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“Is it Eye-way or Eee-way?” Lauren asked as she studied the sign above the office door. “I’ve been calling it both in my head. I don’t know which is right.”

The sign read ‘Tim Maxim’ in white, and a little further down were the words ‘CEO, Eyway Patisseries’.    

“It’s Eh-way, actually.” the secretary said.

“Oh, right…” said Lauren. “Was the founder Canadian or something?”

“British.”

A light flickered green on her desk, on a box by her computer keyboard.

“I believe he’s ready to see you now.”

“Oh so, the boss and the guy who started the company – they’re the same guy?”

“Yeah, they’re both the man you’re about to see. Is that news to you too?”  

“Uhh…now it’s not.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you’ve done your research. His name’s Tim, by the way, in case you didn’t read the sign either.”

“Okayyy....” Lauren muttered as she shimmied past the secretary. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” she whispered to herself.

The secretary raised an eyebrow over her horn-rimmed glasses. Lauren tried to look away as she walked by, but her eyes were drawn to the cat brooch on her jacket, right next to her name tag.

“Thanks…Ursula…” Lauren smiled inwardly.

“It’s Ms. Newman.” the secretary snapped, not looking from her laptop.

 Lauren could only cross her fingers and hope her boss wasn’t as narky. She gave herself a quick look in the reflection on the window.  Her soft reddish brown hair, which fell down her shoulders into long, tumbling curls, looked perfect. She smoothed out the little creases in her dress, running her hands down her slender waist, and back over her hourglass form. Fresh out of college and away from the late night parties, she had managed to shed a stone that had never made her look anything more than slim anyway. She never really had to obsess over her body, and never really did as a result.

 She opened up her folder and nervously skimmed through her printouts, checking all of them were there. This was the first graphic design job she’d applied for, and the first interview she’d faced since she’d got into college. She’d rehearsed her answers, but after the dressing down Ursula had given her she had no idea what to expect.

She pushed open the door and was filled with the aroma of warm, swirling chocolate. The office she was in looked like it had been pulled out of a scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Tim Maxim, a swarthy fortysomething man in a purple suit, shook her hand firmly and offered her a seat shaped like a toadstool. Her little legs dangled over the edge. He sat behind a desk with two brightly painted vases on a giant pink cushion shaped like Turkish Delight.

“You had a pleasant journey here, I hope?”

“I did, thank you.” said Lauren. She lived in a flat just ten minutes away. The day had been warm and bright; the walk over the Market Street Bridge to the centre of Harrisburg had refreshed her.

“Excellent. I’d better introduce myself – Tim Maxim of Eyway Patisseries. I’m alone up here today, usually I’d have my friends downstairs up to say hello as well, but they’re all busy doing business. I guess you’ve met Ursula, though, how was she?”

“Yeah” said Lauren, straining a smile “She’s…yeah…she’s fine…she’s –

“– a bitch?” Tim offered. He laughed. “Tell me about it…no, no, please don’t, it’s just the way she is, really. Can you believe the first time I met her here she was applying for a job in market research? Basically in talking to people about our products?

“Really? How’d that go?”

“It went nowhere, I didn’t give her the job,” Tim exhaled. “I kindly suggested she’d be better at sorting my letters, speaking to the board and shareholders over the phone, telling them I don’t run this business for their money and I don’t really know or care what the stocks are… yeah, she’s good at all that bullshit.”    

He sighed again.

“Don’t try to get in her good books,” he suggested. “She hardly keeps any anymore. I think I might have had a page once that fell out the day I said I wouldn’t let her bring Jezebel into the office.”

“Jezebel’s her…daughter?”

“Cat.” Tim said with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t mind except I’m deathly allergic. I can barely be in the same room as her – sneak a look at her jacket when you go, it’s always covered in hairs. I swear she sleeps wearing all the clothes she wears to go to work the next day, with the cat in her bed, just to spite me.”

“That’s crazy…”

“I know! I still try, I still give her the first dibs on everything I dream up in here, but I’m still dreaming of something that might melt her heart. Syrupsuckle? Melbas? Swampmallows? She threw them all away.”

Lauren gaped.

“How can anyone hate something that’s marshmallow and chocolate fudge?”

“I know, right? You like them?”

“I love them!”

“Then try these,” Maxim smiled, nudging a plate filled with a stack miniature muffins across his desk. “One of my latest, I call them Fluffytops.”

“That’s cute!” Lauren smiled, as she pried the one at the top of the stack. She daintily separated it from its casing and took a soft bite from the edge.

“Mmm!” she squealed. “These are incredible!”

She bit into the delicious gooey centre, letting it drift along her tongue. She wiped the crumbs off her cheek with her finger, then licked them up. 

“You like them?”

 “They’re the best thing ever!” Lauren licked her lips again.

 

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Fantastic! You’re hired.”

“Thank you! Wait – what?” Lauren nearly spat the rest of the muffin out in surprise.

“Well, honestly, I’ve never met a model before and I had a couple reservations, I’ll admit.” said Tim. “But you seem like an honest, genuine person and you’ve really blown me away. I’d be delighted to give you the job. Are you free to shoot this Thursday?”

“Shoot?”

“Modelling. Photo shoot. This Thursday.”

“But…I’m sorry, this can’t be right. I’m not a model.”

Tim gave her a puzzled look.

“What do you mean you’re not a model? You’re beautiful.”

“I…” Lauren blushed. “…I thought this was an interview for a graphic designer.”

Tim shrugged.

“Are you a graphic designer?”

“Yeah…err…here’s some of my stuff.” Lauren grinned nervously as she handed him a folder containing her work. Maxim thumbed the corner, buzzed through the portfolio like a flickbook then threw the whole thing over his shoulder. The papers flew out across the room.

“Great,” He clapped his hands. “You’re hired for that too. Like I said, are you free to start this Thursday?”

Lauren stared at him, trying not to let her jaw go slack. What was happening to her?

“Umm…sure,” she finally said.  “Do I have to bring anything?”

“Yep. Yourself. That’s all.”

“Ok, great. Is there anything I need to wear?”

“Wear anything you like for the desk job, we don’t care.” said Tim. “We’ve got costuming for the model stuff. We start at ten am every day because early starts are for the wrong kind of people. We go on to six in the evening but it’s not so bad because you get free dinner at five. You’re on the third floor, your supervisor is Sarah.”

Tim pushed his Turkish Delight seat – there were tiny wheels underneath – over to an intercom box. He pushed a button and a little green light flashed.

 “Ursula darling, tell whoever’s supposed to be here later that there’s no need, we’ve filled the positions. Thank you.”

He stretched his arms.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah…everything’s awesome” said Lauren, beaming.

“Good, I’ll see you soon. Would you like another Fluffytop?”

 

 Lauren arrived at the third floor ten minutes early on the Thursday morning. Upon entering she was engulfed in a hug. Sarah, her curly-haired, bubbly supervisor, gave her a quick tour of the office. There were no doors, no cubicles, not even any panes between the wide windows.

 Sarah introduced her to Darren, her ‘cubemate’, as they were known. Eyway operated a buddy system at all levels to promote friendship and ‘joyful efficiency’, as it said in the visitor’s guidebook. Darren was married and twenty years older than herself; as it turned out, they’d studied art and design at the same college. They got on like a house on fire. It was from him that she learned that employees got a colossal discount on Eyway’s products.

“It’s something like sixty to seventy-five percent,” he said at their lunch break. He bit into an apple, which mushed on his bushy beard. “Rises the longer you stay on the books. Though after three years I called it there and then. I was struggling to get into my suits!”

 Lauren smiled and nodded. She was getting to know how it felt. After just a couple weeks of free cafeteria food at dinner she’d regained the stone she’d lost over the holidays. Clothes that once hung loosely went back to feeling a little tighter. Still, she was happy to begin her first modelling shoot at one hundred and twenty six pounds. She felt good.

Lauren was a little nervous about having no experience in the industry, but the photographer reassured her that it was fine. He just wanted pictures of her enjoying Eyway, which was easy enough. She did a kitchen set with Fluffytops, a scene on greenscreen that showed her on a beach with Eyway’s famed Napoleone Supremo melts, another set of her and some extras standing in line at a queue in a cinema. Rather than queuing for a movie however, they were queuing at the snack bar for Eyway’s Delectable Doughnuts.   

It was there where she first tasted one.

“Oh my goodness, this is fantastic!” she almost screamed. The chocolate was luscious and succulent, the dough was like a heavenly cloud. “Please, tell me you’ve got more!” she begged the extras playing the movie theatre staff.

“Right here.” said the photographer, opening a box.

 Her reaction became the centrepiece of Eyway’s first television advert, filmed a few weeks later. It premiered primetime in the ad break between the first and second quarters of the Super Bowl.

Watching it over again, Lauren wondered if she was enjoying those doughnuts a little too much. She cast a sceptical eye over the swell of her ass, and the chubbiness of her cheeks.

The camera adds ten pounds she told herself, though she knew she’d already added ten pounds onto her one-hundred and twenty six pound frame, bringing her to one thirty-six, and that had been three weeks ago.

 Lauren lifted her shirt. A little layer of fat creased over her jeans button. She gave it a tentative squeeze. It was warm, soft and squishy. With her modelling commitments and her hours in graphic design combined, coupled with the fact that she often got home at half six and wanted to do little more than watch TV, eat and sleep, she found little time to hit the gym. Her workout clothes found the way to the cobwebbed shadows of her wardrobe. Replacing them on the hangers were new dresses, blouses, shirts and pants bought with her new earnings – some in slightly larger sizes than before. Lauren thought nothing of it. The advertising campaign was finishing soon, and once she’d done the shoots, she’d have time to get back in shape.

 Social commitments were undermining her drive, however. Office parties were a regular thing under Sarah’s stewardship – she celebrated every holiday, regardless of who it was supposed to be important to. Fancy dress was mandatory, and snacks courtesy of the boss were always in abundance. Meanwhile Lauren lost a day she’d saved at the end of the month as her workout day attending the christening of Darren’s baby daughter, Maria. That day she agreed to help babysit every weekend night for a few months for his other daughter, Anna, a five year old who loved baking cookies, and loved making Lauren try her latest icing strewn creations. She would sit on the couch, say what an amazing little baker she was, and munch, weekend after weekend.

 A meetup with her college girlfriends at the Rubicon Bar had been awkward to say the least. One had got a job as a lifeguard, another as a consultant, most of the rest were in the middle of work experience, but all of them had stayed skinny. The look that said she’d been letting herself go was written on all of their faces, but none of them mentioned it. Lauren smiled and tried to calm her nerves with pizza. She ate and ate. 

 After a few cocktails the mood changed a little, when one of her friends got a bit too friendly and straight up tried to shove a hand under Lauren’s tight top on the dance floor, whispering something about curves into her ear. The rest of the night was spent looking after her – later they crashed at a house belonging to one of their fathers. Staggering around the morning after, the girls breakfasted, showered, then changed – they had the benefit that the girl whose house it was had moved her whole wardrobe back from her college room. Since they were all within one size of each other, they could pick out an outfit for the day.

 For Lauren however, this was no longer the case. She had advanced into the plus sizes. She wrestled some pants partway up her legs, then decided to spare herself the embarrassment of potentially ripping the clothes she once could have fit into, and put her ones from the night before back on. She reluctantly confessed that she’d have to leave early and get back to hers for fresh clothing. They nodded in tacit understanding and said their goodbyes, and Lauren spent an awkward hour sat in a crowded carriage on the train, trying not to let her beer-stained tee hike up over her tummy. She wondered what working life was doing to her. This weight gain thing did happen to everybody eventually, right?   

 Lauren coveted the feel of fresh, loose fabric on her skin when she returned to her apartment with takeout in a taxi. But the feeling was getting harder to find. Morning after morning, shirt buttons gapped too much, and blouses pushed out too far.  Lauren winced wearing her old jeans – for a time she released the button and hid the gap with a designer belt, but the strain of the seams on her chunkier bottom was getting untenable. The thought of cutting back hit her hardest when she wrested them up on a Sunday and found them ramrod stiff just halfway up her widened thighs. She shunned a takeout meal from the mall after she scoured the shelves for some size sixteens. But her resolve crumbled on Monday morning with the mere whiff of chocolate-scented creamy dessert bagels – or Changelrings, as Tim termed his latest treat.

 By the end of the week, her jeans no longer felt comfortable. By the end of the month, neither did she. She studied her puffed up cheeks in the mirror with increasing consternation. Her ass, as she’d grown to expect, was fattening the most. Lauren could handle a little ballooning behind her. Yet the features of her face – her model good looks – were suddenly softening up. Between the coppery strands of her rich long hair that framed her dancing green eyes she was a rare beauty – but she was a rounded beauty now. Lauren poked the pooch of flesh that had formed around her neck.

“A double chin? Geez, Lauren…” she mumbled. “Someone’s getting fat.” 

 There still was one place in the world where she could feel at ease with all of herself, and that was on the forty-fourth floor. Every time she made the journey up, she’d receive a scowl from the secretary, usually accompanied by a catty suggestion. “Maybe take the stairs next time?” was one of them. “Maybe you need to rethink your measurements?” was another, soon after Lauren felt her upsized bra start to pinch.

 Ursula clearly found her growing belly offensive, so Lauren swiftly decided that it was cute. She would wear shirts a couple sizes too small to accentuate it when they came to see each other, usually on Thursdays. Sometimes she would wear a shirt in her own rising size, but leave the second and third to bottom buttons undone, letting Ursula get a glimpse of her deepening bellybutton.

“What sort of model binges on cake twice a day?” she muttered as Lauren arrived to pick up some papers.

“What sort of model would I be if I didn’t try the produce?” Lauren smiled, pushing her fingers under the swell of her chubbier belly and letting it hang a little over her beltline. “I call it brand loyalty.”

“I call it two-hundred pounds.” Ursula retorted.

