged the table, setting a tremor running through the plates. Several heads turned their way.
The three of them sat in the school food hall, surrounded by a mound of pancakes smothered in chocolate sauce.
"If I was your shape, Soph, I'd fuckin' quadruple it for Graduations. Sadly, I'm already 260-pounder, so all I can realistically hope for is doubling it. Maybe double and a half, if I eat my pudding. And you, Emma? You must be what, 160? Very quadrupable, if you ask me."
Not bad guesswork, Emma thought, nodding, chewing her pancake. She was actually 158, as of this morning, when the Nurse had weighed her.
There wasn't a stated minimum entry weight, just a requirement that the student showed continued 'effort' each term. Starting slim had its advantages in a place like this. Unlike Abi, she still had plenty of headroom to fill. It was tough enough for a heavy girl to make a worthy gain each term.
Abi had finished her food and belched loudly. "Now," she said. "Tonight is introductions. We will get a Student Lezzy to talk to us and take us round. So at least *look* cheerful!"
"I will," promised Sophia.
"For fuck's sake stop jabbing your pancake with that fork and eat it. People are starting to stare. That little four-eyes looks just like my cousin. She got knocked up when she was nineteen for being a total snitch."
Chapter 2
"So that's about it," concluded Charlotte, their Student Liaison officer in charge, after a short speech. "Any problems, come straight to me. Don't go pestering the school services, they've got more than enough on their plates already!"
Abigail giggled, looking round at the other two. "Oooh, oooooh! On their plates! Get it? Stuffing their faces like there was no tomorrow..."
But neither Sophie nor Emma was paying attention. Sophie gazed into space, her face blank, while Emma was very distracted. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Charlotte. This beautiful Sophomore was not only blessed with flaming locks of fiery red hair, but she was practically exploding out of her jeans! It looked as if someone had stuffed a beach ball up inside her front, waiting for it to rip its way through the denim at any minute so Emma can play.
And sitting squashed behind the desk, her round belly straining painfully against the edge... There was something strangely attractive about the way Charlotte had to thrust herself even further forward so she could reach her notepad and pen. Emma wondered how low would that belly hang without the support of her jeans. Down to midthigh at least. At least ...
"Did you hear, Emma?"
"Yessss?"
"Room 129," Charlotte grinned sweetly, "if there's anything you need. Okay?"
"Oh, yeah, oh, no, I'm okay," Emma mumbled, still gaping at the girl's overflowing curves.
Charlotte nodded. "Anything else, girls?" She looked around the room. "Yes, Sophie. You don't need to raise your hand."
"How much weight do you have to put on in a term so they won't throw you out of the school?"
"Oh, you silly crumpet," giggled Charlotte. "No one gets thrown out these days. Not since the school had those treatment rooms built, and that must have been years ago now! All that stuff about the minimum of fifty pounds a term for Silver Award, it's a lot of pony. By halfway through this term, most of you would have done that without even breaking a sweat. Honest!"
"What ... treatment rooms?" Sophia's face turned white as chalk.
"...or troughs, which is what most of us call them. I haven't got this tummy by nibbling on M & Ms, let me tell you! Treatment rooms are a real timesaver. Everyone gets a ninety minute session every two days. And if you play your cards right, you could be doing overtime. Ooooh, believe me, girls, that *really* fills you up!"
She lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"They work, all right! But you just have to keep stuffing your face between times. Pile it on early, that's what I say, then you have something to barter with later when things start getting desperate. There's a whole black market in Troughs' timeslots among students who need to pork out quickly before Awards, or even to settle bets." She winked at Emma.
It wasn't until Charlotte had finally wriggled free of the desk trap and lumbered off down the corridor that Sophia groaned, and buried her face in her hands."I'm totally screwed."
Abigail nodded sympathetically. "Totally, royally fuckin' fucked up, as you said so eloquently." She then turned around and smacked Emma on the back. "Still, must hand it to you, Ems!"
"Hand what to me?" Emma looked puzzled.
"Screwin' that nice bit of Velvet Cake with your eyes. You're still a loser, but you got good taste." She prodded her sharply in the side, "but I wouldn't rush things if I was you, Ems'. If that Student Lezzy keeps gobbling her M&Ms, she'll be soon too round to get her pudgy little hands down under that stupendous Jelly-Belly! Then *you* are in line for the rescue, 'wiv yer great big wetty tongue'!"
Emma went bright red. Where had Abi got these crazy ideas from, she wondered. "Oh no, I wasn't..."
"Come on! We can read you like a book! Right, Sophie?"
"Like a map!"
Emma looked slightly hurt. "I wasn't doing anything!" she protested, perhaps a shade too defensively. It certainly wasn't as if she had been smearing gallons of melted chocolate all over that enormous belly and imagining herself licking it off. Well, not quite like that, anyway. That was probably all Abigail's fantasy. Yeah. "Well, weren't you, Sophie, royally screwed just a minute ago? So let's talk about those treatment rooms." she blurted, changing the subject with enthusiasm.
She caught the panic in Sophia's eyes.
"Ooooh, yes, it will be lovely" Emma went on but then felt a little guilty. "Hey. You heard what Charlotte said. There aren't any weight limits any more, so you'll be all right ..."
"That's right," Abigail chimed in. "They don't call 'em troughs for nothin'. No limits. None."
"How exciting," whispered Sophia, still with her head in her hands.
Chapter 3
The next morning, straight after breakfast, the first years were paraded down to the main hall and measured for uniforms before being sorted out by Even or Odd Day groups, according to some timetable. The place hummed with anticipation.
"Do you know what they do, doncha?" asked one girl. "They stick a hosepipe right down to your belly and squirt the weight-gain juice in there without you having to do nothing..."
"What rubbish!" another voice snorted. "That's just for the Seniors."
