December Prompt: Jalelle's Corruption (Patreon)

Tags: Weight gain to immobility , Fit to Fat, personality change, light sexual tones, corruption.

Prompt number one is done! Hope you all enjoy this. I would love to do more with this little universe in the future.

Jalelle Amir looked at the plate in front of her, wincing internally. It was laden with slices of pizza which dripped and oozed grease and cheese onto the plate. Thick pepperoni slices floated atop bubbling cheese whilst boulders of sausage rested in between. It was food industry cancer pressed into the shape of a triangle. It couldn’t even keep much of its form, bloating outward as the heat expanded the cheese. Jalelle nudged the pizza with a fork, she was surprised that it did not belch in response to her touch. It had come from a pizzeria that specialized in “challenge meals”. What they served was not meant for the average person. Instead, they served food destined for tv shows, YouTube challenges, and content farm TikToks. It was the kind of food that was seen in short videos, but never in public. Now, however, Jalelle was tasked with eating it. She looked down at the slop on the plate and then up at the cellphone camera on the other side of the table. She took her breath in and then sighed it out. It was time to start the circus.

“Hello everyone, I’m Jalelle Amir from Posh Fitness, and I’m about to eat this. . .food?” While snobby in tone, Jalelle did also question if what she was about to eat could rightly be called food. Over the past 10 years as a fitness influencer, nothing less lean than chicken breast had passed through her mouth. Her meals were expensive, but that expense all went to the purity and presentation. Her olive skin glowed from the vitamins brought through imported foods and healthy doses of sun exposure. Her body and curves had first been sculpted by God and then improved by scientifically enhanced workouts. Her body was athletic and had obvious muscle, but not to the point where she looked mannish or broad. Rather, her muscles only enhanced her curves. Jalelle boasted no dominant area, instead having a body that excelled in all areas. She had an ass that filled out any pair of leggings and breasts that were above average in size. Her face was defined, but not emaciated or hawkish. Her clothes seemed painted on, moving with the sinuous motions of her body. Yet, it was not only her physical characteristics that shined.

Jalelle had studied for years at Russell Group Universities to understand nutrition, muscle growth, and body sculpting. Through rigorous training and the latest research the Arabic woman had perfected her body. She had taken herself on as a project and had succeeded in elevating it above the rest of common humanity. To further her own ends, she dispersed nuggets of that knowledge through social media accounts. Without being entirely narcissistic, the Persian born but British educated woman took strange joy in knowing none of her followers could ever surpass her. This experiment would be the ultimate proof of that.

“I shall endeavor to gain 30 pounds, then lose it in order to prove the efficacy of my new weight loss plans.” Jalelle tried to look anything other than miserable as she spoke. The idea of ruining her monument to perfection in the name of selling extra weight loss plans was repulsive. She had launched into a bitter tirade the second her manager, Cynthea, had suggested the plan. It had taken months of bitter arguing and tantrums from Cynthea to convince Jalelle. Even now, Jalelle could not come up with a convincing reason for what she was doing. It seemed wrong from every angle. The feeling of wrongness only enhanced as she started to lift the piece of pizza.

The greasy bread warped around her fingers just as molten streams of cheese sludge dripped around the edge of her fingers. Splatters of sauce landed on the plate with little dots even landing upon her leggings. Jalelle gulped as the pizza came closer and closer to her mouth. There was no turning back now. The video was being streamed to her several million followers. She had been doomed as soon as the camera had been turned on and the livestream started. The world would call her a coward if she stopped, that she was selling products that she had no faith in. The choice was a bitter one: ruin her body or her career. Jalelle, chose the former. She bit into the pizza. Her tongue wrapped around the bread, cheese, meats, and sauce; trying to make sense of the flavors presented to her. She chewed, still holding the slice. Her body was unused to such wretchedly prepared food, having been treated like a high performance vehicle for a decade. Now, for as long as it took for her to gain those 30 pounds, it would have to be used to being treated like a garbage truck. Jalelle swallowed, the bite landing with a thud that seemed to reach down to the depths of the earth. She took another bite and chewed.

Trying to eat the messy food with as much grace as she could afford, Jalelle continued to pack the food away. Her stomach bloated quickly, unable to process what was effectively metabolic poison. After five bites much of the pizza was gone and Jalelle was feeling woozy. A combination of the high carbs and heaviness of the food was getting to her. She slipped down in her chair, picking at her high waisted leggings. Needing a break from the food, she offered her thoughts. “I have to admit. . .the taste isn’t bad.”

