Corruption Shorts 4: Miranda Lawson, Perfection or Degradation? (Patreon)

The final corruption short comes in and it is a doozy! I hope everyone enjoyed this little experiment. I will be working on thinking up some options for the next shorts theme. Next week I will put it up for a vote!

Music thumped and hummed through the Afterlife club. Aliens and humans of all shapes and sizes danced to the music. Omega was a place of freedom and Afterlife was the sexual and hedonistic personification of that. The club was rife with drug use and lascivious acts done in broad sight. There were almost no rules, save for the obvious stipulations against murder and personal injury. Even those rules could be overcome with enough money. At the head of the club, watching it all sat Aria T’Loak. The violet skinned, sharp eyed Asari lounged on a couch sipping expensive booze and taking hits from an exotic hookah pip full of narcotic incense. She smiled, reveling in the success of the rebuild of Omega. Going from full Cerberus occupation all the way to becoming the most free, debauched holding in all of space in under five years was quite the accomplishment. Of course, Aria had other accomplishments to be proud of. She turned, looking sidelong at her other conquest: Miranda Lawson.

“Mmmpgghp. . .oh.. .thisch. . .isch. . .heaf-enly.” Miranda said as she finished her latest dish. It was a cheesy, oily, clotted mess of meat and other ingredients. There was extreme incongruity between the price of the ingredients and the final result. Sloppy to the point of almost being inedible, the food could only be eaten by a woman like Miranda. She herself was incongruous. A specimen of perfect breeding and genetic manipulation reduced to an immobile pig slurping out of a handheld trough. The Miranda Lawson of the current moment was so vastly different from the cold, calculating woman that had come before one could hardly believe that they were the same person. Miranda turned towards Aria, putting her plate down, and belched. “LLLUUURRRRAAAAPP. . .God. . .my complimentsch. . .UURRRPP. . .to tha. . .chef.” Food ran and dribbled down her chins, mixing with the running sweat and body oils. The heat of the dance club only heightened her internal, fat enhanced body heat to make her sweat constantly. Her perfect skin, what wasn’t already covered by food stains, glowed with excess moisture. She let the bowl fall, trapping itself between her massive and nearly uncovered breasts. Food spilled out, dripping onto boulder-belly.

“Enjoy yourself?” Aria raised an eyebrow and curved one side of her mouth into a smile. She looked at Miranda with the same eyes a wolf would look at a plump and unguarded pig with. While Miranda had left Cerberus long ago, Aria couldn’t help but see the genetically perfect woman’s degradation as the final stroke of revenge. Heaped on a floating platform, Miranda spread her heaving bulk out in all directions. Thick, useless fingers poked and prodded various instruments on the handrests. From her control panels she could adjust the various pleasure instruments that were built into the chair. Otherwise, Miranda could do little herself now. A fat, many chinned face dribbled down onto a heaving chest. Her breasts, bigger than soccer balls twice over, rested to either side of a gut that needed its own special cranes and lifting implements to heft. Fat, tree trunk thighs held her stomach up and slowly gave way to fat fee with sausage toes. Aria did have to admit that Miranda’s perfection shone through even when it came to her obesity. Her gain had been wonderfully symmetrical, with no part of her left over or under developed. She was the complete picture of moral and health degradation.

“Moscht. . .bbbllurraaaap. . .asschuredly.” Miranda slapped the sides of her gut with her hands, sending slow and thick ripples through her body. She let her fat hands slide down back onto her control panels. Working through the mounting grease on the panels, the black haired woman turned on the various massage and vibrating panels. Pleasure radiated through her.

“I’m so glad to hear.” Aria slid along the couch, coming to her precious pig’s side. “Perhaps we go to the private room now?” She wanted to catch Miranda before the impending food coma took her.

“That. . .would be. . .good.” Miranda wheezed. She pushed the plate of food from between her breasts, letting it slip and fall and crash onto the dance floor. Some lesser peon would clean it up for her. Perfection such as her didn’t bother with mindless cleaning.

“Let’s go then.” Aria smiled, taking her lady’s hand. She barely had to tug to get the hover platform to move. In a strange way, it was like Miranda weighed nothing at all. “The new girls have been dying to meet you.”

---

“You stink, but I love it.” One young Asari dancer said as she leaned over and took a line off of Miranda. The powdery substance, something a crazed Salarian had come up with in an apartment lab. The girl wasn’t sure what hit harder, the drugs or Miranda’s stench. The immense woman smiled through her alcohol induced stupor. Compliments and insults held equal measure to her. Any reminder of how fat, sweaty, or smelly she was turned her on. Turns out that genetic perfection meant that all of the body’s systems work better. She could gain weight faster, eat more, and smell up a room easier than any normally bred person. She was perfection that had been rolled and drug through the ass end of the universe.

“You. . .UURRRP. . .think thatsch bad?” She struggled for a moment, lifting a heavy arm. Sweat and body odor poured out. “Thuh. . .belly stink. . .isch nothing.” Tired within seconds, she dropped her arm. The ripples of her fat made the neat lines of uppers a disordered mess. The other Asari dancers and prostitutes using her whined and complained about the money lost. Miranda laughed, her chins bouncing. It was supremely sexually satisfying for Miranda to know that weeks of pay went into the drugs she had just spilled carelessly. Needless to say, she was having the time of her life ruining the perfection she had been blessed with as well as her reputation. Years of living up to other people’s unlivable expectations had led her to this point, and she intended to make the most of the spiral.

“No whining, girls!” Aria was quick to step in. As she had done a thousand other times, she would coddle Miranda’s ego; making it inflate to sizes that rivaled her body. “You should consider it a blessing you even get to party with me and. . .” She leaned down to kiss and suck at Miranda’s sloppy neck folds. “. . .Miss Perfect. It’s an elite club.” The murmurs died out, replaced quickly with the sounds of inebriated enjoyment. It was easy to forget the thousands of dollars of wasted substances when you already had the same dodgy substances coursing through the body. The party of merry makers were in a portion of the Afterlife club shut away from the main party. It was a simple room, with only dancer poles and fluffy couches. Girls spent their time fondling Miranda, dancing, and doing any other degenerate act they could think of. Miranda was too fat to do anything except receive pleasure, but she did that with an expert’s touch.

“You. . .letsch. . .get. . .UURRP. . .down there.” Miranda inclined her head to the Asari that compliment her unique odor. Further, she slapped what she could reach of her gigantic stomach. The message was taken instantly. The quick, clever, sexy woman winked at Miranda and slipped down her gut, doing her best to hoist her massive gut. Smell and sweat issued out like a Biblical flood as Miranda’s stomach was lifted up. Yet, the inebriated Asari was more than happy to work her way between her benefactor’s massive thighs. “Aaahh. . .oohh yesch. . .further.” Miranda quickly lost herself to sexual indulgence. Her pussy was wet, flooding with desire as the Asari worked her mouth over it. The immobile woman kicked her legs, bucking as best she could given her lack of mobility. Her tongue lolled out, tasting sweat and oil.

Aria watched it all with pride. Miranda had fallen so far and had even further to fall. It was amazing to think that the degradation had started with a simple drink and a chance meeting.