Lauren raised a hand to her open mouth and pretended to be offended.

“It’s a hundred and eighty, for your information!”

She gave her belly a jiggle and a slap before stuffing it back under her skirt. She collected the results of the Eyway website customer satisfaction survey. A lot of people felt underwhelmed by what was on display there, so she was needed to give it a snazzy new feel to capture the spirit of the company. She got to work on new borders, textures and headings and a month later Tim called her back to discuss her progress.  

“Two hundred pounds calling!” Lauren declared with a wicked smile when the elevator doors opened up. She’d found herself eating extra just for the chance to say it to Ursula. Her body had readily obliged. The weight piled on thick and fast. Lauren struck a sexy innocent pose with her knees pressed and a finger curled between her lips, then walked backwards, spun, and ground her backside up against the wall, purring and softly moaning as she fondled her fat.

Ursula raised her eyes over her glasses.

“I don’t recall ordering a kissogram from FetishFinders Anonymous.” she muttered.

Lauren brushed her hair put of her eyes.

“No, but your boss did.” she said. She strut to the table, rolling her hips in a languid circle, then planted her thickened thigh over the desk.  “I trust you’ve warmed him up for me?”

Ursula’s mouth hung open. Her face went white, then the blood rushed to her cheeks. She struggled for something to say as Lauren sauntered through to the office.

She was just toying with her. Tim in her mind had never struck her as being into fat chicks, as she’d had to admit she’d become, or even skinny chicks for that matter. The signs weren’t quite all there, but she didn’t think he was straight. 

 In any case Maxim still fawned over her and the work she’d been doing. He loved the new site and its interactive features, and commissioned her to design a new logo. She made hundreds of potential designs, showing them to him, rehashing them and showing them again. Whenever she went up to Tim’s office she made sure to bring a snack on her journey to the forty-fourth floor. She’d save it right until she met Ursula, whereupon she’d eat it all right in front of her. She got as much pleasure from the reaction as the taste. Every blissful bite felt like sticking her middle finger up at that icy toad.  

 After spending a month agonising over which design he loved the most, he finally settled on one of Lauren’s earliest, a cute smiling cupcake wearing a doughnut rubber ring in a pool of chocolate and sprinkles. Then she had to work with the uniform makers, the label designers, even a bunch of steelworkers for the rebrand; with her guidance they recreated a thirty-foot square version of her logo to put right at the top of the tower, replacing the Eyway ‘E’.

 Darren surprised her with a minor office party for the switch on ‘ceremony’ the night after it was put up by a crane. There were nibbles, wine, and naturally plenty of doughnuts. When the sun went down they left the building to watch the logo take its place amongst the lights in the skyline. Lauren smiled as it lit up, watching it reflect off the windscreen of her brand new Nissan Micra. Her bank balance was climbing undented by her impulse buys – like her new black dress, beneath which her boobs had been growing. She looked curvy, spunky, daring and ravishingly buxom. Life was good.

 A few more months of vigorous eating passed before she was asked up to Tim’s office again. Sarah asked her up from her desk and put her hands on her shoulders when they came to the elevator. Lauren noticed that they were shaking.

“Are you ok?” she asked her supervisor.

“I’m fine, just a little shell-shocked. I’ve just been to see the boss. He wants to see you after lunch.”

“Why?”

“I’m not meant to tell you.” Sarah’s auburn curls swung as she glanced over her shoulder. “You’ll see why when you hear from him yourself. Good luck.”

 Lauren puzzled over what she’d meant at the cafeteria with a coffee and a sandwich. She couldn’t figure out what it was. Five minutes before lunch finished, she got in the elevator and made her way up.

The doors pinged open. It was time for some fun.

She clicked open her handbag and whipped out her present for Ursula – one Deluxe Delectable doughnut. Lauren made eye contact with the secretary as she brushed past the desk, smiled, then crammed it into her mouth all at once, pushing it past her lips with her fingers.

“Mmm…” she moaned. “So so good…”

She produced another from her handbag and stuffed it into her puffed-up cheeks.

“Mmmphh…”

A squirt of chocolate cream settled on her chin. She tried to ease her tongue free from the mass of soft doughy goodness to lick it up. With her other hand she rubbed her swelling tummy through her dress. She giggled as Ursula balked in disgust, then gulped down her snack and patted her stomach tenderly.

“Urpp…ooofff…excuse me, I’ve someone to go see…”  

Smirking, Lauren swung her ample hips around and sashayed off in the direction of Tim’s office, giving his secretary an eyeful of her swaying derriere. She stopped, winked at herself in the window, then rapped the door.

“Come in” said Tim. His voice sounded a little strained.

Lauren took her familiar seat on the toadstool, but found it felt less familiar this time. She sank a little lower as her ass spread out across the top. Her heels now touched the honey coloured carpet rather than dangling over.  Her boss swung around on his Turkish Delight, clutching a hank of crumpled papers in each hand. His hair was dark, but she noticed just a little fleck of grey on the sides.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here?” said Maxim.

“Yeah, is everything ok?” said Lauren. She felt a hint of concern.

“Not quite. We’ve discovered we’ve a rather large problem. It’s not something to do with you, I don’t think. I certainly don’t hope so. It’s a mole. A corporate mole. Someone’s been selling our secret recipes to our rivals.”

Lauren was stunned to silence.

 “We’ve got a detective agency on the case,” Tim continued. “I just wanted to let you know they’ll be accessing your account on our intranet here. They’ll be searching your desk too – as we speak, I expect. It’s not just you, it’s everybody. They’re going through every floor, one by one, from the bottom to the top. I just brought you here to say I’m very sorry to have to do this.”

Maxim chipped away at one of his thumbnails. He looked the picture of worry.

“It’s fine,” said Lauren. She offered him a comforting smile. “I get it.”

“Great,” he said. “Could you fetch Darren for me when you get back? I’m so sorry to disturb you all, but well…you know what I mean.”

“Sure. I’ll do that.”

 Lauren left Maxim’s office with a strange and unwanted feeling inside. She was surprised to find herself alone in the foyer. A note was left on Ursula’s empty desk with her name on. She reached over and opened it up.

 

I’ve booked a table for two at Gabriella’s at quarter to seven tonight. Be there. We’ve much to discuss.

P.S. Put this in the shredder. And don’t let him know where you’re going.  

 

 Gabriella’s was an Italian restaurant where Walnut Street met Jonestown Road, about ten minutes away from the office. Lauren’s thoughts were filled with that note, which she didn’t shred, but kept in her breast pocket, taking it out and reading it again periodically as she finished the rest of the day’s work. She left at six, said her goodbyes to Sarah and Darren (who still looked visibly shaken after his meeting with the boss), got some cash out from an ATM and hailed a cab.

 Hungry even after dinner in the cafeteria, Lauren ordered a Black Angus New York Strip, with a side of meatballs and gnocchi marinara. Ursula rolled her eyes at her as she ordered sauted mussels.

“You don’t have to embrace it.” the secretary stressed after the waiter had left with their menus.

“Yeah? Well you don’t have to be so bitchy.” said Lauren.

Ursula slapped a hand on the table.

“Look, when we first met, I thought you were an airhead. I didn’t think you’d stand a chance at getting a job there and that’s why I let you go in. So you’d embarrass yourself and never come back.”

“Okaayyy…” said Lauren, munching on a breadstick.

“But now, I’ve realised I was wrong,” said Ursula. “I shouldn’t have let you see him. I should have come up with an excuse and turned you away like all the other girls. I even switched the appointments that morning for the model and the graphic designer because I didn’t want you to get that job. I didn’t want anybody to get it!”

The waiter brought back a bottle of red wine and poured each of them a glass. Ursula thanked him as he left, then to Lauren’s surprise she seized the glass and downed it in one.

“I wanted Tim to have a load of shitty interviews with all the wrong people, get frustrated, throw in the towel and just outsource the graphics for his stupid advert,” she ranted. “Instead, you walk in, bowl him over, get the job, become all his Muses at once, and then you become his favourite.

“What?” said Lauren. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tim doesn’t have a wife,” said Ursula. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. He doesn’t even have anybody he has a crush on, I don’t think. But he has favourites. You’re one of his favourites. And if you’re one of his favourites, you start to feel it here.”

Ursula placed her hands on her bony hips.

“Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. And I still think you’re an airhead, because clearly, you can’t see it happening to you. You’ve doubled in size, you’ve…”

“Whoah, whoah, hold it right there” said Lauren, her anger mounting. “I know I’ve put some weight on. You remind me literally every time I see you. I’m a big girl now, I get it, okay?”

“You’re getting huge…

“Geez, I see why Tim threw the door in your face for that job in market research…”

Ursula’s lip wobbled. Lauren sensed she’d struck a tender nerve. She decided not to go in for the kill, and swung the conversation back to herself.

“Look, like we both know, I’m fatter now. And I know that’s because I’ve been eating a lot more. But the food is delicious, and if it feels so good, it can’t be a bad thing, right?”

Ursula cooled down and shook her head.

“Honey, crack cocaine feels good. But I’m pretty sure it’s still a bad thing. And while we’re on the topic of drugs, you might want to check this out.”

Ursula glanced over her shoulder, then produced a briefcase from underneath the table. She put it on the desk, clicked it open and showed her a crinkled paper with splodges of ink.

“That’s a list of every chemical I’ve found in Eyway’s Extravagant doughnuts. Half of them got banned in Europe after the Creamgate scandal. And there’s a couple illegal in the U.S.”

“But they’re made from all-natural ingredients,” said Lauren. “It says on the box…”

“Look, cocaine is all-natural, if you think about it…forget I said cocaine again, the point is, Eyway likes to be economic with the rules when it comes to these things. They’re sneaking all these dangerous additives into their chocolate and cream. They’re making people fat and dependent. They’re becoming the biggest pillar of the obesity epidemic.”

She fidgeted with the buckle of her belt as she spoke. 

“Lauren, please.” she pleaded. “You’ve got to help me bring them down.”

Lauren’s faced paled as she registered what she’d heard. The waiter laid her food down in front of her and she didn’t even notice.

“You’re the mole.” she whispered.

“Please…” Ursula begged. There were tears in her eyes. “You have to help me. There’s a detective’s, it’s called Aviary P.I., they’re compiling all the evidence. We’re getting closer to what we want. I just need someone on the inside. I need someone close to Tim to finally root him out and show the world what he is.”

Lauren struggled to find words to say.

“If what you’re saying is all real…why didn’t you tell me before? Why didn’t you warn me?”

“He’s planted bugs in my office,” said Ursula. “He listens to everything I say. He has spies everywhere. That’s why I could only meet you here. Otherwise he’ll destroy us both.”

“Ursula…” Lauren bit her lip. “Ursula…I’m sorry, but this really doesn’t sound like Tim. I don’t think he’s capable of destroying anything.”

“You don’t know who he is!” she screamed. “His name isn’t even Tim! He’s ruthless. He’s vicious. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants!”

Lauren looked over her shoulder. The other customers looked concerned.

“Ok,” she said. “Maybe he hurt you once. Maybe you haven’t forgiven him and maybe you never will. But I can’t let you do what you’re doing to this company. There are a lot of people’s jobs at stake here, not just his, not just mine. I mean yours, Ursula – do you really think this is worth throwing your life away?”

Ursula tightened her fists, seething.

“I only got a job at Eyway to bring him down. You don’t know how far we go back together. My name…my name isn’t Ursula…”

Her phone buzzed and she pressed it to her ear. She listened for ten seconds. Then her face dropped.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled. “Oh my god. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get out of here.”

Ursula pushed out of her seat, threw her bag over her shoulder and hurriedly fled the restaurant, letting the door slam on the way out. The customers had all gone quiet. The waiters looked baffled.

“Well…that was weird.” Lauren mumbled to herself. She felt the stares and tried to pretend nothing had happened. Her steak was starting to cool, so she cut a piece and ate it.

“Mmm…” she said. She quickly started chewing her way through. After ten minutes, she looked over her shoulder. It looked like Ursula wasn’t coming back.

She shrugged, picked up her plate of sauted mushrooms, and dumped them onto her meal. Then she resumed her eating.

 

 Lauren was called to Maxim’s office almost the first thing the next morning. Strangely, Ursula wasn’t at the desk to greet her. Tim sat her down and leaving every detail murky, quietly explained that she’d left on her own terms, leaving her job open. He then went on to say since they were so chuffed with her graphic design work, and that there now wouldn’t be all much more for her to do in that department for the time being, he was wondering if she’d consider leaving Floor Three and joining him as his new secretary.

 Lauren took a while to make her decision, but after a big lunch and a hefty prodding from Sarah, who insisted she’d never live it down if she threw away a chance to see all the inner workings of the company, she graciously accepted.

“You can start right now, if you like.” Tim smiled as he took her hand in his and shook.

“Sure thing.” said Lauren. She spun on the spot, and felt her ass collide with something cool and smooth. There was a spine-chilling crash. They looked down to see the remnants of one of Tim’s vases scattered in a thousand pieces on the floor.

“Oh my god,” said Lauren, clapping her hands to her mouth. “I am so sorry. Was it expensive?”

Tim forced a smile.

“Don’t worry, darling. It wasn’t irreplaceable.”

He found a dustpan and brush by the little trash can in the corner and swept up the pieces while Lauren stood there, paralysed by awkwardness.

“It’s no worry,” he said, dumping the porcelain chards unceremoniously into the trash. “The Ming Dynasty existed in China for nearly three hundred years. I’m sure they must’ve made lots of other vases.”

 Lauren agreed, left, then after a temp had brought up her things from Floor Three she threw herself into her new work, her face still a mask. She snacked unconsciously for days on end to try and take her mind off the incident. She worked solidly ten till six, even though she knew it’d probably take her twenty years of the same to pay off the damage. Tim was fine with it, but it was two weeks before she could look him in the eye again and smile genuinely.