--- Further Than Planned ---

“Darling, darling, what a change this is!” Cynthea gushed as she trotted into the room. Cynthea was the outcome of Hungarian immigration and California cash marinating in internet stardom. She talked like Zsa Zsa Gabor, had bought her way into a talent management firm, and dressed like Kesha. She was as ridiculous a spectacle as the current year could provide the internet, but somehow managed to bring talent and success with her. The ability to read pop culture trends combined with undiagnosed psychopathy had made her a sought after agent. Though her coke-skinny frame was weighed down with jewelry and gallons of glitter, she was able to move through L.A like a shark. She approached Jalelle with arms outstretched, showing arms that had not an ounce of fat on them. “I’m in rehab for a month and I return to a cow? 30 pounds was our target.” Cynthea spoke with exaggerated gesticulations, her mouth pulled into a wide smile.

“Hardly. . .mmgghph. . .over.” Jalelle huffed from the sofa she rested upon. She wore dress pants with a white and gray argyle pattern and a light sweater as a top. Her outfits were always tight, but this particular set of fabric looked fit to burst under the weight and pressure of Jalelle’s new poundage. A large gut now flopped out, pushing the thin cashmere sweater out of the way with ease. Her thighs had thickened and any sort of muscle definition had been hidden under the fresh fall of new fat. Jalellel sat on the couch holding a burger that had been sent from a meal delivery service, about to take another bite. Condiments dripped from the burger, falling onto the formerly pristine sweater. Jalellel bit in with gusto, chubby cheeks wrapping around double stacked meat patties. A torrent of ketchup and mayonnaise flooded out around her fingers. “Iscch. . .mgghgph. . .maybe forty pounds.” Jalellel continued the conversation by swallowing the bite without chewing. Her amber eyes lit up as she felt the feeling of fullness creeping up again. It was getting harder to feel full, thus making the sensation all the more worth it.

“Over is over, dear!” Cynthea sashayed her way over to the couch and sat on one of the unoccupied seats. The Hollywood manager hardly filled half of her pillow, whilst the chubby fitness expert more than filled her own. Cynthea leaned over and gave hummingbird-quick pats on the wobbling belly. “And you are most certainly too far over!” Cynthea said it with a smile, sensing something in the air. The blonde was feeling the pull of fate, though she could not quite tell in which direction. She could only tell that her posh, respectable client was enjoying the challenge that had been presented to her. “I’m surprised you could do it, darling. You were so against it at the start.” Cynthea leaned over, sliding an arm over Jalelle’s shoulder. The other woman continued eating, far more focused on her food than the conversation with Cynthea.

Jalelle felt only the desire to eat. Truthfully, she had enjoyed each bite of junk food with increasing glee. The taste, the texture, and the sinfulness of it pushed her further. There was an intoxicating feeling of tarnishing her body. She knew that every pound gained would make the subsequent loss even more glorious. Jalelle had originally built her physique from a neutral starting point. This time, however, she would pull her statuesque figure from the muck and mire. It would be like obtaining a lost Michelangelo carving from the bottom of a swamp. Jalelle finished the burger, wolfing down the final bites in a flurry of activity. Her stomach bounced up and down, shaking with her movements. Jalellel’s digestive system still had not adapted to the grease and each binge put her in a state close to drunkenness. When she looked at Cynthea, she looked with half lidded eyes. “I was. . .” Jalelle put a hand up to stifle a belch. “. . .under the impression that your people liked hyperbole.” Gluttony had done little to obfuscate her polished upbringing. “I was thinking about turning my life into a farce, just for the cameras and just for a while.”

Cynthea grinned wickedly, again feeling the tug of fate upon her heart strings. She had originally chosen 30 pounds as a benchmark that was easy to hit. Any trainer worth their salt could lose that kind of weight, especially with a history as exemplary as Jalelle’s. However, losing any amount above 40 would be a challenge. It was not an advertising gimmick at that point, it was a full on publicity stunt. The gears of promotion and attention worked away in Cynthea’s head and a thousand newslines were already written. “Oooooh, do you think you can do this?” Cynthea put her hands to Jalelle’s cheeks in a display of fake concern. “Darling, I couldn’t LIVE with myself if you lost that figure for good. Please, swear to me you can do this!” Cynthea spoke with her words drenched in drama and a Hungarian accent.

“Of. . .courscchee.” Jalelle said through blimped out cheeks. Her lips puckered, plump and flecked with grains of salt. “A schimple. . .elementary. . .undertaking.” The Persian woman put the words out slowly, enjoying the feeling of her chubby cheeks rubbing on Cynthea’s hands. Their angular, defined nature had been hidden underneath little coverings of plump plush. She almost looked forward to the forthcoming double chin making an appearance.

