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Cursed Objects

Long(9k words), SSBHM, Explicit-ish, F/M, XWG, manipulation through possession, gaining against his will, near immobility.

Clark double checked his GPS and pulled into the long driveway, carefully driving on the gravel road until the large house came into view. Several people were milling about, looking through the tables lined with fabrics, housewares and decorations. Cruising garage and estate sales wasn’t his idea of “fun” on a Saturday afternoon, but he desperately needed cheap household items for his new place. And there were always good sales to find on the weekends.

He parked his car and got out, stretching his back as he surveyed where to start. To his left was a table piled high with quilts, sheets and towels; to his right were the tables filled with glasses and plates. Heading left, he dug through the pile of blankets, noting most of them appeared to be king sized or even larger, but in good shape. He carefully put them back in order, deciding to look for blankets that would fit his queen bed at a later point.

Moving around the tables, he noted a few interesting items and was trying to juggle them as he walked.

“Hi there. I can put these over by the cash box for when you’re ready.” A middle aged woman appeared at his elbow, smiling kindly as he shuffled his arms.

“That would be great, thank you. I just need to go look at the dishes and then I’ll be done.”

“Of course, take your time. There should still be a complete set over there. Mr. Werthgood had that set for almost his entire life, but it is in great shape.”

“That would be great. I just moved here, so I need a complete set.” She smiled at him, and pointed to the right table before carrying his items off to the card table with a cash box and an elderly man helping another person package up their items.

Clark wandered over to the table, and immediately saw the set. It was a large set, enough plates, bowls and coffee mugs for eight people plus a few serving trays. As promised, everything looked to be in perfect condition - no chips, cracks or broken pieces and the blue designs were all intact. Which was surprising, given the ceramic material and the original box said it was from the 1930’s.

“Well? Think those will work for you?” The same lady asked, approaching him.

“I think so! All I need are glasses and utensils now. Do you have those too?”

“We do!” She helped carry the dishes, utensils and glasses to his car, along with the other few items. “Let’s say for everything … seventy-five dollars?”

“You sure? The dishes alone cost that.” He said, passing over the cash, hardly believing his luck.

“I’m absolutely sure! I’d much rather see these go to a good home, and with someone who will appreciate them. Welcome to Edgewood.”

_-_-_

He put the last, freshly washed, plate in the drying rack and stood back with a pleased smile. While the rest of his place was bare bones, thanks to the estate sale his kitchen was fully stocked. Now all that was left was for a quick trip to the grocery store.

Grabbing his keys, he headed back to his car and to one of the few stores. Grabbing a cart, he headed to his usual aisle - fresh vegetables - and … his feet by passed the aisle.

Need something more substantial than rabbit food. The quicker to cook, the better. The thought came unbidden, his steps faltering at the new voice inside his head. But the thought was rational enough, that he had no obvious rebuttal.

He shrugged, deciding that one trip of buying pre-cooked food and snacks wouldn’t hurt. Besides, he would be busy with work starting and he needed all the time he could get. He’d always eaten healthy, so one cheat week wouldn’t be that bad. He pulled burritos, pizzas and jalapeno poppers from the frozen food aisle, moving to the chips where he pulled several bags and some dip into the cart. He did grab granola bars for his breakfast, a sad attempt to cut back the impending damage. Once he was checked out, he made a quick stop through the alcohol section to pick up a case of his favorite.

Although, once he got home and unloaded the food, he couldn’t find anything that sounded that appetizing. Pizza. The idea came to him easily, despite not having eaten that particular food in over a year. A few minutes later, his order was in and there was nothing left to do other than settle back on the couch with a beer.

Haven’t done this in a while - usually I’m at the gym. It’s nice to just relax after all the craziness of moving.

He loaded up a TV show he had been meaning to watch for seven months now and waited patiently for the pizza to arrive. By the time his beer was finished, the doorbell rang and he settled back into the couch with a large supreme pizza and another beer. Getting lost in the TV show, he managed to finish the entire six pack of beer and the entire pizza by the time the first season ended.

“What the f-” He exclaimed, snapping out of his stupor and looking down at the empty pizza box and his stuffed stomach. Groaning he rubbed the side of the solid sphere, the sudden pain and discomfort making itself known and making up for lost time. “That last time I ate like that was in college.” He moaned, with no one in particular to comfort him.

He pushed the pizza and empty bottles aside, and very slowly got to his feet, his back arching to help balance out the lead weight in his belly. He barely managed to get undressed before collapsing into bed, promising himself to take it easy tomorrow night.

