Ratchet: Bonus Alt. Ending (Patreon)

“MAMA!!!!! MAMA WHERE YOU AT?! YOU HOME?! MAMAAAAAAAA!!!” Monique called out throughout the luxurious house, her dimpled thighs wobbling beneath her as she waddled the halls in search of her new adoptive mother. 

It had been several months since Owen had decided to leave her, but she had dealt with it pretty well. At first she went wild, frequenting the local bars and sleeping with whichever strong black man was looking for a horny girl with a fat ass that night. It had only lasted a week before Monique just felt…off. 

The realization had hit her just as she was standing in the DMV, filling out paperwork for both a change of address and a legal name change. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” She thought, staring at the made up name filled in letter by letter in isolated boxes on the paper, suddenly filled with thoughts of what someone named “Diamonique” would look like. She imagined a massive hog of a woman, glued to the couch and nearly unable to walk or stand up without assistance due to sheer size of her own body. Visions of an even younger and more beautiful Mama Lovelie doting on her like a prize pig flooded her mind. The skinny voodoo woman smiled at the heavy blob she’d created, patting her belly proudly as “Diamonique” listened to an industrial scale read out the worda “Six. Hundred. Twenty. Two. Pounds.” She saw her adopted sisters, both slim and curvaceous, living obscenely successful lives as a n actress or pop star and both positively glowing with beauty. *Her* beauty. The beauty that Mama stole from her.

Monique backed away from the counter top, ripping the government form to shreds before tossing it in the trash and waddling out of the building as fast as her porky legs would carry her.

“MAMA??” She called out again, growing more and more certain that no one was home. 

She and Lovelie had been at odds ever since the DMV incident, and with Owen out of the picture it only justified her position that something more was going on than she was privy to. Mama Lovelie had always been more than kind if not a bit strict even after the breakup. In fact, she seemed completely supportive and wholly ready to allow Monique to continue living there free of charge. So ready in fact, that it seemed more likely than not that she knew it was going to happen.
She was fine with the breakup, she was fine with Monique not having a job and just lazing around. Hell, she was even fine with her fat new daughter taking a new man to bed in her own house every night. She encouraged Monique to stuff herself stupid and act like a ghetto bitch whenever the opportunity arose. While Keisha was staunchly opposed to the idea and Naomi looked on with glassy eyed excitement, Lovelie was over the moon when Monique brought up the idea of taking on a hideously ratchet new identity and encouraged her to do it sooner than later.
The only time the two of them ever had a problem was when Monique expressed a genuine desire to exercise. Whining about being fat and stuffing her face with more junk food from the couch was one thing, but actually getting up to do it had been met with sideways opposition. It always seemed like any sign of a diet was interrupted by a trip to McDonalds or the donut shop and every demonstration of effort ran the two headlong into an argument about how Monique didn’t contribute around the house. Despite her apparent curse having been settled months ago, Monique could still tell that Lovelie and the other girls were continuing to grow more outrageously beautiful and prosperous while she herself grew fatter, darker, and more of a slutty, crass hoodrat. In the end it wasn’t Monique’s strong will that convinced her to question things, but her explicit distrust of people who were too nice to her. After a long term test involving intentionally hyping up a diet and exercise plan to watch Lovelie’s aggressive attitude towards it, then subsequent binges for the express purpose of watching the change in reaction when it seemed like she’d failed, the answer had become obvious:

“This bitch *wants* me fat.” She said to her still-growing reflection.

It made sense. She had always wondered why it was okay for HER to stay with the family, but Jewleigh was sent to live on her own, with a baby no less. Lovelie was still treating her like the spell was still in effect, keeping her docile until she’d taken everything she needed from her. Further still, if she convinced Monique that the fight was over and the spell was permanent, she was far more likely to stop fighting and give into it’s influence.