“Woooonderful!” Cynthea let her client’s cheeks drop. “A life of decadence for the mistress of fitness.” She elbowed the woman. “I shall draft up your story this evening. Indulgence gone too far, riding on the edge of losing what made her special. Darling, you shall be a work of modern art this year!” Hearing the words, Jalelle smiled. A few more months of indulgence followed by reclaiming her former glory sounded lovely.

--- Lightweight ---

The club thumped with excessive bass. Speakers pumped out the kind of music that had no artist name attached. It existed to coax drunks onto the dance floor with one another. Most people felt the bass in their chests, Jalelle felt it in her ass. With each pump of the gigantic subwoofers, the Persian influencer’s butt bounced. Her indulgence and Cynthea’s readiness to abuse it for media gains had continued well. Those extra forty pounds had doubled, remaking Jalelle entirely. Her graceful, athletic curves had become grossly distorted. Their existence was obscene, having become monuments to sexuality. Jalelle before had been a walking art piece, something that was as stimulating to the mind as it was to a person’s lust. Now, however, Jalelle was an object of raw sexuality. She exploded out of her body suit and low riding jeans, leaking fat in all directions. Each step coaxed a bounty of ripples from each of her assets. Her breasts clashed with each other for space whilst her buttcheeks wobbled. Jalelle had hovered around 160 lbs before, the ideal weight for any athletic woman. Now, thanks to her weight gain, she had pushed closer to 240 lbs. As she walked through the club, comparing her body with other young people, she felt even larger. It was intoxicating.

Jalelle walked through the club until she found Cynthea. The other woman was at the bar, a host of empty glasses already behind her. There were two opened beers on the counter. Jalelle was disappointed that there was no food. She slid onto a stool next to the blonde substance abuser and her manager, filling it easily with her large butt. “Can’t we go somewhere with food?” Jalelle asked, yelling above the noise of the constant party.

“There’s more than one way to fatten a cat, darling!” Cynthea leaned over and gave Jalelle’s butt a hearty slap and deep massage. Jalelle sucked in air as she felt the other woman tug down her jeans even more, revealing where her bodysuit turned into a thong. Putting herself on display like this was wrong and counter to everything she had stood for previously, but she didn’t care. Exposure was the name of the game. She was going to flaunt her excessive weight gain and disturbing slide into obesity. She was a slab of tanned blubber to be gossiped about. Before the inevitable return to fit glory. “This is the time to drrrriiiiiiink your calories, honey!” Cynthea pushed both beers towards Jalelle. “Especially in the middle of the dance floor.” She hinted, knowing exactly how to turn a woman into a spectacle.

The Persian woman shrugged and took the beer. The goal of the night was to cause a scene, interrupt the influencer news cycle, and get eye’s on Jalelle’s transformation. She could live with getting food later. “You owe me food though!” she called back, not above working her own angle. All she got from Cynthea was another smack on her ample ass, pushing her towards the dance floor. Jalelle trotted forward, moving quickly under the force of the push. Beer sloshed from the bottles, spilling on her arms. Rolling with the punches, she immediately slurped the alcoholic fluid off her wrist. She continued the slurp in a sensual gesture, moving up onto the bottle. The taste was bitter, Jalelle had started the experiment knowing almost nothing about beer, thought that knowledge would expand quickly. She sucked and slurped on the bottle, filling her sagging gut with the beverage. The acrid taste was easier to overlook as the other, more notable effects took over. Jalelle began to dance, the beer bottles as her partners.

Jalelle worked to find the dance moves that would show off her fat the most while still allowing her to drink. She kissed her bottles and started to gyrate her hips. Her butt bounced back and forth, enough heft to spin it in circles. The bodysuit she had on, nearly the same color as her olive skin, was drug deeper between her asscheeks. Pointed, excited nipples pressed their way into the thin sheet of fabric. Her breasts shook, held in check only by the tension caused by the tight suit. Jalelle knew her navel was pressing visibly into her clothes, showing off how deep it had gotten. To show it off more, she put both drinks in her mouth and upended them. Beer spilled into her mouth faster than she could reasonably suck it down. She spluttered a little, foam and suds leaking from the corner of her mouth. Her gut grew heavy, a combination of her quaffing beer as well as becoming drunk. The world started to slow, spinning slightly. She danced on, holding two empty beers.

