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

Although you consider paying one of your other girls a visit, you ultimately decide to stay.  This machine could be your masterstroke.  It doesn't seem right to leave now that it's finally being used.  Besides, there's a chance something could go wrong.  That wouldn't bother you if it were Anastasia or Morgan on the slab, but Tina is another story.

The corpulent cutie mumbles something incomprehensible.  The gas is clearly taking effect.  Perhaps you'll test the more nefarious concoctions in your olfactory factory some other time, but for now, Tina's slurred speech and the sleepy lull of her head suggest the cocktail of nitrous oxide and other mild sedatives will be plenty strong for today's trial.

You walk to the head of the table.  "What did you say, my dear?"

"I said, I was wondering when you were gonna use this."

You pat her on the head as she plants her face back in the table's cushioned depression.  "I wanted to test it on someone special."

Tina mumbles something about "wanting it to be her" before drifting off.  You're not sure if she means she's happy to be your guinea pig or wishes she would have utilized the device first.  Frankly, you're surprised she didn't during her six-months unfettered fattening of Anastasia and Officer Morgan.  Maybe it was too complex, or she discovered it too late, or she simply wanted to save it for your enjoyment as she did with Tabitha.  Regardless, you're relieved she didn't.  As irked as you were at Tina for tapping into your keg of chemical stimulants, you would have been beyond pissed had she christened the device by herself.  There's no time like the first time, and had you been reduced to sloppy seconds with your own invention, you wouldn't have the butterflies in your stomach that you do now.

Thirty minutes later, the butterflies have flown away and left you with another sensation--boredom.  Tina's brutish methods may be messy and inefficient, but at least they're fun to watch.  This was like watching grass grow.  To occupy your time, you tear off strips of surgical tape and secure them to the table's surface just beyond Tina's fleshy expanse of skin until it looks like the partial outline of a crime scene cadaver.  Then you pull up a chair and wait.

And wait.  And wait.  Tina's muffled snoring and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest eventually put you to sleep as well.  You treat the one-hour alarm like a snooze button, swiping right and dozing off again until a more urgent alarm finally rouses you at the three-hour mark.  Three hours is the longest anyone should stay hooked to the machine.  Any longer and you risk bedsores, infections, and other unpleasant side effects you wish to avoid.

At least in Tina's case.

You stand and stretch.  Tina is still asleep, snoring peacefully into the face cradle.  You scour the length of her bare backside for noticeable changes but find none.  Maybe one of the failsafes kicked in, halting the process?

That's when you realize the tape outline around Tina's torso has vanished.

You run a finger beneath the warm flesh along Tina's sides.  Just beneath the apron of fat, you detect the thin layer of tape.  Despite being imperceptible to the naked eye, over the past three hours, Tina's fat oozed across the table and engulfed the tape like the blob.

"Stop that!"  Tina giggles and her blubbery body twitches at your tickle.  Apparently, the automatic gas shut-off is working as intended.

"How do you feel?"

"Tingly."

You check the monitor.  305 pounds.  In a single three-hour session, Tina regained the weight she'd lost and surpassed the 300-pound threshold.  Though it seems ludicrous for such a microscopic biochemical process, you suspect the tingling sensation she feels is that of her own fat growth.

"Anything else?"

"Hungry.  What's for lunch?"

That was another important benefit of your parenteral feeding machine--it didn't fill the stomach.

As you untie Tina from the table, your mind swims.  Originally, you thought this process could be used as a threat, or as a last resort for when conventional methods proved difficult or unsuccessful, but now you're not so sure.  It seems a waste not to utilize its efficiency.

But on whom?