From the opposite corner of the room, a lone figure watched as his breathing evened out, waiting until he was absolutely asleep before approaching. The very rotund and corpulent ghost stood over the bed, gazing down at Clark through his own translucent belly.

“You certainly were easier to influence than Mr. Werthgood. It took a week before he blacked out while eating. You, on the other hand, only took eight hours.” The ghost said, recalling the recently deceased man, humming to himself as he looked over Clark. “I wager that I can make you even fatter than he was.”

Without further consideration, the ghost leaned over Clark and began to sink into him, limbs jerking as the ghost assumed control of the still sleeping human.

“Just rest, Clark, and I’ll take care of you.” The ghost said, his voice coming out of Clarks’ mouth. He carefully got up, getting used to the feel of a physical form once again and walked to the kitchen. Flipping on the light, he surveyed the options in the refrigerator and cupboards. Pulling out a container of ice cream to begin to melt, the inhabited Clark rummaged through the cupboard until he found a box of cookies. “These will do, I suppose. You’re going to really need to buy more snacks for us. But you’ll learn in time.”

Grabbing his haul, he walked to the couch and settled into the cushions, flicking through the channels until he found the classics station.

“Oh, excellent. I love Gunsmoke. I remember watching it when it aired!” He gloated, taking a cookie and scooping ice cream out of the container. He opened Clark’s mouth wide and chewed, quickly replacing it with another as he swallowed.

And so the possessed stuffing went on, the ghost occasionally slowing to let Clark’s stomach process some of the food before packing it full yet again. At seven in the morning, he lumbered to his feet, swaying from the unsteadiness, and discarded the empty tub and cookie packaging into the garbage, brushing some other trash over the evidence. As soon as Clark was tucked back inside his bed, the ghost rose from his body and patted his own stomach, admiring his handiwork.

“I can already tell you and I are going to have quite the fun, my dear boy.” He began to fade as Clark began to wake up, at first feeling refreshed from a deep sleep but quickly realizing his stomach was still fairly full, despite him eating over six hours ago.

“I guess that’s what I get for eating a whole pizza. Good thing I don’t start work until tomorrow.” He rubbed his stomach, vowing to take it a bit easier today and managed to sit upright with a little extra effort. Moving slowly through his morning routines, he still managed to make it out the door before noon to go furniture shopping.

The urge to stop to get some donuts and coffee was overwhelming… but he managed to resist the hunger pains even as his mouth watered.

This new physical reaction he had to the thought of eating more should worry him, but … the worry faded just as soon as it came. A sense of calm and apathy washed over him and he forgot about whatever he was concerned about.

He got out and headed into the store, still a bit removed from his own psyche. His first stop was a kitchen table, and instead of looking at his usual bar-height tables he headed straight for the solid wood, sturdy furniture.

A part of him protested- he didn't need this set. He didn't need an extra wide seat or a 600 pound limit when he didn't even weigh a third of that. But the blanket of apathy swelled over him again and he simply took a leaflet for the set and moved on. He wandered around in a daze, picking out a king size bed and a sturdy but extra wide lazy boy couch. The cashier who rang him up looked at choices with a raised brow, looking at the slim man in front of him.

But he said nothing.

Clark left the furniture store, a significant chunk of money poorer, and drove aimlessly around until he pulled up to the same estate sale as yesterday.

"Well, hello again! I didn't expect to see you back!" The same lady from yesterday greeted him, walking out from under a white tent.

"Hello, I just thought of more things I needed and thought I'd come back before ordering online."

"Of course! I'm glad you stopped by. What do you need?"

"I need quilts if you still have some, some vinyls if you have any, and clothes."

"I can certainly help on the first two items, but the late Mr. Werthgood was a … stout man. You would swim in his clothes."

"I'd still like to look, if that's okay."

"Of course, dear. Let's start at the quilts." She led him over and helped him pick several large, king size blankets; absent-mindedly noting he was choosing all the blankets the previous owner considered his favorites.

Similarly, he chose the same vinyls that Mr Werthgood played continuously. All from the 1950s through the 1960s; Elmore James, Johnny Smith, Frank Sinatra, Johnny Cash, Elvis, Miles Davis.

She left him to look through the clothes, telling him to fill a garbage bag for ten dollars. He surprised her by carrying over two bags, mumbling something about a stout uncle needing good quality clothes. She didn't quite believe him, but nonetheless smiled and nodded.

She watched him pack his new belongings into his car, the entire situation bizarre to her. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, a familiarity just on the edge of her conscience… but a new customer pulling up shook her from her train of thought, and she readied her saleswoman smile.