 She was glad to have rebuilt the bridges she’d nearly torched, because without Tim she was quite lonely up in Floor Forty-Four, with just the strangers on the phone to keep her company. Only on occasion did she meet Darren in her new role, and Sarah rarely if ever. She daydreamed about them a lot, and Ursula too. She fantasised about what it would be like if they both still had their old jobs. Her getting up the morning of the day of an appointment with Tim, squeezing on a pair of jeans a couple sizes too small, prepping herself in the elevator, practicing her moves for when the doors opened up…

The phone rang. She picked it up.

“Hello, two hundred and sixty pounds calling.”

Lauren smiled. Then she froze.

Shit, what did I just say?  

 The person down the other end of the line coughed. He then said he was a prospective chocolatier looking to make a start-up in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and that he was wondering if Mister Maxim was available to answer his questions about founding a confectionary business. Lauren started breathing again. She quickly said that he wasn’t present (he’d actually gone to the bathroom) then offered to answer his questions for him. They talked a lot about staffing, pay and perks. They thanked each other and then Lauren put the phone down. She breathed out again.

 Beyond the phone calls a lot of what she did in her new role was fairly similar to what she did before. She worked with her own laptop, and she had her Bonsai tree and her picture of her mom on her desk. But her comfy Floor Three chair remained where it was, and she was left to deal with Ursula’s steely, sharp cornered and non-reclinable seat. She desperately wanted to switch it around, but that would mean leaving it to Marty, the new hire on the graphic design team.

 Pulling her superior position to make him use a chair that looked like an antique from a Spanish Inquisition torture chamber wasn’t fair in her mind, because he was only eighteen, and moreover she found him kind of cute. When Tim called him up to see him he’d march in a straight line from the elevator to his office, his head rigidly fixed between his skinny shoulders, his eyes focused on the door as he strode with his long legs. Lauren soon sussed that he was trying to avoid eye contact with her, or more properly, avoid staring at her bulging breasts.

 With no-one else to fool around with now that Ursula had gone, Marty fast became her new favourite playmate. When she knew which days he was due to see the boss, she’d select a shirt with the deepest plunging neckline she could get away with to greet the boy when he arrived. She’d drop pens underneath her chair and pretend to be unable to see them, goading him into getting right next to her to pick them up, giving him an eyeful of her bosom as she sat up straight again. Her favourite moment had come not long after a board meeting, when Tim had announced Eyway’s was hitting the Mexican market and had ordered a new logo to promote its range of ices. Marty was summoned to floor forty-four, arriving with a sweaty brow and a satchel crammed with designs. His shirt and trousers were pressed and his tie was wound tightly around his neck. 

“Hey Maaaarty…” Lauren cooed.

“Hey Lauren…Miss Wilson, I mean…sorry…”

“Lauren is fine,” she insisted. “Would you like some cake?”

 She lifted the lid on a faux silver platter, where a deep and rich Eyway Kaykay carrot cake rested. She took a knife and cut each of them a small slice. Marty held his piece tentatively while Lauren crammed half of hers into her mouth.

“Are you sure Mr. Maxim is ok with this?” he stuttered.

“Mmmphhh…it’s fine, we get free food up here. Did you know that?”

“N-…No.”

Lauren hadn’t known herself until she was a week into the secretary job. She and Tim could order anything they liked, in any quantity, fresh from the factory out of town in Lancaster County. Ursula unsurprisingly had never made use of the privilege.

Marty took a small, shaky bite.

“Are you feeling ok?” Lauren asked him.

Marty nodded his head.

“I’m just kinda nervous…that’s all.”

“Don’t be,” Lauren smiled. “Just relax…”

She calmly wrapped her fingers around his tie and pulled. Marty staggered forward to the desk and bent over. She flicked the top button off his collar. Lauren locked her eyes with his flickering blue ones as she pulled him closer. She pressed her boobs against his chest. She undid the knot, slowly.

The green light began to flicker on her intercom box. She gently pushed him back and let the tie slip away.    

“Oh. I think the boss wants to see you now. Mmm…” she licked a few crumbs of carrot cake off her cheek. “…good luck.”

 Beet red in the face, Marty stumbled as she picked up his satchel and bounded to the door, his knees weakened. Lauren giggled, then turned her attention to the cake. This was where the fun really began.

She flicked off her screensaver, opened Google and found Stevie Wonder’s Superstition on Youtube. She plugged her earphones in and started listening. Then she minimised the browser and got back to her work, but not before she’d cut herself a generous slice of cake. Lauren rubbed her big belly and started eating.

 Marty’s meeting lasted thirty minutes. She heard him stammer through a profuse chorus of thank yous while Tim held open the door. There was a rushed rustling as Marty scrunched his scattered papers back into his satchel. Then he walked past Lauren’s desk, and stopped dead in his tracks.

 Lauren was laid back, her head resting on the top of the chair, her hair a long, blowsy mess, her eyes delirious. One chubby arm dangled while the other softly massaged her drum tight stomach. It had grown so stuffed that it was riding up her shirt, and fallen over her belt buckle and the button of her skirt.

“Sorry Marty,” she groaned. “I wanted to save you some more, but it was…it was so good…so delicious…”

“It’s ok,” he stammered. “It’s fine.”

His eyes barely registered the empty platter. He couldn’t take them off the bloated beauty softly groaning in front of him.

“How’d it go in there?” Lauren mumbled, half dozing. She burped loudly and Marty pretended not to hear.

“Yeah…he really liked my pictures. He’s narrowing it down to his favourite three, he told me he wants to see me again...”

“I knew you’d pull it off.” she said warmly, giving her stomach a pat.

Marty’s lips quivered as he smiled.

“There’s just one more thing before you go. Please, could you get me a cup of water?” Lauren gestured lazily to the dispenser in the corner of the office. “I’d get it myself but I…I just can’t move out of this chair…so stuffed…”

Marty got a plastic cup and filled it up. He stepped around the desk and put it in her open hand. Lauren took a long gulp. She felt the tightness of her shirt ratchet up a notch.

“Ooooh…” she groaned, half in pain, half in pleasure. She raised her head and tried to take her stomach in her eyes. Her double chin creased on her neck. Her boobs obscured her view. Lauren huffed and tried to sit straight. Her aching belly made her desist.

“Could you….ufff…could you give me a little hand?”

Marty nodded in dumb disbelief. She found his skinny wrist with her chubby fingers.

“Undo my buttons.” she commanded, sweetly. She pressed his hand against her stomach. His thumb hurriedly fumbled for the whining piece of plastic over her bellybutton. He chipped it away from its cotton confines. The flaps of Lauren’s shirt parted a few inches. Marty shivered and pulled away as a swell of belly fat rolled onto his fingers. 

“Aaaah...” she sighed, as her belly flopped out to its full extent. “So much better. Thank you Marty. Come back here soon, won’t you?”

 Marty smiled dumbly as he walked away. The elevator doors opened and closed, and Lauren swore she heard him do a little dance on the way down. She grinned.

The work was done and the day was almost over. Lauren listened to some more music, drank her water, shut down her laptop, put the silver platter back on the plate then screwed up the cake casing and threw it at the bin. She scowled as her throw fell short. She planted her feet back on the ground and stood up to retrieve it.

To her surprise, the chair came up with her. Her love handles always spilled over the steely armrests, but now they looked close to engulfing them. The seat of the chair was firmly fused to her ass. Lauren sat back down, fixed her hair and smoothed her shirt.

With a little struggle, she got to her feet again. The chair remained stuck around her backside. She tried to wiggle it loose, but it wouldn’t budge. She pushed on the armrests with her chubby hands, but she couldn’t get the right angle.

“Well, this is embarrassing.” Lauren mumbled to herself. She jostled and wobbled and strained, and soon she was exhausted. The chair was still stubbornly stuck to her rear.

It could get worse. She certainly did not want to let Tim see what had happened to her. She looked to the elevator for sanctuary, and then she had an idea.

Lauren picked the third floor, as she knew there would be no-one left there to see her in this state. She shuffled into the elevator like a turtle, watched the doors close and silently prayed for no-one to press the buttons from the floors in between.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen. She shuffled out onto the third floor, but stopped just when the edges of her heels left the metal plate at the bottom. She crouched and lifted her ass into the air. The sleek doors sealed on the bar that connected the seat to the six little sets of wheels. Once the chair was firmly in place, Lauren tried to walk out of her predicament.

 Her heels scraped the floor, but she didn’t move. She snatched at the air for some invisible rope to grab on to. She heaved and pushed, but got no further.

Suddenly, she felt herself begin to rise. Her chunky love handles were being pinched more and more, and as her feet left the floor she suddenly realised what was happening. Lauren squealed.

The elevator was starting a slow ascent back to her floor while she was still trapped in the doorway.

“Help! Hnghhh….Hnggh…somebody, please…help!”

 She kicked and kicked, and tried to twist. She swung left and right, dropping her handbag, still trapped in the spinning seat while she climbed higher and higher. She thrust herself forward as the bar made contact with the ceiling. There was a crunch, and finally she fell out.

 Lauren crumbled belly first onto the floor, briefly a jiggling heap. The chair snapped in two above her – the top half missed her side by an inch as it landed loudly.  Lauren breathed deeply, burying her face in her plump arms as she recovered from the shock. Her chest throbbed and she softly whimpered.

That was close she thought. But at least she was free now. She lay on the ground a few moments more to gather herself.

Suddenly, the elevator pinged, and the metal doors opened up. Tim strode out, holding the wheeled half of the chair somewhat bemusedly.

“Lauren? Are you alright?”

Lauren turned red as she pulled down her skirt and tried to get to her feet again. Tim put down the wheels and offered her a hand and helped pick her up. She let out a gasp as she stood up again; glad to be in one piece.

“If you mind me asking…” Tim said, looking down at the wheels. “What exactly happened to you?”

Lauren bit her lip.

“Uhh…I disapparated” she said, without knowing why. “Like in Harry Potter. And I apparated here.”

“Oh, I see. And the chair got split in two because you splinched it in the attempt.” said Tim, clapping his hands together. “It all makes sense now, you being a witch. What else explains the sense of happiness and joy cast over us all in your prescence?”

Lauren couldn’t help but giggle. “You always know the right thing to say, Tim.” She sighed. “…I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I’m sorry about the chair.”

“I don’t mind about the chair. Honestly, are you sure you’re alright?”  

“Yeah, yeah. Good. Totally.”

“Shall I accompany you to your car?”

“I’m fine. I’m not actually taking the elevator down.”

Not after that near death experience, she thought to herself. She didn’t want to be at the mercy of those doors ever again. 

“Then should I help you descend the stairs?” he asked.

“Really Tim, I’m ok.” she said.

“Then I shall see you tomorrow!” He got back in the elevator and waved as he let the doors shudder shut between them.

 Lauren picked her handbag back up, checked that she hadn’t broken her laptop, then found the stairs on the other side of the room. The elevator experience had been bad, but the stairs were nearly another nightmare. Unable to see where she was placing her feet over her stuffed stomach, Lauren had to crane her neck, nudging her chin into her cleavage. She clung to the bannister for support, wobbling like blancmange while she shuffled down step by step.

By time she got to her car she was winded again. Her ribs felt bruised and her boobs hurt. She got in and tutted when she noticed she’d smudged her makeup. How had Tim not said anything? How had he not said anything about her snapping her office chair – unless he genuinely believed in magic?

That was just Tim being Tim. At least since Ursula got outed he was back to his usual self now. Weirdly gentlemanly, gentlemanly weird. But what had he said about helping her downstairs? Who even needs help to get down a flight of stairs?

Me, apparently. Lauren glared at her double chin in the wing mirror as she caught the rest of her breath. He knows exactly what happened. He knows I’m struggling with being a fatass.  

Lauren grunted as she got in and slipped the seatbelt over herself.

“If only there was a spell to stop packing it on.” she groaned, pushing her jelly roll under the steering wheel. Or maybe one to stop the doughnuts going to my hips.

 She started the ignition, reversed out of her spot, and drove away.  

 

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 With the increased demands the secretary’s job placed upon her, Lauren became ever more sedentary. For her lunch most days she had Sabrina, one of the new temps, bring takeout straight to her desk. She spent nearly seven hours every day with her butt firmly planted on her new chair – a much wider, cushier, purple seat with a reclinable back. It had a built-in cup holder, where she’d store milkshakes to wash down the half dozen doughnuts that arrived at her desk freshly baked at nine every morning, then again at three in the afternoon. 

 She had bought a new outfit to mark her promotion – a white shirt with a stylish collar, a black jacket and matching skirt. But soon the skirt pinched, the shirt bunched, and the jacket failed to button up all the way. After a couple weeks Lauren bought the whole outfit again, a size up in everything. Her size twenties were shunted to the deeper shadows of her wardrobe - she’d lost space on her hangers for more formalwear, and had settled for simply dumping her oldies on a growing mound at the bottom. It sucked, but she’d gotten used to outgrowing her clothes.

 Soon though, Lauren had to admit that she was outgrowing her new Nissan too. She’d shunted the seat back as far as it would go and still her belly pooched under the bottom of the steering wheel, while her boobs jiggled over the top. She was struggling to manoeuvre the pedals past her wide thighs. They were nearly always stuck together, even during the walk to work she’d embarked on after realising she couldn’t do up her seatbelt any more.

 She told herself it was a sign to get her body back in gear, and swore she’d make the morning walk a regular thing. But by the end of the trek she was asking herself why she hadn’t pulled a sickie. She was exhausted; her thighs burned on the outside from the rubbing, and on the inside simply from hauling her hefty frame around. She could do no more. Before catching the bus home, she stopped at a grocery store for some lotion and a seatbelt extender. She left with them in one bag, and a ten-pack of home-brand chocolate sprinkled mini-muffins in another.     

