by kid a » Mon Sep 30, 2019 9:14 am
Part 5
Back in New York, Frankie sat in his home office smoking a cigar. Reaching down, he scratched in frustration at the tether device strapped to his ankle. A little red light on the unit beeped in silence; despite the volume of charges leveled at the crime lord, he still had access to the best lawyers that ill gotten gains could buy.
And they had secured a relatively sweetheart arrangement for their client - home confinement for the duration of what was sure to be a protracted court process. Unfortunately for the government, their ability to truly clamp down on his illegal activities was limited. With an army of captains, lieutenants and foot soldiers, he was able to conduct his business from almost anywhere - and certainly from his personal compound.
There was a knock at the door; Frankie pressed a button to release the deadbolt and watched as his underboss Carmine entered the room. Frankie nodded and stood up to pour his old friend and confidant a stiff drink.
“So....is there any news on the troublesome Miss Jenna?”, Frankie asked as the men sat back down with their drinks in hand.
Carmine looked at him resolutely. “She won’t be causing you any more problems, boss,” he replied calmly. “Matter of fact, she won’t be bothering no one but the fishes in the Hudson River.”
“Good,” Frankie replied sternly. “She couldn’t be trusted.”
“And what about Tanya,” he continued, taking another sip of his drink.
Appearing a bit nervous, Carmine placed his own drink back on the table. “We can’t find her, Frankie....no one can...it’s like she disappeared.”
Plumes of smoke rose from Frankie’s still lit cigar as he placed it in the ashtray and turned towards Carmine. With a pained expression on his face, his voice trembled as he provided a final order to his associate.
“I don’t care if it takes you to the ends of the earth....find her.”
********************************************
Tanya, meanwhile, was getting used to her new life as Marcy Plumstead. She was completely clueless as to the subtle power play orchestrated by her unseen tormentor. And unfortunately for “Marcy”, the early stages of the transformation were nearly identical to the more luxurious Ravenwood version she had been advertised.
She mostly laid around her apartment, enjoying the endless supply of food and binge watching Netflix. Tanya had been instructed to stay inside until the “coast was clear”, whatever that meant. With that signal never coming, she was content to sleep away the mornings and wake up just past noon each day to kick off the party all over again.
Deliveries of new supplies came twice a week and Tanya began to anticipate the bi-weekly treasure chest of high calorie food and alcohol. The boxes were clearly addressed to “Marcy Plumstead”, and while she momentarily questioned the discrepancy on the first load, it was quickly dismissed as a slip of the mind. She had been stressed that day in the government facility, so who knew what the last name had actually been. Marcy Plumstead it was.
It was truly a full-service arrangement. The first week, the government even sent in a personal hair stylist to take care of the initial modifications to her appearance. She loved the blond locks; they were cut a bit shorter than she was used to (and perhaps over curled...), but she easily pulled off the look and spent a fair amount of time admiring herself in the bathroom vanity mirror.
She was reminded weekly about the other “enhancements” that were required for this role. And while the government (with Jane’s subtle manipulation) didn’t brow-beat her with the exact number, Tanya knew she was going to have to gain a little weight to play the part. The outfits in her closet (a roomy size 16 at this point) were all the encouragement she needed.
Two months later, round the clock binging and drinking seemed to have done the trick. Waking one morning, “Marcy” (as she now referred to herself in earnest - it was mentally important to embrace the change, lest she slip up and expose her true identity to the wrong person) rubbed her forehead as a now customary hangover throbbed away. Sitting up in bed, she casually scratched at her chubby belly which pushed against the fabric of a lacy night gown and rested ever so slightly onto her thickening thighs.
As she padded into the bathroom, her ass jiggled and shook behind her. She had always been on the curvy side, and with this streak of unrepentant excesses, the hourglass portions of her figure were really starting to retain sand. An additional inch of soft fat now encased her entire body from her belly to her knees, giving her the plump, sultry look that had been promised on that tablet back in New York.
Admiring herself in the mirror, Marcy almost squealed as she pressed her gigantic tits together for emphasis. They were definitely in the D range now; huge round and soft, they had maintained a level of perkiness in spite of her nearly 15 pound weight gain.
A number that was revealed to her as she stepped on the scale - leaning forward just a bit to avoid the eclipse of her rounded belly, she looked in amazement at the number that greeted her.
159
“Damn,” she said to herself. “But I make this look GOOD.”
And with that she headed out to make breakfast, unaware of a different spin being placed on her physical condition a couple thousand miles away.
*********************************************
“Only 159??”, Jane barked to an assistant as a digital update was automatically sent to her phone by Marcy’s high-tech bathroom scale. “That’s unacceptable and you know it. She should be 170 by now, and the government’s case is riding on it.”
The girl looked at Jane meekly. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she replied. “Maybe I should order her some of those appetite stimulants? We could mix them in with her wine like we did on the Thompson case?”
“Maybe you should,” Jane fired back as she glared the new hire out of her presence. She watched in satisfaction as she hurried away to place the order. Looking at a current picture of Marcy (from a secretly placed camera in the living room), Jane felt a strange mixture of jealousy and smug pride.
“Sure, you look good now, you little tramp,” she muttered to herself. “But that’s nothing a couple hundred pounds won’t fix.”