_-_-_

Back at home, Clark dumped the items by the door and headed straight to his bedroom. The fog was heavier now, and he barely managed to set an alarm for two hours before he passed out.

The ghost once again approached Clark, smiling somewhat apologetically to the slumbering human.

He felt a bit bad manipulating Clark so much, but having learned from Mr. Werthgood, it was easier to get the appropriate furnishings earlier rather than later. And while the rich gentleman could afford replacing furniture yearly, the ghost highly doubted Clark could.

Not that that was a bad thing - the ghost certainly didn't discriminate on wealth - but he also didn't want Clark to get into dire straits and cut their fun to an end.

He slipped into Clark's body and shuffled out to the kitchen, finding some food to snack on. He'd need to pressure him more to go shopping again, but for now the protein bars would work.

Such a strange food thing, these protein bars. They certainly didn't taste amazing, but the dense bars packed an amazing amount of calories - this variety boasted 410 calories each. Some even had more sugar than protein! Regardless, they were not designed to be eaten by the box full.

The ghost happily ate the entire box while standing in the kitchen, burying the box in the trash. Rubbing Clarks’ belly as he pondered what to do. He was nowhere near full, but didn’t want to push his control too much. He risked a lot by influencing him to go back to the estate for his belongings; it was probably time to back off a bit and let Clark think he’s regained control.

That’s the hard part of possession - too little and you’ll waste a lifetime, too much and they call a priest to shoo you away.

With a heavy sigh pushed out of Clark, the ghost walked over to the bags of clothes and dragged them through the house until he hid them at the bottom of the closet. Soon enough Clark will need them, and he really liked this style of fashion. Besides, Mr. Werthgood has an expensive taste in not just food, but fabrics, so he hated to let these particular clothes go. Deciding to be done, he carefully laid Clark back down and rose from the slumbering human, taking a long look at Clarks belly.

It had been only a day, so he didn’t really expect to see much. But the puffiness of the bloat still hadn’t fully gone down… so perhaps his plan was already starting.

_-_-_-_

Clarks’ supernatural passenger kept to the shadows for the next few months, only flexing his influence on shopping trips, using his power to scrub Clarks’ worries away. And he really didn’t have to do that much these days. Clark was in such denial that he was willfully ignorant of most changes.

He had easily moved up two pants sizes and was now wearing large shirts compared to his usual mediums (although the larges were beginning to pinch). He still hadn’t stepped on a scale, the definitive number of his gains too daunting.

And as luck would have it, Clark’s new job was at an office with several people in the chubby to obese category. It was easy to feel thin when your cubicle mate was 373 pounds. But it was also easy to overeat, too. He found himself picking up their habits on snacking and eating out at local diners for lunch instead of packing healthy meals.

So when he found himself buying XL shirts and bigger pants, even the ghost couldn’t keep him off of the scale this time. He made it home, tossing his new clothes on his bed before pulling out the scale from under his bathroom sink, grunting as his stomach pressed against his diaphragm.

Stepping on, he had to suck in his belly to read the number.

“Oh shit… 208…” He stared open mouthed at the number, a forty pound gain in just three months. “I need to slow down, I need to diet…” He muttered, stepping off the scale to look at himself in the mirror, grabbing at his fat.

His head swam and he suddenly felt flushed, heat spreading through his body and stared as he grew an erection. He felt as if he was falling down a tunnel, and was staring at himself as one hand started massaging and fondling his belly while the other drifted into his shorts.

The ghost shoved Clark back, and took control. He stared at the fattened body and slowly started to flood Clark with dopamine, a task as easy as pulling a lever. Once he manipulated his new body into a release, he grabbed Clark’s phone and ordered pizza with a side of wings.

As he waited for delivery, he headed to the kitchen and began eating what he could grab, happy Clark had given in and bought chips and dip at the supermarket.

Everytime Clark would try to break out of the dopamine induced trance, the ghost would give him another dose.

He polished off the chips as the doorbell rang, and he happily accepted the food from the delivery kid. Shutting the door, he set the food on the table and sat down, pulling Clark’s shirt off and taking a minute to play with the overhang of fat.

“You like this. You want this to get bigger. You deserve to let go and be happy. The more you eat, the more relaxed you feel.” The ghost chanted, listening carefully as Clark drunkenly began to think the same. He slowly released his control, guiding Clarks hand to the pizza box and letting Clark slip back into the driver’s seat.

Clark stared at his pizza, his mind a daze of hunger and arousal. He couldn’t really remember when he ordered pizza but a slow chant came to him.

