The Rendering Pit - Chapter 18 (Patreon)

Got a treat for you today! This chapter of TRP is both written and illustrated by me! Today we follow Genevieve as she's given her new assignment, Junior Lunch Lady?! Genevieve has all manner of plans for keeping her waistline in tact, but will she follow through, when the trough calls to her so loudly?

This episode includes: weight gain, a lot of fat stuff, some introspection, trying not to gain weight but (spoilers) gaining some anyways, AND a special surprise, at the end <3

- - -    

Ba-ping. 

Her dataslate beeped. New Assignments.

The room had a faint, sugary smell. The taste of red velvet cupcakes lingered on her tongue as she yawned and smacked her lips. The windows were dark, the station’s simulated day-night program hadn’t cycled over to dawn. 

Genevieve reached over to pick the dataslate up. “You have got to be kidding me...” The blue haired vixen muttered darkly, leaning up in bed to get a better look. The school holidays had taken their toll on her already ample figure, her stomach rolled over her legs to spill out against the mattress. With her free hand she scratched lightly at one of her love handles. It wasn’t too long ago that she’d have been abhorred at the very thought of being chubby, now she was outright fat, and seeming to get a little bigger with every month.

“Junior lunch lady?!” 

Pulling herself up, she swung one heavy leg over the side of her bed, then another. She pushed strands of blue hair out of her vision, tucking them up behind her furred ears and re-reading the notice. 

Genevieve,

I am delighted to inform you that a new position has become available in student services that will need your dedicated attention. Over the coming weeks, you’ll be filling the role of Junior Lunch Lady at the cafeteria. We expect you to use your particular talents to keep a few eyes on the student body, as we continue to monitor students for signs of Seed AI infection. Given your previous experience, I expect you’ll fit right in.

You start today. This position is not optional.

Yours,

Professor Victoria 

“You have to be kidding me!” She exclaimed again, to the empty room. Rigel must have woken up early for pumping. She gritted her teeth, memories of the last time she assisted the cafeteria lunch lady, a blue haired pig, floating through her mind. The humiliation of serving the other students had been nothing compared to what happened at the end of the shift, the entire cafeteria’s unfinished meals pushed into one trough to make an unending feast. That one week alone had added a hundred pounds to her waistline, thanks in part to some digestion helping nanites.

The vixen strongly considered sending her professor a rudely worded response, a refusal, an objection, anything to get her out of the duty. Surely, she had earned some leeway with the faculty? It seemed absurd to her that after everything she had done for the school, they were still asking more of her. And yet, somehow the thought of bending over that trough, that flowing river of food, it sent an excited shiver down her spine. She knew she ought to be miserable, terrified, even, of losing what little she had left of her figure, but still a part of her was giddy at the prospect. She resolved that she deserved a chance to let loose. To really pig out. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

- - - 

The cafeteria was bustling, as per usual. The smell of deep fried foods fought against the scent of the unwashed student population. Background noise was one part chatter, one part sports programs being broadcast from holoprojectors. Although a university the size of The Rendering Pit might not necessitate such a large cafeteria as it had, the size of the student body tended to make demands of its own. As such, the walkways were spacious, chairs were double wide and the cafeteria itself looked more like a miniature sports stadium, complete with rows of tables and chairs in ascending levels, all surrounding a central kitchen, where students lined up for their meals. 

“Next!” Genevieve’s throat was hoarse and it was only the first day. Serving student after student had been humiliating as inspected. Most of them looked far enough to see her engorged waist and figured she was the next Lunch Lady. If any of them went so far as to suggest it, she would either bite back scathing remarks or dose their food with nutrient paste, imagining the expanding effects it would have on them. So it wasn’t all bad. And she was certainly in a position to keep an eye on things. Her several bee drones had happily positioned themselves inconspicuously about the cafeteria. It was only a shame that nothing interesting seemed to be happening. Like, at all. People came in, ate their food and left. Some of them came in, collected food and then left before eating. At first she’d attempted to eavesdrop on conversation but the background noise had become incessant after half an hour to the point where she had to tell the bees to knock it off, and stick to audio only. Better that, than she lose her mind trying to figure out the contents of fifteen separate conversations at once. 

