Mikayla looked down at her stomach, a slight gap appearing between two of the buttons, and shook her head, pushing the cake to one side. She looked at the fridge in her trailer, filled with delicious junk food, and grimaced, knowing that she was going to have to do something about the contents soon. Replace them with something healthy, something that would do her good. Yeah, she’d get on that real soon. For now, she sat back on her recliner, let out a big yawn, and settled down to sleep, drifting off into her dreams…
She was lying in a huge, plush bed, soft sheets draped over her, and as she awoke, a pair of double doors at the far end of her palatial bedroom opened, a procession of servants coming forward with trays, platters and bowls, led by a vaguely familiar woman wearing a smart business suit, glasses perched on her nose. One of the waiters reached behind her to plump up her pillows, helping her sit up, while the rest arranged her breakfast feast, stacks of pancakes swimming in syrup and butter, a basket filled with cinnamon rolls, coated with sugar, a plate loaded with French toast and half a dozen breakfast burritos, stuffed with bacon, sausages and eggs. Her eyes watered as she looked at it, but she shook her head for a moment before the woman looked sternly at her, a scowl on her face.
“Come on, you know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” she snapped. “Eat up.” She reached behind her to another platter, bringing out a huge glass of full-fat milk and a pitcher to top it up. Mikayla picked up one of the breakfast burritos, looked at it tentatively for a minute, then took a bite, then a larger one, then another. With another hand, she grabbed a piece of French toast, her eyes rolling up as she started to eat, cramming the last of the burrito into her mouth before snatching a fork with her hand, attacking the pancakes in huge mouthfuls, syrup running down her chin, one of the servants hastily wiping it clean with a wet wipe.
She drained the milk in a pair of huge gulps, then attacked the breakfast, stuffing the contents of the platters into her slowly rising belly, every mouthful an explosion of flavor and sugar, both her hands covered in grease and syrup as she hurried cleared the plates while the servants looked on, a smile crossing the woman’s face as she watched Mikayla gorge, her stomach warm, cosy as it started to expand, her face growing plumper as she crammed the last piece of burrito into her mouth, then finished the last of her third glass of milk. The woman snapped her fingers, and as the servants in attendance cleared the plates, another group entered the room, similarly laden with food, plates loaded with bacon and eggs, bagels drowning in cream cheese, muffins smothered in butter.
“As I said, breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” she said, as Mikayla looked wide-eyed at the feast. “Which is why you must have it twice.” She looked at the food, her stomach somehow still rumbling, her lips salivating. Taking a deep breath, she began to eat once more, her fork stabbing at the bacon while she snatched muffins from the basket, cramming them into her mouth, over her growing double chin. This time the meal was accompanied with a thick banana milkshake, and she eagerly drained the drink in a series of quick gulps, before finally finishing the feast with a loud belch, dropping her fork to the place. The servants moved forward to clear up the mess, a pair of maids wiping her face clean while the woman moved over to the wardrobe, selecting her dress for the day.
“This one, I think,” she said, pulling out a green velvet gown, two of the attendants helping Mikayla out of bed, changing her into her clothes for the day. She rubbed her belly as she rose from her bed, now soft and comfortable, her thighs growing thicker, cheeks getting rounder. The woman placed a pair of jeweled necklaces over her head, then placed a tiara into her hair, showing her a magnificent reflection in a mirror. A pair of diamond-encrusted shoes completed the effect, and the woman led Mikayla through the doors, and into the corridor beyond. She looked at her watch, then shook her head, saying, “We’ll be late for lunch at this rate.”
“Lunch?” Mikayla asked, her stomach stuffed to repletion. The doors opened to reveal a long passage leading for a hundred meters, with servants standing on the side, each holding a silver plate upon which rested a cake, pastry or other confection, and as she walked, she felt somehow compelled to take each one, stuffing it into her mouth in a series of quick bites, finishing off a plump éclair as she stepped through the other doors into a media room, a comfortable couch by the wall, in front of a huge, hundred-inch television, a table placed in front of the couch where she could easily reach it. The woman placed Mikayla onto the couch, then snapped her fingers once more.