 The next day, finishing the last muffin in her car while stuck in rush-hour traffic, Lauren turned the wing mirror to herself. A sugary smear graced her chubby cheeks. She dabbed it off with a tissue, careful not to smudge her makeup. A few sprinkles had dropped down her open neck blouse and into her cleavage. Lauren sighed, smiled, let go of the steering wheel and settled her hands under her bra. She gently pushed her plump breasts up to her lips. She grinned as she stroked her tongue down her chocolatey flesh.     

 Lauren’s eyes flicked to the mirror and caught sight of the open mouth of an old man on the sidewalk. She froze. Her chest jiggled as her hands shot straight back onto the steering wheel. She heard footsteps, and the tap of a knuckle on the window. Without looking she tersely pressed the button to wind it down.  

“You hungry?” the old man asked her.

 Lauren turned beet red. She raised her eyebrows, then saw the hotdog stand he’d been pushing up the street.

“Oh…oooh, err…yeah. I’ll have one.”

 She asked for extra ketchup, cheese and mayo while she shuffled around to find two bucks. She stretched back to shove a hand in her pocket for some change – her belly jostled, and her rolls squashed together as she took a deep breath. She gave him a chubby fistful of quarters, told him to keep the change and took her hotdog with thanks.

 The old man trundled off to the car in front of her. Lauren took a big bite of cheese, ketchup, sausage and crumbly bread and closed her eyes in shame. She stuffed and stuffed to stifle the awkwardness and soon the whole hotdog was gone. She leant back and rubbed her sore tummy. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw herself in the wing mirror again. She filled it out with her wide frame, much like she filled out the driver’s seat of her little Nissan. Forty minutes later her car dipped a fraction to the left as she lifted a leg out the open door, stepping out into to Eyway’s underground car park. She was half an hour late.

 Smoothing the breadcrumbs off her blouse, Lauren chastised herself as she slowly got out her car, feeling her belly wobble as she strode to the elevator. It groaned under the strain of a big breakfast, two muffins and her hotdog; she was stuffed and she hadn’t even started work yet, where more people would doubtless tempt her tastebuds with more delicious treats. Lauren winced as she stepped into the elevator’s stuffy warmth, wiping a bead of sweat off her brow. She felt engulfed by food. She felt like she’d lost the battle before she’d even started.

“Tomorrow.” she told herself. “I’ll start tomorrow.”

 Her six doughnuts were waiting for her in her office. She munched through them all before lunch while she browsed the net for leggings, sports bras, halter-tops and sweats. Writing off today would stiffen her resolve, she’d decided. She searched the visitor’s guidebook for details on the company gym. It was on the twenty-seventh floor, there was no extra surcharge, and she was free to use it whenever, even out of working hours. Lauren readied herself. Now, she had no excuse.

 At lunch Lauren asked Sabrina if she’d fancy being her gym buddy, and she agreed. Her new gym clothes arrived a few days later. Tim was out of the country attending a conference in Russia; consequently her workload tending to his clients and associates was much reduced. Lauren arrived early, quickly finished her work for the morning, then at half eight she stripped off her dress and changed into her green and purple lycra. It was tight – too tight – even at XL, but she fought her flab into the stretchy garments undeterred. Short and bulky, she looked like a giant juicy pear. She packed her office clothes away in a locker and squeezed the plastic-strapped key tight around her chubby wrist. With a huff she left the changing rooms and entered the gym. It was pristine, airy and empty of other people.

 Sabrina was already inside. Favouring her Swedish roots, she was tall, sturdy yet slender, with arms that shimmied with tone beneath her wavy blonde hair as she warmed up on an elliptical. Lauren envied her body – a living picture of what she once had – but she hadn’t asked for Sabrina’s help just for visual motivation. She’d asked Sabrina because she was quiet. Lauren knew it would be a vital quality once they’d witnessed just how far she’d let herself go.

 She eyed the screen of Sabrina’s machine. The timer said she had thirty seconds left to go. She took the opportunity the moment of privacy offered her to bite the bullet. She found the scale in the corner of the gym and stepped on. It was white, steely and intimidating. The numbers flashed. Lauren shuddered at the reading.

She weighed two-hundred and ninety-nine pounds.

Jesus Christ…” Lauren murmured. It wasn’t two years ago in her pressured college days when seeing two-hundred on a scale would have been her worst nightmare. Now she was on the cusp of three.

“I’m in the nick of time.” she mumbled to herself. She tied up her hair and shifted to the treadmill beside Sabrina’s elliptical.

 Lauren started with a gentle jog, but within minutes she’d misted up the mirrors so much she could barely see her heaving, jiggling reflection. Sweat rolled down her cheeks and chins. She slowed to a walk for the final five, wheezing and gasping before collapsing on a bench. After a minute she found the strength to stumble to the fountain. She lapped up the stream of cooling water greedily. 

“You okay?” said Sabrina, sounding worried.

“Yeah” Lauren grunted tersely.

This isn’t going to be easy she thought to herself, splashing some more water in her face. She gave herself a few moments more rest then took out an exercise mat.

“Let’s…ughh…let’s keep going,” Lauren said. “Maybe some pushups?”

“Sure.” said Sabrina. She dropped and pumped out a burst of twenty. Painfully aware of her limits, Lauren started on her knees. She felt her top tighten as her boobs and belly pooled below her, softly hanging as she strained to rise. The burn returned to her lungs on her ninth rep. She stretched out her legs and pushed and pushed for ten, before her elbows gave way under her weight. She rolled onto the back to ease the pain in her weak chest muscles, buried deep beneath her sweaty party pillows. She let herself find her breath while Sabrina finished her fifty.

“I’m ready for situps when you are.” said the blonde temp, stretching then settling on her back with knees raised.

 Lauren forewent them – she knew she’d get nowhere past the swell of her jelly rolls. She daydreamed back to her college summers, when she had a toned tummy with the hint of abs. She remembered something the girls on the water polo team did to work their core strength. She tried, and struggled, to get up off the floor without using her hands to help her. Lauren curled up her legs first. Her chubby calves kissed the back of her wobbly thighs. She tried to arch her sides to tip on her knees. Her love handle pushed back at her. More sweat beaded on her brow.

 Determined, Lauren raised a fat leg and tried to rock forward on it. It brought her halfway up to sitting. She tried with both, and she rose to perch on her bottom. She rolled on it to slip a leg under herself, and with a gasp she made it one knee, and then to her feet. Lauren squeezed her offending hips and allowed herself a smile. Maybe she could hope a little more.

“Oooof…heheh…ughh…that was tough…” said Lauren. She bent forward a little, took off her scrunchie and shook out her sweaty hair. “Uhh, let’s work shoulders.” she told Sabrina.

 They each procured a medicine ball and a set of dumbbell weights. Lauren chose the ten pound. She parked her arse on the ball and softly bounced as she raised her arms up and down. The cooling air wafted beneath her arms through her top, around the rolls of her stomach. Lauren let herself bounce a little more.

She received another blast of cold air as the gym door swung open. Lauren was surprised to see Marty walk through. He saw her and backed into the wall almost instantly. Her misty hair had crested into a fascinating shape around her chubby face. It floated over her eyes as she bounced softly. Her breasts and belly were bouncing softly too.

“Um, hey…errr…Marie called in sick so she couldn’t get your doughnuts so I said I would, but I checked your office, then your old cube and you weren’t there, so then I checked with Sarah if you hadn’t gone with Tim to Russia and she said you’re still here somewhere, so I went down and checked all the cafeteria, then after that I’ve just been going floor by floor from the first one upwards – I’m really glad I found you. I brought your doughnuts.” he jabbered, in a single breath. He held out a ribbon wrapped box.

“Oh.” said Lauren. “That’s…that’s really kind of you, Marty. But I’m not…ready for food… we’re kinda busy working out…”

She gestured to Sabrina. Marty looked at her and went even more red.

“Oh, er…hey Ms. Madsen…sorry, Ms. Wilson, err…should I leave them for you in the afternoon?”

“No Marty…I’m dieting.”

“Um…what are you dieting for?”

 Lauren sighed. She was happy there was at least one boy in the world who thought she didn’t need to change anything about herself. But her fat, sweaty body told her differently. She was going to have to be blunt.

“I am doing this because I’m very big. I want to get less big. Doughnuts will not make me less big.” Lauren said, slowly, gesturing around her gut. “I’m sure they’re delicious, but we can’t all be blessed with teenage boy metabolisms. So I have to say no.”

Marty looked at her blankly.

“Err…so you don’t want them now?”

“No.”

“Where should I leave them?”

“I don’t want them. I don’t want your stupid fucking doughnuts ever!” Lauren snapped. “They’re so fucking fattening. I’ve fucking ballooned. Don’t you see!?”

Lauren rocked up and down on the ball, her fingers rigidly clenched on her soft love handles. Marty’s face went from red to white.

“Sorry…” he stammered.

“Just go.” Lauren pointed to the door. “Go back to what you’re doing and throw the doughnuts away. Okay?”

“Ok.” the young designer said. He’d gone quiet as a mouse.

“Good.” said Lauren. “Wait, no…just…ughhh…”

She slapped a hand on the ball.

“Just…just leave them outside the changing rooms…”

“…see you.” said Marty.

“Yeah…” Lauren mumbled “…Bye.”

The door closed. Lauren felt bad. She sighed and returned her weights to the rack.

“I wasn’t too harsh, was I?” she asked Sabrina. Her gym partner shrugged.

“You made it clear.” Sabrina said.

 Lauren cringed. Her appetite for exercise had gone. She wrapped up with a couple stretches and they packed the gym gear away. Tired, Lauren stripped off in her cubicle by the gym showers.

“I’m gonna go home and change,” Sabrina shouted from the door. “I’ll take your stuff up to the laundry if you’d like?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Lauren grunted, morosely. She peeled her lycra off herself and kicked it under her cubicle door. The blonde left her alone in the changing rooms. Lauren turned on the shower and shut her eyes as the warm steam wafted over her curves and folds.

 I must be hungry she resolved. She knew she’d never snap like that on a full stomach. It made her feel worse. She’d tried to make it better by letting him leave his little present with her, but maybe dropping the f-bomb had taken it a little too far. 

 The doughnuts were still waiting in the corner past the door. She looked left, then right, then hurriedly skipped over in the nude to retrieve them. She bent down, picked them up and took a succulent bite from the first as she shimmied back to the shower stall.

“Mmmm…” she mumbled. They were so good. She was already feeling better. She let herself eat two as a reward for her workout. She dropped the bag then took a long, relaxing shower. She flicked the handle around and shook the drips off her body. Smoothing back her hair as she left the stall, Lauren was tempted into munching one more.

 She licked her fingers and shifted to the lockers where her towel was. She fumbled for the locker key on her wrist. She flicked the clasp with her finger.

 It pinged straight off. The plastic strap flew through the air and bounced into the shower stall. Lauren groaned as she staggered back to fetch it. She was getting sick of bending over. She pushed past the curtain and stared. The key wasn’t there. There was just white and silver tiles, a few bubbles of shampoo, a trickle from the nozzle and the glugging, open drain.

 Lauren froze. She realised where her locker key had fallen. She got on her knees and slipped her fingers past the drain cover.

“Crap.” she muttered. “Crap crap crap!  

 She flicked back her sopping wet hair. All her clothes were in that locker. Her towel was in there. Her phone was in there too. She had nothing. Not even her panties.

 Lauren bit her lip as she came up with a plan. She would have to go home, find some clothes, then hurry back. That meant getting to her car. She palmed her face and swore again. Her car keys were in a drawer at her office desk at the top of the tower.

 There was nothing else for it. Lauren leant forward and shook her reddish-brown hair over her breasts. She stood up straight. Her softly hanging belly dipped over her sex. Lauren gave her rolls a stressed kneading. She would need luck if she was going to get through this.

 She summoned the elevator, then took refuge crouching behind the changing room door. She peered nervously past the handle. The elevator reached her floor and opened up. It was clear of people. Lauren stepped out into the corridor and waddled in. Free from her battle-worn bras her boobs jostled and shook. She entered the elevator’s humid warmth and breathed deeply.

 Remembering a trick her firefighter grandpa once showed her, Lauren punched in the button for floor forty-four and held the door close button at the same time. The doors sealed behind her and Lauren released the buttons. She breathed out, safe in the knowledge that the elevator would bypass every other stop on the way to her office.

 She wasn’t sure if the trick would work going back down though. She prayed for a quick exit. The people she could run into ran through her head. Tim was thankfully in Russia. Sabrina she could cope with – they’d been undressed together mere minutes before, and Lauren’s predicament was half her fault anyway. Sarah might scream. Darren would keep cool, but she felt he would probably spill later down the line. And Marty…heaven forbid. She’d been giving him one heck of an apology.

Lauren nearly smirked. I could literally knock him dead like this.

 The elevator neared the forty-fourth floor. Lauren thought about Ursula in her office, and smirked for real. She was nearly three-hundred pounds calling, with her every bulge on display.

I’d probably leave her blind she mused, giving her belly a slap.

The elevator reached her destination. Lauren stroked and smoothed her hair. She would grab the keys and get out. Nothing else mattered. The steel doors shifted open. Lauren shivered.

She was not alone.

A figure in a black boiler suit was sitting at her desk. A head wrapped in a dark balaclava rose over her laptop screen to look her in the eyes.

“Hey!” shouted Lauren. “Who are you? What are you doing?”

 The figure snapped her laptop shut and tried to wrench it away, snarling and struggling. Her device was strung to the desk by a tangle of wires running to the socket on the wall.

“Stop right there!” Lauren yelled.

She bounded towards the would-be thief; bare, fat flesh wiggling and wobbling as she thudded one foot in front of the other. The figure in black dropped her laptop, kicked out of her chair and leapt clean over the desk. Lauren lunged to grab the darting shadow. She felt herself drop as a boot made contact with her ankle. Her fingers raked empty air as the silent thief ducked beneath her flabby arms. A strong hand shunted her soft side as the boot swept her up, and Lauren toppled over. She hit the deck with a smack on her soft arse and rolled helplessly on her side.