And then there was the Lunch Lady herself. The blue haired pig came by from time to time, shuffling into the cramped quarters of the serving desk to help out during peak traffic, though Genevieve herself felt she was more hindered as she almost constantly bumped into the pig’s latex clad stomach. These visits were rare though and, more often than not, Genevieve caught glimpses of the pig pushing her way through the crowd, with a pink haired feline in tow. It was almost comical, the pig able to bulldoze her way through any group of students, and the cat following along in the wake of confusion. 

If she didn’t have enough on her plate, she might ask one of her children to follow along, but the bees were all accounted for watching the cafeteria, and she felt another input, another thing to keep an eye on, would be enough to push her over the edge. Though she had become used to their constant input, the buzz of their communications in her ears, she was still just one mind and could only concentrate on so much. 

A bell tolled, signalling the end of her shift. Robotic drones would take over from here on out, catering to the lesser demands of the night shift. 

Genevieve gave a happy little sigh and slipped out of her ill-fitting apron, hanging it on a nearby rack. Now came the part of the day she’d been simultaneously looking forward to, and dreading. The ground beneath her rumbled, and descended like an elevator into the underworks of the cafeteria. Here the machines that kept the place running pumped, hissed and growled. It was warm here too, beneath the ground, humid in a way that made her fur stick to her skin. Her cat-sized bee companion followed her down, before the roof closed above her, sealing her down in the underworks, whilst the other bees remained lazily above. 

She stepped off the elevator platform and looked around her familiar surroundings. Little had changed since that first week she’d been here, except that now there was a dirty looking mattress in one corner, soaked with sweat stains and grease. Genevieve wondered if the pig had taken to sleeping down here, but she quickly realised the mattress was far too small for a creature of the Lunch Lady’s advance width. She slowly made her way over to investigate further, hands resting atop the dome of her own stomach, when she heard one of the machines behind her begin to rumble. It sent a giddy little shiver down her spine. 

Spinning, as fast as she could, the vixen saw the trough which had energized her to work this last shift. It had been the bane of her first week at The Rendering Pit. She had hated the way she wanted to eat from the trough, hated the way that she had gorged herself until her stomach looked pregnant with triplets, every night. She especially hated the way she would wake up just a bit softer every morning. And now she was back, standing over the trough as the machines above started to funnel the evenings rejected and wasted food into a single pipe, a single outlet. All of it, all for her. 

Ever since that first week, Genevieve had found herself continuing to grow. She was concerned, of course she was concerned. That initial nanite dose had left her with a significant appetite and though food was cheap, she knew she was throwing away a body she’d worked her life to maintain. Granted she’d never been thin, but chubby had always felt like a step up from obese. 

And there was no escaping it, Genevieve was now obese. Her stomach was a huge mound of blubber which hung over her thighs. It was a constant obstacle in her daily life, getting in the way of mundane things like reaching over a table, as well as slightly more important things like access with her vibrator. Getting off shouldn’t be a struggle against her own body, yet every time she had to push aside, or around her own stomach she felt herself clench and squirm in the most delicious of ways. She’d spent many a night just humping up against her pillow, imagining herself too fat, even to fuck properly. She knew it was wrong. Everyone has their fetishes, but fantasy is one thing, reality is another. But ever present was the knowledge that she could change all that. She could be as big as she wanted. And that excited her.

With a spit and a hiss, the pipes began to dispense her meal. The main event. A slurry made of all the leftover food, being pushed like a mudslide into the trough in front of her. She knew she could ignore it. She could walk away and say her job was done. Perhaps the leftovers would be incinerated, perhaps the Lunch Lady would come back and finish them off. But then, if she’d wanted to walk away, why had she allowed herself to descend beneath the cafeteria? Why did she stand there, her stomach clenched, drool forming in her mouth? 

She took one step forward, then another, before falling to her knees in front of the trough. With the increased weight on her stomach, the impact made her grunt and sent a jolt down her bones, but she hardly felt it. Already the scent of so much food, mashed together, it was almost overpowering. Intoxicating. She plunged herself, head first, into the meaty goop with a wet splort. Her bee alighted from her shoulder, finding a perch on one of the rattling pipes above to watch without judgement, really, she was alone.

