Kinktober 2022 #8: Magical Weight Gain (Patreon)

Had to resist writing a little epilogue attached to this SO HARD. I have a feeling I'll revisit these two sooner rather than later. 

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Kysa would be the first to admit how vain she was. Her whole life, everyone had told her how unbecoming her obsession with her own appearance was. It seemed all she could speak of was the latest recipe she’d discovered in some book or other for a salve said to eliminate and prevent wrinkles or a tonic that purported to keep one youthful. Her single-mindedness often made her rude. It was, after all, rather unkind to tell your aunt she was getting fat and offer her a potion to make her thin again.

She couldn’t count the number of times someone had scolded her, telling her she was already young and not to waste her time chasing the impossible when she should be enjoying the brightest bloom of her youth. Kysa scoffed every time. They might have accepted the ravages of aging, but Kysa had refused to. She would never be someone’s plump aunt marching her way into withered cronehood.

She dedicated her life to finding a true cure, something that would allow her to stay beautiful forever. She pored over every book she could get her hands on in their little village, and eventually set off into the great wide world to study under every master and alchemist and witch she could find. Some of them were helpful. Many of them found Kysa’s obsession and attitude as distasteful as everyone else in her life had, and would find a way to send her packing.

Kysa was so consumed by her quest for perfect, perpetual beauty that she was always eager to find a new expert or go on a quest for some ancient library and missed all the bridges she was burning on her way there.

That is, until she met Madragora. Madragora was a wealthy witch who lived in a small but wealthy village in the ass-end of nowhere. She was also several centuries old and looked not a day over twenty, or so the rumors passed on by Kysa’s previous mentors said. The journey to the witch’s home was long and arduous, but Kysa’s vanity reassured her it was all worth it.

What they had failed to tell her was that Madragora was, first and foremost, a capricious bitch, as likely to give you your comeuppance just because you wore the wrong color when she met you as she was to actually give you something like what you asked for. And not a one of them had uttered a peep about Madragora’s size.

Because for all that every one of them would admit that Madragora was an indisputable beauty and impossibly youthful-looking despite her age, she was by any account completely massive. A combination of magic and strong servants kept her mobile, but without such assistance she would’ve struggled to rise from a chair, let alone walk from one end of her palatial home to the other. Madragora was intensely sensitive about this. She’d never meant to get so fat – or fat at all, even! – but after years of adventuring and wreaking havoc she had rather run out of things she wanted to do that didn’t involve sitting at home and enjoying her favorite delicacies.

Madragora had been much like Kysa, once, traveling the world in search of the finer things in life, and more of life itself. She was just as vain, too, with much of her magical energy expended on removing stretch marks and cellulite. There was no way to make herself thin again, though – not without giving up the lifestyle she’d grown so accustomed to.

So when Kysa arrived on Madragora’s doorstep, demanding an audience and declaring how important it was that she see the old witch, the situation couldn’t really be anything other than a powder keg. Kysa’s inability to keep her pretty mouth shut was her undoing.

Kysa’s reaction to Madragora was entirely unrestrained. Her expression shifted rapidly from shock at seeing someone so unfathomably large for the first time in her life, to disgust, to anger. Kysa believed a joke had been played upon her. She’d been sent off into the wilds and over hill and dale for everlasting beauty spells from a woman with fat cheeks as round as Kysa’s own tits! And she was somehow still eating.

Madragora watched Kysa, first with curiosity, then with annoyance. “What was so important that you needed to see me before I’ve even had my lunch, girl?” she asked dismissively as she speared a thin slice of meat on her fork and brought it to her lips.

“I was told to come to you for the secrets of eternal youth and beauty. Doesn’t look like you have much to offer me on the beauty front, though,” Kysa scoffed.

Madragora’s eyes widened with anger. Visitors from outside the village were rare. Strangers who arrived on the witch’s doorstep generally knew better than to insult her first thing. “What did you say?” she spat.

Kysa, though tactless, was rarely one to insult anyone on purpose, but at that moment was so upset she couldn’t help but let a few more barbs fly. “You look like you could’ve eaten the whole village outside your gates! I can’t believe I even bothered to come. Is anyone even right when they say you’ve been around for five centuries? I guess they must be. Must’ve taken a while to grow that gut.”

Madragora was apoplectic. “How dare you!” she screeched. She gave a twist of her soft fingers. Kysa fell to her knees. “And here I was, in a good mood for once. Would’ve been perfectly willing to make you my protégé. I could’ve taught you things no one but me will ever know.” She moved her hand again and Kysa was brought down further, bowing down before the witch.

Kysa was shocked. She’d never encountered this kind of power before. She couldn’t get up even if she wanted to, crushing weight pressing down on her as she tried to escape.

“Apologize,” Madragora demanded.

“What?” Kysa asked, her mind struggling to comprehend what was happening.

“I will not ask again.” The witch clenched her plump fist and Kysa felt the wind get knocked from her lungs.

“You – fucking – bitch!” Kysa gasped. “Let me go!”

Madragora laughed. “Why would I ever give you anything you asked for after you insulted me in my own home? I’d much rather punish you for your insolent mouth.”

Moments later, Kysa found herself sitting at a table, facing the furious witch. It was loaded down with every fattening thing Kysa had avoided her entire life, along with things she’d never even heard of or imagined. “What is this? Just let me leave!”

“Not until you’ve enjoyed some of my hospitality.”

Kysa opened her mouth to argue, but quickly found herself shoving a pastry into her own mouth. She made a panicked noise as she realized she still couldn’t control her own limbs.

“Now, remember, you figured it took centuries for me to look like this. I wonder how long it’ll take you?”

Kysa’s scream was muffed by an immense bite of honeyed meat.

“We’ll give it a few days. Let’s see how big you get – as long as you don’t burst first.” Madragora laughed as she took a bite of her own food, watching Kysa shovel food into her mouth faster than she could even swallow, food spilling from her mouth as she struggled to chew. “Maybe by then you’ll have learned some manners.”