(1)

It was working too. Even while testing her theory, Monique felt herself becoming accustomed to her life as an obese black woman. Therein lied the problem: She even enjoyed it. Every time she let herself act like a ghetto whore she grew heavier, lazier, and more contented with her life while the other girls became more curvaceous and elegant. Naomi’s skin grew lighter and years washed away from Lovelie’s face until she could pass as Keisha’s older sister sooner than her mother. They continued to rob her of her self, but the feeling was intoxicating. It felt GOOD to give in and be a fat black bitch from the hood. It felt good to have a massive ass that shook like a mountain of jello with every thick, black dick that pounded away at her supersized body. It felt good to get fucked raw and to eat without abandon, even knowing that every bite was pushing her further into niggafied oblivion. It had been necessary to let herself binge and gain to simulate a relapse and failed diet, but even that was hard to walk away from afterward. The feeling of not being able to lose weight made Monique wildly horny, and she could feel her cognitive narrative beginning to believe the failure was a real one as she rewarded her blobby pussy with a treat from a massive black vibrator. It felt good to fail, but even this transformed version of Monique despised the idea of letting others think they beat her.

From then on, Monique simply stopped eating as much and made sure to be gone from the house as often as possible. She’d successfully lost an impressive amount of weight in just a few months but even so, that was exactly what it was: diet and exercise. Monique’s skin remained dark and while Lovelie and the others had stopped changing, they also weren’t reverting to their old selves either. It wasn’t long before Lovelie began commenting on how starved Monique was looking, lecturing her sometimes for hours about the perils of crash dieting and the inevitable rebound to follow. To Monique however, it was just a sign that she was right. Mama didn’t want her to lose weight. Mama still wanted more from her, and resisting her was making it hard to get.

Monique smiled at her reflection in one of the hall mirrors of Lovelie’s two-story home in her nice LA neighborhood. She looked good having lost over fifty pounds just by not binging every day and pushing through the pain of exercise when Lovelie couldn’t justify being around all of the time. Keisha had been kind enough to supply her with chafe guards and tips on how to move and dress as a fat woman, apparently having been somewhat heavy herself before Owen came home with a pretty white girl named Julie on his arm.

(2)

“Mama!” Monique called again, now probing to see if she was around or not more than seeking her out for anything practical.
She waddled slowly down the hall, but with noticeably less difficulty than before. Monique’s weight loss may have decreased her sexual pleasure, but greatly increased her mobility and self reliance. The floorboards still creaked as she walked over them, but the days of uncontrollably heavy footsteps and exhausted wheezing from just walking around the house were gone. 

Looking up, Monique found herself slightly dizzy and standing at the door of Lovelie’s bedroom, the edges of her vision graying with a loss of color. Her breaths became heavy and hot as a feverish wave fell over her and she imagined the door creaking open. Inside of the colorless room, she saw herself reaching for the closet door and feeling it on her hand as if she were really inside the forbidden threshold of Mama’s private quarters. She watched her own hand open the gray door to find a dark hallway in the place of a regular closet.

The 350 pound woman very nearly had to turn sideways to fit her massive hips through the small doorframe, but once inside she felt driven to move forward even as her thighs gently grazed the sides of the hall as she shifted her considerable weight. The hall was dark and long. Several times Monique looked back over her shoulder to see if she’d made any progress but to her simultaneous satisfaction and worry, she saw that the light from the bedroom was first distant, then completely gone. She continued on in a fearless, dreamy stupor, both aware that she was awake and also in some sort of feverish vision not unlike those she’d had before. It was funny, Monique thought, that she’d done this enough times to consider the increasingly surreal nature of her environment to be a good sign. That same sentiment only grew more hopeful when she felt the floor beneath her feet become covered in soft, silty powder and only a few steps later, thick beach sand.
The air around her began to cool as the edges of her vision stopped buzzing and grew more focused. Color began to return to the world as she made out a pale light forming in the distance. The smell of the ocean grew stronger and before long, Monique could see the sandy path move through another doorframe and into a cool, moonlit night. As before, she stepped out onto a beach surrounded by thick jungle and began wandering along the edge of the gentle tide.

(3)

Monique wondered how she must have looked then, feeling the wind against her naked form, unaware of when exactly her clothes had vanished from her body. So many times she had experienced magical, ephemeral dreams fraught with symbols and clues for the discerning eye and populated by spirits that one would recognize if only they knew who they were to begin with. At the same time, she figured that to anyone else it would be extremely out of place to be hanging out on the beach at night and just randomly seeing a morbidly obese black woman wandering around with the only means of chastity being the fact that she was too fat for her pussy to be visible beneath her belly.