“I deserve this. I want to get fat. I’m too small.” He grabbed a slice of pizza and began eating it, shoving it into his mouth and barely chewing. The hot cheese scalded his tongue, but he couldn’t care less. All he knew he needed was to keep eating.

The ghost sat back and laughed, thoroughly enjoying Clark’s corruption. Little did the poor human know he had another trick up his sleeve: he could wreck his metabolism and make sure Clark gained weight even faster. He figured Clark-y boy would gain another eight pounds from this binge alone. A supernatural gain to be sure.

As Clark would slow, the ghost would take control and massage the aching belly until he could revive the hunger and arousal to get him to keep eating. Clark was trapped in this unending cycle until the late hours of the night, finally stumbling to bed a quarter past two a.m.. His face was a mess of grease and his stomach hurt beyond belief, but his body was exhausted from the countless orgasms and food induced lethargy. He felt himself slipping to sleep, and he could faintly hear laughter fading out.

The ghost slid into Clark, and he slowly rubbed the heavy orb, turning to lay on their side. He was thrilled, Clark was the perfect vessel thus far, and he imagined Clark ballooning past the 500 pounds Mr. Werthgood was, and even past his highest weight of 788 pounds, a feat of his time, before he passed. His goal was 800, and that desire had kept him tethered to this plane of existence instead of passing on. He pulled one of the quilts from the end of the bed and slid it over himself, recalling how his body had peeked out from the edges in his prime. A faint name was stitched to the side, and he ran a finger over it. Arthur. His late wife had made him this quilt, and then laughed with delight when she had to immediately start on a new, bigger blanket for him.

Mr. Werthgood had resisted having a partner, despite Arthurs’ insistence and persuasion. The old boy had been sweet on his housekeeper, Eleanor. But she had been married and certainly didn’t entertain the morbidly obese man’s affections.

But perhaps he could help Clark find love, and let him experience the joy of an admiring woman while Arthur enjoyed the side effects of married bliss. Resolving himself to add that to his list of duties, Arthur decided to leave Clark be for the night as a reward for his gluttony.

This was only the beginning for Clark.

-_-_-_-_-

A few months had continued to go by, between the temptations at work and Arthur at home, Clark had hit 280 pounds and was well on his way to 300. He was stuck between panic at the speed of his gain and unbearable lust for more. His coworkers were surprised but they enjoyed Clark’s easy personality and jovial attitude, so the weight gain was never brought up in front of him.

Other people in Clarks small social circle - mostly delivery drivers - had watched with a fascinated horror as he continued to gain, many placing bets between them on how fast he'd hit certain milestones.

A full year after his move, Clark was unrecognizable from his 168 pound frame. He was massive at 370 pounds, his belly drooped past his crotch and he had a heavy set of moobs that rested on top. In a pitiful attempt at hiding his cherubic face, he grew a short beard that did little to disguise the double chin.

He had gone to the doctor, who entertained him by running tests, and still simply prescribed eating less and moving more. Feeling discouraged, Clark turned to the internet for his unexplainable gains but found little. He tried posting to a weight gaining forum, and received plenty of responses: most wishing they had his mystery ailment, some teasing him for being a glutton, and a few berating him for not taking responsibility. A few others called him a liar - that 202 pounds in one year was impossible.

And he agreed, yet here he was. 202 pounds heavier and covered in stretchmarks. In places he didn't even know he could get any!

Arthur watched all of this with great fascination, hardly needing to prompt Clark to eat during the day and continuing the nightly binges. The doctor had been dismissive of Clark to the point he was now afraid of going back fatter, much to Arthurs delight. Clark tried various crash and fad diets; ones that possibly could have worked if not for Arthur. Arthur would play along, letting the scale drop by a few pounds, before binging at night. Which resulted in making his body think it was starving, so that every calorie ingested was turned to fat.

It really was a vicious cycle.

Now that Clark was trained to overeat, Arthur pulled back a bit, to let him have the chance to get used to the weight… and to let hope flourish that Clark could contain himself.

So by the second anniversary of his move to Edgewood, Clark only gained a meager 118 pounds, leaving him a wheezing pile of fat at 488 pounds.

At this point, he was one of the biggest people in the office (coming in third place by weight, second by girth), and had resorted to getting all of his food and necessities delivered. When he sat, his belly hung between his knees and was half an inch from pushing past his knees. His eyes were always slightly squinted thanks to his chubby cheeks, and he had two heavy chins that turned into a roll of fat that jiggled as he talked and chewed. His biceps were just sacks of fat that kept his arms close to his sides, and his fingers had plumped up, making typing a slower activity.