 The thief ran for the open elevator and sealed the doors. Lauren struggled pitifully to her feet. The ticker sunk from the top floor to Floor -2, the underground car park. She jabbed the button to bring it back up. She slid through, punched -2 and the door close buttons and clenched her fists as she started her descent.

 By time she reached the cars, hot and sweaty, her assailant had long vanished into thin murky air. Lauren cursed as she waddled to her car. She threw herself inside, her warm bottom sticking to the upholstery. She stretched for the mat beneath her soles and placed it over her chest. Pressed into the steering wheel by her generous endowments, it helped just enough to preserve her modesty as she raced past the other motorists on the heart-pounding drive to her apartment.

Reaching her street, Lauren slammed the breaks and pushed open her door. She peeled herself out the car, letting the mat drop. She gave her neighbours on the veranda an eyeful as she thundered down the pathway. Lauren opened her door, staggered inside and hastily squeezed into her underclothes and sweats. Then she called the police.

 

 Cop cars surrounded Eyway Tower within minutes, but Lauren’s dark-clothed assailant had made a clean getaway.  The still-sweating secretary managed to make it back to her office and let the staff know what happened. She sent Tim a text message to let him know, and he immediately gave everyone the rest of the day off.

 It took a while for Lauren’s heart to stop racing. The ghost was gone, but all was not well. When she got hold of her laptop again she learned her thief was more than just a thief. They had managed to hack into the Eyway intranet and compromise the pay system only the most senior staff members could access. They’d used a complex and dangerous algorithm to trace the monthly salary of every employee right to their bank accounts, and drain them one by one from the top down. Tim Maxim’s personal account had been drained to zero. So had Lauren’s. But Darren and Sarah were safe. So were Sabrina and Marty. They might have been rendered broke too had Lauren not intervened when she did.

“I’m surprised you weren’t hurt,” said D.I. Carmichael, the cop assigned to the case. Lauren met her the next day outside her office, while a special branch team swept it for DNA.  “You can expect anyone bold enough to go grandslam on a corp’s finances to be armed and dangerous. You were lucky not to be killed.”

“I just…did what I had to do.” Lauren quietly exclaimed. It made a little more sense to her. She couldn’t picture anyone accosted by a naked fat chick suddenly remembering they had a gun.

“Have you found anything yet?” asked Darren. He and Lauren had been called to the scene as the only eyewitnesses of the figure in black. The bearded designer had told the cops he’d seen the suspect the upper floor of the car park on -1 as he left for a lunch in the city. They had fled the tower in a turquoise Mercedes.  

“Nothing yet,” said the detective. “We’re dealing with a pro. Such a shame this punk knew how to scramble the cameras too.”

 Lauren mumbled her affirmation nervously. In reality the CCTV in her office hadn’t been tampered with at all. It was Lauren who’d found and deleted the recordings from the network early the next day. Her finances had been struck out of the park, but she didn’t feel desperate enough to let the force ogle her bare, bulging body quite yet. In any case, nothing could be discerned from beneath the balaclava and boiler suit. Lauren had watched the footage over and over herself before removing it – her quaking mass being dumped on the floor like a sack of potatoes still looped through her mind. Whoever handled her like that had to be pretty strong, she’d decided. Not some twig, like the girls who floated into her office a couple weeks later.

 Returning to Eyway nearly as soon as the news of the hacking broke, Tim decided a new advertisement campaign would help ease the collective shock and boost morale back to levels of ‘joyful efficiency’. He hoped it would bring the website Lauren had helped design back to forefront too; tabloid homepages had splashed Eyway’s cyber-bruising all over the Google search. Lauren could sense how it much it pained Tim to see his and his company’s good name tied into such a disaster, and that was the only thing helping her tolerate the clutch of stick-thin models that crossed her office to interview with him over the course of the following month.

“Good morning, dearest,” said Tim, walking past her desk. His hair had grown a little more grey, and his voice was somewhat strained. “I hope you’re finding things alright up here again. Have the extra doughnuts been helping?”

“Mmmphh.” Lauren swallowed her third quickly. “Ummpphh…hey. Yeah, totally. How are you? Have we found our next top model yet?”

“I’m not altogether sure. There’s a few hopefuls I’ve asked to drop by, scheduling dependent. It’s all such a convoluted process. Oh, what I’d give for a tawny-red haired, green eyed beauty to walk through my door.”

Lauren blushed deeply. Tim smiled.

“You’re resolutely sure you don’t fancy shooting another advert with us?” he asked her.

“Nah. Someone new should give it a shot.” said Lauren. He’s sharing Marty’s glasses… she thought to herself. Are there any men in this place who see just how huge my hips have gotten? I can’t shoot another advert. I’d be a laughing stock.   

“Oh Lauren, you’re too kind. Offering the chance of a lifetime to another girl…turning down any reimbursement from us after what happened to your account…being on the receiving end of that leg sweep from that shady vagabond – I mean, surely it must have hurt?”

“It wasn’t too painful,” said Lauren. “I was okay…”

“Oh no, I mean when you fell from heaven. I’ll see you later.”

 

Lauren wore a smile for an hour after Tim closed his door with a cheery parting to her. She presented the first model hopeful with a beaming grin.

“Hey, welcome to Eyway. I’m Lauren, Mister Maxim’s secretary. He’ll be ready to see you in a couple minutes. Is there anything I can help you with?”

 But the veneer however, was quickly worn away. They came on the hour, every hour, a procession of preened and parched, soulless husks. Most took one look at her body and then steadfastly refused look her in the eye thereafter. Others would freeze and give their names in a whisper, before shimmying off as fast as they could in their boots and heels to Tim’s office, as if they were afraid of catching fat cooties. Lauren read their resumés and learned most of them came from Pink Palace, the top runway specialists. She swiftly realised they were all probably going to turn their nose up at her when they came into her office.

 The sizeable secretary decided to make the most of it. On a later morning when Tim had four interviews booked Lauren selected the gooiest cheesecake Eyway’s desserts line offered and had it brought up to her. To her inner glee it came up in the elevator with Sarah at the same time as the first model. She was leggy and blonde, with arch brows and soft red lips.

 With practiced poise she took nine strides and slipped her resume over the desk without a word in greeting. Lauren ignored her. She stretched her hands past the ring-bound folder for what she wanted.

“Here you go, honey.” said Sarah. Lauren thanked her old workmate as she received the plattered cake. She set it on her desk and lifted the lid with a greedy grin. It came in a honey-comb box.

“You wansum?” Lauren offered the model, as Sarah returned to her floor from the lift. The blonde beauty said nothing. Lauren picked a button off the bottom of her tight shirt and smirked at her.   

“No? Okay.”

 She crammed both her hands into the sticky box and seized two slices of gooey cake. Lauren looked left, licked her lips and stuffed into her waiting mouth.

“Mmmm…”

 Turning her chin she languidly gazed to the right. She stuffed the second piece in her mouth right up to halfway, and giggled through the bulge her seismic bite made behind her cheeks. Lauren basked happily in the wave of shock and disgust she felt emanating from her client’s oval eyes.

“Mmm…mmpphh…what’syourname?”

“Sorry?” the platinum blonde said, her voice a squeak.

Lauren gulped down the cake.

“I said what’s your name?”

“Courtney Campbell…”

“Courtney.” Lauren ticked her list of hopefuls. A lick of chocolate from her fingers smeared the page. The doodles she’d drawn over the model’s faces crinkled and creased as she wiped it off.  

“Ooh, sorry.” She popped a finger her mouth and sucked. “I can’t help it, this stuff is so good. You should try. You’ll be having a lot when the cameras start rolling.”

“…I will?”

“Heh. Yeah. Talk about lucky. Get this job and you’ll be getting paid to eat.”

“Huh?”

Courtney blanked. Lauren had another big bite of cake. She shuffled closer in her rolling chair.

“They make you eat on camera. Careful though – the doughnuts are addictive. When I modelled here I just couldn’t stop myself.”

Courtney’s pale blue eyes widened.

“You…you were the model here?” she mouthed.

“Hey, I’m still a model.” said Lauren. She pressed her hands into her armrests. “I’ve just…hnnghhh….been taking a break...”

 Lauren noshed through the cake in her hands. She accentuated the struggle to stand up. She huffed and laid a hand on her overgenerous hips, letting her boobs perk up a little more. The other idly scratched her big belly. 

“Oooff…gotta say…it’s gotten a little more challenging.”

 She placed a hand behind her head, scooped a chocolatey dollop of cake on her finger and put it to her lips with a smile. The pose was one of the first billboard runs she’d done with Eyway. Courtney’s expression didn’t change. Lauren licked her finger and rounded her desk, letting her wide hips roll. She puffed out her cheeks and softly blew out her fringe.

“You don’t remember me? Really? It’s not been so long since those days.”

 She turned and wiggled her rear a little. Her trousers stretched.

“It must be the shirt. Or my hair – it’s a little longer.”

 Lauren swept it back as she reached for more cake. She locked eyes with Courtney and licked her lips.

“Or maybe…just maybe…it’s the two hundred pounds of pure, jiggly fat I piled on eating all this Eyway food.  You know, before I thought I’d give another girl the opportunity.”

 Lauren ate some more cake and slapped a hand on her belly. It rippled. She scraped up another slice and offered it over.

“Mmmm…sure you don’t want a piece?”

 Courtney was petrified. She stumbled back a little then set off into a dash. A piece of paper slipped from her pocket. Seemingly forgetting where the elevator was, she staggered right into Tim’s office. Lauren heard a squeak of alarm from one or the other, then laughed as she heard a thud. Country had probably tripped over the mushroom.

 She licked her fingers clean of cake and picked up the folded piece of paper Courtney had dropped. It had been ripped from something else. She bit her lip when she read what it said.

 

Focus on the job. Whatever else he offers you, don’t take it. Not even a slice of cake. Give in to him and he’ll ruin your figure. You’ll see Little Miss Proof of the Pudding on the way to his office.

 

 Lauren recognised the handwriting. It was the same she’d seen on the note left on her laptop a few months ago.

“Fucking Ursula.” she swore. The crusty old hire had disappeared off the grid, yet she was still finding ways to rib her for her weight. Lauren scrunched up the note and chucked it at the wastepaper basket. She scored.

 She missed with Courtney Campbell’s screwed up resumé, but Lauren took great joy in ripping it in half with her fat fingers while more faint murmurs echoed from Tim’s room. A few taps on her laptop erased all knowledge of her from the company’s servers. She bode Courtney an unreciprocated goodbye after her brief interview, then sunk her teeth into the leftover cake with a grin, revelling in her little victory. Ursula could suck it. Eyway Patisseries would remain a mole-free workplace under the new secretary’s watch.

 Lauren spent the afternoon scanning more rail-thin figures and brewing catty comments round her mind.

“Ugghh, I’m turning into her.” she muttered to herself. Her thoughts turned to cats and cigarettes as she tucked into a hearty fried chicken lunch while more models trailed by. She couldn’t help but spite the way their pert buttocks stayed set in the step of her long, lacey legs. They didn’t bounce or sway to a beat of their own, like her burgeoning caboose did. They’d never felt a single stitch on their skin, let alone test one, or in the case of Lauren’s thighs, pull a host of them apart. Their flat stomachs had never known the warmth and comfort of a filling, sinful meal, as Lauren did daily.

 Her diet had gone flying out the window. The attack had had something of a role to play – after calling the police and giving her side of the story at the station she’d spent the afternoon in her sweats snacking in comfort to soften the shock. The doughnuts returned to her desk after the pathetic interlude of a single day – she’d only missed one batch, seeing as she’d returned to the changing rooms and greedily scoffed all of Marty’s. The loss of her earnings too had tugged her habits further down the indulgent path – she relied totally on free company snacks and meals before her next paycheck came in. Her privileges had been extended; she could eat as much as she wanted.

 Lauren tried her best to stick with salads for lunch, and keep up the gym days with Sabrina, but it wasn’t counting for much. She knew wasn’t doing enough to slim herself down. For a while she avoided the scale. She’d simply sat, snacked and hoped her numbers had settled. But after sitting down on the couch during a lazy weekend, the ping of a burst button on a pair of slacks told her otherwise.

 She told herself it didn’t matter. Weighing in at over three-hundred and twenty pounds, Lauren didn’t want to put on more. But if she didn’t need to be thin, she didn’t need to lose any either. The wheels had buckled when she’d fallen off the wagon. She knew it would still be there once she’d found the strength to heft her bulbous body back up. 

 A month later, Lauren arrived at work dressed to the nines. She hadn’t had to, but she wanted to, for Tim’s sake. He had been stressing all week about his annual shareholder’s meeting –Eyway’s stock had taken a knock from the hacking, and this was the golden chance to reassure them that everything was okay.  

 The lengths Lauren had gone to to acquire a dress that both flattered her and didn’t hug her too inappropriately tightly had left her both exhausted and demoralised. Her fashion choices were dwindling. Even her lounging around clothes had become troublesome repeat purchases – already she’d ripped the seat on two pairs of her old slacks, to go nicely with the burst buttoned jogging pants a size below. Week on week she was finding herself with more fat to clothe, and fewer clothes to do it with.

 Today however, she was wearing a gorgeous strapless purple number that made her look sleek and sexy, if a little elephantine. She applied her lipstick in the elevator mirror, checked her nails were sparkly, then arranged her hair so that it flowed over her shoulders and chest.

Lauren felt a buzz by her thigh. She opened up her handbag, found her phone and tapped the green button.

“Lauren, are you in your office?”

The voice was Darren’s. He sounded panicked.

“I’m not.” said Lauren. “I’m in the cafeteria. Do I need to be up there?”

“No. If you’re alone, stay right where you are. Don’t go back to the office till you’re done hearing this. I think I’ve got a lead.”