“JALELLE AMIR!” Cynthea shouted, trying to get attention drawn to her. She slunk through the crowd of social guppies with ease. She was small, but moved with a predator’s ease through the crowd. Her hands were full with more drinks. “I haaaave your beer! You wanted more!” She said, not caring who was listening. Cellphones and gossip blogs had turned everyone into reporters. She only had to catch the interest of a few people to get her newest spin onto the market. Jalelle Amir, giving into vice at the cost of perfection. This and the following redemption arc were to be her masterpiece of marketing. She gave the first one to Jalelle, who promptly guzzled it down. Cynthea had been a lifelong substance abuser and party girl, and even she could not work a beer down as fast as Jalelle. Putting anything in front of the Persian woman was an invitation for her to guzzle, slurp, or otherwise glut it down. She finished the beer and smiled goofily. Cynthea handed the other two over, swapping for the empty bottles. Jalelle took the fresh beers. Even though she said she would slow down, Cynthea could tell she would drink them even faster than the other. Cynthea was pleased and scampered off to find more beer.

Jalelle, meanwhile, returned to her dancing. Her gut was turning rock hard now, sloshing with the liquid within. The constant intake of beer and dancing were bad combinations, making her dizzy and slow. She clumsily lifted one of the bottles, slurping messily. Beer leaked down her chubby face, pooling between her breasts. Feeling very distant with her sense of self, she tried to lap the beer out of her tits; only spilling more in the process. She giggled, losing focus of where she was and what she should be doing. Cheap liquor rained down on her body as she made a mess of things. The gulps she took grew bigger and bigger, with her needing to lean back in order to accommodate. Her stuffed gut shook against the confines of her bodysuit, threatening to rip the stretch fabric down the middle. There was a circle of taut belly in a sea of drooping fat, making the areas where her stomach melted into extra adipose. Jalelle finished th two bottles, smiling broader than ever. She knew that attention had to be coming her way, that the plan would be furthered. “Cynthea. . . OOOOORRRRRUUUP. . .more beer.” Jalelle belched acidentally as she called for her manager. She rested an arm on her gut, proud of the work she had done that evening. Jalelle might be a lightweight when it came to booze, but that was quickly changing. Soon there would be no aspect of her life where she was a lightweight.

--- Trash TV and Food ---

“Ooooooh! It’s on! It’s on!” Cynthea ran into the room, having pulled into Jalelle’s driveway seconds before. Her blonde hair whirled about a jacket that had been designed to look intentionally ratty. Her eye shadow was typically garish and glittered. Her mascara ran down her face from tears of joy. “New report about a certain somebody!” She grabbed the remote and flicked to one of the gossip channels. A stereotypically blonde and vapid anchor was just injuring the story. Her lips formed the words “fitness influencer” and “off the rails” whilst a picture of Jalelle flashed across the screen. It was of Jalelle standing up from a meal at a McDonald’s, her sweats ripping down the middle to expose a naked and dimpled set of buttcheeks. The fitness influencer turned hog did not look the least bit sorry. The picture was then followed by recordings of Jalelle at various dance clubs and hang out spots. In the recordings, a 400 pound Jalelle was quaffing alcohol, stuffing her face with whatever food was on offer, and flirting with anyone within arm’s reach. The videos revealed a woman that had not slowed down, instead accelerating into a new and disastrous lifestyle. Cynthea looked at the Jalelle and then back and the screen. While the videos and photos captured the truth of things, they were also horribly outdated.

“Ooohmmpph. . .well. . .mmmghp. . .fuck. . .OOORRRUUP. . .me.” Jalelle said, her eyes focused elsewhere. A slim woman, some bimbo met on her latest clubbing adventure, held a plate of food. Jalelle dove face first into the platter, eating with only her mouth. Jalelle and her most recent mate laughed through the feeding, both clearly intoxicated. The meal was Chinese takeout, enough to feed a family of 7. It had all been piled haphazardly on three different plates, with only the speed of delivery into Jalelle’s mouth being taken into consideration. The morbidly obese Persian woman fell on the food, splattering the couch, her lover, and her own body with noodles and soy sauce. 560 pounds of tanned blubber undulated as she ate. Without breaking her feast, Jalelle moved on the couch. Her movements were sowlike as she adjusted her body. One knee drove into the couch cushions and the other planted itself for stability on the ground. Jalelle at like she was making love to the couch, woman, and food all at the same time. Breasts too big for store bought bras drug upon the cushion along with a single-fold monstrosity of a gut. Her wall of ass fat, easily able to fill a park bench, wobbled inches away from Cynthea’s face. “BLLLEEERRRUUP. . .mmmgghp. . .lemme at thissch. . .schlop.” Jalelle spoke between bites, hyping herself up for more gluttony.