The heavy woman rounded the corner of the treeline and saw a glowing orange light coming from a cabin that looked not unlike the one she had seen the very first time she’d had such a dream. She was eager to get to it for more reasons than she could possibly put into words, feeling more energetic and free as she approached. The cabin door opened and a lone figure carrying a bushel of leaves stepped out onto the sand. It was a familiar woman with a wild mane of long, curly hair and a slender body, this time clad in a vibrant and flowing red dress. Monique approached, wanting with all her heart to call out to the woman. To scream and shout that she was there and recognized her from the very first time she’d visited this delirious dream world, but she didn’t. The words simply wouldn’t leave her lips, leaving only the crashing sounds of the waves and the sand crunching beneath their feet.

(4)

The woman smiled warmly as Monique approached, then gestured softly with her bushel of leaves towards the cabin door, watching with gentle eyes as Monique obediently followed her silent instructions. Her legs moved on their own, Monique herself a mere passenger in her body, seemingly possessed by the dream itself until her hand rested on the door handle to the cabin.

With a gentle tug, the door creaked open and Monique stepped inside, remembering well the creepy, empty corridor and the glowing warmth of candlelight behind a curtain of strung beads. She moved slowly, her fat body still restricting her free movement as she made her way to the room at the end of the hall. Once again, a small statue sat in the center of the room depicting a black woman with the lower body of a snake and a scaly headdress, flanked on the sides by candles.

(5)

Unlike before however, Monique felt something beyond the unnerving stare of the sculpture. It seemed to whisper to her in her own voice and memories of a life she’d almost completely forgotten began to play in her mind in short bursts like movies cut short after only a second or two. The face of the statue smiled arrogantly at her, taunting her as it lay coiled around her old life as if it were a stolen treasure. The very thought infuriated Monique, and on impulse, she reached out and grabbed it. Instantly, she felt a searing hot pain shoot through her arm as a sickly sweet flavor filled her mouth. She felt her body grow sluggish and heavy as cravings for all a manner of comfort foods growled in her sagging belly. Monique’s taste buds flared to life as the sugary sweet of donut glaze coated her tongue and the temptation to just give in to the immense wave of lazy complacency surged throughout her being. She had nearly released the statue plopped down onto the ground upon seeing a mountain of donut boxes sitting behind it. She wanted with nearly every fiber of her being to crawl helplessly on her hands and knees to the mountain of junk food, worshipping the statue with her undignified act of submission and defeat.

It was that very idea however that caused her indignant temper to flare to life and an overpowering wave of spite shot through her like a tremendous electrical jolt. Monique’s brow furrowed and strength poured into her flabby arm as she screamed at the statue and lifted it by the neck before slamming it down onto the corner of the pedestal it stood on, breaking it completely in half.

Monique hadn’t even time to celebrate her perceived victory before her eyes snapped open in front of a ruddy door covered in peeling paint. To her left was the room that Owen had first brought her to eight months earlier, just as it was when she’d arrived. She wiped the sweat from her brow, feeling the sweltering heat of the bedroom just as she’d done before the house had transformed into an upscale, air conditioned castle only to look at her hand and see that it was just as dark and pudgy as it had ever been.

Monique waddled, breathing heavily at the fatigue into the living room only to find the house to be just like it had been when she had first unwittingly moved in under the guise of a weekend visit.

“Diamonique? Wha….What’djoo do?” A husky, deep, female voice came from the couch beside her.

Monique’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when she looked over to see a teenage girl nearly the same size as her sitting sunk into dirty cushions on a small pink couch. On some level, Monique knew that she was looking at Ne-Ne, but this version was even fatter and more piggish than when she had first seen her.

“Mama..Mama is gonna be real mad!” Ne-ne threatened weakly without making even the slightest effort to move or lift herself off the couch. 

