James Duke
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Extreme Before/After: Mercy Finds an Answer
🕑 Added 2023-02-22 02:43:43 +0000 UTCOur first prompt for this cycle is quite a doozy! Apologies to people who are not fans of this. I will have some more tame stuff coming very soon! This is a sequel to my Brigitte health issues story.
Tags: Health play and issues, immobile, weight gain, Overwatch
"Ooh-kaaay, my little dumpling, I'm going to step away for a bit. Will you be alright?" Mercy asked, looking down at Brigitte. The blob of fat and medical tubing gave a weak thumbs up and lopsided smile. Sweat trickled down her face, pooling in her chins. The blonde hated to leave her patient, she was so cute and needy after all, but she had a schedule to maintain. "Good girl, I will be back after a quick run." Mercy said, leaning down and kissing Brigitte on the cheek. The immense woman laughed, enjoying the physical attention. Brigitte's life was cycles of indulgence, critical health failure, and tender moments with Mercy. "Good girl." The doctor said, pulling away from charge and lover. "I will be back soon, try not to spike your blood sugar until I return!" She patted Brigitte's chest, feeling the overtaxed heart pumping within. Brigitte was a sweet girl, but a mess.
Mercy turned and strolled out of the door. Her heels clacked on the tile flooring of the hospital as her shapely legs carried her towards the changing room. It was past time for her meager lunch and workout session. She ran several miles every day. Her life outside of work was dedicated to keeping her perfect, ageless body in shape. Yet, she could not deny there was a hint of curiosity to her. The condition of Brigitte and certain other former Overwatch members were so unique, so medically stimulating. Obesity had its effects has been thoroughly eradicated from the world thanks to tech advancements, yet there were these growing cases. What drove them? What inspired such degradation of the human form?
Mercy mused on the topic as she changed. It was fun to consider these things. Especially knowing she could never turn into Brigitte.
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“BLLLUUURRRUPPP. . .ooooh. . . thasch . . .too. . .Blluuurrp. . .muschh." Mercy panted, letting the four gallon tub of ice cream slip from her fingers. The empty plastic made a hollow thwump on the ground and then rolled away, drained of its extra sugary contents. She had scarfed down the gallons of ice cream in record time, using her thick sausage fingers to scoop and spoon the diabetes inducing food into her mouth. Now, drained of the excitement that gorging brought, she slumped into the mass of pillows which fought to support her weight. Her arms slumped down her flabby sides, smearing garishly colored ice cream as they went. "Thasssch. . .snnnrrk. . .gotta be. . .40 thouschand. . .caloriessch. . .for. . .uuuhhf. . .me." She heaved the words out, trying to draw as much oxygen as she could into her nose. The weight of her tits worked to drive it all out before it could refresh her body. Mercy licked her lips, watching her heart monitor and other vital signs race towards their various redlines. As a doctor she knew exactly what she was doing to herself and on a level that was far more intimate than most people. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop.
“BrrrUUUUUPPP. . .Brigihish. . .” She mumbled, trying to signal to the other pile of health issues and fat. The other woman, once her medical responsibility, was asleep and snoring through a food coma. “Brriiiggsshh. . .” Mercy felt herself losing contact with reality, slipping into a diabetic delirium, hardly even able to speak. She had little fear. The various machines she was strapped to had been artfully set up by the staff, under her own guidance. Mercy had not been able to prevent her slide into gluttonous ruin, but she had been able to mitigate it. Despite the onrush of another heart attack and lack of consciousness, Mercy was oddly at peace. The morbidly obese doctor lay on a bariatric bed, heaped and piled to the best of the hospital staff's ability. She was, much like her favorite patient, utterly naked and exposed. Her breasts fell to either side of her enormous stomach. They had gotten so fat that Mercy's bingo wings had to fight them for space. Often, Mercy’s breasts had to be tucked under her arms; to be used as moist and milk leaking pillows. Mercy's vividly red nipples betrayed her excitement at another debauched victory.
"Hhhuuuuf. . .hhhhfff. . .Brrruuuummmp. . .nuuurrsscch." Mercy lay on the bed, wheezing, belching, and coughing to the room. She worked to signal for one of the staff, knowing that she would likely need more advanced attention. She could feel her heart constricting, sweat gouting and pouring out of every pore. Her body was going haywire, spinning off its axis. Her fingers curled and squeezed at her doughy palms. Despite her calm, a heart attack was still a heart attack. Though, Mercy had been through enough at this point that she could tolerate them. Shifting between reality and memories in a hazy delirium, Mercy remembered how panicked she was during her first cardiac arrest. She had just finished a burger, at the time the largest and sloppiest she had ever eaten. 600 pounds of Swiss medic rocked back and forth in sexual, hedonistic heat. That had been her most feverish eating phase, back when she couldn’t figure out why her health was plummeting. Days spent shoving food in her mouth, drinking nothing but soda, and fingering herself had finally coalesced in her heart stopping. In a panic, she had fumbled to reach her staff. Though resting on the chair next to her own grime covered chairs, the staff had seemed miles away. She had grasped it seconds away from true and final collapse.
Now, however, a heart attack was little more than a temporary inconvenience. Mercy thought of them more as forced points of relaxation, her body’s way of telling her to stop shoving food into her mouth for a few moments. It was time for the nurses to do their job and time for Mercy to simply enjoy it. Sponges hit her body, the cadre of medical staff members trying to clear the blonde woman of the refuse, sweat, and grease that coated her body. Mercy might have giggled, had the world not been turning black. She loved feeling her belly get massaged. It dominated both her middle and lower sections of her body, a wall upon which to stick medical monitors. It was so large that even two women working with all their might could only shove a small portion of it. Mercy’s flab simply folded around their hands and wrist, bunching up like a blanket. The obese medical professional panted, taking what might be her final breaths. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, licking and flicking her plump lips.
Once Mercy’s gigantic mass had been sufficiently cleaned of the sweat and filth, the defibrillator paddles were brought over and charged. The nurses stood over the massive woman, ready to once again save her life. Electricity arched between the paddles as they fell down. They lodged right between the meaty roll between Mercy’s dangling breast folds. The small nurses gritted, pushing the charge deep into the blob. With a lurch and a gag, Mercy sprang back to life. She took in great, gasping breaths. She wheezed and spluttered as an oxygen mast was wound around her face. Cool air of a purity her body almost couldn’t handle flowed into her and nose. Mercy had once again successfully rode the razors edge between life and death. In that infinitesimally space she always found meaning. For a brief period of time she understood why she had done this to herself. As a medic she longed to know what it was like to be held in the interstice of between alive and dead. In her current, sloppy, flabby form she could approach that line as many times as she wanted. Understanding and knowledge came to her. . . before getting washed away again by rampant gluttony.
“Bring. . .uuugh. . .scchoome. . .food?”
