One-Hundred-and-Ten Percent, by brucejedi (wg)

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Re: One-Hundred-and-Ten Percent, by brucejedi (wg)

Postby Matt L. » Wed Apr 05, 2017 10:00 pm

Another superb chapter, wonderfully executed and smoothly written.
Kudos!

Cheers, Matt
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Re: One-Hundred-and-Ten Percent, by brucejedi (wg)

Postby Junketh71 » Thu Apr 06, 2017 5:01 pm

This was a very impressive new installment. Thanks for sharing.
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Thread reorganized

Postby brucejedi » Sat Sep 16, 2017 8:17 am

I reorganized this thread a bit. I've been doing small edits to the chapters on my home computer, and it was getting to be a pain to upload them. So I consolidated the story into two posts. I left all your comments, but some of them will no longer follow the chapters they were in response to. If you've read the story before, not much has changed, just some minor corrections and altered wording.
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Chapter 6

Postby brucejedi » Sat Sep 16, 2017 8:40 am

* May *

Ashley shuttered with embarrassment as Mr. Crookershank took her pre-treatment weight and measurements.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” said the nurse. “You lost over thirty pounds in six months. Most women would be overjoyed.”

“I didn’t lose nearly enough,” Ashley muttered. “I dieted, I slaved away at the gym…but it was never enough…” her voice trailed off.

The nurse stared at her kindly, waiting for her to go on.

“Strap me in,” said Ashley, “I know I deserve it.”

Crookershank raised an eyebrow.

“I was supposed to lose fifteen pounds this month and I only lost five.”

The nurse touched Ashley’s softened shoulder. “Alright honey, lie down and try to relax as best you can. They say it gets more intense each time, as you’ve likely noticed.”

The humming began and Ashley tingled from head to toe. She didn’t fight it. This time she let it come with calm resignation.

Images began to flash through her brain. First she was out on the field playing capture the flag, in short shorts and a lightweight sports bra, her firm ass on display, her body feeling light as a feather. Then she stood in the fitting room, fighting with the zipper on her jeans. “This is what I feared,” said the saleslady. “With those hips, a size six is a stretch for you.” In the next scene her gym outfit hugged her thighs and heaving chest. Sweat dripped from her face as she ran as if through quicksand. She blinked again and felt George’s hands on her squishy ass. “I’ve gained some weight since last summer,” said Ashley. “I guess you probably noticed.” She could hear the chamber humming as the flesh back there tingled and expanded between his fingers. She blinked again. “Just five more! You got this, Ashley!” She made it halfway through one more sit-up and fell back against the matt, exhausted. She pressed her hand into her stomach, searching for the firm muscles that once were visible to the world, but all she could find was layer upon layer of flab.

The tingling finally ceased. Ms. Crookershank removed the constraints, but Ashley did not sit up. She just lay there, taking it all in.

“How do you feel, Ashley?” asked the nurse.

She breathed in deeply as the images faded from her mind. She felt fat, there was no other way to describe it. “A little light-headed still,” she replied.

“Ok, honey. Take it slow.”

Ashley learned forward but the unfamiliar weight of her torso, and the pressure of the fat bunching up around her waist, sent her sprawling back against the chair. She tried again, and with the nurse’s help, she managed to sit up, her trunk-like legs dangling off the edge. Her breasts sagged heavily against her stomach, straining her back a little. She peered down. What remained of her waistline surged outward in all directions. Yet her hips still managed to thrust out even further to either side.

“Ready to stand up? Let me help you.” A firm tug brought Ashley to her feet. Her chest and stomach jostled as she hit the floor. A few heavy, hesitating steps brought her face-to-face with the digital reading.

“173 on the nose,” Mr. Crookershank announced.

“Sixty pounds almost…” Ashley whispered.

“That’s correct, sweetheart. I have you starting at 114. You might feel tired during physical activity as your body adjusts to the weight. As you might remember from the brochure, none of those 59 pounds is muscle. I want you to take it easy the next few days. Try not to overexert yourself—I’ll write you a note to get out of gym. But you should try light exercise as soon as you feel up to it. You need to lose some weight. At 5’3”, you’re officially obese.” She held out some loose-fitting clothes to wear.

