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Maple's Story Part 6
🕑 Added 2016-01-27 11:45:00 +0000 UTCPing. Ping. Ping.
Maple’s eyes cracked open slowly. This felt somehow right. She was warm, safe and happy in bed, in sleep where the troubles of the waking world couldn’t follow her. Why should anyone ever want to wake up fast when being asleep felt this good?
Ping. Ping. Ping.
The vixen yawned, lifting a hand to scratch a pesky itch on her side. Her arm felt heavy as though it were wrapped around with cotton wool, or perhaps she was just wearing an old sweater. She snorted loudly as she scratched that irksome itch, her nails squeaking against the fabric of her duratex suit. She once heard a story that old sweaters were a thing, even in the ages before space travel. Hundreds of years of technological advancement and we still couldn’t get away from embarrassing presents that our elders expect us to wear. Maple bit her lip as a fart bubbled up in her bowels, she let it. When it got loose, rippling her ass cheeks and ripening the air, the girl shrugged slightly to herself. What was the harm? She was alone, lightyears away from anyone else in the void of space. Why /shouldn’t/ she fart?
“Good morning to you too, Maple.”
Well, almost alone.
“Augh… why did you wake me, Syn?” Maple asked, staring at the roof. “Whatever it is, I’m /not/ getting out from under these sheets.” The vixen added, stubbornly. Her blankets were so tight, so comfortable, it would be a crime to leave bed if she absolutely didn’t have to.
“You’re not under any sheets, Maple.” Syn replied in her ever emotionless voice.
Maple blinked, something biting on the edge of her bind. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. She looked down and saw it, instead.
Maple had been fat yesterday, today she woke up as something more. Something beyond fat. Something reserved for side shows and the mentally ill. Maple was massive. Morbidly obese. The fattest fox - no, the fattest anything she’d ever seen. Even among deep space truckers she’d standout as the girl who really let herself go. Her gut rose feet in the air, depressing when she realised that her mattress had sunk an almost equal number of feet just to try and support the massive weight placed upon it. It was a blue mountain, covered in grease and crumbs, gravy and lord knows what else, rising and falling rhythmically with her breathing. In front of it her breasts wobbled and lurched, longing to rest either side of her great gut or else smoosh against her chins but bound by the torturously stretched fabric of her duratex suit. As if seeking some sort of scale by which to measure her immense proportions, Maple raised her hands to place them upon her stomach and whimpered when she found them and her arms equally bloated and hanging with pillowy folds of flab. Her suit encased the fatty sleeves of her arms nicely, each fold and crease squeaking as she inspected their girth - as big as her thighs had once been. Sausage fingers rested atop the surface of her stomach, nowhere near her navel, she had no way of reaching it and if the collar that bit at her neck didn’t come off she might never reach it again. The collar itself had thankfully expanded to wrap around the thick roll of blubber that surrounded her neck, it still sank into the flab but thankfully not painfully so.
Above everything the smell of last night’s dinner lingered, meals decadent and numerous beyond any sort of dignity. Gravy stained her sheets, streaked across her suit, she was covered in the filth of it. Thankfully nothing had started to stink, but it was only a matter of time. The suit needed cleaning, and the bed. Neither prospect delighted Maple, whose fingers had managed to clench into a fist that was slowly losing circulation. She’d been turned into a fat, barely mobile balloon of a vixen and it was all that asshole scientist’s fault.
“Maple?” Syn’s voice broke her from her thoughts, the A.I had been pinging her for a reason.
“Yes… sorry, what is it?”
“Several large asteroids are due to intersect with our course in six hours. Unless we exit Ghost and engage maneuvering thrusters there is a 13.5% chance of collision.”
Maple groaned and nodded. There was always a chance that this sort of thing would happen, it was just incredibly low unless you were skimming an asteroid belt. “No sense taking risks. Adjust course appropriately, take us out of Ghost.” There was a delay of a few seconds before the thrum of the engines vibrated through the floor, the bed and every one of Maple’s rolls of blubber. She winced, the sensation jarring to say the least and she suspected she would be stuck with it until her brain adjusted.
“Are you… going to stay in bed, then?” Syn asked and Maple couldn’t help the feeling that once again she was being judged. Of course Syn argued with her, made suggestions, but the idea that the A.I, her age-old companion was judging her made her feel a little uneasy. As though the last person she could turn to had closed her off. The idea was ridiculous, she told herself.
“No… start the shower tank heating and have the scutlers clean up my room and change the bed.” Maple replied, deciding she’d put off getting up for too long. She sat up - or tried to. Her back managed to push her up a few inches before the massive mound of her stomach pushed her right back down. A scowl crossed her flabby features before the vixen tried again. It only took two attempts to assure her that she wouldn’t be sitting up. As she lay there for a moment, ignoring how fast the feeble attempt at movement had caused her heart to beat, another fart rippled out of her sizable asscheeks.
“You mean to say, Syn, clean up the mess I made last night whilst I gorged myself like a pig, right? Because ‘The Scutlers’ are an extension of myself.”
Maple’s cheeks flushed. “If you didn’t want me to eat the food, you shouldn’t have brought it in.” She replied, trying a new tactic by levering herself up onto her side with one arm. Her fat hand sank into the mattress a couple of inches but eventually she managed to get some movement. It wobbled with effort as her gut slowly sloshed over onto one side, wobbling like a mound of jello before finally toppling. The new wave of momentum picked Maple up and she very nearly fell onto the floor. She felt one of her legs snap out to brace against it just in time, if she’d fallen on her gut she wasn’t sure if she could get up again. The thought brought another wave of crimson to her cheeks.
