Short Stacks
Volume XIIIb
~ss.md
The Knight’s Rescue
Lady Gwendolyn barely broke a sweat as she raced up the tower’s stone steps. Her underknights and foot soldiers were keeping the Castle Guard busy while she enacted a glorious rescue in her own particular… idiom. The wicked Queen had kept her beautiful stepdaughter locked in this tower for nigh on a decade, and Gwen intended to see her breathe free air again.
The door to the princess’s chamber was solid mahogany, and when the latch refused to turn, she called, “Princess! Stand clear of the door! Your rescue is at hand!”
With a running start, the knight slammed her armoured shoulder into the wooden barrier. Hinges rattled along with her teeth, but the door held firm. Twice more, Lady Gwendolyn attacked the door, and on the third attempt, the iron latch snapped from its socket, letting the door swing wide.
“Princess! I’ve come to… rescue… you.”
Gwen stopped short at the sight. The Princess’s chamber was bedecked in pink and white silks. The centerpiece of the room was a massive four-poster bed. Broad enough to sleep four of her knights abreast, the bed was dominated by an incredibly corpulent royal. The princess sat like an overstuffed creme puff, bosom like a pair of grain sacks, and a rolling belly that spread far enough to reach her knees. The Princess was stuffing chocolates and small cakes into her noble mouth in a steady stream.
“P-princess??”
“Oh!” The Princess cried as if noticing the stranger in her room for the first time. “Thank –hmf– goodness! –ulp– My stepmother has been –urp– barely giving me any food!”
Gwen blinked, attempting to process the incongruity of this claim before giving up. Time was of the essence. “We must flee, Princess. The Queen’s Guard will be upon us at any moment!”
With agonizing slowness, the Princess moved her tray aside and shuffled to the edge of the bed. The mattress, frame, and curtained pillars shook with every motion.
“With haste, Your Highness, I beg you!”
The Princess finally reached the edge of the mattress, piggy legs rivaling actual pigs emerging from beneath the counterpane. It took several rocking, heaving attempts before she succeeded in propelling herself to her plump feet. She then began a very slow waddle toward the knight.
Gwen rushed to her side, urging the Princess forward, but the rotund royal would not be rushed. She paused, throwing a longing look back at the platters of unfinished treats on her bed.
“Walking is so hard,” she whined. “Could you, maybe…” She met Gwen’s eyes, batting her lashes. “Carry me?”
Lady Gwendolyn eyed the Princess dubiously. She was the strongest of her circle of knights, able to best any man in feats of strength at their favorite tavern. And yet, this spoiled, pampered, lovely, delectable royal looked nearly as heavy as her destrier.
But she could not abandon her Oaths. Gwendolyn squatted low, armor clinking as she stretched an arm behind the Princess’s back and another behind her knees. The Princess fell into her hold, nearly sending them both crashing to the stone floor. Clamping down a grunt as she strained, Gwen brought them both slowly upward.
Burdened as she was, Gwen’s gait was nearly as slow as the Princess’s had been. She carried her charge to the door, arms trembling and knees threatening to buckle at every plodding step. She tried not to think of the dozens upon dozens of stairs she would have to descend without sending them both careening to their deaths.
Before she reached the door, half a dozen of the Queen’s Guard burst into the chamber, brandishing sabres and shortswords. “Unhand the Princess, you blackguard!”
Lady Gwendolyn sighed. “Blast it all…”
Flash fiction based on this prompt:
A boyfriend has been secretly buying his girlfriend’s clothes in larger sizes and swapping them out so she doesn’t notice how much weight she’s gained since they started dating.
Contains: Weight Gain
Buying in Bulk
I am a genius.
My roommate gave me so much shit for buying five dozen pairs of socks back in the day, but once I found a kind I liked, where the toe seam didn’t itch at my toes all day, I wanted to make sure I never ran out if they got discontinued or something.
Now, I have Katy—the perfect girlfriend. I love big girls, and Katy loves to eat; it’s a proverbial “match made in heaven.”
The only trouble is, sometimes, she remembers she’s getting fat. Fatter, that is.
It’s ridiculous, I know. She was pushing two hundred when we got together, and she’s gotta be over three-fifty by now. I can’t tell for sure—I don’t think Katy even owns a scale. How a woman can gain that much weight and not realize it is beyond me. But I’m certainly not complaining—her adorable obliviousness makes it that much hotter, somehow.
All the creaking chairs, our tilting car, the squeaking bed, and the ominous noises the elevator in our building makes, all while she polishes off two to three times as much as me at every meal while saying nothing more than, “Huh, I guess I was more hungry than I thought” just sends me.
