Ravens-son
Well-Known Member
SSBBW, XWG, Stuffing- Unhappy Morgan wakes up to find everyone around her suddenly catering to her impossible appetite.
[Author's note: This story is a remake of an older story found here. Not to slam the original author, but I had some serious issues with the original story and I felt it could be... if not improved upon, at least made tighter and just better written.
I've taken the story in a bit of a new direction, discarding some elements from the original to give it better focus. I have an idea for a Part 2, but I'll be taking it in a much different direction than is usually seen here on Dimensions, so I might post Part 2 only on my DeviantArt page.]
Chapter One - Part 1
“What, there won’t even be any cake?” Morgan asked incredulously.
“No. Especially not a cake,” her mother answered calmly, folding laundry “You’re turning 18 tomorrow, so I can’t control what you eat, but I won’t let you stuff yourself. If having a cake is that important, you can buy your own.”
“But I don’t have any money!”
“Then get a job. I’ve been telling you for two years you should get a job, grow up a little. Being on your feet a little would have done you some good.”
“Oh, that’s what it’s about!” Morgan shouted, “You think you can control me and make me into a little clone of you!”
And with that she stomped out of the living room, up to her bedroom, and slammed the door.
The origin of this argument was Morgan’s mother refusing to chauffer her daughter and friends to a mall two towns over on the weekend, citing the existence of a perfectly fine shopping mall in their own town. Morgan had tried to claim the trip as qualifying as a birthday party, to which her mother responded she wasn’t going to be throwing a party for an adult, which Morgan would now be.
This statement hit Morgan less because it meant no ride to the mall and more because, as her mother confirmed, it meant there would be no cake for her tomorrow. And that point quickly brought the argument to the underlying gulf between mother and daughter, the point of contention that had been lying beneath every conversation between the two for almost three months.
To look at mother and daughter as they stood there in the living room, it would not have taken much explanation as to what the gulf was. Morgan’s mother, Diana, was a lifelong health nut, an avid jogger and aerobics enthusiast, and seldom had any extraneous body fat aside from her two pregnancies. Morgan, on the other hand, had grown up in a pampered suburban existence with access to various snacks, desserts and fast food franchises. For most of her life she had been a normal weight for someone her age and height (she was a hair over 5’4” now), but when she stopped taking PE in her sophomore year she became simultaneously lazier and more gluttonous as time passed. The result being that a few months after her 17th birthday she had passed 250 pounds.
Her mother had never been one to coddle Morgan, but concerns of giving her daughter a complex or eating disorder had kept her silent throughout the young woman’s adolescence as she steadily grew rounder, especially in her breasts, which jutted ahead of her like large, fleshy pillows, and her gut, which was the prime beneficiary of her excess calories. It was a veritable paunch, sagging over the waistband of her pants and peeking out from the bottom of her just-too-small XL shirt.
But one night three months ago, when the button on Morgan’s jeans had popped off as she leaned across the table to grab the bowl of mashed potatoes and take a third butter and sour cream-laden serving, had finally been too much for the woman. Years of hands-off parenting and an attempt to let her children find their own way in life were thrown out as Diana put her daughter on a strict calorie regiment and forced her accompany her on thrice-weekly jogs. To help enforce this, she ceased holding her tongue whenever Morgan went for second helpings or tried to shirk a jog.
“Do you really need more food?” “Do the boys these days prefer girls who just sit on the couch all day?” “When was the last time you really looked in the mirror?”
Morgan responded… less than enthusiastically. That is to say, where once the two women had been cool and distant from each other, the younger now actively resented the older. Diana had not, she herself would admit, been too concerned with sparing her daughter’s feelings. She figured that once Morgan was thin and beautiful her daughter would forgive her, understanding why she had been so harsh.
That didn’t seem likely, though. Three months of watching her daughter’s intake and waking her up at 5:30 for pre-dawn jogs had only resulted in 15 pounds falling off Morgan’s still corpulent body. Diana was convinced her daughter was sneaking food from somewhere, even after she had stopped buying anything salty, sweet or too rich in calories, but short of stalking her daughter she had no way of confirming this. She could only do what was in her power, and part of that meant no cake for Morgan’s birthday.
Diana thought her daughter would have expected that, but hearing the muffled-yet-audible sound of Morgan screaming into her pillow it didn’t seem to be the case.
Actually, it was. Morgan had known better than to think her mother would buy her a birthday cake. But that wasn’t the point. The point was Morgan was already having a bad day (low marks on a history test she had genuinely studied for, forgetting her math homework at home, the cute foreign exchange student was going out with that bitch Imelda) and picking a fight with her mother fed into her anger in a way that was both aggravating and somehow reassuring. It felt good to give into her anger.
So for the rest of the night Morgan sat in her room and seethed, save for a change of scenery sitting at the dinner table and seething her way through a salad and bowl of fruit.
When midnight came and Morgan officially turned 18 (technically it was 13 hours before she was actually 18, but that’s a bit too specific to matter) she was lying in her bed, still seething. Looking at her alarm clock, she the time change from 11:59 to 12:00.
“Guess I’m an adult now,” she thought to herself, “Guess mother can’t stop me from being fat now, can she?”
Repeating that in her head, Morgan realized it was true. Her mother couldn’t do anything to stop her from being fat. OK, yes, she could pull the “If you’re going to live under my roof” line, but that was it. If she wanted to wake up Morgan at 5:30 tomorrow (today) it wasn’t going to matter. She would just roll over and go back to sleep.
“And if I want to eat a lot…” her stomach growled like an eager dog.
There should be something worth eating down in the kitchen, right? Nothing too sweet, but maybe some bagels she could lather cream cheese on. Some leftover ham. And wasn’t there a little potato salad?
Throwing off her bed sheets, Morgan got up and went down to the kitchen, slowly, quietly. The house was silent, which made her ever more nervous about making any noise.