Where only moments ago, Naomi was a light skinned beauty with luxuriously long, straight hair and perfectly large and round breasts at her vocal lessons across town, she now sat staring accusingly at Monique with palpable fear in her eyes. Ne-Ne had been fat when Monique had first arrived, but this girl was easily upward of 300 pounds despite not being as tall as Monique herself. Where Naomi was curvaceous and slender, this Ne-ne was a round faced piglet with a massive belly apron that sat heavily on her tree trunk thighs and small, flabby pancake tits that flopped lazily into her gut. Her hair had gone black once more and had been twisted into cheap, nappy braids that weren’t doing her appearance any favors.

(6)

Monique wanted to gawk and stare, but Ne-ne was indeed correct. If she really did find a way in that dream world to undo the spell, then it wouldn’t be long before Lovelie realized what had happened and returned home. But, she thought with a wide eyed realization, if the spell on the house and Ne-ne was broken, then that might mean that the magic keeping her confined to the neighborhood might also be gone. She rushed out of the door as fast as her fat legs would carry her, terrified that her lack of transformation was evidence to the contrary and that her freedom may not be as possible as she thought. She slammed the door and rushed down the steps with nothing more than her phone and her wallet, fully intending to run as far as she could as fast as she could, but the moment she stepped onto the concrete she was stopped in her tracks.

“Diamonique!!!” Lovelie called out furiously.

Monique noticed again the use of the name she’d opted to walk away from while at the same time marveling in shock at the woman standing before her. It was Mama Lovelie alright, but not as Monique had ever seen her. THIS Lovelie was haggard and obese, her gray-white dreadlocks being one of the only reasons that Monique could even recognize her adoptive mother to begin with. The family matriarch looked wrinkled and old; far older than when Monique had first met her, and the younger woman was beginning to put the pieces together.

(7)

“You….Wretched little bitch.” The old woman rasped with venom in her voice.

“Lovelie?” Monique gasped. She felt slightly guilty and sad to see the woman who had cared for her so attentively before she remembered that her entire predicament was the result of that same woman draining her of her life and body.

“I’ll…What did you do?!?!?” The hag barked. 

“You get your fat ass back in that house this goddamn instant. YOU HEAR ME?! GIT!!” 

Monique was almost afraid for a moment but once again  felt a rush of defiant fury pulse through her body. She clenched her fists only to be shocked at how easy it had been to do. She looked down at her hand and saw her pudgy fingers looking slightly less plump and puffy than they had been only minutes before.

“No.” She said, looking back up. “I’m leaving.” 

Lovelie began marching over to her as quickly as she could. “No. You’re gonna go back inside and you’re gonna sit at that table and eat until I tell you you’re done, and you’re never going to set foot outside of this house again! You think you’re smart? You think you won something? I’ll make your ass so big you’ll never walk again. You’re gonna keep shoveling food down that fat throat of yours until you’re just like Jewleigh: knocked up and useless for life. Now go. Now. Before I have to MAKE you!” The old woman snarled.

Monique wasn’t stupid or afraid enough to let the voodoo witch catch her, instead running across the tiny lawn of the ramshackle house and into the cracked and busted street of Martin Luther King Jr. Street. Lovelie attempted to give chase, but was far too heavy to get very far before she was bent over and gasping for air, her breaths ravaged by a hacking cough that stopped her even from screaming as Monique tore off down the street despite the crazed wobbling of her own flabby body.

Despite the burning in her lungs and the pain in her tired legs, Monique didn’t stop to catch her breath until she was well into the city. In truth, she so concerned about getting away from Lovelie that she hadn’t thought of where to go. Instead she wandered up the street aimlessly, desperately wracking her brain for solutions to her new problem. Even if she was able to access her accounts and get away, she didn’t know a safe place to hide out and wait for an Uber to pick her up. For all she knew, Lovelie was in her car and scouring the area for signs of her, flinging curses and all manner of bad juju everywhere in her search. Monique brushed a long lock of golden blonde hair out of her face and proceeded to look for a way off the street. It only occurred to her minutes later that her hair had reverted to a facsimile of it’s original color, leaving her standing in the open, clutching what was still effectively a dyed weave with grateful tears welling up in her eyes.

