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

"Only if you eat them all."

Tina frowns.  "Fine," she says, huffing to the kitchen for another donut box.  "Play with your new toy."

You face Bernadette.  Her shoulders are slumped and her eyes are downturned to the floor--assuming she can see it beyond her ridiculously distended belly.  It's smaller than Tina's, of course, but the relative svelteness of her frame makes it look freakish.

Stepping closer, you lift Bernadette's chin with your hand until her blue eyes meet yours.  A velvety waddle of flesh grows between her neck and her dimpled chin. Diddling it with your finger, you wonder how many more caloric deluges it will take before it's drooping like a water droplet beneath a sill.

Bernadette smiles, mistaking your tickle for one of genuine affection.  "Thank you," she whispers.

"For what?"

"One more bite and I would've burst,"

Your decision to suspend Bernadette's feast was less about mercy than practicality--as thin as the ice you're on with the local authorities is, the last thing you need is a trip to the hospital for a stomach hemorrhage--but you smile nevertheless.  "It will get easier," you say.   "We just need to get you in better shape."

As if on cue, Tina waddles back with a Fred's Breads' box and plops on a barstool.  It vanishes beneath her girth and her fattened figure appears to float...save for gravity's tug on her hips and belly, which dangle over the edge of her unseen plinth like softened clay.  The corpulent concubine lays the box in what's left of her lap, opens it, picks a doughy ring, then crams it in her gapping maw with an overly demonstrative, "MMMMMMM."

A shudder shoots through Bernadette.  Apparently, it took the sight of your hovering heifer for the pretty librarian to finally realize the gravity of her situation.

You hug the shivering blonde, though it's more to measure her progress than to offer comfort.  As you ply the doughy flesh of her back, she buries her face into your shoulder and her breasts melt against your chest like butter on a griddle.  The only firmness you detect on her flabby figure is her overstuffed stomach, which tickles against a stiff bulge of your own.

Just as you're imagining Bernadette's balloon-like belly popping with your prick, a wail in your ear turns your head.  Pivoting, you find Tina clutching her throat.  Her eyes are wide and her face is crimson.  She staggers off the stool, sending the Fred's Breads' box sliding from her lap and crashing to the floor.   A donut wobbles woundedly away from the accident only to be crushed in an adipose avalanche as Tina collapses.

Bernadette screams again and races for the front door.  She moves fast considering her size and sedentary lifestyle.

Tina isn't moving at all.  She's face-first on the floor.

What do you do?