“What?”

“The thief,” said Darren. “I know who it was.”

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 Lauren pushed her phone past her hair, closer to her ear.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“Ok,” said Darren. “Just…just make sure you’re alone.”

The ticker flicked through the twenties into the thirties.

“I am. You’ll have to be quick though.” she whispered.

“Ok, bear with me this one moment,” said Darren. “It’s not good news. I searched everywhere, then searched everything again once I’d got it. I went through the files, the emails, the company intranet, the works. I even managed to remotely access the boss’s mobile. I know it’s not kosher, but I had a hunch. And I was right. It’s Tim. Tim Maxim.”

Lauren threw a baffled look.

“That’s impossible,” she said. “Tim was in Russia when it happened.”

“He wasn’t.” said Darren. “Look, I’ve got it in front of me. According to this little dohicky right now he’s on Floor Forty-Four.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” said Lauren.

“Well I’ve backdated the readings with an algorithm of my own. Lauren, he was on Forty-Four the day the attack happened. He never left for Russia. He never left his office.

“But…but his Eyway account was emptied…”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. He was stealing his own money. He did it to preserve his alibi. Just like how he smashed his own window from the inside.”

“Darren, I don’t believe this.” said Lauren.

She rubbed her eyes. It wasn’t true. It was anyone, anyone but Tim. Her thoughts turned.

What if it the real thief had the cops on his tail? What if he was trying at that very moment to save his skin?

 The ticker was closing on the forties. Lauren lowered her voice.

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd that the moment the thief disappeared, you appeared right where he was last seen? In the underground car park?” she whispered down the phone.

“No,” said Darren. “…I just drove back from lunch. It was when my next shift started.”

“How come nobody else saw that blue Mercedes leave the tower?”

“Hey, they hacked the CCTV, remember? It’s the same reason no-one saw what happened to you on Forty-Four. The records were wiped up there.”

“I wiped the records.” said Lauren.

“Huh?” said Darren.

“It was me who wiped the tapes up there. Nobody tampered with them. If they wanted to, they’d have to be a seriously good hacker. Someone who could break into their bosses’ mobile phone from their PC, maybe?”

There was a second of silence on the line.

“Lauren, you’re getting this all wrong.”

The ticker reached forty-two.

“I think it’s you who’s got it wrong, Darren.”

“No, no, no. Please. Just stop! Don’t go anywhere!” he pleaded.

“Whatever.” said Lauren. See you in court.”

 She ended the call and put her phone back in her handbag. Lauren had her answer. She breathed out, feeling her belly push the seams of her dress a little tighter. She gave it a pat.

The elevator doors opened up.

 The seams eased as Lauren took a sharp intake of breath. Tim Maxim was in the room, adjusting his tie in the reflection on the glass window. Courtney Campbell was sitting at her desk.

“Hi Miss Wilson!” she squeaked with a wave. She resumed tapping with her manicured pink nails on Lauren’s laptop. There were acres of space either side of her on her wide, plush chair.

 “Lauren, my darling, good morning!” said Tim, turning around. “I’d meant to call but there wasn’t the time, so I thought I’d ease you in the easiest way anyhow. We’ve taken Courtney on as our new model, as you might have guessed. But since her resumé had such a blinding barrage of brilliant references from her past secretarial work I thought I’d introduce her as your…understudy, shall we say?”

“…Understudy?” said Lauren, the only word she could fathom.

“Yes, indeed. Since your modelling work was such a springboard to you keeping the beating heart of the firm going strong up in management, I thought one good turn would deserve another. Courtney shall be shadowing you for the next week in between shoots. She’s agreed to work the weekends thereafter!”

“Tim.” said Lauren, her eyes bulging. “She’s…”

“Perfect?” the manager said with a cheery grin. “I thought so too! And to think, I found her resumé torn and tattered beside the bin. I can only think the cleaners must surely have mistaken it for waste paper.”

 “Uhh.” Lauren blushed red. “Yeah, totally.”

 Courtney looked at her with a wide smirk. Lauren flinched as she glared back, eyeing the dainty, clumsy way she slid the mouse across the desk, the way her eyes whirled as they returned to the screen. It was clear Ursula used her know-how to fill in the references on her resumé. This girl didn’t have a clue.  

Tim tightened the knot on his double Windsor.

“I’ve just been meaning to mention, there won’t be much to do up here before the conference. Just a little meeting and greeting. Since Courtney’s here, I thought you could have the morning off.”

“Oh. Right. Is there nothing for me to do up here?”

“Nothing at all.”

“You’re sure right?” Lauren walked closer to the desk and laid a hand on it.  “I thought maybe I could say hello, hand out a few cupcakes, maybe tell them about how well our new ices are selling in Mexico City…”

“It’s alright, you can relax. You needn’t strain your smile up here. Everything’s fine as it is.”

 Lauren made eye contact with Tim as she stood closer.

“Are you sure?” she said. “Like, really really sure?”

She hoped he’d see it in her eyes. Courtney could not be left alone in her office with a company computer.

“Lauren, I mean this in the sincerest sense…”

Tim strode till he was toe to toe with her. He bent his head and lowered his voice.

“I don’t want you to see them. It’s all a matter of confidence with shareholders, you see. They’re already a little shell-shocked by the hack and robbery, so it’s utterly integral we –”

“Tim, about that. I think I know – ”

“Yes, exactly. So we have to –”

“No.” Lauren stepped on her tiptoes and moved her mouth closer to his ear. She couldn’t let Courtney hear her. Her centre of balance rolled forward and she laid a hand on Tim’s chest. “I know who –”

“Please.” said Tim. “As much as I’d love to seek the sanctuary of an old cliché, I do feel it’s not me. It’s you.”

“Huh?” said Lauren.

“I know we’ve all felt the need for tender care since the attack, you perhaps more so than the others. But…it’s been some time now, and you’ve long crossed the border on the other side of comfort to…indulgence.”

Lauren blinked. What was he saying?

“I’m saying it’s gotten excessive.” said Tim, reading her eyes. Lauren felt him place his cold hands on her warm, doughy sides and softly push.

 Only then did Lauren notice how her belly was pressed up against his. Her hand left his chest. The roll of her fat balanced on Tim’s belt buckle dropped back to its proper place with a wobble.

 “Oooh,” Lauren said, stepping back. Her lips faltered a little. “Oh. Ok.”

 “Is there something we could get you before you go?” Tim offered. “A drink perhaps? Some tea?”

“No, no. I’m fine.”

Head stung and heart bruised, Lauren turned and returned to the elevator.

“Umm…see you soon.”

“Yes. Yes I will. Goodbye.”

 Lauren felt herself sink inside as she shifted down through the floors. She hadn’t pressed any of the buttons. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks, she noticed, were particularly puffy.

“It’s because I’m fat, isn’t it?” she mumbled to herself. The stock market, shareholding – it was all about external perceptions, right? If the shareholders saw a secretary clearly addicted to baked goods, a secretary who couldn’t keep an eye on her weight, could she be expected to keep an eye on the company’s incomings and outgoings? No. They’d bail in an instant.  

That’s ridiculous Lauren chided herself. I’m good at my job. Tim says so.

But why then, after all she’d done, had he chosen to be so shallow?

 With nothing else to do but dwell in her thoughts, Lauren stopped the elevator at the cafeteria. She plopped her ass down on a cool plastic seat, alone in the empty room. She looked, and indeed felt, like a date who’d been stood up. She found solace for her annoyance in food, and for half an hour she sat and munched on chocolate fudge and ice cream – the special of the day was the Napoleone Supremo. When asked for a third full portion, one of the catering staff asked if she was feeling alright.

“Yeah” she mumbled, not meeting her eyes. Within three minutes Lauren was asking for more. Her head felt fuzzy and cold. The seams on her dress were creaking.

“No.” said Lauren, slapping down her spoon halfway through. “What am I doing? I should not be eating this.”

 More fattening food is the last thing I need. Tim’s stuck that skinny bitch on the road to replacing me.

 And that was if she didn’t bring Tim and Eyway down before it could happen. Lauren seethed. It wouldn’t take much. With the amount of experience she had working in an office, She reckoned the skinny model would barely have to try. She’d wreck the company just by being in her seat.

Lauren had half a mind to just let it happen. She’d take slack from Ursula any day of the week. But from Tim it felt much worse, even if it sounded less critical. She felt her feelings grow with the way he’d held her hips.

Indulgence? Excessive?

 She felt she should have kneed him in the balls for that. But she knew her knees wouldn’t have come high enough. Her weak, flabby thighs would have been buffered by her thick belly. And therein Lauren saw his point.

She really had gotten prodigiously overweight. 

 Lauren felt a buzz in her handbag and found her phone. It was someone else she wanted to knee in the balls. She sighed, then pressed the green button.

“What do you want Darren?” she snapped.

“To iron things over,” Darren hurriedly said. “You’re making a huge mistake.”

“Don’t try running.” Lauren said. “I have your file on the company system. We’ll know where you are and where to find you.”

“I’m not running anywhere.” said Darren. “Lauren, please. I would never do this. I would never hurt you.”

I mean, surely it must have hurt?

“Darren.”

“I mean it. You’re…you’re…”

You’re too kind. Offering the chance of a lifetime to another girl…turning down any reimbursement after what happened to your account…being on the receiving end of that leg sweep from that shady vagabond – I mean, surely it must have hurt?

Lauren’s mind jingled.

…after what happened to your account…being on the receiving end of that leg sweep from that shady vagabond…

…on the receiving end of that leg sweep…

…that leg sweep…

…that leg sweep…

“Hey...hey, you still there?” said Darren.

“Oh my god.” said Lauren.

“Lauren?”

“Darren, forget everything I said. You were right.”

We were the only ones in the foyer. Me and the thief. And no-one has seen the CCTV.

That leg sweep.

How could Tim have known what he did to me?

“It was Tim,” whispered Lauren, her palms sweaty. “Holy shit. Tim did it.”

“Yes…” said Darren.

“Call me back in an hour, okay?” said Lauren.

“Wait…what?”

“I have to do something,” she decided. “I have to go.”

 

  On impulse, Lauren finished her bowl and headed back to the forty-fourth floor. The room was clear – the shareholders and delegates had all had their welcome and had made their way to the forty-third floor conference room. Only Courtney Campbell remained.

 Lauren locked eyes with the blonde sitting in her seat. Malicious or not, she was still a nuisance. She had to be removed from the equation.

“Ughh, I’m hungry.” said Lauren. She rubbed her belly through her dress. Already firm and full of food, it gurgled.

The blonde wasn’t looking. Her eyes were still dancing over her laptop.

Lauren stamped a heel.

“I said I’m hungry.” she said, sweetly yet forcefully.

“Umm…what would you like to eat?” said Courtney, perplexed.  

“A cake.” Lauren said. “I want a slice of the biggest, fullest, most succulent cake you can get from the cafeteria. I want it with sugar and sprinkles – but not the green and yellow ones. Take those out. I want it with three scoops of ice cream. ,  and blueberry. And I want whipped cream in a swirl on top, but not full-fat whipped cream. Semi-skimmed. I’ve gotta…mmmfff…watch my figure, you know?”

 Lauren shifted her weight from one leg to another, smoothing her hand down the taut satin on her waist. She leant to her left and stuck out her hip.

“Wouldn’t wanna get fat, would I?” she smirked.

“Uhhh…alright.” said Courtney.

 She caught the model rolling her eyes as she sauntered to the elevator. Lauren laid a hand on her bony shoulder as they reached each other.

“I’m warning you,” she said in a low growl. “Take all the time you need. But if that cake slice is not utterly, mind-bogglingly delicious I’ll be having words with the boss. It’s company policy that our representatives should know the best tastes we offer, after all.”    

 Courtney whitened as she passed her by. Lauren smiled. Hopefully she’d left the mole with enough to keep her occupied in the time she needed. She wasn’t even sure semi-skimmed whipped cream existed. She certainly hadn’t tried some. 

 Lauren watched the elevator doors close on the skinny model, and then she got to work. She needed something to incriminate Tim. She crossed from her office into his. She stepped over the toadstool, rounded his desk and landed with a squish in his chair. She checked the message history of the phone on his desk to see what calls he’d been getting. Most were from the same numbers she dealt with as his secretary. But there was one from a number she didn’t recognise, sent the day before the Eyway accounts had been hacked. They’d left a message. Lauren pressed the play button.

“Hello there, this is Katherine calling from Delacroiss Limited, we understand your company’s policy on unsolicited calls from its fiscal partners, but I’m just calling to inform you that Mister Aneurin Delacroiss will not be able to attend your shareholder’s meeting today as he is currently undertaking some urgent business in Europe. If you could kindly pass this message on to Mister Maxim, that would be lovely. Thank you. We at Delacroiss wish you a wonderful day. Goodbye.”

There was the click of a receiver.

Delacroiss? 

Lauren had heard that name before. She couldn’t quite pluck it out from the recesses of her mind. She turned on her laptop and searched it on Google.

 The first result was an advert for an ice cream parlour run by a Toni Delacroiss in Florida, which she ignored. The second was a Wikipedia page, which she clicked on.

 Her eyes widened. Delacroiss was a pharmaceutical company. On paper it didn’t have assets in the U.S. – just holdings in American companies, like Eyway. But it did have offices, stores and contracts all over Europe, and most interestingly, it had been the subject of many scandals in the British press. Lauren clicked a link to a tabloid homepage. She read that after an inquest into a case involving illegal artificially developed additives and E-numbers, Delacroiss had been fined into financial ruin. Condemned by one correspondent as the biggest pillar of the obesity epidemic, they were on the verge of bankruptcy until a few months ago. 

 Lauren felt her blood cool. She wondered how the company had managed to lift itself out the deep end.

Who could have given them the money?

It could easily have been Tim. The timing made sense.

I need to root him out and show the world what he is.