*bzzzzzzt*

Monique nearly jumped out of her skin upon feeling her phone buzz in her pocket. Her heart racing, she reached into her pocket and looked at her phone, half expecting to see a dozen livid messages from Lovelie spelling out some brainwashing spell through text. 

Instead, it was a text from Keisha with only the words “Where are you?” 

Monique steeled herself and looked around, desperate to not be found and uncertain of whether or not she should answer. She continued walking, running her hand through her hair in an attempt to calm her frazzled nerves. 

(8)

Monique was still debating on what she should do when the second text came through several minutes later.

“I took the car. Meet me at the donut shop. I wanna help.” It read. 

Even though the situation was dire and the message ominous, Monique couldn’t help but feel relieved that Lovelie didn’t have the car, and felt that the odds of her having Keisha’s phone were pretty low. She thought back on all the times Keisha had attempted to help her fight the spell and before long, found herself timidly, warily, begrudgingly heading towards the donut shop.

“Ho. Lee. Shit. You really did it.” Said a chubby black woman the moment Monique had rounded the corner. She had dark skin with thick braids pulled up to either side of her head and sharp facial features that bordered on resting bitch face. It was the realization that this woman looked like a pudgier version of Lovelie when she was young that caused Monique to once again gasp in shock.

(9)

“Keisha?!?!?!” She whispered, or would have if the sheer intensity of her quiet exclamation hadn’t turned it into a shrill squeak.

The woman smiled warmly. “Yep. It’s me. The real me for once.” She said, her voice carrying a hint of a stereotypical LA ebonic accent that Monique hadn’t heard from her previously.

“What..? What is happening? I had another vision and some stuff happened and there was a statue and I smashed it and now everything is different!” Monique gushed. 

She had fully intended to play her cards close to the chest, but Keisha’s presence made her feel so safe that she just unloaded everything right away. “Mama’s old and fat now and Ne-ne is really, REALLY fat and like…Why aren’t you all turning back to normal??” 

“Well….” Keisha shrugged. “We are.”

Monique stared for a moment, her internal mental processes filling with error messages as her eyes glasses over and her head tilted sharply to the side.

“Huh?” She asked dumbly.

“Here. Hop in the car. I wanna show you something and we can talk on the way.” Keisha said calmly and hopped into a beat up old Corolla that was far inferior to the car Lovelie owned when Monique had first arrived.

“See, you don’t know this because you only got to see us later on. You think we all changed and different now but this is what we used to look like before mama worked her magic on Julie. We only changed a little cuz Julie wasn’t as strong as you was, but it made me skinny and changed how we talk too. Ne-ne didn’t get much either cuz she was little but mama always planned on getting’ another girl. That’s why I didn’t wanna talk to you at first. But then you was all like ‘I ain’t about this curse shit’ and started fightin’ back so I wanted to help, feel me?” Keisha explained. 

“So she really did the same thing to Jewleigh? I’m the second one to get cursed?” Monique asked quizzically, her head still reeling from the rapid turn of events.

“Nah, you ain’t even the second. Mama been doin this for a hunnit years now. Me an’ Ne-ne was born recently lime…I’m really 25 an Ne-ne really 14 but Owen? Nah that nigga’s like senny-five by now. They just use mama’s magic to keep lookin good. But they can only steal from a guy for Owen and girls for girls. Mama shares the blessing wit me an Ne-ne so we’d help bring in a dude later, but I ain’t about this whole voodoo vampire shit. Like nah, I’m tryna go to heaven but my mama do her magic on me anyway. You just the first person to get away.” Keisha said, confidently pulling into a residential driveway.

“Come on. We gotta try to get you home before mama come find you cuz she WILL do that shit again and you ain’t gonna get away twice, okay?”

The pair stepped into the house and Monique recognized the bright and cheery décor of Jewleigh’s house, as well as the rambunctious thumping of her kids playing upstairs.

“Oh my god.” Monique said, her hands flying up to her mouth as she set eyes on the woman sitting on the couch.

“Monica, this is Julie. Julie, Monica is the one who gave you yo’ whoooole life back.” Keisha said, smiling.