“Thank you, Ms. Crookershank,” said Ashley, fighting back tears. She could feel the pull of her stomach with every breath, and it made her wonder what even light exercise would feel like now.

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” said the nurse with genuine sympathy.

A few minutes later, a red-faced Ashley climbed the final steps into the main hallway, wiping tiny beads of sweat from her forehead. She plodded over to the drinking fountain, but the school bell rang just as her eager lips met water. Streams of students began pouring out into the hallway. “Ohhh no,” Ashley whispered.

She tried to make a break for it, but the pain from her sloshing breasts convinced her otherwise. So she clutched her chest and half-trotted, half-waddled towards the exit.

Then she froze. In front of her stood a wide-eyed Carrie, hand at her mouth. “Omygosh, Ashley!”

“Leave me alone,” she panted.

Carrie stared on at Ashley’s receding figure, her ass shaking violently under the skimpy shorts as she sauntered towards the door.

At home Ashley collapsed on the couch, tired even from the short walk home. She clutched her belly like a pregnant woman. She felt so fat, felt every one of her 173 pounds, felt them in the soles of her feet that ached from the walk, in her wide butt that sank deep into the cushions, in her back, sore from the weight of her breasts.

She was only ten percent heavier than yesterday, but it felt like way more, like she had crossed a line from overweight to unequivocally fat—obese, as the nurse had put it. That was exactly how she felt as she leaned back against the cushions, cradling her belly in her arms.

* * *

After a long while, Ashley peeled herself off the couch and trudged upstairs. She peered into her bedroom closet and sighed. Dresses and tops in various sizes stared back. The smalls hung at the far left, unworn for months. Then came the mediums and finally the larges purchased in April when she had outgrown everything else. She saw the dress that was altered to accommodate her growing hips and tummy—twenty-five pounds ago. No amount of tailoring could make it fit now. Turning to her dresser, she pulled out her roomiest pair of jeans and slid them up her legs. Every inch was a struggle. They buttoned only because the fat at her waist was so pliable. She hid the spillover under a sweatshirt and headed off to the mall.

“Oh no!” said the saleslady as Ashley approached.

So it was that obvious, even under the sweatshirt? “I was actually down about five pounds,” said Ashley, “but then…”

“Then you gained it back and then some? It happens, sweetheart. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I think I'm gonna have to go up a size, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“I’m sorry,” said the saleslady.

“Well, like you said, I’d rather wear pants that fit. Can you show me what you have?”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, “it’s just that—well we don’t carry anything larger than a fourteen.”

“You don’t? Why not?”

“It’s just not the market we cater to. Kind of silly if you ask me, but whatever.”

Yeah whatever, thought Ashley.

“I can call my friend who works at Curves,” the saleslady offered. “That’s the plus-size place just down the way.”

“So I’m plus-sized now?” asked Ashley dejectedly.

“Well, technically, yes.”

“But why can’t…people like me shop at the same stores as everyone else?”

“I know, like I said, it’s weird.”

Weird? More like ‘fucked up’, thought Ashley. She looked around at all the cute outfits on display that at her size she could no longer wear. “It’s a stupid policy!” she cursed, and stomped out of the store.

“I’m really sorry…” the saleslady called after in her cute, annoying voice.

At home Ashley slammed the door to her bedroom. She hadn’t gone to Curves; it was too embarrassing. She would squeeze into the fourteens until she lost enough weight for them to fit properly. There was even still time for the gym before dinner. Her workout clothes would be dicey, but they were made of stretchy fabric and could probably still be worn. She started to open the drawer…but the curve of her stomach caught her eye—her protruding, plus-sized stomach. She thought of how her legs ached—tasked with supporting her plus-sized hips and rear—and how her back felt sore again from the weight of her plus-sized chest. Her cozy bed beckoned.

She leafed through a magazine while sipping a diet soda. Eventually she glanced back at her phone. It was too late now—the gym would close in half an hour. She would have to go tomorrow.