This triggered another procession, this time a dozen waiters carrying silver platters, each placed in front of her to reveal a feast of junk food, a dozen burgers on one, dripping with melted cheese, a trio of stuffed crust meat-laden pizzas on another, a stack of tacos, fried chicken, a tureen loaded with salty, greasy fries, hot dogs drenched in mustard. A huge jug of soda was placed in front of her, and this time she needed no encouragement to feast, glutting herself on the impossibly delicious food, cramming in burgers with both of her hands before moving to the pizzas, then the chicken. As each dish was emptied, another took its place, the burgers replaced by chicken-fried steak, pizzas supplanted with cannolis, her stomach rising with every bite, her dress somehow expanding to cover her.
The woman turned on the television, switching it to a twisted version of the Food Network, all of the chefs tremendously obese women, all of them displaying the fastest ways to increase their bulk, gorging themselves on seemingly endless processions of food while Mikayla mindlessly watched, grazing her way through the mountain of fried food before her, mouthfuls of fries crammed in over her jiggling treble chin, finally finishing up with a half-dozen two-pound cheese burgers, loaded with bacon, onion rings, hash browns, each needing both hands to hold, her mouth barely able to take a bite. She finished the last of the soda and sat back on the couch, dazed from her gluttony, two of the maids kneeling down to rub her belly while others cleaned her, the woman ordering the waiters to clean away the meal.
“Dinner will be served shortly,” she said. “I’ll have a box of chocolates brought in for you.” Mikayla nodded, still dazed, looking at herself in a mirror on the wall. Her stomach had grown by several feet since this morning, her ankles replaced by cankles, her fat-laden arms heavy, hard to move, her fingers plump sausages that rested on her tremendous, luxurious, contented belly. As had been ordered, a box of chocolates was provided for her, a crate loaded with unwrapped candy bars, hundreds of them, and she sat back and relaxed as her maids fed them to her, one at a time, interrupted with gulps of thick, creamy chocolate milkshake. When the bell rang for dinner, it took four maids to help her tremendous, tubby form rise from the couch, waddling with effort through the next set of doors to the dining room, the sight before her, sending drool running down her chins once more.
Two turkeys and four chickens, two stuffed piglets slowly revolving before her, a mountain of mashed potatoes drenched in butter, a huge bowl of mac and cheese with a ladle sticking out of it, a huge fried meatloaf buried in gravy, a stack of boned lamb chops ready. She dropped down in front of the feast onto a reinforced throne, and the servants started to fill her plate, expertly carving every scrap of meat from the roasts, two of them required to keep up with Mikayla as she shoveled the meat into her mouth, taking massive bites of pasta and potatoes, her stomach rising again as more courses were brought forward, ten-egg omelets loaded with cheese, slabs of pate burying the toast on which it was served.
Her rump rose higher and higher behind her, somehow her robe managing to contain her increasing bulk as she crammed in the food, more and more, the birds stripped to their skeletons, each replaced by another, a mountain of stuffing added to the table for her to demolish, one of the servants pouring gravy directly into her mouth at her direction. Her stomach swelled like bread in an oven as she eagerly continued to feed, her belly wider, rounder, firmer with each bite. All too soon, the table was clear, only empty plates remaining, but that was only an excuse to allow the waiters and maids to bring in the dessert, a dozen huge cakes, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, with towers of profiteroles, eclairs, cream-stuffed pastries all around.
She attacked the cakes as she had attacked the rest of her food, each brought to her along with a huge serving spoon for her to demolish with one hand as she crammed in the smaller pastries with another, her four chins jiggling, buried under waves of chocolate, frosting and cream as she continued to eat. She was drinking thick cream now, more endless calories to add to her gargantuan figure, the seams on her dress finally threatening as her rolls of flab grew, and grew, and grew, the only sound in the room that of her stuffing, cramming, gorging, her breaths an afterthought from her eager repast. The final course was a huge bowl of chocolate pudding, weighing twice what she did when the feeding frenzy began, and rather than eat it normally, she gestured for her servants who picked it up and poured it down her mouth, wave after wave of thick, creamy chocolate, the rest dribbling from her lips to run down her top, her stomach swelling still higher, still rounder, until finally, she was finished.
“Time for bed,” the woman said. “What are your orders for tomorrow?”
“Like this,” she replied, “but double it.”
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