His back was stacked with four thick rolls of fat, the bottom most resting on his ass shelf. Speaking of his ass - he had gained a bit of a bubble butt that was always a threat to his pant seams and objects on tables or desks. His thighs were the size of most average people, and he had a roll forming that threatened to cover his knees. His calves were tightly packed with fat and had merged with his ankles twenty pounds ago.

Arthurs supernatural abilities helped keep the worst of the health problems at bay, so the worst discomfort Clark endured was easily fatigued muscles, a racing heart at any activity beyond eating, and skin rashes between his folds. But not too bad, really.

Arthur allowed Clark to plateau at 498, holding him there for a few weeks until he felt both hope radiating from Clark and a small disappointment.

He grabbed hold of that disappointment, tending to it, letting it fester and grow until Clark was adamant he wanted to breach 500. He was so close, afterall. Arthur made it so Clark couldn't even get off unless he was imagining himself at 500 or bigger, making an already arduous task of touching himself that much more frustrating.

Clark felt trapped in between cycles of shame and desire, unsure where his true feelings lay. Part of him was frightened and disgusted by himself; but as soon as he dove down the path of self flagellation, desire would ramp up, consuming him until he shoved loads of greasy food into his mouth.

He stood in front of the mirror, staring at his doughy form as he didn’t fully fit into the framed image. I swear it’s like I’m possessed. He never believed in ghosts but all of this had to have a reason. Right?

As if on cue, his belly began to gurgle and he felt himself sinking into the frenzy of hunger. Helpless to stop himself, he shuffled his way to the kitchen and began surveying for food. He managed to stop himself from pulling out three frozen pizzas, instead settling on just two.

But how else will I get to 500? It’s just a few pounds…

He struggled to fight the thought away, gripping the counter as his legs began to ache. As his body was draining of energy from standing on the hard tile, his mind began to pound with the thought of 500 pounds being so close.

The pounding didn’t abate until he slid a third pizza into the oven, and only then did he get the blissful silence. He absentmindedly rubbed his belly, quietly admitting the feeling of almost-500 wasn’t so terrible. But he had to start cutting back.

He had to.

_-_-_-_

Unfortunately for Clark, Arthur wasn’t going to let him cut back. Not when he was closer to his goal than a healthy weight.

His plan was back in motion and he had Clark hit 500 in a day, and after a month, Clark was at 520 pounds. He even let Clark post a frantic message to a ghost hunting forum, asking if anyone had ever heard of a fattening ghost. As expected the answers were unhelpful, and Arthur was too busy gloating to notice someone watching them.

It wasn’t until Friday, after Clark accepted a rather large delivery meal from a Chinese restaurant did Arthur notice his folly.

As Clark was preparing to sit back into his chair, his door rang once again. Figuring the delivery driver forgot something, he lumbered to the door and pulled it open with a heaving breath. It took him a moment to register that the young woman in front of him was not the delivery driver, but once he did, he was suddenly all too aware of the state he was in.

“Are you Clark?”

“Ah, yes... “ He wheezed, his back beginning to burn as he stood in front of her. She had kind eyes and wasn’t staring at him with disgust, which was a vast improvement from his usual interactions.

“Can I come in? You can sit down while I explain everything.”

“Oh-kay… come in.” He shuffled backwards and beelined for the couch, leaving her to shut the door. He lowered himself into his seat, breathing heavy while she perched on the couch next to him. Clark was starved enough for human interaction, he shoved any rising red flags to the side.

“My name is Dahlia Morrison, I’m your new neighbor from across the street.”

“Nice to meet you.” Clark trailed off, his mouth watering as he tried to pay attention to her instead of his food. Inside his head, Arthur watched the newcomer with interest, something about her dancing on the edge of his mind.

“I realize this is very unusual, so I’ll get to the point. I had noticed you and your … current state and had asked around the neighborhood. I found out your name, that you live alone and seem to struggle a bit.”

“That is all true.” He said, blushing. “I can’t imagine what everyone else or you must think about me.”

“I won’t speak for the others, but I happen to find you charming. I am a trained bariatric care nurse after taking care of some of my family and I want to offer my help. You don’t need to struggle alone, Clark.”

“That’s very kind of you.” he said slowly, wondering what her angle was. “But surely you have better things to then to help a morbidly obese man.”

“Not really. Besides, I think you’re cute. Now, you’re probably hungry, right?”

“Uh… yeah.” Clark said, shocked at her statement. Arthur was also pleasantly surprised, but decided that she could be very helpful to his plans. They both watched as she loaded up a plate before helping Clark shuffle back into his seat. She set the plate on his belly and asked him what he wanted to drink, before heading to the kitchen. She came back after a moment and placed the glass of soda within easy reach of him.