The one thing that never fails to get her attention, though, is clothes. One popped button, one belt that won’t reach, one pair of shorts she can’t get over her ever-growing ass, and Katy starts fretting about diets and getting back into the gym.
She never follows through on those declarations, of course. Or, at least, she’s never done so even once in the years we’ve been dating. Instead, she gets sad and moody, maybe skips a meal or two, and goes back to her normal self after about a month.
So, I decided to shortcut the process.
Some of her clothes were unique—special event band tees or limited-run designer numbers. But the majority of her wardrobe came from regular department stores or online. And, just like I’d done with the socks, and later with sleep pants, and still later with underwear, I bought clothes for Katy in bulk. With one special twist—instead of ordering twenty identical tops, I got one in every size available, from large to 3XL and beyond.
“Babe, have you seen my pink shorts?”
“They should be in the dresser, hon.”
I wander into the bedroom just to watch the show. Sure, it’d be more fun to watch her struggle with undersized clothes, but the bouncing and jiggling whenever she got dressed was almost as good. The shorts slide up with ease over a set of hips that brush doorframes and an ass that nearly needs a second chair.
“Huh,” she says. “These aren’t as tight as I remember. Maybe I’m finally slimming down a little.”
My heart races at the thought of how untrue that statement is.
Katy runs her hands over her thighs, and I hear the sound of plastic.
“Wait…”
Did I forget to peel the size sticker off that pair?
“My sister gave me these for my twenty-third birthday—how do they still have tags on?”
Well, shit.
Flash fiction based on this prompt:
A warlock enters a pact with their new patron, only to find that their new patron would rather fatten them up than anything.
Contains: Weight Gain
The Pact
Tryss woke in an impossibly soft bed in an impossibly nice room. She blinked her eyes blearily while she tried to remember where she was. It came to her slowly. She couldn’t remember the day before—or the day before that. What she did remember was coming to this place, this dimension, to make a pact with a demon. It was the next logical step in her journey to mastering magic. Wizard magic was too much reading. Druid magic made her feel dirty—literally. And divine magic meant befriending a god or goddess, and in Tryss’s experience, they were all arseholes. This left only one path, the path of a warlock pact. Cerix had offered her a pact that almost seemed too good to be true. All she had to do was stay in this lavish manor while Cerix taught her all the dark magicks she knew.
Tryss jumped out of the bed, eager to get started. She guessed it was just yesterday that she signed Cerix’s contract, since she didn’t know any dark magick yet. At least, she tried to jump out of bed. Triss’ body felt heavy and sluggish. Was this a side-effect of the pact? Was she under the lingering influence of some sleep spell?
Lifting her arms, Tryss felt the same heaviness, but her hands looked… strange. Where she had seen thin, toned forearms for the past 300 years, she now saw fleshy tubes wobbling as she lifted them above the embroidered coverlet. Gasping in shock, Tryss pushed the covers off and looked down at herself.
This was not her body. She had perfectly pert breasts that filled her palms, not a pair of grain sacks flopped to each side of her chest. She had a firm, flat stomach that made a smooth plane from her ribs to her pelvis, not a great mountain of rolls quivering with each of her panicked breaths.
Tryss poked and prodded at her form. This couldn’t be her body. But it was. She recognized the few small moles she could see from this angle. They weren’t quite where they were supposed to be, but they were most definitely hers. How could this happen? And to her, of all people? She didn’t even know elves could get fat.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Cerix’s voice sliced through the empty room like a dagger through silk.
Tryss looked up at her purple-skinned patron. Cerix’s glowing yellow eyes soothed her panic, somehow. Yes, this was her life. This was her body. She was a little on the plump side for an elf, but it wasn’t like warlocks needed to do a lot of running or jumping; that’s what magick was for.
Cerix put a taloned hand behind Tryss’s back, lifting the obese elf into a sitting position. With a gesture, a mound of pillows appeared behind Tryss to prop her up. Cerix snapped her fingers, and a large tray overloaded with food appeared across Tryss’s lap.
Without a second thought, Tryss picked up a gold fork and speared a cube of roasted meat. She chewed and swallowed, then asked, “Are you going to teach me some spells today?”
Cerix stroked Tryss’ plump shoulder, careful not to scratch her luscious skin with her talons. “All in good time, child, all in good time. You must eat to keep up your strength for the training.”
“Oh… okay!” Tryss smiled as she popped a boiled egg between her lips.
“That’s a good girl,” Cerix purred. “Eat up.”
Flash fiction based on this prompt:
Detective tries to solve who is stealing all the ice cream from the city, seemingly oblivious to the Femme Fatale who has ballooned to a literal ton.