She walked into the kitchen, slippers on linoleum, and opened the door to the fridge. There was the leftover ham, and some potato salad, and…
No way! Doughnuts? When had her mother bought doughnuts? Maybe they were for her office tomorrow morning, purchased early so she didn’t have to swing by the store on her way to work. It didn’t make much sense, but Morgan didn’t care. She wanted to strike back against her mother, and this was even better than she had imagined.
Grabbing the first box of doughnuts, Morgan opened the box and grabbed one, a Boston crème treat. She took an oversized bite, the sugar and frosting igniting her taste buds. She practically moaned and she chewed and swallowed, then took another giant bite. In seconds the first doughnut was gone and she was starting on a raspberry-filled.
She got through four doughnuts and halfway through a fifth before she had to slow down. Months of constant starvation had done nothing to shrink Morgan’s stomach, which was given its first real workout in months tonight as Morgan worked her way through the full dozen.
Feeling thirsty, she looked inside for some milk but found another surprise. A two-liter of cola was there, and not even diet. Morgan twisted the cap off and chugged a third of the soda straight away, then went back to the doughnuts, alternating between soda and pastry.
When the first box was empty and the soda down to a third, Morgan leaned back contentedly and rubbed her stomach. She was surprised it didn’t feel that hard, though there was a pressure she couldn’t ignore. Belching a couple times, she felt the pressure lighten, and found herself grabbing the second box from the fridge.
She only planned to have one or two (she couldn’t believe all she had already eaten, and was expecting to feel ill any second now), but over the next twenty minutes Morgan made her way through every last doughnut. By the end her belly was stretched out further than it had ever been before, and Morgan had to open her legs to keep it from pushing her breasts up into her face.
And yet… she still felt a little room. Struggling to get up, she returned to the fridge a second time and grabbed the dish of potato salad (hadn’t it only been a cereal bowl? Morgan was entering a food haze and wasn’t sure). The dish was cold on her belly, but Morgan was more concerned with scooping spoonfuls of the rich food into her mouth.
It was another half-hour before Morgan finished the potato salad, each bite taking longer to chew and swallow as the pressure in her belly grew to the point of being unbearable. With half of the dish untouched Morgan considered stopping, but something pushed her on. It was no longer the joy of stuffing herself (she felt pretty damned stuffed already), and it wasn’t about angering her mother. It was something else, something simpler and more primal. She just couldn’t leave the food in front of her uneaten.
When she was finally done, Morgan put the dish to the side and groaned. It was hard to breathe, which she could only do with shallow breaths. How was she going to get back to her bed?
Very slowly, was the answer. Rising to her feet slowly, ever so slowly, Morgan stood up and breathed heavily, then took one hesitant step forward. She couldn’t move too fast, it felt like everything she had eaten would come back up, but she managed to make it to her bed. Lying on her side (her belly was too heavy for her to lie on her back, and forget about lying on her stomach) Morgan closed her eyes, forced herself to breathe, and drifted to sleep.
The morning sun woke her up, and it was a few minutes before she recalled the midnight feast. Her mother! What would her mother say!
She bolted upright in bed, her belly returned to its empty, manageable weight. In fact, it seemed to be groaning a bit in hunger. It was then that Morgan realized the time, a couple minutes before 7, and the fact that her mother hadn’t woken her up for a jog.
“Maybe now that I’m 18 she’ll lay off me,” Morgan thought, “Or maybe she’s just giving me the day off because it’s my birthday.”
Whichever it was, there was still the matter of her binge. Even if she could delay it by going back to sleep, rushing to get ready for school and waddling out the door, it wasn’t going to make her mother any less angry. So, deciding to act like an adult and face the storm, Morgan got up, showered, threw on a pair of jeans and shirt that were just too small but not small enough to be unseemly, and went downstairs.
Before she entered the kitchen she became confused. There was the unmistakable smell of bacon and pancakes, accompanied by the sound of sizzling and a spatula scraping a pan.
Turning the corner, Morgan found her mother standing at the oven, flipping a pancake with one hand and then turning over strips of bacon with the other.
“Happy birthday, honey!” Her mother beamed, “Grab a plate and dig in!”
She motioned to a small buffet’s worth of food sitting on the counter. Plates of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and mounds of pancakes covered the space, with a bottle of syrup, dish of butter and bowl of powdered sugar on standby next to it all.
Morgan didn’t move. This made no sense, to say the absolute least.
Was her mother putting her on? This seemed a bit much for a joke. When did her mother even buy bacon or sausage? It was always just oatmeal and fresh fruit.
“OK,” Morgan thought, “If this is some elaborate game she wants to play, I’ll play along.”
She grabbed a plate and fork and loaded a stack of pancakes plus bacon and eggs, grabbed the syrup and butter, and took a seat at the table. There was about as much food on the plate as Morgan’s mother had allowed her to eat in a single day over the past month, but when Diana turned around to load the latest batch of bacon onto a dish to cool she only smiled at Morgan warmly. Nothing malicious behind it.
Digging in, Morgan noticed the dish that had previously contained potato salad sitting in the sink. So last night’s feast hadn’t been a dream, she was now sure of that. But what was her mother getting at?
She didn’t bother to guess, she simply ate. The first plate of food was gone in almost no time, and Morgan filled it up again and continued eating. This went on for half an hour, Diana cooking as Morgan went through plate after plate of food. Like the night before, she continued eating even past the basic point of sated, both because it gave her pleasure and because she wanted to get under her mother’s skin.
But her mother wasn’t rising to the bait. The more Morgan ate, the more she watched her mother, the more it seemed like her mother was being sincere, cooking and offering her daughter food. By the time her brother Leighton came down for breakfast she was starting to feel creeped out. It didn’t help when her brother, eating just a bowl of cereal, treated Diana’s cooking and Morgan’s binging as a normal, everyday occurrence.