“Are you all set for now? I think I’ll do some dishes and vacuum if that’s okay with you.”

“Uh, you don't have to. Not at least until we talk about payment.”

“For now, let me help you as a friend, okay? I had a recent death in the family and inherited a good chunk of money. I’ll be okay for a bit.”

“Oh… do you at least want some food?”

“I think all of that is for you, handsome. Besides, I ate before coming over.” She chuckled, smiling at his blush. Arthur was internally cheering, this new development working in his favor. He shoved the nagging feeling of familiarity to the side.

He couldn’t wait to see what he and a fat admirer could go to Clark.

_-_-_-

A few months after Dahlia’s help, and despite her attempts to get him exercising, he was sitting at 610 pounds. He had improved his strength enough he could waddle without too much pain, but his work had kindly “offered” to let him work from home as a customer service and sales rep.

He had managed to secure the office’s number one spot as the fattest employee though.

Dahlia was a great help to him as he adjusted to working from home, and she never fussed too much at him to cut back on eating. She was always cheerful, and took to helping him happily. They were flirtatious at times, and he often caught her staring at his belly.

Eventually flirtatious looks and gentle touches became lingering touches, and despite his claims he could shower alone, Dahlia still slipped into the stall to help him clean himself.

After the first time, Clark felt raw and embarrassed, but after they both had dried off, Dahlia gently took his face and kissed him.

“As much as I wanted to help make your life easier, I also really wanted to get to know you. Don’t be embarrassed, Clark, please. I find you attractive.”

“Really? I don’t understand…”

“It’s okay. I know it’s a bit unusual, but I can’t help loving you any more than you can help your own preferences.”

Things were blissful until one day she walked into the office carrying an incense burner.

Clarks head swam and he not so much felt and heard a sudden whooshing noise. He was staring disoriented at Dahlia as she crouched by him.

“Wha-”

“We need to hurry, Clark. I don’t have much time. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Well, not really.”

“Well, you should. You’ve been possessed by one for almost three years now. I lied to you, my name is Dahlia Werthgood. Ernest Werthgood was my great uncle and he had been possessed by the same spirit as you. For whatever reason, both you and him got massively fat. I need to know what items did you buy from my uncle? I tried searching your house but couldn’t find anything that registered with this.” She held up a device that looked like a walkie-talkie.

“My head hurts. I’m trying to remember… oh my god, I’m huge.” He looked at himself with clear eyes, for the first time in a long time, without Arthur’s influence.

“Yes, you are certainly a big boy. But come on, you need to remember before the ghost gets back. This incense won't last forever.” She checked the dish and noticed they were halfway through.

“I bought… some decorations, like the clocks and vases. I bought the quilts. Some clothes… and the dishes!”

“Okay, this is good. Where are the dishes and clothes?”

“I … quit using the dishes because it hurt to wash them. I'm not sure where I put them. The clothes should be I'm my closet. I used to wear them occasionally, but I'm still too small."

"Listen, Clark. He's going to know about our plans. I'll do my best to help but I need you to try to resist him, okay?"

"Okay, but I'm not sure how much I can. Wait… were you just here to help break this curse?"

"Yes… but I do think you're cute. And once we get your ghostly parasite off of you, I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"So you really like me this fat?"

"I do…" She kissed him gently, leaning over his belly as the incense slowly faded.

Clark felt the whooshing again, and this time noticed how full his head felt. He quickly guarded his thoughts as Dahlia backed away.

"Sorry Clark, I thought I'd try to clear this musty air. But then you started wheezing on me. Let me go toss this out before it triggers your asthma again." She walked away, shielding the dish from view.

Clark could feel … something… poking and prodding his brain looking for a weakness. He closed his eyes and started thinking about food, flooding his mind with burgers and pizza until he felt the prodding stop. Unfortunately, this left him ravenous.

"Dahlia! Can you bring me food?" He yelled, rubbing his belly at the familiar hunger pains.

"Sure. Anything my big boy wants in particular?" She asked, poking her head back inside the room.

"Just … everything. I need to eat to keep this … hunger at bay." Dahlia nodded, suddenly understanding his meaning.

Unfortunately Arthur caught on too.

"Damn that woman. She had to ruin this for us, Clark."

Clark jolted at the booming voice, a baritone voice that was far from his voice.

"Who are you?"

"Your liberator, son. I thought I recognized her, but she was good. She changed just enough to fool me. So she wants to cast me out, is that right. Too bad for her, you are so weak."

"I'm not weak!"