Contains: Weight Gain
Scoop of Danger
Somehow, the perpetual rain in this city never managed to take the edge off the heat. It was like a Roman bathhouse without the gossip. Well, there was still plenty of gossip, but a Sears & Roebuck suit was far from the proper attire for such a climate. I drained my Scotch and rolled another cigarette. If I hadn’t been assured by every frozen dairy peddler I’d interviewed in the past month that their walk-in ice boxes were state-of-the-art, I could almost suspect the city’s ice cream supply was simply melting from natural causes.
I’d just gotten off the horn with Lieutenant Briggs. It was a sign of how dire the situation was that the City Police had enlisted my services at all. He was furious, and with good reason. Five ice cream heists in as many weeks, and that didn’t even count the dozens that had happened before I reluctantly took the case. Jobs for the City never paid as well as jealous wives and paranoid husbands, but I owed Miss Cunningham over a month’s back pay, and my whisky supply was growing dangerously low.
I had no leads, no clues—just a fistful of rumors about some gang. No one had a name for the gang or any of its members; just that they worked exclusively in ice cream theft. A “victimless crime.”
I rolled my eyes at my transparent reflection in the rain-speckled window glass. I knew better than most that there was no such thing as a victimless crime. Sure, the victims in this case were insurance companies, and they were little better than a gang of thieves themselves. But between a sweltering summer that seemed endless and the cops breathing down my neck, I was starting to think the biggest victim in this confectionery crime spree was yours truly.
The phone’s bell shattered my melancholy like the rattle of a Tommy gun. I’d sent Miss Cunningham home hours ago, so I picked up the receiver myself.
“Stan Slade.”
“Stan… I thought you were coming by my place tonight?”
Selena Sable was the kind of girl your mom warned you about. But Mrs. Slade, God rest her, always said her son didn’t have the sense the Good Lord gave a goose. Selena was beautiful in the way an M1911 is beautiful. Raven locks, eyes like strong coffee, and a figure to put a housecat from the Upper East Side to shame. I’d always been partial to a zaftig figure, but Miss Sable tested the suspension of the sturdiest taxis. Not that you’d ever hear me complain—the extra girth came with a pair of zeppelins that made me wish I had two more hands to help lift them. Somehow she—and they—seemed bigger every time I saw her.
“Sorry, doll. Got tied up working this case. Lieutenant’s riding me like a two-bit nag.”
“Well… I’m still up if you want to swing by…” Selena’s voice was dark and thick, like fog over the bay at midnight.
The case would still be here in the morning.
“I’ll go down and call a cab toot suite. No traffic at this hour, so twenty minutes at most.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Selena purred.
I should have stopped to wonder how she got so big in a city where a day’s pay couldn’t buy a club sandwich. But I wasn’t exactly thinking with my head.
“Oh, and Stan?”
“Yeah, doll?”
“Would you pick up some supper on your way? I’ve already had dessert…”
~ss.md
Donut Defense
The city of Green Harbor was safe from invasion by land. Being surrounded by beautiful but impassable mountains, the only way in or out was via the massive port for which the city was named. Being of little strategic value and possessing no natural resources save rich farmland, Green Harbor hadn’t been invaded or attacked in living memory. That is, until one gorgeous summer day, when the city streets began to shake inexplicably.
The citizens of Green Harbor would have called it an earthquake, had any of them ever experienced such a phenomenon. They had not, and cacophonous cries of “monster” filled the city. They weren’t technically wrong.
An enormous woman, at least ten fathoms tall, cast a shadow over the peaceful seaside town. She was a blue-eyed brunette wearing a pale blue tank top and khaki shorts. Either garment would have been more than large enough to cover the average house in Green Harbor. She also possessed the most abundant curves anyone in the city had ever seen. Pale legs bulged from her snug shorts, her hips were wide enough to brush against buildings on both sides of the thoroughfare. Her shirt just barely managed to cover the vast expanse of her enormous bosom, her well-fed belly fully exposed and hanging down to cover the waist of her shorts, making it impossible to tell if they were even buttoned.
The Mayor and City Council stood atop the tallest building in Green Harbor, reaching barely to the giant woman’s navel. Brandishing a megaphone, the Mayor called, “Hallo!”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she looked around for the source of the voice. Her view of the tall building was blocked by her massive tits, so she took a step back and bent down. The action put several fresh craters in the pavement, and a building she bumped with her hip lost a layer of its brick facade.
“Hiii!” She waved, beaming with delight. “I’m Lauren!”
“Please, don’t destroy our town! What do you want?”
“Oh!” The giant woman giggled, causing her enormous body to quiver, setting a few car alarms blaring. “Usually, I have to smash things up a bit to get people’s attention. I’ve never had anyone ask what I want first. I was just hoping you had some spare food.” She grinned sheepishly. “Maybe some donuts?”