Ursula’s words echoed in her ears. Where was she now?

Her thoughts turned a little more sinister. What could have happened to her?

 Lauren decided that she had to know the details of that meeting in the conference room. It might give her all the evidence she needed. She thought about descending the staircase and pressing her ear to the doors, but they were made of clouded glass. They’d see her silhouette from the other side. Sussing from her outline Tim might even guess who it was – lately her body had been taking on a very unique shape, chunky at the top, but much wider at the bottom, like a plump teardrop.

Whatever she had to do, she needed to get out of Tim’s chair first. Lauren steadied herself, then in one jaunty movement she slowly hauled herself up off her seat. She couldn’t do it spontaneously any more; there was barely enough strength in her thighs to thrust her hefty body up. As her belly lazily rolled forward between her legs, acting as a counterweight to her blubbery ass, Lauren felt weirdly self-aware. Something was up. How had all this weight just crept up on her?

 Ursula was looking less and less like the crazy naysayer Lauren had written her off as. Maybe there was something up with the produce too. Maybe all this time Lauren been plumping for the wrong side. Maybe Ursula was right all along, about everything.

I don’t want you to see them.

 What if Tim had meant exactly what he’d said?  If just one of the guys in that room was from another big pharma like Delacroiss, or maybe an even shadier organisation, her suspicions would be confirmed. Her main problem was that they were shareholders, not staff – she couldn’t simply look them up on the employee database on her intranet account. They didn’t wear name tags like she did, so she couldn’t check them out when they finished their talk and left. The only way to know was to listen in while the meeting was still ongoing.

 Lauren heard someone laugh. It came from within the boardroom, then it echoed over and over, a little lighter each time, finally settling in the corner of her foyer where the grill to the ventilation shaft lay on the wall. 

The vents Lauren realised. They’re my only way in.

 She crouched by the grill, lifted her hair and pressed her ear against the bars. She could hear their voices and more laughter, but they were too faint for her to make out any of the words. She had to get closer. She plucked a retractable pen from her handbag and used it to unscrew the grill. The four screws popped out easily.

 Lauren took a deep breath. Small, confined spaces weren’t her thing, especially now that she’d gained much and more around her waist. She removed the grill and stared into the vent. It was dark, cramped and stuffy. Lauren found her phone and turned on the flashlight. She slipped off her heels, leaving them by her desk. Then she got on her hands and knees, with her light leading the way, she crawled inside.  

 Immediately she felt her anxiety flurry, but she scrolled through her messages on her phone as she sluggishly crawled, reading them through to try and take her mind off her situation. She shifted slowly in the direction of the voice, careful not to let her knees bang too hard on the metal. Her mind would have been more at ease had her ass not been sliding along the top of the structure, a constant reminder of the tiny dimensions of the space she was in.

 Lauren spied a light in the darkness. Instinctively she crawled toward it. The voices grew louder and clearer.

“…a bulk shipment, delivered in instalments? I smell something of an oxymoron in there, if you don’t mind me saying.” said Tim.

“Say what you want Mister Maxim, I don’t care. Just don’t drop me in it. All I know is that Marco wants fresh baked goods delivered every day.”

 The voice was a woman’s. It had a rough accent Lauren couldn’t place.  

“For a whole year?” said Tim.

“Yeah.”

“Anything in particular?” said Tim.

“Anything you’ve got. Just be sure it’s the best.”

“Of course, of course. He doesn’t have any preference whatsoever?”

“Don’t get in over your head. He’s a mob boss, not a Michelin critic. It’s not for him anyway. It’s for some chick he wants me to wait on hand and foot for. But I can’t bake for shit, so that’s why I need your help. I brought the money.”

Lauren heard a briefcase open up.

“That’s got to be half a million dollars!” Tim gasped.

“It’s five-hundred and twenty-five thousand. He said it’ll cover your food, your deliveries and your discretion. Not a word about this, to anybody. And no hints to the movers and shakers next door.” 

“Yes…err….yes. Understood, absolutely. Remind me, whe-where are we delivering these instalments to?”

“Eldora, Florida. You won’t find it on a map. Let me show you…”

 Lauren realised that Tim and the woman were meeting privately. A buzz of voices further down the shaft told her the conference was going on in a separate room.   

“Excellent” said Tim. Lauren heard the briefcase close. “We’ll start within the week. Shall we proceed with the rest of the morning?”

“Sure. Just remember what I said.”

 The door opened and swung shut. Lauren heard their footsteps as they made their way back to the main conference room. She crawled further down the shaft.   

Kkkrrrcchhh

She froze. The noise echoed all around her. She shuffled back a little and saw she’d snagged her dress on a corner. The edge had made a tear that ran halfway down her thigh. She swore.

“This info better be worth it.” Lauren whispered to herself. She turned as wide as she could around the corner and followed the dull light. She found its source – another grill, this one at the bottom of the vent, suspended over what she presumed was the conference room.

Lauren held her breath as she drew closer. The shaft began to narrow. Soon she felt metal on all of her sides. She kept going. Her love handles rubbed the soldered joints. She was getting closer.

She found herself having to stretch for the light. She grunted and shuffled some more, before realising that she had reached her limit. The shaft had gotten too narrow for her to go any further.

The light was just inches away. If she could get her phone camera there she’d get everything. She curled up her legs and surged forward one more time.

She heard the metal groan. Suddenly the shaft seized around her. Her belly, sides and butt were squeezed together. Lauren grit her teeth as she felt the heavy pressure on her stomach. She tried to push herself back.

But there was no way back. Her knees pawed uselessly against the metal. Her hands had nothing but the base of the vent to push against. Lauren put down her phone and tried to heave herself further along. It was no use.

 A wave of panic washed over Lauren when she realised she was stuck. She let out a little whimper. She steadied herself. If she got herself stuck into something, she could get herself out. It was logic.

 She raised her chest and dropped it, trying to squirm like a worm. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Lauren began to wish she’d made more use of the gym. She wiped the sweat away as she struggled, and soon her hands were slippy. She tried to press herself up. Nothing. Her ass was so tightly packed that she couldn’t even make it wobble, like it did during her every walking moment. 

“Crap.” Lauren hissed. She mouthed curses at the people below her. This was all their fault, right? They made this company. They were the ones who’d fattened her up. It was because of them that she was stuck.

Her hair was dripping. Her breathing was getting hot and heavy, and she was worried that they would hear her from below. She tried one last, desperate wiggle. Then she heard the screech of scraping metal.

 She felt herself drop half a foot. The vent was giving way. The rivets split between the sections, exposing her to the light. The vent dropped some more. The grill clattered away. Slick with sweat and with her weight pulling her down, Lauren screamed as she slid out from the ceiling.

 She plunged into the conference and hit the table flat on her back with a massive thud. Her mind spun. Her fat whirled and wobbled all over her. She heard shouts of surprise turn to shocked murmuring. She groaned as she tried to raise an arm to push her hair out of her eyes, her body still jiggling.

Her vision clear, she saw the rest of the vent teetering ominously above her. Lauren’s mind was filled with the image of her old chair, snapping to pieces that narrowly missed her head.

The last supports suddenly snapped. The vent came crashing down above her. But this time, she was not so lucky.

 

 Lauren woozily woke up to find herself on a pillow dotted bed in Harrisburg Hospital. Her college friends and work colleagues had filled most of the rest of the room she was in with flowers, cards and chocolates. Tim Maxim had provided her with a massive hamper, topped with eleven muffins spelling out each letter of ‘Get Well Soon’. Her mom, still working at a bank in Switzerland, had sent her a colossal Toblerone and a note pledging she’d come back to visit as soon as possible. Having not seen her in the flesh since she started at Eyway’s, Lauren grimaced in anticipation. She found an ample antidote to the looming feeling of dread in the chocolate and cakes however, which she happily scoffed as she watched TV and read the rest of her cards.

 Her most treasurable amongst those had undoubtedly come from Marty, who had declared his everlasting love for her in pretty purple ink. Lauren smiled at his innocence, and the thought that he’d remembered her favourite colour. She turned to the back and gasped as she saw herself in pencil – her face, hair, shoulders, arms and chest shaded and contoured in perfect precision, plump lips arced in a cheeky smile. She looked big, beautiful and ravishing. Lauren met the smile on her portrait and realised she’d have to hook Marty up with one of her college friends. She was sure that they would adore him.

 A doctor fresh out of Penn Med and the same age as herself told her that she’d been there for four days, three and a half of them softly sleeping. Thankfully, the vent hadn’t left any damage beyond a swelling (which had subsided) and a bruise on the top of her head, shrouded by her chocolate brown hair (which had been mercifully left untampered with during the examination). The doctor kindly helped her find her feet, then some slippers, and then escorted her away.

 It was of little surprise to Lauren to have to be lectured on the dangers of obesity and excessive eating by a much older doctor on the checkup she had prior to leaving. But it was more than a little embarrassing for her after a step on the scale to see she’d put on another four pounds over the course of her stay, bringing her to three-hundred and fifty-three. Since she’d ripped her dress, the hospital had to search through its lost and found to find something to clothe her with after she returned her gown. They eventually recovered a tent like blouse and some male cargo pants in size XXL. Much to Lauren’s chagrin, they were tight on her.

They handed back her mobile phone too – it had been recovered after she lost it falling out the vent – and she busied herself looking through her messages as she made her way out. She’d had three missed calls from her mother, and a host of worried texts. There were a couple more from her service provider. The most intriguing was the most recent, from just before she’d woken up in the morning. It was in much the same vein as that note from Ursula that started it all, all those months ago.

Got time? Come see us immediately. We’ve a lot to talk about – Aviary Private Investigation, 1400 2nd Street, Hardscrabble, Harrisburg, PA.

 Lauren got her bearings outside the hospital and realised the place was just a couple blocks away. She was still feeling a little delicate at the thought of walking, so she opted to get a cab. Soon she was on their doorstep. She knocked the door and a tall man with a grey handlebar moustache let her in.

“Lauren Wilson?” he asked. His voice was deep and husky. “Detective Inspector Clyde Sparrow, pleasure to meet you. Glad to see you here too, how’re you feeling?”

“Much better.” she smiled. She rustled her hair at the back. The little bruise was no pain to her at all now.

“Can I get you a coffee?” the detective offered.

“Yes please,” said Lauren. “I’ve err…I’ve got a lot of questions for you guys.”

“Yeah, no shit. We’ve got a few for you too – maybe our questions might satisfy some of yours, I don’t know. First things first, we’re hoping to know what drove Tim Maxim to stuff you in the aircon?”

Lauren laughed nervously.

“Err…is that what people are saying?”

“Some people,” said the detective. “Some really important people.”

He gave no names.

“Yeah…that’s…that’s bullshit.” Lauren smiled uncomfortably as she pushed back her hair from her eyes.

“No kidding. I thought as much. Though it does leave one gaping matter unanswered.” He took a swig of his coffee and put down the cup.

 “What the heck were you doing listening in on a business conference from inside a vent?”

 Lauren squirmed, then quietly told her story. Sparrow sat and listened, never interrupting. She felt her cheeks grow warmer and warmer. She gave her considerable weight gain only the briefest acknowledgement. She did not say that she’d been slim when she first come to Eyway’s – like I’d get him to believe that – or that they’d given her most of her food for free. She told him most of everything else, save her naked escapade, up to the point where the vent had collapsed underneath her. She did not mention she had gotten stuck there first.

“That sure explains a lot,” said Sparrow. “I can fill you in on the rest, if it helps. There’s the motive for that hacking on the company accounts – Tim Maxim owes some monumental debt, and that’s just from the accounts we’ve searched in that name. He gambled a heck of a lot and not just with money – half explains why Ursula was so pissed off with him. We found Ursula too by the way - oh, her real name’s Eryn. Eryn Glover. I think Ursula suits her more though. Don’t you?”

“Yeah yeah,” said Lauren. “Is she ok?”

“Yeah, physically she’s in check. We tracked her down to a motel on Route 30 in Ohio then called the fuzz. She was trying to hitchhike her way to Canada. She pleaded the fifth. She tried to phone you, but you were still out cold so she begged the cops to let her phone me. We only got a minute together, just enough for me to reassure her everything’s fine. Gotta be careful what I say, you know. We were working with her arch nemesis after all.”

“Hang on,” said Lauren. “Tim and Ursula both hired you?”

 “Yeah, we’ve been playing both sides. Ursula wanted us to bring down Tim. Tim wanted us to bring down the mole. We haven’t told them that, I guess it’s a little cheap on our part. But business is business. And it’s been some sweet business.”

 Sparrow pushed some papers off his desk to unveil a box of Eyway’s Extravagant Doughnuts.

“Compliments from our now somewhat beleaguered client,” he smiled. “Would you like some?”

“Heh.”

 Lauren grinned and eagerly stuffed a hand into the box. Spellbound by a sudden bout of hunger, and still suffering the lingering malaise of having a big metal object make contact with her head, she forgot what she was doing. She scarfed down the first doughnut, asked for another, and bit into it all before she realised.

“Oh shit,” Lauren mumbled with half the doughnut still in her mouth. “I forgot, aren’t there drugs in these or something?”

“Well, that’s where it gets interesting.” said Sparrow. “The boys in white have been running an analysis of all of Eyway’s products. You’re probably foreign contaminant free, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear. They found nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Lauren raised her eyebrows, perplexed. “No additives, no chemicals?”

“There’s the usual stuff.” the detective shrugged. “And those doughnuts are certainly very fattening. But there’s not a trace of those Delacroiss drugs you just mentioned – Ursula told us about them too. After you made your crash landing we tested a sample of every batch they shipped the last three working days. Maybe Maxim got wind of us and flushed them all from the production line, but honestly – and please, keep this between us for the time being – we think he was being framed for all that.”

“What?” said Lauren. “How?”