* * *

At school the next day, Ashley buried her face in her books. People kept looking at her and whispering, and she halfway wished they would resume treating her like she didn’t exist. During P.E. she gave Ms. Mudville the nurse’s note and watched from the bleachers as her classmates ran laps around the field. It was nice to get off her feet. Three different teachers today had asked them to move their desks into a different shape, and she found it annoying to keep having to stand up. Plus her math class was on the opposite side of school from English. She cursed the bozo administer who planned that one. She leaned back and rested her head on her forearms, enjoying the cool spring air.

After school she plopped down on the couch. Her back ached and her knees too for some reason. Her bra was killing her so she unhooked it. That felt so much better. She would head to the gym just as soon as she caught her breath from the walk home…

“Ashley!” yelled her mom. “Time for dinner!”

The cycle repeated. As she moved from class to class, Ashley would devise a grandiose plan for losing all the weight. She would imagine herself light and toned, sprinting around the track just behind the boys. Then she would trudge home and hold up her gym outfit while her other hand rested on her gut, and a sort of fear would grip her. She had avoided exercise in the past, annoyed at how much harder it felt compared to the month before, or at how her next treatment would just negate all her effort anyway. This was different. The treatments were over, but this last one left her feeling so fat that the mere thought of exercise frightened her.

The scale told the same depressing news every morning. She had imagined that with the curse finished, the pounds might float away on their own, but as she lay with her feet up on the couch they stuck to her like glue. She didn't even need the scale to tell her. Her pants felt as tight as ever, and her thighs still touched all the way to the knee.

When a week had passed, she locked her bedroom door and stood at the mirror with her chest thumping in nervous anticipation. She couldn’t put it off any longer—she had to know. She shut her eyes tight before removing her clothes, then opened them bit by bit until her naked form came into view.

It wasn’t all bad news. Her face had a cherubic cuteness to it, and her ribcage still tapered inwards around her voluminous breasts. Below that, her torso snaked out to meet her luscious thighs. Her upper body had acquired some padding but had not kept pace, leaving her shoulders much narrower than her hips. In this sense her figure was still very curvy and feminine.

But Ashley didn’t see curves. She saw a fat girl staring back. She held a chubby hand in front of her face, with its chubby fingers that her rings no longer fit. She watched the crease form when she tilted back her wrist, watched her portly upper arm jiggle with every movement. She clutched her fattened breasts and released, distressed with the amount they drooped. Then she turned and observed how much rounder her belly looked, even compared to last month—how it domed way out past her bust and sagged under its own weight.

So this was how she looked now. This was her, Ashley Hart, eighteen years old, 173 lbs. What happened now was all in her hands—and that’s what scared her the most. Her hand curved back under her stomach. She wondered how sit-ups would feel now with all the extra padding there. She thought of getting back on the treadmill, and of how tired her legs felt just from walking home from school. She lifted one. It felt so heavy—her thighs were enormous, probably the fattest thing on her body. Then she peered over her shoulder and shuddered. All right, so they were the second fattest thing.

In the past, these sessions in front of the mirror sparked motivation. This time it made her want to hide under the covers. Her fingers massaged her belly, lifting it upwards and feeling it sag back down. How could she possibly lose all this weight? She was terrified even to try.
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Re: One-Hundred-and-Ten Percent, by brucejedi (wg)

Postby Matt L. » Sat Sep 16, 2017 10:59 pm

Intelligent writing, fantastic story.

Cheers, Matt
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Re: One-Hundred-and-Ten Percent, by brucejedi (wg)

Postby allthosecurves » Sun Sep 17, 2017 11:12 am

Love this story!

If you're ever interested, I would love to read a story that explores the "beanpole chest" option.
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Re: One-Hundred-and-Ten Percent, by brucejedi (wg)

Postby david515 » Thu Sep 21, 2017 2:02 am

Is this the final chapter?
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Re: One-Hundred-and-Ten Percent, by brucejedi (wg)

Postby WtG » Tue Oct 10, 2017 3:59 pm

One of my favorites, thank you for continuing it!
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