"Clark, you allowed me to turn you into a blob of a man. In fact, I think it's time I take the reins for a bit. You just sit down and enjoy the ride."

Clark felt himself get shoved and suddenly he was watching through a tunnel as Arthur shifted into his body.

He watched with horror as Dahlia brought food to them and he watched as he dug in.

"I think… he's gone for now. I can feel him now, and when I'm eating, I don't feel him." Arthur whispered, looking at Dahlia. "As long as I'm eating, you can look for the items." Clark was scared just how convincing the ghost was, his mannerisms and vocal inflections perfect.

"Okay. I'll try to hurry and figure out what I need to do. I don't want to pass this curse on to someone else, so I need to destroy everything. "

"Good idea. I don't want the ghost to get away with this."

"He won't. I won't let him eat you to death either." She pressed a kiss against Clarks cheek, without Clark feeling as he screamed at her to notice something, anything, was off.

"But she won't. I've been studying you, Clark. I've actually taken over before and after a few times,no one ever knew." Arthur gloated, watching Dahlia disappear around the corner.

"Why me?" Clark yelled, making himself dizzy at trying to pry Arthur’s grip from his body.

"You bought the dishes I was bound to. Then you turned out to be so easy to influence, that I couldn't walk away. But Clark, I promise you you will love the weight. And Dahlia will pamper you, no doubt. Well, pamper us. I'm not leaving despite her plans."

"Please… I don't want this."

"Clark, of course you do. I quit forcing all this to be attractive to you a while ago. You love the feeling of being buried. Just embrace it."

Shame danced on his face, knowing that he had allowed his weight to balloon early on. And his denial allowed this avalanche to gain speed.

He settled back into his mind with resignation and watched as Arthur stuffed food into him, the ghost gleefully sharing he could manipulate Clarks' metabolism so that he'd gain faster.

"Clark" kept Dahlia busy the rest of the evening, making sure she didn't have much time to look for the items. She finally gave up on her search towards ten p.m. when she helped him shower and waddle to bed.

Once she shut and locked the door, Arthur heaved their bulk off the bed and waddled to the kitchen. Going to the corner cabinet, he reached as far as he could until he slid a box to him.

Arthur had hid the dishes early on, no longer needing the tether to Clark. He carefully pulled out a dinner plate and ran his chubby fingers over the design and carried it to the bedroom. Easily pulling the bed from against the wall using some supernatural help, he carefully placed the plate in a recess in the wood and used duct tape ( a necessary evil) to secure it.

"There. Once Dahlia tosses out the dishes and clothes, I'll still be here. Now, time for us to go eat more, Clark." He carefully pushed the bed back and shuffled out to the kitchen where he pulled a pan of brownies from the fridge and began unceremoniously stuffing them inside his mouth. Once the tray was gone, he grabbed a tub of ice cream and waddled back to bed.

Dahlia may have caught Arthur off guard, but he would win.

Arthur kept Dahlia busy feeding him, but she eventually found all the items, including the vinyls Clark forgot to list. Arthur was annoyed at her thoroughness but it was a small price to pay to continue his deceit. Besides, he could access his music on the internet anyway.

He helped Dahlia brainstorm ways to break the curse (over endless amounts of food) as Clarks body packed on the pounds. In that week alone, he gained a staggering 30 pounds, pushing him to 640.

"So you think holy oil, fire and dumping the remains in a cemetery will work?"

"Seems to be the best option from a few online guides. Best case, the ghost passes on. Worst case, the ghost haunts the cemetery. Hey, where did one of the plates go?" Dahlia said, double checking all of her supplies.

"Dahlia! He hid it!" Clark screamed, roused from a food coma.

"Oh, I accidentally broke one. Hey, do you think that's why the ghost hid them? Because he was mad I broke one?"

"Possibly. That makes the most sense to me. So I guess I'll take all of this to the cemetery and get started. Call me as soon as you feel a difference, ok?"

"Shouldn't I go with you? Or won't the ghost follow the items?"

"I don't know. But I can't fit you in either of our cars after your recent binge."

"Oh, yeah, good point." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and quickly left. Arthur grinned, all the while as Clark yelled himself hoarse.

As the duo waited, Arthur shuddered, almost losing his grip, as presumably she started the ritual. He closed his eyes, imagining the hidden plate as an anchor holding him to the Earth. When he opened his eyes, he felt back to normal.

And still in control.

_-_-_-_

The phone rang and Arthur shuffled over, making sure to answer breathlessly.

"Hey."

"Did it work? You didn't call."

"Don't worry, it did work. My phone was across the room…"

"Aw, shit, yeah. I forgot to give it to you. So it's over?"

