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

Groggy and light-headed, you shuffle down the corridor until you reach a heavy iron door that leads to a chamber you've visited dozens of times before.  Today, however, it holds a new resident.  Out of habit, you reach for your phone to check on the unseen occupant's status.  It's gone.

You turn to the nearest camera.  "Do I need protection?"

"Not unless you plan to bang the shit out of her," comes Tina's response over the intercom.  A metallic click signals that the door is now unlocked.  "She's in no position to harm you."

"Where is she?"

"In bed."

"Awake?"

"Sort of."

You push the door open.  It feels like you're stumbling jetlagged into a suite at the Marriot after a red-eye flight.  The room is quiet and dark save for a lamp in the corner with its rheostat dimmed.  A whiff of sickly-sweet, like stale air freshener, hangs in the air.

Moving to the kitchen, you turn on the overhead lights.  The quarters look ready for an open house.  The floor glistens and the counters shine hospital white.  Tina left the place clean, you'll give her that.  She hasn't always been obedient, but at least you conditioned her to keep things neat and tidy.

The door to the bedroom is closed.  Somewhere in your light head, it occurs to you to grab something from the kitchen to use as a weapon in case of an ambush, but you don't.  For one thing, the most dangerous utensil in the kitchen is a spork, but it's mostly because you feel a surprising lack of concern for what lies behind door #2.  Maybe you took a hit on the head during the previous night's chaos?  Or maybe Tina has truly earned your trust?  Regardless, it's a stark contrast from your typically prudent and calculated ways.

You swing the door wide, eager to inform the pesky policewoman what's in store.  That you're going to "cuff her and stuff her" (to borrow a colloquialism from an 80s TV show) and that the only investigating she'll be doing from now on is what's in the refrigerator.  As light enters the room; however, it reveals somebody else to be sleeping in "Baby Bear's" bed.  You're not sure who--the dramatic swell of the mystery woman's belly hides her face--but based on the patch of dark pubic hair peeking beneath it you're pretty sure it isn't Goldilocks.

The obese woman is naked and bound by her wrists and ankles to each of the bed's four posts.  Apparently, Tina's been doing some "cuffing and stuffing" of her own.  You have no idea who though.  The woman is fatter than anyone in your harem except...

"Tina?" you say, stepping to the head of the bed.

It's not Tina either.  Whoever-it-is' eyes are closed and their fleshy features indistinct.  Their nubby nose, ruddy cheeks, and weak chin mollify in repose like a melting candle.  And no one in your harem has hair like the black bob framing the flaccid features of this bedbound blob.

Then you notice the full lips, from which a wheezy grunt escapes like the labored breathing of a rutting pig, and the natural olive tone of the skin, at least what isn't blemished in garish red stretch marks.

"Morgan?"

The woman's eyes flit open.  "Are you ready to frisk me?"

You jump back so fast you bang your leg against the dresser.  It's impossible.  Unless...

"Officer Morgan really puts the P-I-G in pig, doesn't she?"

"How long was I out?"

"Six months."

"Jesus."  You run a hand through your shaggy hair and contemplate Morgan's fattened form.  She's at least 200 pounds heavier and, stranger still, seems nonplussed by it.  "You didn't do what I think you did, did you?"

"I did.  Why have all these great toys if you're not going to use them?"

You pound your hand against the dresser so hard you forget the pain in your leg.

"Oh, don't be mad!  So I had a little fun.  You'll feel better once you've COP-ulated."  Tina chuckles at her joke then adds, "Do it quick though.  You shouldn't stay in that room for too long."

What do you do?