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

"800 seems like a good round number, don't you think?" you ask, turning off the machine.

Eva says nothing.  You're not surprised.  Apart from some panic-induced pidgin English when you hooked her up to your device, she's been silent throughout the ordeal.  Much more surprising are her vitals.   Even at 800 pounds her breathing and blood pressure are normal.  Whether that's due to a lifetime of training or a product of your feeding machine's efficiency is something that merits further study.

Although her vitals remain rock-steady, Eva's body is less rock and more rolls.  Its expansion today was fascinating.  You didn't expect it to be, especially since Tina's time on the machine was so tedious.  If anything, you expected it to be even more monotonous since Eva was already grotesquely obese.  With so many rolls and folds, however, there was always something happening.  A fat roll would raise, then collapse under its own weight, burying another beneath while Eva's skin puckered under pressure, dimpling and smoothing, ebbing and flowing, as it spread across the table.  It was like watching the formation of a landmass...or a land mess in Eva's case.

Recalling your struggles getting Eva down the hall at 0600 (pounds and hours), you elicit Tina's help for the return journey.  Despite being 300+ pounds herself, it's shocking how small she looks beside Eva.  Tina's figure is round and pleasingly symmetrical, while Eva barely looks human.  Only her head, which looks like a doll's jammed into a giant lump of clay, retains its humanity.  The rest of the svelte double-agent has been lost under layers of lard.  You know she's buried in there somewhere, but you also know, at 800 pounds, her fabulous figure--which once turned heads and toppled governments--will never emerge from its fatty cocoon.  From now on, the only thing it will turn is stomachs.  The only thing it will topple is tables.

Tina's face says it all--

Thank God that isn't me.

It takes an hour to return Eva to her chamber.  Remarkably, the gurney doesn't collapse, though you don't dare test its hydraulics.   Instead, you maneuver Eva on and off the stretcher by hand, grabbing and groping wherever you can.  You feel like a zoo worker transporting a tranquilized whale or elephant calf.

As you give Eva's blubbery beached whale body a final push onto her bed, you promise yourself that if she ever goes on the machine again it will be the last time.

"I need to talk to you," Tina huffs.  It's the most exercise she's had since your tête-à-tête in the courtyard.  "Upstairs."

"Later.  I want to have a little fun with Agent Triple-XL first."

"What have you been doing all day then?"

"Prep work."

"This can't wait."

There’s urgency in Tina’s voice, but this is the first she’s mentioned needing to speak with you. You doubt another 15-20 minutes will make a difference.

What do you do?