The Mayor heaved a sigh of relief. “Food is the one thing we have in abundance, Miss Lauren. If you’d be so kind as to move to a… safer location, we’ll get you some donuts right away.”
The woman stood to her full height, clapping her hands and giving a little bounce. Streetlights crashed to the pavement, and several cars jumped, tires popping as they landed. She left a trail of destruction three blocks over to City Park, where she crushed a copse of trees and covered over half the Green with her barge-like backside.
***
The Mayor of Green Harbor stood with two members of the City Council on the same rooftop. In the streets below, a line of flatbed trucks ran from several bakeries to City Park, bearing stacks of donuts the size of tractor tires.
“I think our plan to mollify the creature has backfired,” one of the councilors said.
In the middle of the park, Lauren gorged on giant donuts as fast as the trucks could bring them to her. In the short time she’d occupied City Park, the massive woman had grown bigger, much bigger. Her legs and hips were spilling over the edges of the Green. Her belly spread past her knees and halfway down whale-like shins. She was nearly as tall while sitting as she’d been fully standing when she arrived. But the flow of donuts did not stop, nor did Lauren’s feasting.
“We just have to keep feeding her,” the Mayor said. “She has to be satisfied eventually and move on to torment some other town.”
The councilors shared a dubious look, then turned back to the massive woman. Lauren shoved a whole donut into her mouth, a spray of crumbs cascading down her gigantic breasts. Her “shirt” had become little more than a string bikini, pale flesh bulging above and below, threatening to give the citizens of Green Harbor quite the show. Two more went down her maw in rapid succession, and the councilors thought they could see the enormous woman growing larger.
“Improbably as it might seem,” one of them said, “we may run out of donuts before the beast is satisfied.”
Flash fiction based on this prompt:
A woman discovers she’s got a stuffing fetish, and it quickly spirals out of control. Horny BBW discovers she’s too large to reach ‘down there’
Contains: Weight Gain
Slippery Slope
I always thought I knew how it felt to get off. I discovered it, as I imagine most do, by accident. That perfect scene in a movie or TV episode, that perfect chapter in a romance novel, and I had my hand down my panties just working away. Then came the very awkward family reunion over Thanksgiving. Well, awkward for me—to this day, I maintain the delusion that my parents and extended family were all blissfully unaware. Because, you see, I learned something about myself, locked in my grandma’s bathroom on that weird squishy toilet seat. When I’m stuffed—like, really stuffed—coming is just so much better. Usually, I can keep it quiet, but that night I had to swear my second cousin to secrecy when she heard me moaning through the door.
Fast forward a few years, and I found Kyra, a girl who’s just as much of a freak as me, except in the opposite way, which was perfect. Kyra has a thing for bigger girls and a kind of nurturing kink. Before we hooked up, I’d never heard of “feeders.”
Fortunately, Kyra works at a bakery. Unfortunately, that means she’s gone for most of the day while I work from home. Usually, I can keep it in my pants until then—she always brings home enough “uglies” and pilfered day-olds to keep us going until one of us passes out. Usually me.
But just like drug addicts and capitalist CEOs, I was never satisfied. As my body grew, my stomach capacity expanded, and it took more and more food to fill me up to that delicious, aching, painfully ecstatic point where I was so close to literally exploding that I could figuratively explode. I weigh over a quarter-ton now and show no signs of stopping, or even slowing down.
And so there I was, done with work and with an hour and a half until Kyra got home, depending on traffic, bored out of my mind and horny AF. I had all the delivery apps on my home screen, and the drivers know us by name, so I pulled my phone out of my bra and started ordering. I meant to just get a few things to tide me over until Kyra came back with dinner and dessert, just a half dozen pizzas or so, but my greedy stomach—and her friend below—howled at me until I had a cart long enough to need three pages of scrolling to find the ’place order’ button.
I definitely overdid it, I thought as I cradled the tight dome of my upper belly. Normally, I couldn’t get that full without Kyra’s help. Grunting, I reached for my phone—Kyra was still at least twenty minutes away. I guessed I had time for a quick one.
Stretching my heavy arms as far as they would go, I grabbed handfuls of flab to get a hand between my belly and my gigantic thigh. Unfortunately, my overloaded stomach was so full it was pushing the flab down. Normally, I had Kyra to help with this, too, but I couldn’t wait. Sweat pouring down from my hair, I squeezed, curling my body forward as far as it could go, which was just an inch or so. I pulled with one hand and pressed with the other.
It was no use.
I fell back into my chair with a wail. I’d gotten too fat to get myself off. The thought made me even hornier, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
Where the fuck was Kyra!?