Cynthea palmed one of buttcheeks jiggling inches away from her face. She could see the faintest hint of panites within the cavernous asscrack, with the waistband hidden under back folds and love handles. Cynthea stood, mulling things over in her head. “You know, we should probably begin your. . .rehabilitation soon, love.” She slid her thin hand along her Persian client’s body, fingering the odd roll or two. “We have trapped your soul in this flesh prison. Time to plan the escape!” She knelt down beside Jalelle, snapping a quick picture for the sake of future publicity. Jalelle turned her face, smiling and showing jowls that were covered in sesame seeds, rice, and a myriad of sauces.

“Escape?” She laughed, laying down onto her side. The supports of the couch made contact with the ground as Jalelle’s full weight was put down. “Not. . .BBLLOOORRRUUP. . .gonna happen. . .bitch. . .hoooorrrup. . .I’m staying fat.” Jalelle spoke, her posh accent clashing with her vulgar turns of phrases. Months of clubbing, drinking, and watching gossip channels had warped her sense of self. There was no posh, dedicated, active woman for Jalelle to return to. Rather, there was a rude hedonist in her place; bent on gluttony and lust only. “I’m free of all that shit. Now it’s only Jalelle. . .and Jalelle’s latest fling that matters.” She reached a plump had around her lover, squeezing and fondling her small ass deeply. The other woman giggled and Jalelle rumbled in response.

“What. . .what about our plan?” Cynthea asked, seeing money burn up before her eyes. “The work out plans!”

“Pfff. . .they still work. I just fucking don’t.” The dismissal came extra harsh due to her British accent. Jalelle continued to squeeze the other woman’s ass. She flapped a hand towards her own heated sex, but could not get it past her gut. She gave up, knowing her acquired floozy would do that for her later. The gap in sexual gratification gave Jalelle time to think. Her mind turned, swirling together thoughts of her past, future, and her need for greed. Whatever her current disposition, she was no less sharp than she had been 400 or 500 pounds ago. The tanned behemoth arrived at a wicked idea, one that might please both her and Cynthea. “BLLLRRRRUUUUP. . .wanna still make money?” She put the question out, knowing Cynthea would bite. Cynthea leaned back and allowed Jalelle’s food stained bulk to loom over her. The big woman put her face to Cynthea’s ear, chins flapping as she spoke. Cynthea grew more excited as the plan was explained to her. Finally, she could no longer contain her thoughts.

“Magnificent!” She kissed Jalelle, burying her slim face in the fatter woman’s lips. She pulled away, visibly shaking with the thought of future opportunities. “I shall make the arrangements for you, Darling.” She patted the greasy woman’s face. “You just keep growing in the meantime.”

--- Grease On The Red Carpet ---

“Didn’t know. . .OOORRUP. . .I was getting. . .succh a babe. . .tonight.” Jalelle wheezed as her date for the banquet walked her into the building. The two seemingly could not be more opposite. Her date was Ji Chung, a fitness influencer that had recently moved from Korea. She was slender, tall, and more than a little muscular. She was a crossfit athlete that had retired and taken up general fitness. The red dress she wore was well tailored to her curves, enhancing her thick thighs whilst taking away from her small bust. The open back of the dress revealed the sinewy muscles rippling across her back, perhaps only part of her that was not feminine in nature. Yet, considering she was at a fitness award show, muscles were to be expected. Many people there had physiques on par or surpassing Ji’s. No one at the event looked like Jalelle.

“Waddyou say. . .OOOLLLUUUP. . .about a little. . .uuuggh. . .early leave?” Jalelle leaned over in her mobility device, wrapping a log like arm around Ji’s waist. Given the motorized bed that now had to haul her around, Jalelle was now the closest she had ever been to matching the description of a car accident. The months of arranging and string pulling from Cynthea to enact Jalelle’s plan had allowed the fatter woman time to continue her scandalous bulking. She had become a literal blob, an immobile pile of fat sustained by greasy food, booze, and mobility implements. She too wore a dress like Ji’s, though it was bursting at the seams. Breasts that were the size of watermelons lay indolently atop her hillock gut. Finger’s so fat that they had lost range of motion thumbed at the controls to her rolling mattress. Below her, a sofa’s worth of ass fat sloshed back and forth. Rumors had circulated about the state of Jalelle’s body and her state of mind, her appearance at the event had shown them all to be inadequate. She was fatter and more indolent than ever before, her body and mind bent only towards instinctive pleasure seeking. “Lemme. . .mmmmhmm. . .show you my favorite. . .exercises.” Jalelle purred, one fat hand rubbing a breast thrice as large as a human head.

