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The Rendering Pit - Day 5
🕑 Added 2017-04-23 12:37:25 +0000 UTC Genevieve finishes her detention with the lunch lady, but is it as much of a chore as she first thought? Will our newly blubberfied vixen hit the treadmills or has she come to accept her extra pudge?
Written by RabidBadger , illustrated by me
The following contains light themes of humiliation, some truly massive furs, weight gain and more!
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Genevieve waited in the lunch room, sitting at the edge of her table – alone. She hadn’t yet found a group to insert herself into among the myriad cliques she found amid the other students. There were certainly plenty of them, but the vixen had a lot on her mind here other than socializing, and there were circumstances that made the whole idea a convoluted and confusing mess.
Her weight had skyrocketed already in the last four days, requiring constant adjustments of her robe that never quite lasted. She would serve out her detention at lunch, immediately finding her robe either uncomfortably tight or just torn along the sides to accommodate her ever-growing posterior, then she’d head back to class – and by dinner she was hungry again. Sometime before bed she’d make sure her robe fit properly, visiting the fabricators and fitters – in the morning it would be tight again. She had lived this routine for four days now, and was currently staring at the clock as it wound down the last fifteen minutes until lunch ended on the last day of the class week.
Around here were the usual suspects. The statuesque and judgmental folks with the expensive upgrades to the standard student clothing and equipment that always turned up their noses at her as she entered – they did it to anyone heavy, she’d noticed – which wasn’t unique to this place by any stretch. In all honesty, Genevieve felt a little less judged than usual by virtue of the sheer ratio of overweight to slender amid the people here. Not everyone – the athletes wore their weight elsewhere, but they also weren’t jerks when she walked in or made eye contact or just happened to enter into the awareness of one of those pointy-headed…
Genevieve shivered, feeling her stomach twist and clench. It was empty, and resented it – and she’d stuffed it stupid a mere four hours ago. That problem had grown regularly and reliably worse since her first day at this duty, a kind of fizzing ache that preceded severe hunger. She knew what the answer to that was, that she only had to endure another fifteen minutes to fix it, and she knew she’d be even heavier for having done so by the time they were done. Her eyes wandered again, trying to take her mind off it.
There were plenty of heavy students – some very heavy, like the ones coated partially in latex that seemed to get some kind of joy out of how uncomfortable they made the rich ones. Or like the heavily augmented bunch, she looked more closely at that set – they didn’t seem overly proud of the weight per se, just pragmatic about it. She’d had ample time to listen to their conversations after all – something about storing advanced software drivers for their high-end implants in their own nanite-saturated adipose. Maybe, if she couldn’t get rid of this habit of hers right off, she could just make it useful? She’d try to fix it first of course, but as Genevieve sat there and watched a prodigiously obese cow mentally orchestrate the creation of some kind of drink that was synthesized in a chemical reservoir on her back, and then promptly drizzled out of her chest. Whatever the stuff was, it was several colors at once depending on how the light caught it, and it apparently tasted fantastic.
Genevieve found herself respecting that on some level.
The dull buzz and now familiar voice of the sow behind the lunch counter shook the vixen out of her quiet thoughts, giving rise to a swell of relief, anticipation, dread, shame, and some other and far more complicated emotions Genevieve hadn’t begun to sort out yet. She sat up as quickly as her bloated frame allowed, which had slowed in the last few days. Her first estimates of about ten kilos a day had been close to right – a little low, but close. Every inch of her was covered in, well, fresh inches now – it made things sluggish. It also left her feeling how her body wobble just a touch whenever she stopped moving, as her frame did so just a hair before her ass did. Including in the process of rushing up to the hatch that opened into the ring-shaped kiosk the lunch lady manned. Pigged. Whatever.
The towering, blubbery behemoth with blue hair rubbed Genevieve’s head fondly, this cafeteria worker who may or may not have doomed her figure entirely.
“Looks like you’re getting nicely into the spirit of things dear. Let’s start!”
As on previous days, the floor began descending into the under-layer of the cafeteria. The inner workings of Gluttony Enabling 101. Already, the track that ran a circle in front of the two women was loaded with the leftover lunch of at least half the student body, and Genevieve no longer had the necessary willpower to preserve her dignity and at least walk up, move at less than a frantic dash – she just dove in face-first and began using her hands to guide large piles of messy cherry cobbler in with one fist, and congealing macaroni and cheese with the other.
The vixen had a hole inside her to fill, and a precedent to set – that she intended to take responsibility if she screwed up here. Yeah, maybe a table full of snooty assholes would call her names that fell well short of clever – maybe she got some oddly suggestive looks from the latex-lovers, but the professors couldn’t call her out on breaking rules. On not being dedicated. That was the important part, right?