Which was good, because Genevieve was making a pig out of herself. The grunts and slurping noises that came from the trough, from where she’d buried her head in the flow of leftovers, echoed in the small, humid room. Genevieve herself, was lost to bliss. She could taste it all. The meatballs one student had ordered, but not finished, mingled along with pizza crusts and an ice creamy milkshake. The tastes conflicted, but they didn’t take anything away from one another. If anything, they made the experience better. It was better to eat now, hunched over, feeling her stomach pool out across the metal floor, than it was to eat at one of the tables above. So much better, and at the same time, so much worse.

She heard the signs of her expansion, before she felt them. The brush of fabric, as her stomach grew and expanded across the ground. Moments later, Genevieve could feel her shirt constricting across her chest, breasts fighting for room with the balloon that was her stomach, already fat, and getting bigger. She felt the tightness deepen, her breasts pressed gently together as, inch by inch, her shirt lost the battle with her gut and rolled slowly up. But she didn’t stop. She didn’t adjust her clothing, or unbutton her pants. She kept eating. 

The taste of what she was eating, the foods within the trough, had switched several times by now. She’d sampled lemon chicken, chilli, blood sausage and more. Every new flavour brought a stiff little moan from the fox’s throat, as she tried not to think about what she was doing. The damage, she was doing to her figure. She felt it though, as her shirt rolled up far enough that it barely contained, even her breasts! Her pants button popped weakly against the underside of her gut, and clattered to the floor. She felt a familiar pang, a dull throb, an aching that started from within her stomach, and radiated outwards. It had been so long since she’d felt like this, since she’d really ate until she’d pushed herself to really stretch herself. She hadn’t felt like this, since her first week, and her first experience with the trough and she realised, with a pause to her grunting, her chewing, that she missed it.

Genevieve pulled herself up, crumbs dripping from her chin, before she wiped mouth off. She was stuffed. She tentatively poked her stomach, the huge, wobbling balloon that had started to prop her up during the gorging session. It had no give. With a soft little moan, Genevieve rolled onto her side, cradling her stomach. She could have passed as heavily pregnant, once. That milestone had come and gone, and now it would be a fantasy to call her anything but fat, especially now that her stomach had swollen to the size of a beachball. Worse still, thanks to the nanites in her system, anything she gained as blubber would be irreversibly stuck to her. Still though, somehow that thought didn’t upset her as much as it used to. She’d chosen her path in the university, and her drones were becoming increasingly helpful for day to day life.

Yawning, and wiping the last of the mess from her fur, Genevieve had the chance to contemplate one more thought, before she fell asleep. There are worse things to be, than fat.

- - - 

Genevieve woke, some time later, groggy, sore and tired. The metal floor of the cafeteria was still beneath her, but at some point during her nap someone had come and rested a blanket over her. Probably that pig, the Lunch Lady. The vixen struggled to get up, groaning and pushing against the increased weight she’d gained. It would be hard to tell exactly what the damage was until she saw a mirror, but if this was going to be a regular occurance, things would get bad. She had to make sure she limited such sessions in the future. 

Her legs wobbled, but she managed to get them beneath her, and as she stumbled her way to the elevator out of the underworks of the cafeteria, Genevieve squeaked, and realized she’d brushed against something. More accurately, her great, wobbling stomach had brushed against something, where yesterday, it most certainly would not have. Blushing, and biting her lip, she looked over to the piece of machinery that she’d brushed against, and in its polished metal surface saw her own reflection. She saw a double chin that was long past due. Her breasts had gotten a little bigger, which she supposed wasn’t a bad thing, per se. She didn’t want to look much further down at the damage done to her stomach, the massive mound of blubber now rested thickly across her thighs down to her knees. As she found herself holding it, pinching the fat between her fingers, she hoped it would recede a little bit, because if it didn’t, she’d end up as wide as she was tall before the week was out. 

Something else caught her reflection as well, and Genevieve reached up to straighten out her ears with chubby fingers. She pushed them upwards, straightened them until they were standing tall, like they’d done all her life, maybe once or twice, but each time they flopped back down again, folding over.

Like a pig’s.