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

"Oh God, she’s making me so fat!”  Tabitha steps back to let you glimpse Tina's handiwork.    

“Nonsense,” you say.  “You’re not fat.”  Tabitha isn't fat, at least by your definition.  She still has a few hundred pounds to go before she attains that distinction. The thirty pounds packed onto her Amazonian frame are mere drops in an oversized bucket...though as she stands before you in nothing but underwear it's evident where some of the drops landed.

“What do you call this?”  Tabitha squeezes the blubbery potbelly rounding over her pink panties.  It isn’t as pliable as it looks, suggesting a good measure of muscle still exists beneath its surface, providing a rock-solid foundation for her accumulating flesh.

Something will have to be done about that.

“That’s nothing a few crunches won't cure,” you say.  

“She won’t let me!  Every time I exercise, she punishes me.”

“What does she do?”

"Usually, she makes me eat something.  Or several somethings.  Sometimes she humiliates me. That’s why I’m dressed like this, so she can see just how fat I’ve grown."  

You'll have to remember to thank Tina later.  

Tabitha extends her arms like the Vitruvian Man and does a pirouette.  She reminds you of one of those corkscrews that looks like somebody doing jumping jacks.  Of course, Tabitha's jumping jack days are over, but her physique remains as curvy and symmetrical as a Rorschach test.  She's a natural-born hottie.

After her spin, Tabitha's face falls and her arms slap to her sides like a marionette whose strings have been cut.  "She won’t tell me how much I’ve gained, but it’s got to be at least twenty pounds."

You decide not to correct her.  “How does she humiliate you?”

"She talks about how I’m losing my looks.  That each day I'm getting a little fatter.  A little uglier.  How my best days are behind me."  Tabitha rubs her wrist just below the silver bracelet that encircles it.  "Of course, she didn't like it when I pointed out the bitchy little butterball was twice as fat as I was."  

You force a tight-lipped smile.  Tina may be a bitchy little butterball, but she's your bitchy little butterball.

"You still think I look good though, right?" Tabitha asks as her sea-green eyes begin to flood.  

For some reason, Tabitha's pathetic plea for affirmation makes you even angrier.  Still, you're uncertain you want to abandon the good cop, bad cop ruse just yet.

You take a deep breath before responding: