Forgotten_Futures
Well-Known Member
~~WG, ~BBW, Multiple, Eating - Phantom data - or a digital deviant - causes an IT employee to experience some interesting job hazards.
Author's Note: I know. It's been a while. As such, I decided to try a shorter, less developed story approach. Put erotica first and story depth second. All that fun stuff. That said... I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did during writing. *evil grin* You will notice a large difference in writing styles with this as well. I wrote half of it about a year ago.
Lara tore open the package of chips, shoving in a diminutive, milk-white hand and pulling out a fistful of greasy, starchy goodness. The short young woman stuffed this handful in her mouth, chewed quickly, swallowed, and followed suit thrice more. Speed-walking to the communal bathroom shared by the octet of offices hers was in, she let a stream of hot water run over her hands to get them somewhat clean. She sighed and clicked her tongue, as a mother would tsk at her actions - as though it would do any good.
Lara worked for a small company which hosted databases for other companies too small to justify having a Database Administrator on staff, but with informational needs which would be crippling to manage through a paper file system. The pay was excellent, the hours flexible - so long as shifts were covered adequately - but if there was one job perk she missed it was a consistent lunch break.
On the one good side, the company realized lunches were sometimes difficult if not impossible to take, and so there was no such thing as an unpaid lunch break. If you had the time, you relaxed for half an hour over a dish prepared by the on-site cafeteria staff. A little busier and you might be able to hope for an unhindered coworker bringing you something to wolf down in the silent moments. Days like today...
Sitting back down, pulling the uniform headset back on and running the automatic equalizing diagnostic (every employee's voice was modified to project at the same volume over communications lines), Lara gulped down half a liter of coke in the 15 seconds it took to log back in to her station. She'd regret the soda later, when she had to piss like a racehorse in the middle of a client's call, but that was how they sold 'em in the vending machines in the octet's inner lounge.
Attempting to stifle a roiling belch - and failing - Lara checked the call queue, and picked the fourth on the list. Technically, staff were supposed to handle calls in FIFO order (First In First Out), but she'd just finished up a 'Strangler', and recognized the fourth name as one of their most polite clients.
“Hive Mind Information Systems, Lara speaking.”
“Ahh, Lara, good to hear from you!” It was Mr. Spangler, a clueless, bumbling fool if there ever was one, but lacking the obnoxious quality of his many peers. “Lara, dear, I'm looking for a record in one of our customer tables and the search thingy isn't coming up with anything. I know they should be in there, I see their name in the orders table but...” he trailed off, letting her finish his sentence in technically accurate detail he might never attain.
“Ahh yes, I know which table you're referring to.” One of the most annoying things - but also a ploy her company used to get a little bit more money out of some clients - was that they did not prevent customers from giving idiots in their respective work forces' privileges they did not have the neural capacity to use properly. Input on Usergroup creation/allocation cost a little extra. Some companies failed to realize that racking up more calls for unintentional or unwanted deletions was more expensive than preventing them in the first place. “Fortunately, backups in your company's package have an extended duration period. What data are you looking for?”
“A customer by the last name of Whelm. Christopher Whelm. W-h-e-l-m.”
Lara's pulse jumped for a second, then went back down. Her last name was a rarer one, and it was always interesting when she found or heard of someone else who shared it. She pulled up a complex search algorithm, set it to search all archived versions of the table in question, and filter out duplicates. The search returned two hits. “I have your customer right here. And...” Lara's breath caught in her throat. That couldn't be right. She looked at the rest of the information listed. Address, Phone #... “How am I...?”
“Lara? Lara, is everything okay?”
Mr. Spangler's voice on the phone snapped her out of her stupor. “Yes sir, sorry. Long day I suppose.”
“Yes, that would do it. You found the record?”
“Yes. The standard re-insert?”
“Yes, and please file a notification with the company heads. If it's that Jeffries guy again I'm going to wring his neck.”
“Careful sir, our calls are sometimes monitored.”
“Oh, did I say that out loud? Nevermind. The search worked again. Thank you Lara. Good day.”
The call cut out and Lara disconnected on her end as well. But she wasn't finished. Digging into the tables of the company Mr. Spangler worked for, well aware she was breaking a major company rule, she searched for that last name again. Once again, her name came up alongside the other one. A tag in the final column indicated she had made purchases.
Extremely curious, Lara pulled up the orders database for Chocol-art Inc. and ran an exact search on her first and last name. The search returned no records. She found this extremely odd, as she'd searched archived databases... but then realized she hadn't accounted for the currently active table version. Re-running the search on that table returned a slew of hits. Tens. Hundreds. It seemed she'd been a very busy customer, starting since...
She blinked at the purchase_date field, sure she was reading wrong. She ran the search a second time, just to be sure the data was being pulled up correctly. The records still floated there in front of her eyes.
The first hit's purchase date was listed as being several days in the near future. The price field was null - which shouldn't have been possible. Double checking the trans_price field, she verified that it was set to disallow null values. She was just about to dig deeper, into the individual purchases, when the call queue beeped at her, the programming irritated that she'd gone so long without seeing to the thick stack of waiting customers. Her boss would probably have something to say to her for it. She'd live, but, still... she logged off the Chocol-art database and went back to the deluge of calls. She never quite got her focus back all day, though she quickly forgot why she'd been distracted. Almost as if those records never really existed.
Lara woke up seven days later feeling bloated but hungry. She was an energized go-getter - from bed to bath in under a minute, usually before her alarm even got to go off. This morning was no different, but something seemed to be wrong nonetheless. Passing her alarm on the way to the bathroom, she flicked it to the 'off' position, and headed into the adjoining room. Pulling the oversized T-shirt she frequently used as a nightshirt up over her head, she caught a glimpse of herself as she tossed it to the floor. Yes, something was definitely amiss, but she could not put her finger on it. Shrugging, she pulled down her panties - she was small enough to get away with not wearing a bra to bed - and started the shower on a nice hot spray.
It was while lathering up that Lara first became aware of what had caught her attention. Her hands, so unconsciously used to the body they played over day after day, had found an oddity - a triad of soft spots on her middle and sides. Not big ones, by any definition, but definitely noticeable on her otherwise slender frame. “Junk food lunches are finally catching up to me, eh?” Lara quietly thought out loud, sighing. “Knew it would happen sooner or later. Oh well. It'll be gone again during the next lull. Wouldn't be surprised if it gets worse before it goes away, though.” With that, she continued bathing, the idea that she had gained a bit weight being enough of a non-event that it gave her such minimal pause as to simply merit a curious mulling.
Lara was, by no means, a health nut or fitness freak. She never attended the gym, her only real exercise - that which was not integral to her daily functionality - being a morning walk around the neighborhood, and only on days when the weather was decent. She had managed to maintain an even, 'healthy' weight all her 27 years through little more than a well-tuned metabolism, her body adjusting almost automatically to her eating patterns. If she splurged a little one day, she would be a little less hungry the next. Go a day or two without the time for normal, full meals, and she found herself wolfing down a plate of well-buttered pasta at the end of the day, packing away more than it looked like she should be able to hold.
Lara finished her shower after giving her luxurious mane of dark brown hair a thorough cleaning. She stepped out from the shower, her long tresses plastered to her back down to her tailbone, almost mirroring them in the front, save the moderate swell of her full A-cups creating slightly more ground to cover in their quest to reach the floor. It had been some time since she'd let it grow that long - having to deal with it pooling on the car seat when she got her license ruined the splendor of that display of excess. Wrapping a towel about her petite body, she wiped away a dry spot on the fogged-over window, peaking at the weather outside. The sky today was clear, sun streaming down at this late morning hour. Lara had been covering afternoon and evening shifts almost exclusively for the past couple years, and had grown accustomed to it. She was one of the most senior members of Hive Mind, having been recruited by one of the co-founders, a good guy friend, shortly after the company had stabilized and found its niche.
Opening the window, she pressed her hand up against the screen and felt the air temperature. It was nice and cool compared to the steamy bathroom, the thermometer just outside the window reading a pleasant 62 degrees. She would walk today, maybe help do something about that abnormal squish. She finished drying and threw on a 'yoga outfit' - sports bra, thong, tank top, socks, and velour pants and hoodie-style top. Slipping on a pair of comfortable cross trainers, she set off on her standard three-mile walk.
The walk was uneventful, and did little more than stimulate the background hunger she'd been feeling since she woke up, converting it to full-blown hunger pangs. Convenience was the name of the game, and two heaping bowls of cereal with milk gave their lives to silence the beast that had taken up residence in her tummy. The peddler's feast left her feeling full - not quite Thanksgiving full, but not that far off, either. She checked the time, realizing she was dangerously close to making herself late for work, and quickly changed and finished getting ready, leaving in a hurry.
The day was pretty much the usual - never exactly entertaining, but too full of work to be dull or even boring. Her boss surprised her and the others on duty at the time with a free lunch from the local burger joint. It being a database company, everyone had a record in a company table of default fast food/takeout orders, for just such an occasion as this. If someone went and got lunch, they could always look up a given coworker's order preferences for wherever they were headed, and be certain the recipient would appreciate what they got for lunch. Lunch, of course, was a relative term. Almost everyone built their day around their work shift, eating breakfast - the first meal of their 'day -' before work, making their second meal, at work, 'lunch'. However, that was arguing semantics. The food break was simply called lunch because it was the easiest term to use, and implied a median for the work shift.
Lara smiled and thanked her boss, thinking nothing of lumping a well-augmented double cheeseburger on top of the morning's breakfast. “So I'm stress eating, or something. Big deal, it's temporary, it's not like I'm gonna become some fat cow over a little fast food. Besides, I'm one of the skinniest girls here, one of the skinniest people in general here. No one's going to notice or care. So why should I? A quick series of chats with the other workers on clock decided a break order, as the call volume was a little low at the moment and would probably stay that way for the next hour or so. It did, and Lara was able to gulp down her burger, fries, and soda in the space of fifteen minutes before returning to the endless pit of the call queue.
When the day finished and Lara returned home, she lit the stove and set a pot of water on to boil. About fifteen minutes later, she was enjoying a mound of pasta, coated heavily with butter and grated Parmesan. The incongruity of a large, heavy dinner after a large breakfast and a heavy lunch did not properly register in her brain. True, this kind of eating was usually a response to under eating in her recent past, but the fat she'd noticed just that morning would seem to undermine that reasoning. However, at the core of things, Lara was a simple person. A lifetime of internal metabolic regulation led to a fundamental trust in the signals her body gave her. And right now, it told her she was hungry. So she ate without question, until she was full again. Never mind that it took half a pound of dressed pasta to satiate her body's call for food. Her stomach asked, and she provided, details be damned.
Since Lara had been a woman of routine for much of her young adult and adult life, one would think she'd notice and react when her eating habits did not revert to her lifelong idea of 'normal' when, a few weeks later, the level of business evened out and things at work got a little slower paced all around. She might have questioned her continued progress away from a 'healthy' weight, or the rate at which such change mounted. Regardless of how much she had been eating of late, she had completely forgotten the mysterious chocolate orders stretching into the future in her name. Even had she remembered them, it was not likely she would have drawn any conclusion linking the obviously fake orders and her rapidly-progressing climb up the scale. Neither did her coworkers or her small but tight web of friends comment on her growth, or the increasingly large amount of food it took to quell the stomach monster which seemed to bore easily, and amuse itself by triggering her appetite.
The door opened, footsteps approaching her desk. She was in the middle of a call, doing her best to snack on a mid-sized bowl of Twizzlers Bites in the periods where she was just listening to the caller. She was dimly aware of an arm swinging into view to her right, a familiar hand holding a large take-out bag.
An instant messenger window popped up on her screen. 'Got you lunch.' it read.
She smiled, and typed, 'Thanks, Steve.' into the text box below the message. Shortly after, 'Welcome.' flashed up below the first message.
Call volume was virtually non-existent today, so Lara was able to log herself out of the system and retreat to her secondary desk, a small but empty spot she could eat in private or perform other work that did not involve her computer (admittedly a rarity in her workplace). She opened the bag and pulled out what to some would be a small smorgasbord, but to her had the feeling of being perfectly normal.
Two double quarter-pounders with the works, two fry baskets half the size of her head, a liter of soda, a dozen chicken tenders, dipping sauces for the immediate former, and a pair of personal sized apple pies found themselves spread about the desk surface. She wasted no time digging in.
Author's Note: I know. It's been a while. As such, I decided to try a shorter, less developed story approach. Put erotica first and story depth second. All that fun stuff. That said... I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did during writing. *evil grin* You will notice a large difference in writing styles with this as well. I wrote half of it about a year ago.
Fat Hack
By: Forgotten_Futures
By: Forgotten_Futures
Lara tore open the package of chips, shoving in a diminutive, milk-white hand and pulling out a fistful of greasy, starchy goodness. The short young woman stuffed this handful in her mouth, chewed quickly, swallowed, and followed suit thrice more. Speed-walking to the communal bathroom shared by the octet of offices hers was in, she let a stream of hot water run over her hands to get them somewhat clean. She sighed and clicked her tongue, as a mother would tsk at her actions - as though it would do any good.
Lara worked for a small company which hosted databases for other companies too small to justify having a Database Administrator on staff, but with informational needs which would be crippling to manage through a paper file system. The pay was excellent, the hours flexible - so long as shifts were covered adequately - but if there was one job perk she missed it was a consistent lunch break.
On the one good side, the company realized lunches were sometimes difficult if not impossible to take, and so there was no such thing as an unpaid lunch break. If you had the time, you relaxed for half an hour over a dish prepared by the on-site cafeteria staff. A little busier and you might be able to hope for an unhindered coworker bringing you something to wolf down in the silent moments. Days like today...
Sitting back down, pulling the uniform headset back on and running the automatic equalizing diagnostic (every employee's voice was modified to project at the same volume over communications lines), Lara gulped down half a liter of coke in the 15 seconds it took to log back in to her station. She'd regret the soda later, when she had to piss like a racehorse in the middle of a client's call, but that was how they sold 'em in the vending machines in the octet's inner lounge.
Attempting to stifle a roiling belch - and failing - Lara checked the call queue, and picked the fourth on the list. Technically, staff were supposed to handle calls in FIFO order (First In First Out), but she'd just finished up a 'Strangler', and recognized the fourth name as one of their most polite clients.
“Hive Mind Information Systems, Lara speaking.”
“Ahh, Lara, good to hear from you!” It was Mr. Spangler, a clueless, bumbling fool if there ever was one, but lacking the obnoxious quality of his many peers. “Lara, dear, I'm looking for a record in one of our customer tables and the search thingy isn't coming up with anything. I know they should be in there, I see their name in the orders table but...” he trailed off, letting her finish his sentence in technically accurate detail he might never attain.
“Ahh yes, I know which table you're referring to.” One of the most annoying things - but also a ploy her company used to get a little bit more money out of some clients - was that they did not prevent customers from giving idiots in their respective work forces' privileges they did not have the neural capacity to use properly. Input on Usergroup creation/allocation cost a little extra. Some companies failed to realize that racking up more calls for unintentional or unwanted deletions was more expensive than preventing them in the first place. “Fortunately, backups in your company's package have an extended duration period. What data are you looking for?”
“A customer by the last name of Whelm. Christopher Whelm. W-h-e-l-m.”
Lara's pulse jumped for a second, then went back down. Her last name was a rarer one, and it was always interesting when she found or heard of someone else who shared it. She pulled up a complex search algorithm, set it to search all archived versions of the table in question, and filter out duplicates. The search returned two hits. “I have your customer right here. And...” Lara's breath caught in her throat. That couldn't be right. She looked at the rest of the information listed. Address, Phone #... “How am I...?”
“Lara? Lara, is everything okay?”
Mr. Spangler's voice on the phone snapped her out of her stupor. “Yes sir, sorry. Long day I suppose.”
“Yes, that would do it. You found the record?”
“Yes. The standard re-insert?”
“Yes, and please file a notification with the company heads. If it's that Jeffries guy again I'm going to wring his neck.”
“Careful sir, our calls are sometimes monitored.”
“Oh, did I say that out loud? Nevermind. The search worked again. Thank you Lara. Good day.”
The call cut out and Lara disconnected on her end as well. But she wasn't finished. Digging into the tables of the company Mr. Spangler worked for, well aware she was breaking a major company rule, she searched for that last name again. Once again, her name came up alongside the other one. A tag in the final column indicated she had made purchases.
Extremely curious, Lara pulled up the orders database for Chocol-art Inc. and ran an exact search on her first and last name. The search returned no records. She found this extremely odd, as she'd searched archived databases... but then realized she hadn't accounted for the currently active table version. Re-running the search on that table returned a slew of hits. Tens. Hundreds. It seemed she'd been a very busy customer, starting since...
She blinked at the purchase_date field, sure she was reading wrong. She ran the search a second time, just to be sure the data was being pulled up correctly. The records still floated there in front of her eyes.
The first hit's purchase date was listed as being several days in the near future. The price field was null - which shouldn't have been possible. Double checking the trans_price field, she verified that it was set to disallow null values. She was just about to dig deeper, into the individual purchases, when the call queue beeped at her, the programming irritated that she'd gone so long without seeing to the thick stack of waiting customers. Her boss would probably have something to say to her for it. She'd live, but, still... she logged off the Chocol-art database and went back to the deluge of calls. She never quite got her focus back all day, though she quickly forgot why she'd been distracted. Almost as if those records never really existed.
Lara woke up seven days later feeling bloated but hungry. She was an energized go-getter - from bed to bath in under a minute, usually before her alarm even got to go off. This morning was no different, but something seemed to be wrong nonetheless. Passing her alarm on the way to the bathroom, she flicked it to the 'off' position, and headed into the adjoining room. Pulling the oversized T-shirt she frequently used as a nightshirt up over her head, she caught a glimpse of herself as she tossed it to the floor. Yes, something was definitely amiss, but she could not put her finger on it. Shrugging, she pulled down her panties - she was small enough to get away with not wearing a bra to bed - and started the shower on a nice hot spray.
It was while lathering up that Lara first became aware of what had caught her attention. Her hands, so unconsciously used to the body they played over day after day, had found an oddity - a triad of soft spots on her middle and sides. Not big ones, by any definition, but definitely noticeable on her otherwise slender frame. “Junk food lunches are finally catching up to me, eh?” Lara quietly thought out loud, sighing. “Knew it would happen sooner or later. Oh well. It'll be gone again during the next lull. Wouldn't be surprised if it gets worse before it goes away, though.” With that, she continued bathing, the idea that she had gained a bit weight being enough of a non-event that it gave her such minimal pause as to simply merit a curious mulling.
Lara was, by no means, a health nut or fitness freak. She never attended the gym, her only real exercise - that which was not integral to her daily functionality - being a morning walk around the neighborhood, and only on days when the weather was decent. She had managed to maintain an even, 'healthy' weight all her 27 years through little more than a well-tuned metabolism, her body adjusting almost automatically to her eating patterns. If she splurged a little one day, she would be a little less hungry the next. Go a day or two without the time for normal, full meals, and she found herself wolfing down a plate of well-buttered pasta at the end of the day, packing away more than it looked like she should be able to hold.
Lara finished her shower after giving her luxurious mane of dark brown hair a thorough cleaning. She stepped out from the shower, her long tresses plastered to her back down to her tailbone, almost mirroring them in the front, save the moderate swell of her full A-cups creating slightly more ground to cover in their quest to reach the floor. It had been some time since she'd let it grow that long - having to deal with it pooling on the car seat when she got her license ruined the splendor of that display of excess. Wrapping a towel about her petite body, she wiped away a dry spot on the fogged-over window, peaking at the weather outside. The sky today was clear, sun streaming down at this late morning hour. Lara had been covering afternoon and evening shifts almost exclusively for the past couple years, and had grown accustomed to it. She was one of the most senior members of Hive Mind, having been recruited by one of the co-founders, a good guy friend, shortly after the company had stabilized and found its niche.
Opening the window, she pressed her hand up against the screen and felt the air temperature. It was nice and cool compared to the steamy bathroom, the thermometer just outside the window reading a pleasant 62 degrees. She would walk today, maybe help do something about that abnormal squish. She finished drying and threw on a 'yoga outfit' - sports bra, thong, tank top, socks, and velour pants and hoodie-style top. Slipping on a pair of comfortable cross trainers, she set off on her standard three-mile walk.