“I was given very strict instruction by my agency.” Ji said, her voice heavily accented but pretty. “I shall escort you through this event and then we will begin work on you losing weight.” Ji’s arm sank into fat broadened shoulders, wider than many of the men in attendance. Jalelle had quadrupled in size, bloating up to impossible proportions. As the pair moved into the gala, their bodies could again be contrasted. Ji moved with a panther’s strength and a gazelle’s grace. Though pawed at by her lusty date and weighed down by sweaty bulk, the Korean woman was still able to walk without sacrificing her dignity. Jalelle, meanwhile, had eaten her dignity and pride long ago. She pushed her bed forward, doing little other than slobbering over her date’s body and wishing for drinks and food to be served. Her vast acreage of fat shifted and slid back and forth. Her breasts rolled like loosely tied barrels on a ship. Entire rolls of tape had been used to anchor them, though they threatened to break free at any moment. “I am new to this community, please do not make this embarrassing.” Ji asked, her demeanor polite but not entirely icy.

“The only. . .embarrasment. . .ish. . .you not rolling. . .in style.” Jalelle wheezed. Ji’s body combined with her severe politeness only further inflamed the glutton’s boundless lust. She was used to bar trash and rave girls desperate to throw themselves at anyone with a modicum of fame. This was the first time in a while that Jalelle had been forced to work at something. Further, she was in no way guaranteed success. The night would end at some point, with no promises of Ji ending up in the triple wide bed that Jalelle now slept in. “Wanna take a ride. . .ooorruup. . .on the express?” Jalelle slapped her gut and thighs. She could not help fantasizing about having the thinner, fit woman riding on her lap as they entered the gala. Her thin but well shaped ass would sink into Jalelle’s swampy bulk, wedging itself deeper with every shift. “Gimmie. . .BLOOORRUP. . .some motivation.” Jalelle grinned, trying to catch Ji’s eyes. A lock of caramel hair fell over her flabby face.

“I will give you such motivation as would be appropriate for the situation.” Ji pushed the lock of hair back into place and patted Jalelle’s shoulder. “I have agreed to be your date and your trainer. I will do a good job, but nothing more.” She tapped Jalelle’s shoulder. The two continued into the gala. Though put in her place, Jalelle had not given up yet.

----

“Gonna. . .finiscch that?” Jalelle asked, tapping a plump finger next to Ji’s plate. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled it over to her side. Despite her insistence, the meal was hardly appetizing. As to be expected for a gala in honor for fitness, the food was little more than well roasted chickens and potatoes. There was none of the delectable grease, salt, and sugar that Jalelle had come to depend on so thoroughly. She grabbed one of the chicken legs, savaging it with her mouth. Skin and meat pulled straight from the bone were sucked into her puckered lips. Jalelle ate with her entire body. Her gut pushed against the dress. Even though it was not filled, it had more than enough mass to wreak destructive havoc on the sparkly fabric. Her paunch was a meaty slab, marinated by sweat. It bore down on the dress with malicious intent, forcing the already low cut thing even further apart. Jalelle would be undressed by the end of the night, by conscious action or not. She, however, cared only for the food and Ji. “Trussscht. . .mmgghp. . .me. . .I’m doing you. . .oooorrruuup. . .a favor.” She took another huge bite and washed it down with a full glass of wine. “They might. . .BBBBLLUUURRUP. . .fuck me. . .have served. . .chicken and rice.” Jalelle was surprised to hear a small laugh in return.

“I think it is only you who expected something different, Miss Amir.” Ji smiled, the lighting of the room catching her bright smile and lustrous black hair. “They might have a space on the RSVP to mark bulking and cutting.”

“Sssccchhlllurrrrup! I’d. . .uuuggh. . .have to mark. . .that one. . .twice.” Jalelle slurped down Ji’s wine glass as well. She could feel stares of hate from the tables around where they had been seated. Now a pariah within a community she had once been respected in, Jalelle had gotten a table to herself. She was only sad because that meant less food to mooch off of.

“Perhaps three times.” Ji said, her tone inscrutable behind her accent and politeness. “I suppose I would also have to mark myself as bulking for you.”

“As if.” Jalelle snorted. “I like my women small and fit.” A greasy, wine stained hand reached over to massage Ji’s thigh. “Just about your size, come to think of it.” She rumbled, speaking from a place deeper than her gut. Her heart beat quickly, making her gigantic breasts shake even more noticeably. With her dress pulling apart, her overgrown tits were now free to shine in the light. Sweat was illuminated from the spotlights, competing with the sequins and costume jewelry on her dress. Despite the banter, she was denied once more. Ji calmly grabbed Jalelle’s wrist. She moved it back over to Jalelle’s lap, though not before interlocking fingers. Ji squeezed for a moment, though the expression on her face did not change. Jalelle at least had to admire her professionalism. Ji would treat the date as romantically as she could, though only within the bounds of her agreement. Watching the fit woman walk the line only made Jalelle more impassioned.