“By that logic, do you blame me for the current state you’re in? We’ve seen donut balls less round than you are.” Syn replied, the insult carried no emotion behind it but it stung all the same. Her A.I was just trying to help, to point out the weaknesses in Maple’s logic, in her actions and to try and push her on a more steady path. But she was already flustered and humiliated, Syn didn’t need to point anything out. Maple knew what she’d become.
“Just… just leave me alone.” The vixen hissed as she slowly rocked herself forward into standing position, tears streaking down her cheeks. She waited for a snappy response, her heart pounding, her breath lost from her chest from the simple action of standing up. Her legs were already shaking as they struggled to hold up the mass of the morbidly obese vixen whose gut hung past her knees and stuck out feet in front like a huge, wobbly, jello filled beanbag. No response came and Maple was left with her thoughts, her panting for oxygen and the dull thrum of the engines. Her cheeks burned. She felt like a petulant kid who had just told her parents to go away. The vixen sighed and looked down before starting her lumbering waddle out the door. Well, she tried to, her chins bunched up much sooner than they ever had before.
- - -
The doorway of the room presented a challenge almost as big as lumbering down the ship’s corridors. Although disgusted with the amount of grease and excess food that she’d managed to somehow slather herself with, it was nice to see that it lubricated her passage through the doorway to the ship proper. The shower and bath unit were just down the hallway, a slow and painful walk on joints that seemed far too wobbly. Did all fat people feel like this? Granted not all of them had guts that hung down to their shins but still. Every step was a struggle, each of her wide, waddling movements a fight against the massive gut that hung off her and threatened to pull her down. Her ass provided some counter-balance but there was little it could do against the body dominating mass of her stomach. She was out of breath in moments.
And if the obese vixen had thought the hallway was claustrophobic, the shower stall was even worse. She barely fit in at all, groaning as she felt her love handles rest against each side of the clear glass of the shower. Having had the foresight to squeeze herself in before removing her suit, Maple took a moment to catch her breath.
The ship’s bathroom was predictably tiny, usually it wouldn’t be a problem as the vixen had been sleek by any standards. Now it felt crushingly small, the toilet and sink fighting for the two-thirds of the room’s space that the shower didn’t occupy. Realising she was putting off seeing herself naked, Maple decided she’d better get it over with and after a short gesture through her neural interface a message was sent to the smart-suit’s fabric and it slowly unzipped. Dread slowly built in the girl as she felt the fabric first loosen, then fall away, her blubber surging outwards in all directions as it peeled off of her like a discarded second skin. She whimpered as her gut bloomphed out in front of her, now wedging her firmly in the shower as it expanded to fill the precious space the tight suit had stolen from it. Now she saw herself in all her morbidly obese glory, naked, bulging and hanging. She clenched her eyes and turned on the water, ignoring the way it sounded like rain falling on a plastic sheet as she massaged soap and oils into her blubbery hide as best she could.
As her sausage-like fingers scrubbed and massaged and cleaned to the best of their limited ability, Maple took another moment to reflect on everything. How had she managed to do this to herself? Yes the collar certainly helped the process along but during her binging feast could she really say she was hungry? Initially she was, sure, but after just one platter she had eaten enough food to supply her with energy for days. She hadn’t felt hunger after that, she’d felt something different. Something somehow worse. A yearning, heartfelt desire to be full and to feel herself stretching and grow.
“Mission accomplished,” the vixen reflected bitterly. “I’m the biggest person I’ve ever seen.” As well as the shame and embarrassment that came with saying this out loud, she felt a tingling in her nethers. Did it… turn her on?
Maple stood there for a moment, allowing her arms to rest on the ample shelf of her gut, her head rolling back and her mouth rolling open. Water spilled across her tongue and ran out through her teeth, cascading across her chins before being routed between her breasts. She swallowed, the taste of the warm tank water metallic and heavy. She swallowed again. And again, shutting her eyes.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
She wasn’t hungry, she wasn’t thirsty, but she could feel the water as it pushed slowly down her throat and collected in her stomach. Why did she want to chase this sensation? Each swallow was heavier, fuller than the last.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
With a snap the shower head came undone from the hose it was attached to and Maple pushed the hose into her waiting mouth. She didn’t clamp her jaws around it, she pushed it gently against the back of her throat, down, gulping as she did. With a slight lurch it hit where her gag reflex had once been before passing through.
There was no more gulping now, instead that sound was replaced by the slow, rhythmic sloshing of a tank being filled up. Maple blushed as she realised that she was the tank, that she could feel every gallon of water that she was drinking, that she was pushing inside herself. She was getting turned on by this! By the feel of it, the weight of it.
The seconds blurred with the giddy feel of what she was doing until only the slight groan of pressured glass brought her out of her trance. Maple squeaked and reached up to yank the hose out of her mouth, how long had it been in there? How long had she been treating herself like a fur-shaped water balloon?! Her stomach was now pressed firmly against three sides of the shower cubicle with her ass wedged against the fourth. The glass itself seemed to groan and protest its new burden, but as the vixen turned the water off and wriggled her way free of the compressing stall itself, she felt a certain amount of pride in the way her stomach lurched in front of her and towards the ground, making up for the space it had lost before. Her fingers stroked gently at her sides and through the panting for breath and ever so slight moaning she felt a little concerned. This…
This complicated things.
- - -