Well that and quieting her belly down. Her hands were curled like little scoops and slathering her muzzle full of everything they could find – crushed tacos, drenched mashed potatoes, a small pile of hard boiled eggs – all the protein, carbs, and sugar she could get her eager little hands on as she felt the pain and hissing of that monster in her belly begin to ease (and felt the strangely humid, greasy sensation under her skin begin).
This was, as always, where she lost track of time entirely. Awareness dissipated into a haze of flavors and textures and smells, into the gradual erosion of the hollow ache inside her. She wasn’t even really sure when she’d run out of large masses to reach for, there was a foggy part of her memory of wherever the eating had ended and the breathless leaning against the sow’s trunk-sized pillow-soft leg while she rubbed her belly began. Genevieve did make an attempt to navigate that fog, but her focus crumbled under the reverberation of a very un-lady-like belch that terminated in a moan she was not confident was entirely chaste.
Once more, she felt that pudgy hand (covered in food) on her head. She’d have to shower after this. She always did, so she wasn’t sure she actually needed to be annoyed about the food in her hair, but the extra reason to do it did just bother her a little.
“There! All done. I’m impressed you stuck this out, don’t think that wasn’t noticed.”
The vixen groaned a little, making no effort to stand up just yet. Just leaning there and listening to herself digest.
“Chrome’s tits. That… I needed that. This uh, this – look, it hurts kind of bad every day by lunch now, and-“
“Don’t worry hun, the worst is over. Without regular software packages your digestion should mostly go back to normal. Ish. Which is to say, you don’t need to eat like this now. You can, though.”
Genevieve slid backward, her back landing on the warm, humidity-laced metal floors, accompanied by the soft shrip sound of seams splitting as she did so.
“Great.”
The sow raised a latex-covered hoof and dug it into Genevieve’s belly gently, giving it a wobble that took several seconds to stop.
“Hey. Smart kid like you, majoring in nanites and signals, you should be able to defang those things if you put your mind to it. Eventually.”
The vixen took her sweet time getting up, checking for where the splits were forming. On good days they stuck to one side, and from the hip down only – it left her robe looking half-presentable. Best case scenario really.
“Or if you wash out you can always just take over when I retire.”
Genevieve straightened up just in time for that comment, with the slap of a meaty trotter against her profoundly expanded ass as punctuation. It left her blushing furiously, standing still as she felt herself slowly stop jiggling. A slow breath, in and out, and the vixen held her tongue and started her way out of her little slice of purgatory and back into the halls that supposedly held her future. She wanted to be away, elsewhere – any place other than the cafeteria. She wanted not to see this room again, at least not any time soon.
Definitely not before dinner, at least.
***
She’d gone back for dinner. There had been about half an hour there where Genevieve was a paragon of willpower, insisting she had eaten more than enough for a week the previous meal – but she felt so completely hollow at that point it hadn’t held. The sow behind the lunch counter was more than happy to provide her a regular meal this time (plus some), which did quiet her belly, but it was still a deluge of calories. Her parents’ chidings played on loop in her mind as she sluggishly entered the dorm she shared with those other two students, who she reminded herself, she ought to talk to a bit more now that her frazzled and shaken mind had calmed down a little, and was rapidly cooling toward resigned.
Some of what the lunch lady had said was ringing in there too though. If she was really that good, she could just sort this out herself. Undo the damage. Genevieve’s homework for the weekend had something in there about basic behavior of nanite colonies with simple tasks, maybe that was relevant? She dug her tablet back up out of her bag and powered it on – two tabs sat open before her.
On the first, her homework – the attached reading, requirements for the report due when the next school week started, and an authorization code to request some basic saturated gel to practice on.
On the other, she had apparently left the biomod catalog open since Chrome knows when earlier in the day. When she’d been eyeballing that cow, Genevieve recalled. The one with the chemical station built into her, who kept talking about some acronym or other. A quick glance at the first thing on her open page showed that much at least, HPR. An equally simple search returned a result there.
Hard-Pudge Requirement.
“Seriously?”
Genevieve made a face at the screen, then another one as her eyes refocused and saw her reflection – and just how plump her cheeks were. She kept reading regardless.
“Dense, single-nanite magnetic switch saturation clusters that utilize the body’s natural adipose and function as internal data storage for advanced hardware drivers and software beyond the capacity of normal implant and nanite architecture space limitations.”
The vixen sat in silence for some time. Staring at the two pages before her, and at the little nook formed where her breasts met her much-enlarged belly that she had ensconced the tablet in.
She was going to have to pick one of the two – not by virtue of strict requirements, Genevieve was sure there weren’t any literal conflicts between toying with the systems inside her and these modifications – but she had seen just how effective her willpower was at dinner.
If the vixen chose to turn the flab into something useful instead, she knew precisely how likely she was to ever lose any of this weight in the near future, or any future, really.