---

Jalelle felt sweat run in rivers down her body as she rolled towards the edge of the curtain. It was time for the crowning moment of the night. Her announcement. It had been her ticket into the event. She was to address and promise to rectify her behavior. It would be a repudiation of every thing she had become since her fall from grace. She would get on her hands and knees before the fitness community and beg them for forgiveness. None would give it, she knew that already, but it would at least get more attention and headlines. Enlisting Ji as her personal trainer and dietician would be yet another play at maintaining relevance within the culture. A young, fresh influencer to help one that had become washed up in the middle of her prime. There was some grand narrative thread for the media to weave. Granted, that thread would also be woven through the tireless work of Cynthea. Within the concocted narrative, Jalelle had the easiest job of all. She only had to make this speech and then do what was asked of her. The speech would be the easiest part. Managing to get her mobility cart out to the microphone was the only difficult part.

“Gimmie a little. . .BBBLLUURRRUUP. . .kiss for. . .for. . .luck or. . .some shit?” Jalelle tried to keep herself from sinking into the drunken stupor that was building within her. Her hands squeezed one of her breasts, keeping her lust at a fever pitch. Jalelle had been denied food, but she could never be denied desire and passion. “Lemme. . . .mmmmhmmm. . .feel thoscche. . .lipscch.” She leaned over, presenting a cheek as big as a softball to Ji. Her mobility scooter groaned as her fat slowly spilled over the side. Even the stage underneath the immobile woman seemed to sag and bend. Ji was only inches away but, given Jalelle’s inability to move, she might as well have been miles. The forced separation made it all the sexier. Anything that was to happen, imaginary or real, had to be Ji’s decision. Jalelle could only belch and stroke her own body and ego.

“I absolutely should not do that.” Ji said, breaking her stare at the stage. She had been waiting for their cue. It was her responsibility to drag Jalelle out to the podium. The obese woman was so sloppy and drunk that it was dubious if she could drive herself to the podium. “That would be a breach of our agreement.”

“So? Sounds fun to me.” Jalelle flicked a button on her mobility machine. The padded chair which hoisted her up sloped backward, exposing even more of her raw tonnage. She slapped her fat, sweaty gut. “We don’t even. . .have to do it. . .here.” She licked her lips, eyes trailing up and down Ji’s muscular, curvaceous body. “Doors. . .right. . .there.” Jalelle threw up a hand to indicate the access door to the parking lot. Her arm splashed back down in a torrent of jiggles and ripples through her fat. The immobile blob would make her stand in that moment, ready to lay it all on the line. “Like you. . .haven’t. . .BBBBLLOORRRUUP. . .wanted me all. . .night.” She pushed her breasts up almost to her chin, nipples peeking out as the tape holding her breasts in place snapped. “I saw those. . .eyes.” She was bluffing, but bravado went a long way in her condition, she had found.

“You are sadly mistaken, Miss Amir.” Ji turned fully. Thanks to Jalelle being confined to her chair, Ji was taller. She looked down on the fat, drunken, lecherous woman like a disapproving goddess. “It is sad to see you in this state. I once respected you. I was inspired by you.”

Jalelle laughed. She still had not heard the magic word of denial. “Cute. . .but. . .thah old me. . .that bitssccch. . .wouldn’t have fucked you.” Jalelle dropped her tits, letting them thud back into place. A spray of sweat went into the air. “This Jalelle would. . .let you. . .do anything. . .you wanted.” She smiled, trying to make it as lusty and knowing as possible.

The two women were totally silent, with only the noise of the crowd passing between them. The silence lasted only as long as it took for Ji to lunge forward. The tension was shattered as the fit Korean woman straddled the immobile Persian. Ji had only enough internal strength to push herself onto Jalelle. She had never done something so impulsive nor so flagarantly inappropriate. She could hardly explain what she was doing or why she wanted it. It was just that the aura of sexuality coming off of Jalelle was so strong. She was wrapped in an intoxicating buzz of carnal lust. She had been approached many times, but never by a woman this consumed with animal passion. She knew she was not going to be treated as a stale art exhibit, as all her previous girlfriends had done. No, Jalelle would savage her. She was going to be treated in the manner she had always wanted to be. Already, Jalelle was slipping her tongue past Ji’s lips. The fit woman sank into her former idol’s body, laying on it as if it were a beanbag. Even as they kissed, Jalelle started to turn her scooter around and head for the door. As they left, they could hear the MC talking.