This didn’t stop Morgan from stuffing herself as much as she could, however. The food was all delicious (she didn’t know her mother could cook so well) and her stomach was slow to signal it was full. By the time the pressure in her stomach was becoming too much to bear almost all the food her mother had cooked, enough for an entire family of serious eaters, was gone, and it was more out of a sense of completion than anything that Morgan went through the last dozen strips of bacon soaked in residual syrup and butter.
As astounding as it was, Morgan could not deny her belly was even larger now than it had been after her feast last night. It wasn’t surprising, in that she had eaten even more now than then, but it was mystifying how her stomach could even swell so much without popping. It was a large, pink boulder, stretched taut. Her shirt, dotted with bits of syrup and butter, had gone from just this side of small to only able to cover her breasts. Her entire stomach was bare, and Morgan wondered how she was supposed to go to school looking like this.
“Did you get enough, sweetie?”
The thought of eating any more made Morgan groan, but a part of her was thinking a bowl or two of sugary cereal would really hit the spot. Something sweet to offset all the grease.
“I’m good, mother. But I think this shirt has seen better days.”
“Hold that thought,” and her mother ran out of the kitchen, leaving Morgan to lean back, rub her belly, and focus on breathing. Her mother returned with a present wrapped up in pink paper.
“I was going to wait until you got back from school, but I think you need it now.”
Morgan unwrapped the gift, finding a box from Neiman Marcus. She looked inside and gasped.
It was a top. It was THE top, the top she had first seen weeks ago and had wanted desperately ever since, certain she could never find it in her size, let alone afford it. How did her mother know? She had never mentioned this to her.
“Do you like it?” Her mother asked, a bit nervous by Morgan’s bewildered expression.
“I love it.” Morgan heaved herself up and, without a thought to whether her brother was still in the house, took off her shirt and put on the top. It fit her perfectly; in fact, it was actually a bit bigger than what she needed. “How did you find it in my size?”
“It’s a custom order. I know your measurements, and I had them make it a bit bigger since you’re still a growing girl.”
“I can’t believe it,” Morgan said, genuinely stunned. “Thank you!”
“Thank me later, you’re about to miss your bus.”
Morgan headed for the stairs, stopped, then turned around and hugged her mother.
The entire bus ride Morgan was torn between the joy of her immense breakfast and love of her new top (a couple of her classmates complimented her on it, people who had never spoken to her before) and her confusion at her mother’s behavior. Making her a huge breakfast? Buying her a larger-than-necessary and expensive top? Telling her she was ‘still a growing girl’? What was going on?
The weirdness continued at school. En route to her locker Morgan had to pass the door to the teacher’s lounge. This morning she was stopped by Mr. Barker, her biology teacher.
“Good morning, Morgan!”
“Good morning, Mr. Barker.” She said politely, continuing on.
“Could you come inside?” He asked. Confused, Morgan did so.
Inside it was a normal break room, with some couches and tables and a fridge and coffeemaker. But what Morgan noticed was the table to the side loaded with cookies, fudge, cupcakes, and even a pumpkin pie that was only missing one slice.
“We were having a little party to celebrate Ms. Kinison’s engagement, but we’ve got more food here than we can all eat. Feel free to help yourself, if you’d like.”
‘More food?’ Morgan thought, though it didn’t stop her from walking up to the table and loading a paper plate with a couple cupcakes, some fudge and a couple handfuls of cookies. Maybe she could just take a bunch now, eat a little, and save the rest for a snack later.
But she didn’t save any. In the twenty minutes before she needed to leave and make her way to class, she finished the entire plate and filled it up again. Some part of her standing outside herself couldn’t believe how much she was eating, especially on top of what she had already eaten so far. But her conscious mind could not deny how good it tasted, how good it felt to really cut loose. Even before her mother had tried to get her to slim down she had never gone so overboard with her eating. Why hadn’t she? This felt amazing.
Plus, part of her expected a teacher to cut her off. “I think you’ve had enough.”
But it never came. She sat at a table with three other teachers, eating steadily and making small talk, yet not a one commented on her gluttony. In fact, the first and only one to speak up, Mr. Roxbury, her English teacher, said the exact opposite of what she expected to hear.
“You should get along to class now, Morgan. Don’t want to be late. Why don’t you load up a plate of goodies and take it to class? I won’t mind you snacking as long as you’re quiet.”
Whatl? Mr. Roxbury was OK with her eating in his class? He didn’t even tolerate people drinking water. But the other teachers had heard him, she couldn’t get into trouble for this, could she?
She decided to not only test it, but to really see how far she could take it. No one was going to say she was eating too much? Everyone wanted to keep giving her food? Let’s call their bluff, Morgan decided.
Grabbing the pie tin, still almost entirely full, she dumped the remaining fudge and cookies on top of it, grabbed a couple cupcakes for good measure, and took the entire pile of calories with her.
No one said anything as she walked out. They just smiled and waved to her.
Stepping outside, wondering how long it would actually take her to eat all this (her stomach was beginning to feel tight again after the snacking) and feeling ridiculous for grabbing it all in the first place, she was startled by someone stepping up to her and all-but-shouting “Happy birthday!” in her ear.
Morgan turned and was relieved to see it was only April, her best friend. The reedy blonde had a huge grin on her face.
“Hi, April.”
“Hi- Whoa! Where’d you get all that?” She goggled at all the food in Morgan’s hands.
“The teachers were having a party and they just let me take all this. Can you believe it?”
“Not really, but here you are holding it.”
“Here, can you hold it for a second?” April took the plate of food while Morgan got her books from her locker.
“Oof. Heavy. Try to save some room for the buffet this afternoon.”
“The buffet?” Morgan asked, but April had already handed her the food back and was walking away to her own class. “What buffet?”
She didn’t have time to stand there and wonder; she had class. True to his word, Mr. Roxbury didn’t care that Morgan was snacking throughout his entire lecture, grabbing cookies and bits of fudge with one hand while taking notes with another. She ate slowly, casually, not wanting to appear like an absolute pig in the middle of her class (who seemed oddly blasé about her constant eating) nor making herself too full to move.