"My cousin said, the First Year gains were her BESTEST!"
"Well, Suzanne, you twathead. It takes bucketful to feed those tits once they grow to the size of your cousin's."
"YOU FAT COW! You are just jealous."
"Oi, you fucking slag!"
"Odd Group? Who's in Odd Group?"
"It's Even day today, isn't it?"
"Fucking 'ell"
"I'm screwed!"
And that last one was Sophie, but she whispered it, so only Emma could hear her.
Emma had been placed in Group E-3. This meant that her treatment was scheduled for today, at three o' clock. Abigail and Sophie were in one of the odd numbered groups, so their turn wasn't due till tomorrow.
It was five minutes to three and she found herself alongside approximately a dozen other equally enthusiastic students, all gathered outside a line of doorways in the basement of the lab block. They looked expectantly up the corridor towards the elevator entrace.
A fat girl in a prefect's uniform lumbered out of the door, gasping as she struggled under the weight of her huge bottom, crammed tightly into the green-and black skirt.
Four hundred pounds of pure ass, mused Emma.
Her name badge announced: "My Name Is" in wobbly, backward writing that filled up the whole space.
She faced the group.
"Right," she wheezed, waving a clipboard, after catching her breath; "I've got your room numbers here, so listen good. And this," she hauled from her bag what looked like a long, plastic hose with a steel nozzle at one end, "This is the applicator. You each get one. Some girls call it their boyfriend, because you'll have to keep it clean, and twice a week it's going to be right down your throat, just like the real thing!"
Giggles.
Emma's name was called. "Treatment Three," barked the school prefect. It didn't sound right - too clinical. Emma decided to call it Treatment *Tree* in her head, which instantly brought to mind a magical forest, where people came from all over the world just to fondle these giant, twisted trunks.
She unpacked her applicator from its plastic wrapping. It had a sort of snap-on fitting at one end; the other end being a slightly flattened, metal cylinder with a series of tiny holes running along its end- a kind of bizarre hybrid of a shower head and a dildo.
Some of the girls were already sticking it into their mouths, making strange gargling sounds and laughing hysterically as they hit each others' bums with the rubber hose which protruded from their lips, like some moronic baby elephants.
Then the prefect swung open one of the doors and everyone pushed forward to peer inside. White tiles on the wall, white tiles on the floor. More like a cramped bathroom than anything else. And in the middle, taking up most of the space, was this enormous chair, and overhead, pipes and connectors. The prefect squeezed her ample bottom into the chamber, and demonstrated how to lower yourself into the chair, lean back, fit the hoses onto the machine, and work the control console.
"Miss?" A girl with a pony tail waved her hand. "Are we meant not wear any knickers as well, Miss? Or you're doing it just for the demo?"
Giggles again. Undaunted, the prefect merely smiled and pointed to the control panels on either side of the chair.
"Big button starts, little button holds. Don't press Start until the applicator's right down in your gob, or there'll be hell's bells getting your school uniform clean. When it's running, you can't turn it off, but you can pause it by pressing the hold button here. You have to keep your finger on it to keep it down. Any more questions?"
"What happens if I don't get to finish it all?" demanded a scrawny girl in too-tight jeans, while removing her applicator from her mouth.
"You won't. It's twenty minutes if you never need to use the Hold button, but for you lot, anything from twenty minutes to ninety. As your stomach gets bigger, so does the dosage. If you take it out of your mouth before it's done, it will stain your uniform!"
"That's what uncle Roger said," someone chipped in, and they all laughed.
"So, better leave it in, and just swallow it down to the last drop," suggested the prefect helpfully.
"Yeah. Just like you, Anastasia. *Loads* of practice." Another voice joined in.
Questions started flying around like a flock of starlings.
"What if I need to go to the toilet?"
"... and what about watching stuff on my phone, Miss, with the boyfriend in my mouth? That would feel like home, really"
"Alright - that's enough!" the prefect snapped. "Blond girl, take it out of your skirt - you're supposed to be putting it in your mouth. And you - put your blouse back on. No-one's going in topless; we don't want to look like a lot of silly monkeys, do we?
"But Miss - What if I grow so huge I can't fit in the door?" The voice belonged to plump red hair with freckles who stood next to Emma, idly twiddling with the end of her tube.
Giggles spread round the group like a wave.
"I might," she persisted. "My Nanna says I got *her* big bum genes."
"You won't. Certainly not before the end of Second Year. Then you go over to Block B where all the doors are wide enough for five of you."
"Yes, but suppose ..."
"Come on! Look at me. I can squeeze through here no trouble, and I've got a huge fat arse! You will, too!"
A few girls glanced down at their own generously plump bottoms and sniggered amongst themselves.
"Hah! We'll see about that!" scoffed the red hair, turning to Emma. "She's not like Nana. Nana never could have got her bum through there. Not even sideways. And everybody says I take after her!"
Emma opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
"Suppose we did get this enormous ..." another girl had started. "Would we still have to wear our school uniform?"
"Yes, Suzanne. It's Sainte-Isabelle not a Piccadilly circus. You can't parade around naked just because you like to."
"We could hide them under our bellies", offered Suzanne's friend. She stared belligerently round at the other girls. "Our pussies."
"And some of us under our tits," tittered Suzanne.
"Hey Big Boobs. You think you're going to get yours down to your knees like your cousin? Ha ha ha."
"Piss off, Mag."
"Oi, prefec' - wot's yer room numbuh?"
"Got anybody half-decent shagging you these day, or still just the milkman?"
"That's IT!" roared the prefect. "RIGHT, THAT'S ABSOLUTELY IT! Time for you all to trot off to your feeding-troughs, and stick those tubes down your filthy throats, and keep your traps shut for once ... NOW!"
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CorgiRacing
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