But, passing by the cans of vegetables, I realized that my sudden obsession with turning the store into an all-you-can-eat buffet of my favorite foods wasn't totally in keeping with my original intentions. Sure, I'd planned on being a pig all along, but I was going to be a pig in the service of ruining the bastard who'd abused me, insulted me, and maliciously destroyed the good work his father had spent so much of himself in creating. But that wasn't the only reason for my being there. With Mr. W out of the picture, enjoying some relaxation and freedom he'd never afforded himself in his total devotion to his store and then to his Guests, Scott would be the one to bear the brunt of any misfortune that came to his business. I had to hope that, like so many small business owners, and in his wave of cost-cutting, Scott had under-insured the Market, leaving himself personally li-able for much of the damages. Then, once the criminal charges were filed against him on Mr. Rich-ards' testimony...

So, I started working on the vegetables -- not eating them, but -- using my handy-dandy can-opener to put a little hole in every can I could. I interspersed my vandalism with nibbles at the cookies and the crackers and all the nuts, until I came to the baked beans. I love baked beans. I love their smoky sweetness and their plump firmness and the dry texture that pops in your mouth when you break the skin. I love the thick and gooey sauce with its bacon flavor and tomato bite and brown sugar richness. I love them warm off the stove and cold from the can and here I was, face-to-face with dozens and dozens of cans.

There was a music video that came to mind -- a real old one, by a band I can't name, for a song I don't remember. Anyway, this video had one scene where a guy's head comes out of a big pan of baked beans, singing -- I remember that part very well! I couldn't come up with any way to have my head emerge from a big bucket of beans, but I had no trouble figuring out how to submerge my-self in the glop. All it took was a quick trip to the previous aisle for a big metal mixing bowl, some deft work with the can opener and pretty soon, I was dunking my head deep in the bowl, deep in the throes of legume lust. It took a while before I had to come up for air, and when I did, I'd made quite a dent in the bowl's contents, besides making a total mess of my face and hair.

Making my way to the bathroom was difficult, because I didn't want to unclench my eyelids and risk getting highly seasoned sauce in my eyes. There were a couple of crashes and bangs as I knocked things off the shelves, but eventually I made it and began splashing tepid water on my face and in my hair. When I could see once again, I wriggled out of the big t-shirt and sweatpants and stood in front of the frameless mirror that leaned against the wall between the toilet and the sink. What I saw really surprised me; I'd known that my stomach was stretched way beyond anything I'd ever done before, but looking at the way it protruded so far in front of the rest of my body was still pretty shocking. The skin was so tight and strained and covered with shiny cooking oil that it al-most seemed like it was made of plastic. There were also the beginnings of stretchmarks starting on the sides of my bloated stomach -- perhaps they'd been there already, but had just become more prominent with this ordeal I was putting my body through. I was totally fascinated by my reflection in the mirror, turning myself at all angles, posing, rubbing, patting, hefting; I was certain that my thighs were thicker and that there was a certain new puffiness around my cheeks -- both lower and upper.

The skin on my stomach was very hot, but it was nothing compared to the fire growing in my pussy as I continued to stare at myself, imagining what Joellen would say if she could see me right then, imagining how her hands would be caressing my big ass, touching me, spanking me... I imagined her standing behind me, saying, "Where is all this food going to go, Rachel? Will it wind up on your belly? On your thighs? Your boobs? Or will it all settle right on my favorite part? Will your ass grow so big that you'll need to sit on two chairs? Will it grow so big that you'll have to go sideways through doors? Will it grow so big that if you were to sit on my face, your cheeks would droop down and cover my ears? Will it grow so big that when I spank you, it won't stop wiggling and wobbling for weeks?" My hand kept very busy while I was fantasizing, and I had to brace myself with my arm against the rim of the sink as I grew even more excited. I thought of Luanne next, imagining that she came back to the store right now because she wanted to check on something. I imagined her walking through the wreckage of the bakery and the deli and the first few aisles, un-sure as to what had happened, before coming back to the time clock and spying me in the bath-room. I'd have my back to her at first and then, slowly, I'd turn around, giving her the full view of my massive paunch. I'd see the light come on in her eyes and she'd immediately begin stripping the clothes from her sweet body, appearing naked before me in all her corpulent glory. We'd slowly move towards each other, prolonging the delicious anticipation of that first touch of hot belly to -- the touch of the cold porcelain sink! The sensation was incredibly strong; it wasn't what I'd ex-pected, but, nonetheless, the shock of it was all I needed to swallow me up in the rough seas of ec-stasy. I shook and I shivered and I quivered and I quaked; my muscles were twitching, my teeth were chattering and my poor legs completely gave out, dropping me down onto the pile of clothes, where I promptly curled up in a fetal position with my hand clamped securely between my legs.

Eventually, the orgasms subsided, and when I felt capable of standing once again, I rolled over onto my knees and felt the full weight of all the food I had consumed, dragging my stomach down and practically pulling my whole self back to the floor. There was some strain in my back and I wondered if there was anything I could do to keep it from getting worse. I motored over to the aisle where we kept knee braces and ankle bandages, wondering if maybe there was something that pregnant women might use to support their backs. We had nothing, so I decided to improvise, tying a couple of pairs of panty hose together so the crotch of one pair was under my belly and the legs were tied in the small of my back, while another two pairs tied to that one stretching over my boobs and tying off behind my neck, creating a strange kind of belly bra. It looked crazy, but it relieved some of the strain. Once my support system was securely in place, I felt a little chilly, so I put on a pair of queen-size pantyhose under my sweatpants, a little bit surprised at how well they fit me -- in the waist, anyway.

I'd pretty much completed the cookie aisle, and I didn't really feel like heading back there, so I skipped the rest of it as well as over the dry pasta aisle and found myself amidst the breakfast cereals and the breads. I decided I was going to need some dishes and utensils for this part of the adventure, so I got myself a couple of paper place-settings, then grabbed a quart of milk and set about sampling the incredible variety of pre-sweetened breakfast treats. It'd been a while since I'd eaten anything but a bagel for breakfast, so I was surprised by the numbers of new cereals and how each of them seemed to be tied in to a toy or a TV show or a video game. They didn't taste all that different from one another, but mixing all the different flavors together left me with a bowl of dirty-looking milk, which I swallowed down, a stream of it running down my cheeks and neck and right down my cleavage.

By the time I'd finished with the cereals, it was nearly nine o'clock and my abused body was calling for some kind of a break. Sitting in the recliner wouldn't be too comfortable, I knew, because that would require me to bend at the waist -- not very likely, since I wasn't even sure I had a waist right then. Laying on the floor wasn't too appealing either, until I realized that I was currently sur-rounded by loaf after loaf of over-inflated, pillow-like packages of white bread. I started throwing loaf after loaf of white bread only on the floor in a huge pile, then, when it looked soft enough and deep enough, I laid myself down and sank right in. It was pretty soft, but it compacted quickly and after a short time, I might as well have been lying on the floor. Hauling myself up, I was satisfied to see that there was no way any of those loaves were going to be saleable, but the loaves of the good bread were just waiting for me to dig in. And dig in, I did! At first, I thought I'd have one slice from each loaf, but after counting more than three hundred loaves on the shelves, I realized that I was son monumentally gorged already that I'd wind up exploding like Mr. Creosote if I managed that. So, my enthusiasm dampened by a dose of reality, I settled for opening each bag and taking a nibble here and there from the more promising ones.

As much as I love bread, it's not the kind of food that inspires fantasies or feelings of wicked excitement. The next aisle however -- that was a different story! As I rounded the corner in my Pig Mobile, and saw the familiar frost-covered cases of frozen foods, I realized that all over America, families were enjoying their dessert, and, by golly, I should be having mine, too! First up was the whipped toppings, always surprising by their lack of substance. I opened container after container of those, shoveling frozen chunk after frozen chunk to defrost into creamy greasy sweetness on my tongue. There were ice-cream pops and sandwiches which I licked and bit and tasted; I didn't eat the fishsticks and the frozen peas and waffles, but I opened their bags and boxes inbetween my sweet treats. By the time I was halfway done with that aisle, I was totally frozen both inside and out and wishing that I'd thought to bring in some warmer clothes. Instead, I decided to improvise and insulate myself; I headed back to the bread aisle, pulled out the waistband of my sweats and my pantyhose and began filling them up with slices from the compacted loaves of bread on the floor. I stuffed slice after slice into my clothes with the same determination I'd been using to stuff my belly to its present, ponderous dimensions. Pretty soon, my clothes were at the limits of their expendabil-ity, and I was beginning to feel pretty warm, both from the insulation and from the exertion of padding myself.

When I got a glimpse of my bulked up body's reflection in one of the doors to the freezers, I had to laugh at my lumpiness and lopsidedness. One thigh was twice as thick as the other and my belly area was listing badly to the port side. Still, it was pretty amazing to squint my eyes and imag-ine that I had truly grown that huge -- four-hundred pounds, at least -- and wonder whether I really wanted to go that far. "Well," I thought, "I haven't even hit two-hundred yet, so, it's not like I have to make that kind of decision right now." Then, I thought of Luanne and her incredible softness and roundness and realized that she was pushing three hundred pounds and I began to imagine what she would look like with another hundred pounds on her belly. "I wonder if she'd do it," I thought. "I wonder if she'd let herself get that fat for me. I'm sure Jimmy wouldn't mind. I'm sure he would think she was doing it for him. She and I could get huge together and he would be there every sec-ond, watching and lusting, in a permanent state of painful distraction and arousal..." I smiled and patted my padded belly, somewhat surprised to realize that most of that huge mound was really me!

It was pretty late by then and my arms and my jaws were very tired from the constant exer-cise they'd been through that day of fueling the fire of my non-stop gorge-o-rama. The warmth of my insulated suit ,combined with the hour and my state of over-satiety was making my eyelids feel very heavy, so I headed into the break room, plugged my cart in for recharging, then laid down on the couch and promptly passed out.

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