So Morgan didn’t clear the pile of food, and when she went to her next class still lugging the treats she was sure Mrs. Smith would tell her to put the food away.
Instead, she got another shock.
“Hello, Morgan. I see you helped yourself to the treats from this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s really good.” She said, waiting for the ‘Put it away before class starts.’
“Looks like you haven’t finished it. I guess you’re not interested in having a scone. I bought a bunch for the other teachers today, forgetting we were having the party.” She held up a box of oversized raspberry and blueberry scones, the smell hitting Morgan’s nostrils.
Eyes growing a bit wider, her stomach feeling a bit emptier, Morgan reached out and grabbed a scone the size of a grapefruit, taking a bite out of it.
“Feel free to take two, dear. One of each.”
Obeying, Morgan grabbed a second one and placed it on her pie tin.
Like her first class, Morgan passed her second one eating steadily and taking notes. Still not a sideways glance or comment from her classmates, still not a single sign from anyone that this was as unusual as it felt to Morgan.
Not that she was going to stop eating. Even feeling constantly full, it all tasted too good for her to stop. As she swallowed each bite she was already eager for the next one.
Her third class was no different than the first two (that is, it was very different from normal life), and it was here that she finally finished all the food she had grabbed from the teacher’s lounge, and not a moment too soon. Through morning break and her next two classes Morgan did nothing except take notes and focus on breathing steadily.
The pressure in her belly fell away slowly at first, and then fast, and by the end of fifth period she was practically starving, mentally chiding her stomach to stop its growling. Heaving herself up out of her chair, she moved faster than seemed possible at her size, making a beeline for the cafeteria.
Despite all the eating she had done over the past twelve hours (or perhaps because of it) Morgan set about to make her lunch a feast unto itself. Loading two trays with fried chicken, pizza, hamburgers and French fries, she slowly carried the food to her normal table.
As she ate, her friends joined her in ones and twos. They were all eating their normal fare (no one Morgan had seen today seemed to be indulging the way she was), and as was becoming the norm not a one remarked on Morgan’s phenomenal intake except for April repeating her “Save room for the buffet” line. Focused on her eating, Morgan didn’t bother to ask what she meant by that.
When she was on her last hamburger, Morgan tested her stomach (hardly tight; she could still eat a lot more) and was thinking about what she wanted for her next course. But before she could finish and get up, one of her friends - Leslie - came up and dropped a stack of Klondike bars on her tray.
“Eat up. You’re the birthday girl.”
Reaching the point where she didn’t want to question any of it, Morgan simply shrugged and started unwrapping the ice cream bars. She hadn’t finished them before another friend brought her another pair of hamburgers and French fries. Morgan’s belly, already swollen beyond her normal capacity all day, continued to stretch out further as she kept accepting offerings from her friends. There didn’t seem to be any limit to how much she could eat other than how much pressure she could endure in her stomach.
It turned out to be a lot. By the end of the lunch hour, as Morgan finished a last bite of pizza crust and last sip of soda, her belly was like a cartoonishly exaggerated pregnant woman’s womb. It wasn’t human how much she had eaten, how much her belly had expanded to accommodate so much food. Standing up, Morgan could feel the bottom of her new top rising almost above her waistband. The top her mother had said was made too large for her was just barely able to cover her now.
‘This is a dream, isn’t it?’ Morgan asked herself as she ponderously waddled to class, stopping at a vending machine to buy a number of treats in anticipation of growing hungry again soon. ‘It’s a dream caused by all the starvation and dieting my mother has forced on me. I’m going to just keep eating until I explode and wake up, or I’ll wake up anyway.’
Convinced it was just a dream, Morgan wasn’t at all surprised when her seventh period teacher, Mr. Barker, held out a tray of cupcakes to her.
“We didn’t finish these and I’d hate to throw them in the trash.”
Morgan didn’t even let him finish before she took the tray and took a giant bite out of her first cupcake. No longer noticing the people around her, barely cognizant of what Mr. Barker was saying during class, she ate the rest of the cupcakes and started on her cache of snacks. Still, she managed to take good notes and even got a start on the day’s homework.
At the end of the school day Morgan made her way to the bus stop, hoping to go home and take a nap but feeling sure she’d want a snack first. But before she could get out of the school building she was stopped by April.
“There you are! Where do you think you’re going?”
Morgan started to say ‘Home,’ but her friend (who she outweighed by a 150 pounds) was already guiding her to the student parking lot. Several of their friends were already waiting there, standing around a minivan. Leslie was in the driver’s seat, and as Morgan allowed herself to be pushed in she remembered April’s strange remarks about a buffet. Though she had an idea what her friend was referring to now.
Sure enough, Leslie drove the group of women to a BBQ buffet on the outskirts of town that Morgan never knew existed. Maybe it was just part of her dream.
“Hope you’re hungry, girl.” April said, patting Morgan’s still-swollen belly. As if in response, Morgan’s belly grumbled.
Once Morgan and her friends were seated, they told her to sit back and relax as they brought her plate after plate of BBQ ribs, mashed potatoes and cornbread. Like Morgan’s day so far, her capacity for food was as unreal as the way people kept forcing it upon her. Over an hour and a half passed before Morgan had to beg off, telling her friends she couldn’t eat another bite.
But that wasn’t the end. After letting her rest for a few minutes, April signaled to a waitress, who left and came back holding a giant piece of chocolate cake.
Morgan groaned, but she allowed herself to be fed the cake; fortunately, it was so moist it virtually slid down her throat. Still, by the time the cake was gone it was all she could do to keep it all down.
She needed help getting to her feet and staying upright; there was so much food in her stomach it would have pulled her forward if she didn’t have someone to lean on.
They drove her home, and Morgan could do nothing but struggle upstairs and collapse onto her bed.
