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

"The troops are ready for inspection, sir!"

The way Tina snaps her mock salute eliminates any lingering doubt you may have had about a military upbringing.  Shoulders back.  Stomach in.  Well, as in as possible for a girl pushing 250 pounds.  Still, she cuts a steadfast figure in the oversized fatigues you purchased from the surplus store on your last visit to town.

"Bring them in."

Tina waddles from where you rest on the gazebo swing at the center of your octagonal garden courtyard.  Her attempts at a military march are betrayed by flaring hips, tree-trunk thighs, and a weighty belly that slumps her posture and plods her gait.  She's a far cry from the lithe lass who tried to strangle you in the same spot a year ago (www.patreon.com/posts/harem-on-hill-32877745). 

As past experience attests, it's risky reviewing all your girls at once in the least secure part of your compound, but if you're going to inspect your ladies 'au natural' what better place than in nature?  Besides, the risk is half of the fun.  Of course, if Tina's progress reports are accurate, your girls have as much chance of ambushing you as a parade of water buffalos in bubble wrap booties.

You smile and close your eyes, soaking up the garden's floral aromas and melodic mix of chirping birds and gentle splashes as koi surface in the adjacent pond.  You keep them closed as heavy steps thump towards you, their synchronized cadence growing louder by the second.  It sounds like a regiment is approaching, but you know better.

It's just four very well-fed girls.

The steps pound across the wood slats of the gazebo as shadows cross your closed eyes like clouds drifting past a sun-soaked curtain.  Then all goes quiet.  Just as you're about to sneak a peek, a chorus of voices erupts--

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Opening your eyes, you find your four girls--Debbie, Anastasia, Tabitha, and Tina--arranged from left to right by girth like Matryoshka dolls.  Tina is dressed in fatigues for roleplaying purposes, but apart from the silver bangles adorning their wrists, the others are as naked as the day they were born.

"Thank you, ladies.  At ease."

Despite your directive, the girls remain rigid, unsure of what may come next.  Well, "rigid" may be a stretch, considering the varying degrees of fat swaddling them.  Let's just say they look nervous.

You stand and make your way to Debbie, a fresh-faced and diminutive blonde on the left.  She's the newest member of your harem and, at barely eighteen, the youngest as well.  A runaway in pursuit of greener pastures, Tina diverted her to your fertile fat farm about three months ago.

"How are you today, Debbie?"

"Fine, sir!" she shouts in a full voice supported by an even fuller belly.  Her Bahama Blue eyes catch yours for an instant before darting forward again.  "Happy Birthday."

Debbie was underfed and underappreciated upon arrival, but she's received plenty of attention since.  In fact, the affectionate 'Little Debbie' moniker you assigned her is quickly becoming ironic.  The first few weeks, she reminded you of those starving children in Africa with ridiculously distended bellies surrounded by otherwise fatless features.  Of course, Debbie's stomach wasn't bloated by malnourishment, but with whatever calorie-laden concoctions Tina packed into her, so it wasn't long before her other parts began to swell.

"Progress report?"  You query to Tina.

"153 pounds.  Starting weight, 112."

"Impressive," you say.

Most consider the phrase 'pleasingly plump' a euphemistic alliteration, but it fits Debbie to a T.  As Debbie's unnatural potbelly slowly subsided, its contents shifted southward, adding a complimentary flare to her hips and meat to her bony backside.  In profile, the symmetrical slopes of her belly and butt form the 'S' in silhouette, with each side sporting matching teardrop shapes that flow together seamlessly like a wave diagram turned vertical.

It's little wonder the Old Masters preferred the curvilinear lines of lush lasses like Debbie, but since you're not much of an artist you snap a pic with your phone instead.  You want to capture such physical perfection for posterity, especially since you know it won't be long before Debbie's tear-shaped belly and ass begin to droop like drips from a leaky spigot.  Unlike drops from a faucet, however, which maintain their shape by dripping away when they grow too heavy, Debbie's teardrops are destined to grow gargantuan within the confines of her flesh.

"Excuse me, sir?" Debbie says, interrupting your inspection.  "Is there anything special you'd like for your Birthday?"

How do you respond?