Chelsea Emeraldview—a lass with green eyes, and sunset-colored hair styled like a CEO—looks down at the wrecking ball of fat called her stomach. She gives an awkward sort of gaze. This doughy boulder is really a six-figure gut—it’s titanic in size just like her paycheck. On the bedroom walls are Track and Field awards from Chelsea’s college days.
This cheetah-girl is the opposite of a runner. Emeraldview has colossal thighs with no gap in between, an immense butt that could crush a sofa, and her breasts are among the largest in the city. She required custom-fit bras due to these globes of fat. But her stomach and rear reigned supreme over her wealthy figure.
“Yeah, Sally. I invited Red for my month long cruise.” The cheetah-girl says. She then taps her Bluetooth. “He can only stay for a few days due to basically being a superhero. But—“
Chelsea takes a bite out of her carrot and chews. The chick grimaces from the taste. “Geez, why do vegetables taste like utter crap?”
“Woah, are you finally working on the gut?” Sally asks. “I thought that thing would never trim an inch.”
“Thanks for the support,” Chelsea mutters. “I really—”
A button breaks off the girl’s skirt. Emeraldview looks down and scowls. “What the heck? I just bought these.” The lady gazes into the mirror. She feels a zipper shooting down, and her belly gushes out even further. Fat breaks through shapewear and wobbles like pudding. Chelsea turns pale. Her stomach has so much blubber its beyond comical.
“I’m bigger than a pregnant fucking whale…”
“Hello? Chelsea?” Sally asks. “Fat cat?”
“Anyway, yeah…my sister is coming back from her archaeology shit.” Chelsea replies. “And I’ll be tormented to death if she sees me on the boat at this size. The jokes won’t end.”
“Wait, huh? So you’re trying to lose weight for your sister?” Sally asks. “Not your boyfriend?”
“He’s happy at whatever size I want to be.”
“So moon-size? Too big to leave your penthouse?”
Chelsea shoves the carrot in her mouth, chews in annoyance, and cups her gargantuan breasts. “S-Shut up, you flat chest.”
After a few minutes more of chatting, Chelsea says goodbye and ends the call with her friend. Afterwards, she returns her attention to the vast belly.
“How the hell did I end up entirely flabby?” She asks. The girl wobbles after a slight move.
***
Flashback:
***
Emeraldview—with a perfectly trim figure—walks into a locker room of Crownsmith University . The sprinter is eating a greasy burger, and she throws her duffel bag on the bench and opens up her locker. Athena Sabrewolf comes up to the one beside Chelsea and spins the lock.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat a vegetable.” Athena says with a chuckle. “I swear you’re a beefatarian, Emeraldview.”
“Yeah, you mean carnivore?” Chelsea asks while chewing. “Well I’m not. I get plenty of vegetables.” She then points to the lettuce and tomato on her patty. “See? Leafy greens.”
Athena pats the cheetah-girl’s stomach.
“You’ll be tipping the biggest scales if you keep that diet up.” She warns. “You’re not a lion-type after all.”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to end up a fat cat.” Chelsea says with pride. “I’ll be running my ass off every day when my track career is over.”
***
Flashback end.
***
Chelsea’s rear is so colossal that it violently quakes as she walks down the hall. She pants a little while heading to the sofa. It’s an extreme effort to haul these twin boulders of flab everywhere. The corporate banker rests her backside on a seat and turns on the giant television. The game system starts up, and Chelsea grabs her controller off a rack.
“Geez, I need to update my graphics card and get the XL899 CPU.” She says. “Why are your Ultra Settings so damn high, Dungeon Quest 9?”
An angel Chelsea—half of the conscious—poofs on her shoulder. “If you want to shrink your backside, you shouldn’t be resting it in a chair.” Angel says.
Chelsea pauses. “I really should workout shouldn’t I?”
Devil Chelsea poofs on her other shoulder. “You ate vegetables today, so you’re probably under that calorie stuff.” Devil says.
“Then again I’ve been great with the diet.” Chelsea says—now playing a fantasy RPG.
“You’ll start snacking if you don’t get that rump moving.” Angel says. “You know how you are on the couch.”
Chelsea rubs her chin. “Yeah, I really shouldn’t be playing this…”
“Just start the diet and exercise thing tomorrow.” Devil says. “And get through most of the DLC expansion tonight so it’s easier to resist temptation on Saturday.”
“I’ll officially start dieting tomorrow.” Chelsea says.
***
It’s 4:30 AM, and Chelsea’s living room is loaded with empty soda cans, pizza boxes, and other junk food. Emeraldview’s fingers press buttons rapidly, The cheetah-girl has tired eyes as she stares at the epic fantasy on screen. “Guys, let’s do one more Boss Run and then I’m going to bed.” Chelsea says with her headset.
She lifts a can of soda from her bosom, pops the cap, and drinks it down. She then resumes playing.
After the quest is over its 6AM. Chelsea drags her blubber-laden heft to bed for a 9-hour sleep coma. An insane gaming marathon continues on both Saturday and Sunday.
***
Two weeks later.
***
Due to being an elite member of Jameson-Bentley, Chelsea had two months of paid vacation each year. The ebony doors slide open, and she walks into the business foyer after a fortnight leave. Hyena-boys—skinny lads who are much older than their preteen appearance—walk with ironed suits and briefcases.
“Morning, Emeraldview.” They say while focused on smartphones and PDAs.
“Good morning, sirs.” Chelsea replies.
She walks ahead with her wrecking ball stomach—it’s put on a good amount of weight, and the buttons of her businessjacket are strained. This slab of thick blubber is the only thing fat at Jameson-Bentley. Hyena-boys only feel hunger once a week, and all they need is a muffin.
The foyer has no trash cans, only recycle bins. There’s a large machine in the corner that vaporizes uneaten food. There’s no such thing as waste at Jameson-Bentley.
As usual Chelsea fights through endless offers of food. Hyena-boys have business in one hand and breakfast in the other.
“Emeraldview, can you finish my doughnut?”
“The rest of my muffin, Emeraldview?
“Need a granola bar, Emeraldview?”
“Stop trying to feed me you pipsqueaks…” Chelsea thought—with a fake, charismatic smile. She feels as if the stitches of her clothes are popping. It’s like fresh fat and blubber is trying to bulge out. At times Emeraldview was like a corporate pet stuffed with table scraps.
Chelsea reaches her special elevator—a huge one—and presses the call button. Jameson-Bentley loved employees who made them money, and the size of Chelsea’s titanic ass is a metaphor of how much revenue she’s brought in. They’d do many things to keep their “fat cat” waddling into work, no matter how big she got.
***
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