Morgan (Redone)
by Ravens-son (after James)
by Ravens-son (after James)
[Author's note: This story is a remake of an older story found here. Not to slam the original author, but I had some serious issues with the original story and I felt it could be... if not improved upon, at least made tighter and just better written.
I've taken the story in a bit of a new direction, discarding some elements from the original to give it better focus. I have an idea for a Part 2, but I'll be taking it in a much different direction than is usually seen here on Dimensions, so I might post Part 2 only on my DeviantArt page.]
Chapter One - Part 1
“What, there won’t even be any cake?” Morgan asked incredulously.
“No. Especially not a cake,” her mother answered calmly, folding laundry “You’re turning 18 tomorrow, so I can’t control what you eat, but I won’t let you stuff yourself. If having a cake is that important, you can buy your own.”
“But I don’t have any money!”
“Then get a job. I’ve been telling you for two years you should get a job, grow up a little. Being on your feet a little would have done you some good.”
“Oh, that’s what it’s about!” Morgan shouted, “You think you can control me and make me into a little clone of you!”
And with that she stomped out of the living room, up to her bedroom, and slammed the door.
The origin of this argument was Morgan’s mother refusing to chauffer her daughter and friends to a mall two towns over on the weekend, citing the existence of a perfectly fine shopping mall in their own town. Morgan had tried to claim the trip as qualifying as a birthday party, to which her mother responded she wasn’t going to be throwing a party for an adult, which Morgan would now be.
This statement hit Morgan less because it meant no ride to the mall and more because, as her mother confirmed, it meant there would be no cake for her tomorrow. And that point quickly brought the argument to the underlying gulf between mother and daughter, the point of contention that had been lying beneath every conversation between the two for almost three months.
To look at mother and daughter as they stood there in the living room, it would not have taken much explanation as to what the gulf was. Morgan’s mother, Diana, was a lifelong health nut, an avid jogger and aerobics enthusiast, and seldom had any extraneous body fat aside from her two pregnancies. Morgan, on the other hand, had grown up in a pampered suburban existence with access to various snacks, desserts and fast food franchises. For most of her life she had been a normal weight for someone her age and height (she was a hair over 5’4” now), but when she stopped taking PE in her sophomore year she became simultaneously lazier and more gluttonous as time passed. The result being that a few months after her 17th birthday she had passed 250 pounds.
Her mother had never been one to coddle Morgan, but concerns of giving her daughter a complex or eating disorder had kept her silent throughout the young woman’s adolescence as she steadily grew rounder, especially in her breasts, which jutted ahead of her like large, fleshy pillows, and her gut, which was the prime beneficiary of her excess calories. It was a veritable paunch, sagging over the waistband of her pants and peeking out from the bottom of her just-too-small XL shirt.
But one night three months ago, when the button on Morgan’s jeans had popped off as she leaned across the table to grab the bowl of mashed potatoes and take a third butter and sour cream-laden serving, had finally been too much for the woman. Years of hands-off parenting and an attempt to let her children find their own way in life were thrown out as Diana put her daughter on a strict calorie regiment and forced her accompany her on thrice-weekly jogs. To help enforce this, she ceased holding her tongue whenever Morgan went for second helpings or tried to shirk a jog.
“Do you really need more food?” “Do the boys these days prefer girls who just sit on the couch all day?” “When was the last time you really looked in the mirror?”
Morgan responded… less than enthusiastically. That is to say, where once the two women had been cool and distant from each other, the younger now actively resented the older. Diana had not, she herself would admit, been too concerned with sparing her daughter’s feelings. She figured that once Morgan was thin and beautiful her daughter would forgive her, understanding why she had been so harsh.
That didn’t seem likely, though. Three months of watching her daughter’s intake and waking her up at 5:30 for pre-dawn jogs had only resulted in 15 pounds falling off Morgan’s still corpulent body. Diana was convinced her daughter was sneaking food from somewhere, even after she had stopped buying anything salty, sweet or too rich in calories, but short of stalking her daughter she had no way of confirming this. She could only do what was in her power, and part of that meant no cake for Morgan’s birthday.
Diana thought her daughter would have expected that, but hearing the muffled-yet-audible sound of Morgan screaming into her pillow it didn’t seem to be the case.
Actually, it was. Morgan had known better than to think her mother would buy her a birthday cake. But that wasn’t the point. The point was Morgan was already having a bad day (low marks on a history test she had genuinely studied for, forgetting her math homework at home, the cute foreign exchange student was going out with that bitch Imelda) and picking a fight with her mother fed into her anger in a way that was both aggravating and somehow reassuring. It felt good to give into her anger.
So for the rest of the night Morgan sat in her room and seethed, save for a change of scenery sitting at the dinner table and seething her way through a salad and bowl of fruit.
When midnight came and Morgan officially turned 18 (technically it was 13 hours before she was actually 18, but that’s a bit too specific to matter) she was lying in her bed, still seething. Looking at her alarm clock, she the time change from 11:59 to 12:00.
“Guess I’m an adult now,” she thought to herself, “Guess mother can’t stop me from being fat now, can she?”
Repeating that in her head, Morgan realized it was true. Her mother couldn’t do anything to stop her from being fat. OK, yes, she could pull the “If you’re going to live under my roof” line, but that was it. If she wanted to wake up Morgan at 5:30 tomorrow (today) it wasn’t going to matter. She would just roll over and go back to sleep.
“And if I want to eat a lot…” her stomach growled like an eager dog.
There should be something worth eating down in the kitchen, right? Nothing too sweet, but maybe some bagels she could lather cream cheese on. Some leftover ham. And wasn’t there a little potato salad?
Throwing off her bed sheets, Morgan got up and went down to the kitchen, slowly, quietly. The house was silent, which made her ever more nervous about making any noise.