Julie was a very different woman from Jewleigh in every respect except the fact that she too was heavily pregnant. But while her transformed counterpart was hugely fat and sat around sloppily noshing on chocolate, Julie was pretty pink and cute as a button. Her curly brown hair had grown since the picture on the side table and rested on her sizeable, milky breasts.

(10)

“Hello Monica. I am very, VERY happy to be able to properly meet you and I thank you from the very bottom of my heart. If it weren’t for you, I would be trapped in a life that was forced on me at the expense of my kid’s lives. I know I can never repay you entirely, but I figured maybe I could start by getting you a plane ticket home.”

Monica’s eyes filled with tears at the notion of finally getting to go home. In a burst of sudden, desperate adoration and gratitude, the chubby blonde flung herself at the pregnant girl. The two hugged each other for several minutes, each crying into each other’s shoulders until both of their shirts were damp from the tears. Smiling, Keisha unwrapped a crunch bar from the candy bowl and watched the emotional lovefest play out.

In the following 24 hours, the three women had managed to find and book a flight back to New York for Monica, and after many long, tear-filled conversations they made their way to the airport. They had exchanged every form of personal information they could imagine before Monica’s plane began boarding, and with one final sobbing goodbye, the tanned blonde took her seat on the plane. She didn’t have nearly any of her possessions with her anymore, but Keisha promised to send them via the mail. The very prospect of going back home was a daunting one. Luckily for her, she’d been in school so long that her housing had been covered by her scholarship and given how little of her own money she’d spent in the last year, should have kept her home very nearly the way it was when she left it give or take some much needed dusting. 

“Flight 291 to New York is now leaving LAX. Ladies and gentlemen, we have liftoff.” The pilot called over the intercom.

Monica could barely contain her joy.
She was going home.

(11)

The weeks following Monica’s return had been hectic to say the least. She’d had to make up a story about being the prisoner of a cult that her ex boyfriend had trapped her in in order to explain to virtually everyone she knew where she had been for the last 8 months after saying she’d only be gone for the weekend. Many of them were overjoyed that their friend had returned home while her own family was over the moon to have her back safe and sound. Many of them had lectured her time and time again about the dangers of not knowing who she was dating, but in the end it was mutually agreed upon that it wasn’t her fault.

Winter in New York also proved to be a challenge after spending a year in Los Angeles. Monica’s body reverted to it’s former appearance quickly at first, but slowed the closer she got to her original body. Eventually she did return to her slim, busty figure, but not before living in sweatpants and stretchy tops to accommodate her larger, but rapidly shrinking body without needing to go shopping for clothes that wouldn’t fit later. 

…Not that that stopped her. Something about her time, she realized had left her different after all. She remembered her time as a sassy black girl from the ghetto and all the attitude and confidence that came with it. Shopping with Keisha for cosmetics and clothes had fundamentally altered her style too, and before she knew it, Monica Branson had ditched her plain office attire for fur coats and more expensive outfits and cosmetics. It was expensive and more than a little boujie, she thought, but if she couldn’t spend her own money, then what was all the college for?

(12)

Monica’s ordeal was never far from her mind, nor were her sister and new best friend. Keisha had completely cut ties with her mother and moved in with Jewleigh, but reported that Mama Lovelie had written both her and Monica off as lost causes and got right to work on Owen’s new girlfriend.

(13)

She had originally taken the break from school in order to live her life before she was too old to enjoy it, and now with the world at her fingertips and a new perspective, Monica dove headfirst into the rest of her life. She found work at an accounting firm, but made sure that any classes she took to work on her next degree were strictly limited to avoid burnout. In many ways, she felt grateful to Owen and his horrible witch of a mother. For all the evil they did to her, she had enjoyed nearly all of it for one reason or another. She felt transformed, though this time in a way that she had control over.

Monica’s lust for life and pleasure never really left her after her return home. She thought about thus nearly every time she splurged on clothes or treated herself to the odd donut or two. She realized every time that she brought a date back to her apartment for some fun, chuckling to herself at the realization that having gone completely black, she was absolutely unwilling to ever go all the way back.

(14)