The MC for the event was introducing their segment, trying his best to coax the audience out of their anger. The thought of Jumbo Jalelle returning to say anything to them was an insult beyond repair. They cared nothing for her, seeing her act as someone who had chosen sideshow tactics to make a living. Her existence was a mockery to them. Further, roping a promising new influencer like Ji into the scheme was another disaster. Most thought the project would be a failure, that Jalelle would simply flake on the program once she had gotten attention and clicks. There were a few, conspiratorial in nature, that thought things might be even more sinister. This second camp thought that Jalelle was going to pull Ji down to her level. It was not that she wanted a partner to pull her out of her slobby lifestyle. Rather, she wanted a woman to join her. The conspiracy theorists in the fitness community imagined that Jalelle wanted to turn her and Ji’s life into an ever evolving, ever fattening, ever exploding series of dramatic twists. She wanted to glut on food, drink booze, fondle a woman as big as herself, and bathe in attention. They were absolutely correct.

--- The Morning After ---

Jalelle tossed the phone away, letting it land somewhere to the left of her doubly reinforced bed. She figured Ji could get it later, once the fit woman was done gyrating under her gut fold. Jalelle leaned back in the bed, filling it with her pudding like body. She lay with her arms behind her head, able to use her biceps as pillows. She only truly understood how big she was when another person was touching her. What should have been the intertwining of two bodies was more like a small woman making love to a couch. Jalelle’s fat moved in slow ripples outward from where Ji rode her.  The Korean woman’s hand fingered Jalelle’s expansive navel, using it as a handle to keep herself balanced. “Harder! Come on. . .use thoscche. . .BBBLOORRRUUP. . .muscles.” Jalelle whipped Ji on with her words, belching as gas was freed by the shaking of her gut. Ji obeyed, moaning and rocking her hips back and forth. Jalelle was lost to pleasure for a moment, eyes rolling back in her head. Feeling Ji’s pussy glide across her fupa was the hottest feeling she had ever known.

“What. . .AAAAAAAH. . .did she say?” Ji screamed in the middle of her question, coming closer to climax. What she was doing was unquestionably disgusting. She had willingly become the plaything of a mass of fat. She had been fondled and objectified, used as a pawn in some grand scheme to gain more attention. However, Ji was discovering that she quite liked it. She slung her hair around, letting it fall over one eye. She moved faster, serving her own carnal desires rather than just Jalelle.

“Cynthea. . .wasscch. . .HOOOOLLLUUUP. . .pissed.” Jalelle said, grinning from ear to ear. Cynthea had screamed at Jalelle until her voice had gone hoarse. The fitness community was pissed, having sworn to never allow Jalelle or Ji anywhere near one of their events. Further, there was even talk about a lawsuit. As it stood, Jalelle had come under false pretenses and disrupted their event. Cynthea had let her know in excruciating detail just how much Jalelle’s libido and crassness had cost them. Through it all the Persian woman had just smiled.

“Are you. . .ooooh. . .afraid?” Ji asked. She leaned back to better smack her pussy and hips into Jalelle’s wall of gut fat. She was beginning to tire, her muscles no match for Jalelle’s fat. She rocked her hips another three times before giving up. The Asian woman slunk up to Jalelle nestling into her lovers folds. Easily, Ji found a breast bigger around than her thigh. She put her mouth to it, eagerly sucking.

“No. . .I’ve got. . .a new. . .idea.” Jalelle stroked Ji’s hair. “I think. . .OOORRRUUP. . .itsch not just. . .me thatsscch. . .going to be ruined.” Ji looked up for a moment, letting the breast drop from her mouth. Jalelle grinned, knowing the other woman was putty in her hands. Ji caving had given Jalelle the proof she needed that her plan could work. She would not only corrupt herself. The immobile woman would go from feedee to feeder, burying this new talent in waves of food she cooked herself. Jalelle climaxed just thinking about the idea. A woman bringing her feeder the very food she was to be fed. Ji would hand deliver food until she could no longer walk. Further, Ji would go from a polite and well spoken woman to a belligerent, rude hog like Jalelle herself had done. The cycle would repeat, with the Persian woman at the helm. “Want to. . .BBBLOOORRRUUP. . .get a little bigger?” Jalelle put the question to Ji, needing it to be her decision.

“Yes.” Ji agreed, sealing her fate.