She walked into the kitchen, slippers on linoleum, and opened the door to the fridge. There was the leftover ham, and some potato salad, and…
No way! Doughnuts? When had her mother bought doughnuts? Maybe they were for her office tomorrow morning, purchased early so she didn’t have to swing by the store on her way to work. It didn’t make much sense, but Morgan didn’t care. She wanted to strike back against her mother, and this was even better than she had imagined.
Grabbing the first box of doughnuts, Morgan opened the box and grabbed one, a Boston crème treat. She took an oversized bite, the sugar and frosting igniting her taste buds. She practically moaned and she chewed and swallowed, then took another giant bite. In seconds the first doughnut was gone and she was starting on a raspberry-filled.
She got through four doughnuts and halfway through a fifth before she had to slow down. Months of constant starvation had done nothing to shrink Morgan’s stomach, which was given its first real workout in months tonight as Morgan worked her way through the full dozen.
Feeling thirsty, she looked inside for some milk but found another surprise. A two-liter of cola was there, and not even diet. Morgan twisted the cap off and chugged a third of the soda straight away, then went back to the doughnuts, alternating between soda and pastry.
When the first box was empty and the soda down to a third, Morgan leaned back contentedly and rubbed her stomach. She was surprised it didn’t feel that hard, though there was a pressure she couldn’t ignore. Belching a couple times, she felt the pressure lighten, and found herself grabbing the second box from the fridge.
She only planned to have one or two (she couldn’t believe all she had already eaten, and was expecting to feel ill any second now), but over the next twenty minutes Morgan made her way through every last doughnut. By the end her belly was stretched out further than it had ever been before, and Morgan had to open her legs to keep it from pushing her breasts up into her face.
And yet… she still felt a little room. Struggling to get up, she returned to the fridge a second time and grabbed the dish of potato salad (hadn’t it only been a cereal bowl? Morgan was entering a food haze and wasn’t sure). The dish was cold on her belly, but Morgan was more concerned with scooping spoonfuls of the rich food into her mouth.
It was another half-hour before Morgan finished the potato salad, each bite taking longer to chew and swallow as the pressure in her belly grew to the point of being unbearable. With half of the dish untouched Morgan considered stopping, but something pushed her on. It was no longer the joy of stuffing herself (she felt pretty damned stuffed already), and it wasn’t about angering her mother. It was something else, something simpler and more primal. She just couldn’t leave the food in front of her uneaten.
When she was finally done, Morgan put the dish to the side and groaned. It was hard to breathe, which she could only do with shallow breaths. How was she going to get back to her bed?
Very slowly, was the answer. Rising to her feet slowly, ever so slowly, Morgan stood up and breathed heavily, then took one hesitant step forward. She couldn’t move too fast, it felt like everything she had eaten would come back up, but she managed to make it to her bed. Lying on her side (her belly was too heavy for her to lie on her back, and forget about lying on her stomach) Morgan closed her eyes, forced herself to breathe, and drifted to sleep.
The morning sun woke her up, and it was a few minutes before she recalled the midnight feast. Her mother! What would her mother say!
She bolted upright in bed, her belly returned to its empty, manageable weight. In fact, it seemed to be groaning a bit in hunger. It was then that Morgan realized the time, a couple minutes before 7, and the fact that her mother hadn’t woken her up for a jog.
“Maybe now that I’m 18 she’ll lay off me,” Morgan thought, “Or maybe she’s just giving me the day off because it’s my birthday.”
Whichever it was, there was still the matter of her binge. Even if she could delay it by going back to sleep, rushing to get ready for school and waddling out the door, it wasn’t going to make her mother any less angry. So, deciding to act like an adult and face the storm, Morgan got up, showered, threw on a pair of jeans and shirt that were just too small but not small enough to be unseemly, and went downstairs.
Before she entered the kitchen she became confused. There was the unmistakable smell of bacon and pancakes, accompanied by the sound of sizzling and a spatula scraping a pan.
Turning the corner, Morgan found her mother standing at the oven, flipping a pancake with one hand and then turning over strips of bacon with the other.
“Happy birthday, honey!” Her mother beamed, “Grab a plate and dig in!”
She motioned to a small buffet’s worth of food sitting on the counter. Plates of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and mounds of pancakes covered the space, with a bottle of syrup, dish of butter and bowl of powdered sugar on standby next to it all.
Morgan didn’t move. This made no sense, to say the absolute least.
Was her mother putting her on? This seemed a bit much for a joke. When did her mother even buy bacon or sausage? It was always just oatmeal and fresh fruit.
“OK,” Morgan thought, “If this is some elaborate game she wants to play, I’ll play along.”
She grabbed a plate and fork and loaded a stack of pancakes plus bacon and eggs, grabbed the syrup and butter, and took a seat at the table. There was about as much food on the plate as Morgan’s mother had allowed her to eat in a single day over the past month, but when Diana turned around to load the latest batch of bacon onto a dish to cool she only smiled at Morgan warmly. Nothing malicious behind it.
Digging in, Morgan noticed the dish that had previously contained potato salad sitting in the sink. So last night’s feast hadn’t been a dream, she was now sure of that. But what was her mother getting at?
She didn’t bother to guess, she simply ate. The first plate of food was gone in almost no time, and Morgan filled it up again and continued eating. This went on for half an hour, Diana cooking as Morgan went through plate after plate of food. Like the night before, she continued eating even past the basic point of sated, both because it gave her pleasure and because she wanted to get under her mother’s skin.
But her mother wasn’t rising to the bait. The more Morgan ate, the more she watched her mother, the more it seemed like her mother was being sincere, cooking and offering her daughter food. By the time her brother Leighton came down for breakfast she was starting to feel creeped out. It didn’t help when her brother, eating just a bowl of cereal, treated Diana’s cooking and Morgan’s binging as a normal, everyday occurrence.
