Several weeks passed in this fashion, and you got to witness Suzu not only eating her body weight in food on a daily basis, but also harnessing each and every single calorie over the course of each day. Never before did you think a person could physically do as much work as Suzu did every day. Every morning you would be woken up by the sound of a treadmill going a mile a minute, only for Mika or Anya to inform you Suzu had sprinted an ungodly distance before having her speedy cool-down on the treadmill. Afterwards, she’d clean every surface of the house, which was, according to Anya, truly grueling labor. In between dinner and lunch, as all the aforementioned activities were completed BEFORE the clock struck noon, she’d sign papers while doing pull-ups, or perhaps sit-ups, or perhaps travel to important meetings miles away ON BIKE and still arrive on time.
Mimi was visibly pleased that she was eating the food, but visibly disappointed by her failure to make Suzu gain. “Mimi puts all her hard work into those deserts, and it looks like it’s all going to her—nowhere!” you heard her cry one night passing by the kitchen.
However, as you soon realized, after four days of Suzu resisting weight gain, you still longed to see Anya pudge up, AND you were addicted to Mimi’s cooking. There was something inherently addictive about the meal, something you could not even begin to explain. It was inherent, no, perhaps crafted, but regardless there: it was like tobacco, only worse. It was a craving nigh-impossible to resist.
Nevertheless, she resisted better than Anya.
Two days into the new arrangement, you caught Anya sneaking into the kitchen. Following her, you noticed the maid, casually, as to not attract attention, withdraw a single cookie from a jar Mimi kept hidden away, and swallow it almost instantly. She would then dart away, but regardless, the following night she withdrew a cookie and a piece of another one. One would probably ask what a single cookie could do to a waistline, and the obvious answer is nothing. However, what effect can a nightly routine of increasingly larger amounts of cookies do to a person?
A lot, evidently.
Not to say Anya packed on weight, but, as the weeks passed and your withdrawal symptoms grew worse and worse, as you were now prone to breaking out into violent fits of sweating, the head maid’s uniform slowly grew a little tighter around the midriff. As she entered your room, which had now become a more a tradition than simply maid duties, you noticed the edges of her jaw was less sharp, more smooth and organic. Indeed, her face and cheeks seemed slightly fuller, her arms having more mass, her fingers, as they massaged your back as requested, pressing against more skin than usual.
“You gained, didn’t you?”
“What?! What kinda question is that!?” Anya stammered, her face brilliant scarlet.
“I’m guessing ten pounds.”
Anya hesitated for a moment before mumbling, “Lower.”
“Eight?”
“Lower.”
“Five?”
“A little higher.”
“Six?”
“There we go.” Anya’s face was deep red as she stammered, tears in her eyes, “Oh, just go ahead and say I’m a fat pig, ‘cause I know I am. I’m just disgusting!”
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