“We’ve had him on our radar ever since Ursula blew the whistle, not long after she took a job there. It’s a little ironic, I guess – or is it? I never know when to use the word – sorry, I’ll get back, it’s a little ironic that we were in the conference room too during that shareholder’s meeting. We planted bugs underneath the table, we heard everything – your little investigation was…”

“Pointless?” said Lauren, her voice flat. She’d ripped a dress, soaked her newly fixed hair through with sweat, gotten herself wedged in a tight metal tube and suffered the most humiliating experience of her life. All for nothing, apparently.

“I was going to say shocking.” Sparrow laughed. “I mean, when you broke the vent and slammed onto that table, man my ears were ringing – we thought an earthquake had started, seriously.”

Lauren grit her teeth. She clenched up a chubby fist.

Suck it up she told herself. Slapping this guy won’t make you feel better. He’s right. You’re huge. So just suck it up, you know, like with those Napoleone Supremo melts…mmm…delicious…and drug free. Drug free? Yeah, like as in, I’m this fat not because they had drugs in, but because I stuffed my face with enough to get that way.

The detective registered her mood, apologised and tactfully offered her some Whoppers. Lauren locked eyes with him as she seized a handful and popped three into her mouth.

“Sorry again,” Sparrow mumbled. “But we’re on to the sweet part. Like I was saying, we know about the server hack. But regarding the drugs, we think he was being framed. By his secretary. She’s been feeding us ‘evidence’, we’ve been writing monthly reports. He’s a little odd as I’m sure you know, but he’s clean as clean can be. And what’s more, the only drugged doughnuts we ever got were provided by Ursula. I don’t know what gripe she has against that guy, but we’re going to find out. She’s our next target – no doubt she’ll be in the docks for contaminating evidence and maybe perverting the course of justice. That’ll be after infiltrating the company and selling the secrets, of course. Maxim might have got corporate theft on his record, but right now most of the dirt’s on her.”

Lauren sighed.

“No doubt I’ll be called to give evidence…”

“You might even get to be the evidence, if you catch my drift.” said Sparrow. His eyes flickered to her chubby stomach. 

Lauren batted her eyelashes. She gulped as she understood. How would that play out? She’d have to stand up again – ughh – maybe do a twirl before the judge and jury, let them catch a view of every jiggling bulge – double ughh – listen to Ursula cry out for their support.

“Look at this woman!” she could hear her say. “She used to be so slim, so fit, so shapely. Look at her now. Look at how fat she’s gotten. She can barely walk up a flight of stairs, all thanks to my drug-peddling former employer!” 

“No, no” she imagined Tim protesting. “Lend me your ears. My dear Lauren’s development was her own doing. I deal only in the sweetest confections. It is no fault of mine she simply adores my doughnuts. She wanted the doughnuts! She cannot resist the doughnuts!”

 She imagined the ground swallowing her up. That was the only part of the fantasy that definitely would never happen. She’d be left there, red-faced and vulnerable, while a panel of strangers debated how she got so round. She’d be humiliated forever.

It didn’t matter who won. She would lose.

 She did not want to do it. In all honesty, she needed a break from anything to do with Eyway. Working there solidly the last month was fostering a burnout; and all the while the curves and rolls of an increasingly fattened body were making her lose her balance in more ways than one. Waddling around was exhausting. Having a belly that slapped her thighs as she walked downstairs was exhausting. She’d spent five days in a hospital bed but all she wanted to do was get in back in and sleep.

Oh, and she’d have to buy a new dress in size potato, or whatever it was. After ripping two pairs of slacks and a dress all bought just three weeks before, more clothes shopping really didn’t appeal to her.

“You can probably guess who’ll be able to afford the better lawyer. But whatever happens, Ursula’s still going to get the last laugh,” said the detective. He sipped his coffee. “They kept going with the meeting after they rolled you out and called an ambulance. We were still listening - it got awkward real fast. One of the bigshots accused Maxim of keeping women trapped in the bowels of his building – we were more than a little sceptical, but we couldn’t put it past the guy and that’s what why we asked you over here for your side of the story. But there were other issues too, once they recognised you as the woman from the advertisements. When they’d seen how – how shall we put this? – womanly you’d gotten sampling Eyway’s most delicious goods, they all wanted out.”

“That was why he didn’t want me there.” said Lauren. It looked like she’d nearly been right after all. Tim, who might have been her knight in shining armour, had let fear, shame and desperation consume him.

But then again, when your phenomenally fat secretary crashes into one of your meetings from the ceiling, what are you supposed to say? Lauren thought to herself.

Sparrow had another sip of coffee.

 “They saw it as toxic press, a crisis in waiting - the shares plunged pretty much as fast as you did from the vent. I flicked through the Wall Street Journal this morning, Eyway’s all over it, front and back. Believe me, there’s no hope left. Maxim and his company are finished. He’ll probably leg it back over the pond to dodge his creditors if he hasn’t already.”

Lauren blushed deeply, clasping her hands underneath the swell of her bulging middle. She had never felt quite so rotund before that moment.

First a vase. Then an office chair. And now my ginormous butt cheeks have just broken a multi-million dollar doughnut empire. Great job, Lauren. Kicking off the Asspocalypse, one wiggle at a time…

“On the subject of the news, we found this too. Made for some interesting reading.” said Sparrow.

He handed her a copy of the Patriot News. The Eyway tower was the picture on the front. ‘NUMBERS, NOT NAMES’ read the headline. ‘Eyway employees forced to answer the phone with their weight instead of their identities’ ran the tag.

Lauren read on.

 ‘Tim Maxim, embattled CEO of Eyway Patisseries, faces fresh allegations of the mistreatment of his employees after the PN obtained reports of conditions not unlike a prison camp within his Harrisburg headquarters at Eyway Tower. Our exclusive anonymous source, known only as Two-hundred and Sixty Pounds, informed us that her…’

Lauren dropped the paper on the desk. 

“Tell me,” said Sparrow, grinning. “Is any of that actually true?”

“No…it’s all lies, honestly.” She stifled a laugh. “They twisted all of it around.”

Sparrow nodded and chuckled in agreement.

“Freelance journos, eh?” he said. “Maybe I’ll get a call from Patriot News wanting me to look into whoever sold them this crap.”

 Lauren thought back to the journalist she’d spoken to over the phone a few months ago. If having her weight splashed all over the tabloid news was bad, worse was the fact she’d put on nearly a hundred pounds more since. She was Three-hundred and Fifty-three Pounds now. Suddenly, she felt even more rotund.

“More Whoppers?” Sparrow offered.

Lauren declined. The business was done and she thanked the detective. He held the door open for her as he left.

“There’s one more thing” he said as she brushed past him. “There’ll be no case for either of them without the real goods. Ursula’s laptop – it’s literally the keys to the company and the accounts, pretty much the holy grail of answers – and it’s gone. We don’t know what she did with it. I was kinda hoping you do.”

“I have no idea.” said Lauren. 

“Well, let us know if it crops up. Better yet, find it yourself and bring it in. There might be a reward in it for you.”

He winked. She smiled. But she knew no amount of money would ever convince her to bring that court date forward.

 She left the Aviary P.I building and visited a diner across the street. She got her fill of burgers and fries there then headed home. Inside, she hastily stripped off the blouse and cargo pants and rubbed the uncomfortable red marks they’d left on her sides in a cold shower. She got out, dried then squeezed herself back into her underclothes and lay on her creaking bed, letting her wet hair crest over her face and boobs.

 She closed her eyes, and placed her palms on her belly. She thought of Tim and Ursula - the war between the secretary and the confectioner, in which her figure had become the biggest casualty.

Lauren lay back and examined the collateral damage. She cupped her big boobs, squeezed her sides, slid her chubby hands down her smooth but thunderous thighs. She thought about getting a gym membership, sighed when she thought she wouldn’t have the time, then half-smiled when she realised she probably wouldn’t have a job to go back to after her sick leave owing to Eyway’s collapse. She could get a personal trainer and train every morning. It’d take some time, but she’d find her waist again someday.

Then her smile melted when she realised that no job meant no money. She’d never be able to afford the gym.

“Ugghhh…” Lauren groaned, gripping her belly. “I’m going to be stuck like this forever…”

Ursula had been right. Maybe it was too late for her. She had lost the willpower to motivate herself to work out. It was just too big an uphill battle. Maybe she was too fat to even exercise – she was certainly too tired to try and find out. Even a brisk walk didn’t appeal to her. More doughnuts certainly did though.

The doorbell rang. Lauren rolled off her bed, threw on a dressing gown and answered the door. It was UPS. She signed for a flat, rectangular parcel sealed with sticky tape. She brought it to her bedroom, ripped off the paper and tape and opened the box.

Inside was her laptop. There was a note taped to the screen. She peeled it off and read it.

 

Lauren, you’re the only person I feel I can trust

Lauren nearly burst out laughing but realised she was deadly serious. She kept reading.

 That is why I’m leaving my laptop with you for safekeeping. If Maxim and his goons get their hands on it, all the work I’ve done to bring him to justice will be reversed.

Stay safe,

Ursula

 

It was the last thing she had wanted. She didn’t want any more to do with either of them. And she certainly didn’t want Ursula’s laptop in her house. All the secret files on Tim, the stock reports, the income forecasts, the taxes, the trade secrets…

Then Lauren realised what she did want.

She grinned wickedly. She let the laptop rest on her thighs, softer and wider than she’d ever imagined they could be. The screen quickly lit up when she pressed the button. Ursula’s laptop was far faster than her own.

‘Enter Name’ the display read.

Lauren knew she’d need to get into Ursula’s account. She tapped in ‘ursulanewman’.

The screen flashed ‘Invalid Username’.

Then she remembered. She hit backspace, then typed in ‘erynglover’. This time there was no flash.

 So far so good.

She needed the password though. Lauren scanned the note she’d been given for clues and found nothing. Clearly Ursula didn’t want her to follow in her footsteps too closely. Lauren tried to think of the things she liked. She tried ‘mushrooms’ and was met with the words ‘Invalid Password’. What else was there?

There’s plenty of things she hates, that’s for sure.  

Lauren tried to picture her being in a relationship with someone, anyone. Then she remembered who Tim said she went to bed with, every night.

Lauren typed in the name ‘jezebel’.

The screen went from blue to black. A host of shortcuts materialised on the side as a background showing a stretching cat filled the display. Lauren’s eyes widened. She was inside.

She didn’t quite know what to do next. But she knew what she wanted. Ursula was in a cell in Ohio. Tim was probably bunged up in some hobbit-hole in the English countryside. The shareholders had all cut their strings. The board had resigned. So, who was left in charge of the company?

 It would be tough, and it might push the bounds of legality, but it wouldn’t be impossible. Lauren decided that if she was going to take over she’d need to start by finding it a new name. Eyway the brand was damned for eternity. It needed something fresh, something new.

Lauren opened Google and tapped in “Baking Company Name Ideas”. The display froze up. She sighed and her belly crept onto the laptop keyboard, filling the search bar with Cs, Vs, Bs and N’s when the page stopped lagging. 

 She scowled and hit the backspace button, but suddenly had an idea. She closed the page, opened up Word, then cradled her belly and let it flop onto the warm keys. It felt funny, letting her rolls of fat make a decision that would shape the future. But why not? It seemed she’d let her belly take charge of her life anyway. Amongst the lines of gibberish her quivering jelly roll formed on the page one word seemed to stand out crystal clear.

“Tunubbub?” Lauren said to herself as she leant back. She rolled the word on her tongue. “Tuh…nuh...bub. Too…noo…bub…”

 She exhaled, her belly pushed out and the laptop slipped off her thighs. She caught it just as slid off the bed.

“Phew, that was a close one.” she said as she strained to sit up again. She let the machine rest on her thighs again, then realised she had it upside-down. She placed it on herself the right way round, but not before the inverted word caught her eye.

She had an idea. She tapped it out again, this time backwards.

“Bubbunut,” she said to herself. She giggled. “Bubbunut. Bubbunut Bakery.”

Her belly gurgled. She took that as a good sign.

“Bubbunut it is.” Lauren smiled, as she rolled off the bed again to fetch herself a snack. She’d need the energy. She had a lot of work to do.

 

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  • 6 months later...

 First things first, thank you kindly for this comment :) I'm glad you've enjoyed my stories so far. I've recently returned from a lengthy absence where my focus was forcibly wrought on other projects, but I've been scrivening several new stories which I'd love to publish in short time as soon as get in gear to tackle a WG commission I was given an ashamedly long while ago. You'll soon know when all is done :)

 What intrigues me is how you'd define 'a magic element' in this context. In my mind, Massachusetts Pounds involves magic WG, but Bubbunut does not - I intended for the doughnuts to be fattening, but not in any way to be cosmically imbued. In essence, I'd like to hear more from you on what you'd like to see! 

Thanks again,

SL        

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10 hours ago, ShrubberyLogistic said:

 First things first, thank you kindly for this comment :) I'm glad you've enjoyed my stories so far. I've recently returned from a lengthy absence where my focus was forcibly wrought on other projects, but I've been scrivening several new stories which I'd love to publish in short time as soon as get in gear to tackle a WG commission I was given an ashamedly long while ago. You'll soon know when all is done :)

 What intrigues me is how you'd define 'a magic element' in this context. In my mind, Massachusetts Pounds involves magic WG, but Bubbunut does not - I intended for the doughnuts to be fattening, but not in any way to be cosmically imbued. In essence, I'd like to hear more from you on what you'd like to see! 

Thanks again,

SL        

Hmm I suppose this story doesn’t have a magic element so much, but the gain is quite rapid. I’m being super picky, but for me, more time spent around a girl’s 180-260 pound weight is better, in terms of exploring the experience and so on, if that makes sense. 

I have a few stories on here you could check out to see what I like. Keep up the phenomenal work. I’d kill just to have another experience like Bubbunut :)... I can bounce some ideas off you if you wish. PM me if so. Likewise, I’m looking for ideas!

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