This didn’t stop Morgan from stuffing herself as much as she could, however. The food was all delicious (she didn’t know her mother could cook so well) and her stomach was slow to signal it was full. By the time the pressure in her stomach was becoming too much to bear almost all the food her mother had cooked, enough for an entire family of serious eaters, was gone, and it was more out of a sense of completion than anything that Morgan went through the last dozen strips of bacon soaked in residual syrup and butter.
As astounding as it was, Morgan could not deny her belly was even larger now than it had been after her feast last night. It wasn’t surprising, in that she had eaten even more now than then, but it was mystifying how her stomach could even swell so much without popping. It was a large, pink boulder, stretched taut. Her shirt, dotted with bits of syrup and butter, had gone from just this side of small to only able to cover her breasts. Her entire stomach was bare, and Morgan wondered how she was supposed to go to school looking like this.
“Did you get enough, sweetie?”
The thought of eating any more made Morgan groan, but a part of her was thinking a bowl or two of sugary cereal would really hit the spot. Something sweet to offset all the grease.
“I’m good, mother. But I think this shirt has seen better days.”
“Hold that thought,” and her mother ran out of the kitchen, leaving Morgan to lean back, rub her belly, and focus on breathing. Her mother returned with a present wrapped up in pink paper.
“I was going to wait until you got back from school, but I think you need it now.”
Morgan unwrapped the gift, finding a box from Neiman Marcus. She looked inside and gasped.
It was a top. It was THE top, the top she had first seen weeks ago and had wanted desperately ever since, certain she could never find it in her size, let alone afford it. How did her mother know? She had never mentioned this to her.
“Do you like it?” Her mother asked, a bit nervous by Morgan’s bewildered expression.
“I love it.” Morgan heaved herself up and, without a thought to whether her brother was still in the house, took off her shirt and put on the top. It fit her perfectly; in fact, it was actually a bit bigger than what she needed. “How did you find it in my size?”
“It’s a custom order. I know your measurements, and I had them make it a bit bigger since you’re still a growing girl.”
“I can’t believe it,” Morgan said, genuinely stunned. “Thank you!”
“Thank me later, you’re about to miss your bus.”
Morgan headed for the stairs, stopped, then turned around and hugged her mother.
The entire bus ride Morgan was torn between the joy of her immense breakfast and love of her new top (a couple of her classmates complimented her on it, people who had never spoken to her before) and her confusion at her mother’s behavior. Making her a huge breakfast? Buying her a larger-than-necessary and expensive top? Telling her she was ‘still a growing girl’? What was going on?
The weirdness continued at school. En route to her locker Morgan had to pass the door to the teacher’s lounge. This morning she was stopped by Mr. Barker, her biology teacher.
“Good morning, Morgan!”
“Good morning, Mr. Barker.” She said politely, continuing on.
“Could you come inside?” He asked. Confused, Morgan did so.
Inside it was a normal break room, with some couches and tables and a fridge and coffeemaker. But what Morgan noticed was the table to the side loaded with cookies, fudge, cupcakes, and even a pumpkin pie that was only missing one slice.
“We were having a little party to celebrate Ms. Kinison’s engagement, but we’ve got more food here than we can all eat. Feel free to help yourself, if you’d like.”
‘More food?’ Morgan thought, though it didn’t stop her from walking up to the table and loading a paper plate with a couple cupcakes, some fudge and a couple handfuls of cookies. Maybe she could just take a bunch now, eat a little, and save the rest for a snack later.
But she didn’t save any. In the twenty minutes before she needed to leave and make her way to class, she finished the entire plate and filled it up again. Some part of her standing outside herself couldn’t believe how much she was eating, especially on top of what she had already eaten so far. But her conscious mind could not deny how good it tasted, how good it felt to really cut loose. Even before her mother had tried to get her to slim down she had never gone so overboard with her eating. Why hadn’t she? This felt amazing.
Plus, part of her expected a teacher to cut her off. “I think you’ve had enough.”
But it never came. She sat at a table with three other teachers, eating steadily and making small talk, yet not a one commented on her gluttony. In fact, the first and only one to speak up, Mr. Roxbury, her English teacher, said the exact opposite of what she expected to hear.
“You should get along to class now, Morgan. Don’t want to be late. Why don’t you load up a plate of goodies and take it to class? I won’t mind you snacking as long as you’re quiet.”
Whatl? Mr. Roxbury was OK with her eating in his class? He didn’t even tolerate people drinking water. But the other teachers had heard him, she couldn’t get into trouble for this, could she?
She decided to not only test it, but to really see how far she could take it. No one was going to say she was eating too much? Everyone wanted to keep giving her food? Let’s call their bluff, Morgan decided.
Grabbing the pie tin, still almost entirely full, she dumped the remaining fudge and cookies on top of it, grabbed a couple cupcakes for good measure, and took the entire pile of calories with her.
No one said anything as she walked out. They just smiled and waved to her.
Stepping outside, wondering how long it would actually take her to eat all this (her stomach was beginning to feel tight again after the snacking) and feeling ridiculous for grabbing it all in the first place, she was startled by someone stepping up to her and all-but-shouting “Happy birthday!” in her ear.
Morgan turned and was relieved to see it was only April, her best friend. The reedy blonde had a huge grin on her face.
“Hi, April.”
“Hi- Whoa! Where’d you get all that?” She goggled at all the food in Morgan’s hands.
“The teachers were having a party and they just let me take all this. Can you believe it?”
“Not really, but here you are holding it.”
“Here, can you hold it for a second?” April took the plate of food while Morgan got her books from her locker.
“Oof. Heavy. Try to save some room for the buffet this afternoon.”
“The buffet?” Morgan asked, but April had already handed her the food back and was walking away to her own class. “What buffet?”
She didn’t have time to stand there and wonder; she had class. True to his word, Mr. Roxbury didn’t care that Morgan was snacking throughout his entire lecture, grabbing cookies and bits of fudge with one hand while taking notes with another. She ate slowly, casually, not wanting to appear like an absolute pig in the middle of her class (who seemed oddly blasé about her constant eating) nor making herself too full to move.
