The Harem on the Hill (Part XXII) (Patreon)

"I'm afraid you're still too skinny."

Tina's head lolls back onto her shoulders.  "Jesus," she says, looking the appropriate direction.  "Fine.  But at least carry me like your cheerleader bitch."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Not jealousy, practicality.   You don't want me burning too many calories, do you?"

Your arms aren't wild about the idea, but the rest of you finds the prospect of carrying a naked and plumped-up Tina appealing.  As you lift her, however, other parts protest.  

"Ooof!" you exclaim, nearly toppling into the pool.  "I won't be able to do this much longer."

"I'm going to make you," Tina adds coyly, wrapping an arm around you.

It's striking how much the weight has transformed the wasp-waisted waif you began molding months ago.  Thirty pounds doesn't seem that impressive--a modest gain that could sneak up on someone if they weren't careful--but in practical terms, it's 25% of Tina's original body weight.  In that context, the dramatic changes to her figure are less surprising. 

They're no less alluring, however.  The sexy spitfire who once tried to strangle you is now swaddled in layers of pasty plumpness.  Back then, her body was sinewy smooth and toasty to the touch.  A furnace of pent-up energy ready to explode.  Now it's thicker.  Colder.  The morning's activity tells you the hellion is still in there, but the fires that stoke her have cooled with the added insulation. 

"Where'd that come from?" you say, spying the tire of flesh forming around her waist.  It ebbs and flows as you carry her, nearly disappearing in wider spaces, but rolling back into view as you cradle her through cramped quarters.

"You did that," Tina answers with a mix of frisk and indignance.  

"You did it to yourself."  You squeeze her beefy bicep with one hand and the floppy flesh of her thigh with the other.  "What would Major Dad say if he knew what a pig you were becoming?"

Tina closes her eyes and rubs her legs together.    

"Maybe we'll pay him another visit in a couple of months.  See if he recognizes you."

"Mmmmm."  Tina spasms involuntarily, nearly bumping her head as you carry her down the corridor to her chamber.  If Tabitha was like lugging an octopus, Tina's like a hooked tuna.     

Fortunately, a few more steps and you're depositing her on the bed.   You turn to leave--fully anticipating what comes next. 

"Where do you think you're going?"  Tina winds her hands through the trellis headboard.
"Feed me."

Smirking, you head to the kitchen and grab whatever junk food you can.  Donuts, candy, ice cream, chips--your arms become so heaped you can hardly see.  Mercifully, all that high-caloried cargo is still lighter than Tina...though you expect the fat content is about the same.

It's difficult to tell which grows wider upon your return, Tina's eyes or her gaping mouth, but by the end of the evening her waist is the winner.  It takes hours--the expanding orb of Tina's belly is your only time-keeper--but you eventually stuff every last morsel inside her.  Playfully at first.  Forcefully by the end.  

Once the final crumb has been crammed, Tina removes her hands from the headboard and probes the round mound heaving heavenward between her hips.  Her touch is delicate.  Her breaths are shallow.  It's as if she might pop.  And considering the amount of food inside her, she just might.  

Tina seems afraid to move anything but her eyes, but they eventually find you.  "NOW do I deserve a reward?"   

You expect she does.  What shall it be?