The walk was uneventful, and did little more than stimulate the background hunger she'd been feeling since she woke up, converting it to full-blown hunger pangs. Convenience was the name of the game, and two heaping bowls of cereal with milk gave their lives to silence the beast that had taken up residence in her tummy. The peddler's feast left her feeling full - not quite Thanksgiving full, but not that far off, either. She checked the time, realizing she was dangerously close to making herself late for work, and quickly changed and finished getting ready, leaving in a hurry.
The day was pretty much the usual - never exactly entertaining, but too full of work to be dull or even boring. Her boss surprised her and the others on duty at the time with a free lunch from the local burger joint. It being a database company, everyone had a record in a company table of default fast food/takeout orders, for just such an occasion as this. If someone went and got lunch, they could always look up a given coworker's order preferences for wherever they were headed, and be certain the recipient would appreciate what they got for lunch. Lunch, of course, was a relative term. Almost everyone built their day around their work shift, eating breakfast - the first meal of their 'day -' before work, making their second meal, at work, 'lunch'. However, that was arguing semantics. The food break was simply called lunch because it was the easiest term to use, and implied a median for the work shift.
Lara smiled and thanked her boss, thinking nothing of lumping a well-augmented double cheeseburger on top of the morning's breakfast. “So I'm stress eating, or something. Big deal, it's temporary, it's not like I'm gonna become some fat cow over a little fast food. Besides, I'm one of the skinniest girls here, one of the skinniest people in general here. No one's going to notice or care. So why should I? A quick series of chats with the other workers on clock decided a break order, as the call volume was a little low at the moment and would probably stay that way for the next hour or so. It did, and Lara was able to gulp down her burger, fries, and soda in the space of fifteen minutes before returning to the endless pit of the call queue.
When the day finished and Lara returned home, she lit the stove and set a pot of water on to boil. About fifteen minutes later, she was enjoying a mound of pasta, coated heavily with butter and grated Parmesan. The incongruity of a large, heavy dinner after a large breakfast and a heavy lunch did not properly register in her brain. True, this kind of eating was usually a response to under eating in her recent past, but the fat she'd noticed just that morning would seem to undermine that reasoning. However, at the core of things, Lara was a simple person. A lifetime of internal metabolic regulation led to a fundamental trust in the signals her body gave her. And right now, it told her she was hungry. So she ate without question, until she was full again. Never mind that it took half a pound of dressed pasta to satiate her body's call for food. Her stomach asked, and she provided, details be damned.
Since Lara had been a woman of routine for much of her young adult and adult life, one would think she'd notice and react when her eating habits did not revert to her lifelong idea of 'normal' when, a few weeks later, the level of business evened out and things at work got a little slower paced all around. She might have questioned her continued progress away from a 'healthy' weight, or the rate at which such change mounted. Regardless of how much she had been eating of late, she had completely forgotten the mysterious chocolate orders stretching into the future in her name. Even had she remembered them, it was not likely she would have drawn any conclusion linking the obviously fake orders and her rapidly-progressing climb up the scale. Neither did her coworkers or her small but tight web of friends comment on her growth, or the increasingly large amount of food it took to quell the stomach monster which seemed to bore easily, and amuse itself by triggering her appetite.
The door opened, footsteps approaching her desk. She was in the middle of a call, doing her best to snack on a mid-sized bowl of Twizzlers Bites in the periods where she was just listening to the caller. She was dimly aware of an arm swinging into view to her right, a familiar hand holding a large take-out bag.
An instant messenger window popped up on her screen. 'Got you lunch.' it read.
She smiled, and typed, 'Thanks, Steve.' into the text box below the message. Shortly after, 'Welcome.' flashed up below the first message.
Call volume was virtually non-existent today, so Lara was able to log herself out of the system and retreat to her secondary desk, a small but empty spot she could eat in private or perform other work that did not involve her computer (admittedly a rarity in her workplace). She opened the bag and pulled out what to some would be a small smorgasbord, but to her had the feeling of being perfectly normal.
Two double quarter-pounders with the works, two fry baskets half the size of her head, a liter of soda, a dozen chicken tenders, dipping sauces for the immediate former, and a pair of personal sized apple pies found themselves spread about the desk surface. She wasted no time digging in.