So Morgan didn’t clear the pile of food, and when she went to her next class still lugging the treats she was sure Mrs. Smith would tell her to put the food away.
Instead, she got another shock.
“Hello, Morgan. I see you helped yourself to the treats from this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s really good.” She said, waiting for the ‘Put it away before class starts.’
“Looks like you haven’t finished it. I guess you’re not interested in having a scone. I bought a bunch for the other teachers today, forgetting we were having the party.” She held up a box of oversized raspberry and blueberry scones, the smell hitting Morgan’s nostrils.
Eyes growing a bit wider, her stomach feeling a bit emptier, Morgan reached out and grabbed a scone the size of a grapefruit, taking a bite out of it.
“Feel free to take two, dear. One of each.”
Obeying, Morgan grabbed a second one and placed it on her pie tin.
Like her first class, Morgan passed her second one eating steadily and taking notes. Still not a sideways glance or comment from her classmates, still not a single sign from anyone that this was as unusual as it felt to Morgan.
Not that she was going to stop eating. Even feeling constantly full, it all tasted too good for her to stop. As she swallowed each bite she was already eager for the next one.
Her third class was no different than the first two (that is, it was very different from normal life), and it was here that she finally finished all the food she had grabbed from the teacher’s lounge, and not a moment too soon. Through morning break and her next two classes Morgan did nothing except take notes and focus on breathing steadily.
The pressure in her belly fell away slowly at first, and then fast, and by the end of fifth period she was practically starving, mentally chiding her stomach to stop its growling. Heaving herself up out of her chair, she moved faster than seemed possible at her size, making a beeline for the cafeteria.
Despite all the eating she had done over the past twelve hours (or perhaps because of it) Morgan set about to make her lunch a feast unto itself. Loading two trays with fried chicken, pizza, hamburgers and French fries, she slowly carried the food to her normal table.
As she ate, her friends joined her in ones and twos. They were all eating their normal fare (no one Morgan had seen today seemed to be indulging the way she was), and as was becoming the norm not a one remarked on Morgan’s phenomenal intake except for April repeating her “Save room for the buffet” line. Focused on her eating, Morgan didn’t bother to ask what she meant by that.
When she was on her last hamburger, Morgan tested her stomach (hardly tight; she could still eat a lot more) and was thinking about what she wanted for her next course. But before she could finish and get up, one of her friends - Leslie - came up and dropped a stack of Klondike bars on her tray.
“Eat up. You’re the birthday girl.”
Reaching the point where she didn’t want to question any of it, Morgan simply shrugged and started unwrapping the ice cream bars. She hadn’t finished them before another friend brought her another pair of hamburgers and French fries. Morgan’s belly, already swollen beyond her normal capacity all day, continued to stretch out further as she kept accepting offerings from her friends. There didn’t seem to be any limit to how much she could eat other than how much pressure she could endure in her stomach.
It turned out to be a lot. By the end of the lunch hour, as Morgan finished a last bite of pizza crust and last sip of soda, her belly was like a cartoonishly exaggerated pregnant woman’s womb. It wasn’t human how much she had eaten, how much her belly had expanded to accommodate so much food. Standing up, Morgan could feel the bottom of her new top rising almost above her waistband. The top her mother had said was made too large for her was just barely able to cover her now.
‘This is a dream, isn’t it?’ Morgan asked herself as she ponderously waddled to class, stopping at a vending machine to buy a number of treats in anticipation of growing hungry again soon. ‘It’s a dream caused by all the starvation and dieting my mother has forced on me. I’m going to just keep eating until I explode and wake up, or I’ll wake up anyway.’
Convinced it was just a dream, Morgan wasn’t at all surprised when her seventh period teacher, Mr. Barker, held out a tray of cupcakes to her.
“We didn’t finish these and I’d hate to throw them in the trash.”
Morgan didn’t even let him finish before she took the tray and took a giant bite out of her first cupcake. No longer noticing the people around her, barely cognizant of what Mr. Barker was saying during class, she ate the rest of the cupcakes and started on her cache of snacks. Still, she managed to take good notes and even got a start on the day’s homework.
At the end of the school day Morgan made her way to the bus stop, hoping to go home and take a nap but feeling sure she’d want a snack first. But before she could get out of the school building she was stopped by April.
“There you are! Where do you think you’re going?”
Morgan started to say ‘Home,’ but her friend (who she outweighed by a 150 pounds) was already guiding her to the student parking lot. Several of their friends were already waiting there, standing around a minivan. Leslie was in the driver’s seat, and as Morgan allowed herself to be pushed in she remembered April’s strange remarks about a buffet. Though she had an idea what her friend was referring to now.
Sure enough, Leslie drove the group of women to a BBQ buffet on the outskirts of town that Morgan never knew existed. Maybe it was just part of her dream.
“Hope you’re hungry, girl.” April said, patting Morgan’s still-swollen belly. As if in response, Morgan’s belly grumbled.
Once Morgan and her friends were seated, they told her to sit back and relax as they brought her plate after plate of BBQ ribs, mashed potatoes and cornbread. Like Morgan’s day so far, her capacity for food was as unreal as the way people kept forcing it upon her. Over an hour and a half passed before Morgan had to beg off, telling her friends she couldn’t eat another bite.
But that wasn’t the end. After letting her rest for a few minutes, April signaled to a waitress, who left and came back holding a giant piece of chocolate cake.
Morgan groaned, but she allowed herself to be fed the cake; fortunately, it was so moist it virtually slid down her throat. Still, by the time the cake was gone it was all she could do to keep it all down.
She needed help getting to her feet and staying upright; there was so much food in her stomach it would have pulled her forward if she didn’t have someone to lean on.
They drove her home, and Morgan could do nothing but struggle upstairs and collapse onto her bed.