"I think so. When you get home I'll explain what I saw. I need to go sit down. "

"Okay. Want me to pick you up something?"

"Would you? I know I shouldn't eat but…"

"This is a celebration."

"Exactly. See you soon." He settled Clarks bulk into the couch, pleased beyond belief. He wasn't in the clear but he was almost safe.

He waited patiently until Dahlia walked through the door, carrying KFC. She set down the loaded bags and threw her arms around him, kissing him deeply on the lips.

"What was that for?"

"I'm just happy. Relieved. Now, spill."

"Well, everything was going normal until suddenly a fat man - bigger than me! - appeared in front of me. He was mad too. He was ranting about how close he was to his goal, and how dare we ruin that for him."

"Oh wow, were you scared?"

"A bit! Thought I was going to have a heart attack!"

"Aw, but it's over now, right?"

"Yeah. As he was screaming he faded away. And I don't feel him anymore."

"Good. Now, eat up. You need your energy. I have plans now that our ghostly peeping Tom is gone."

Arthur smiled at her before diving into the first bucket of chicken. Internally, he looked over at Clark.

"Let's make a deal, Clark. You'll keep growing, whether you try to slow down or not. You can be in control during the day or nights with Dahlia. But the second you try to warn her about me,mention that plate, or anything else, I'll pull you back and take control until you learn your lesson. Deal?"

"No! I don't want this!"

"Clark." He sighed, his patience clearly thin. "You have a woman who loves your body. Your health is near perfect considering your weight. And you get to live like a king. All I'm asking is for you to keep your mouth shut until you reach my goal."

Clark considered Arthurs words, fully aware he was at a disadvantage.

"Alright, deal. You get the fuck out of me at 800."

"At my goal." Arthur corrected, with a smirk. "Go on, lover boy. Have some fun." And with an unceremonious shove, Clark was back in control of his body. The sudden feeling of his body being anchored to the Earth was disconcerting, but he had to admit it felt nice to be corporeal again.

Dahlia appeared, smiling at him. She wiped one of his cheeks clean and checked on his progress.

"Someone's hungry. What do you want next? Mashed potatoes maybe?"

"That sounds good. And then I'll eat the coleslaw."

"Deal." She set the food container on his belly and reached down to begin to rub the lower roll of his belly. "I can't wait to get you into bed. It's been torture waiting."

"I was wondering why you had been waiting. A part of me wasn't sure you liked my weight."

"Oh, Clark, no. I love you, and your body. I'm sorry I couldn't help you sooner, but I can't lie and say I hate the results." She lowered herself to her knees and planted a kiss to his warm skin.

"Well, having you here definitely helps."

"But we do need to talk about it. You've gained so much without really wanting to. Want to slow down a bit? Get used to where you are now?"

"I … do. But I'm not sure I can." Clark paused, trying to find the right words without triggering Arthur. "My body has been trained a certain way, and I'm not sure I can stop."

Dahlia gave him an empathetic look and ran her fingers over his gut. Clark wanted so badly to tell her … but felt Arthur squeeze his vocal chords.

"That's sense. How about we just get you food when you're hungry and see what happens? Maybe swap in some more veggies and water."

"I like that idea. But I also like this too." He said, surprised he was telling the truth. He scraped his spoon along the container and swapped with Dahlia. They slowly kept up this pattern, until all the food was in Clark and he was quietly groaning.

"You did so well, didn't you?" She leaned over the back of the couch and kissed his chins, poking experimentally at the portion of belly she could reach.

Clark preened under her care, hesitantly admitting it felt nice to be pampered this way. Even if he had to get to 800 pounds.

_-_-_-_

The next year flew by, Arthur only having to pull Clark out of control twice - not that Clark was trying to out them, but because Dahlia had been asking some pointed questions and Arthur didn’t trust Clark to throw her off.

Otherwise, Arthur would feast while Clark slept, always ensuring Clak woke up full and groggy. Dahlia would then come over to help him get up and begin the day with a hearty breakfast. She was under the belief a large breakfast would help him feel fuller, for longer, and not eat so much. She assured him she loved his body, but she was trying to keep him in some form of shape.

And yet, despite her attempts, Clark hit 765. Thanks to Arthur’s presence, he could still waddle from the bed to other parts of the house although it took him several minutes. He was still heart attack free, but even Arthur knew it was a careful balancing game to keep it that way.

Being so close to 800, Arthur was able to withstand another sage burning through sheer will. Dahlia had hoped that Clark was still influenced or possessed by Arthur, and despite being right, she gave up.

“Well, I guess you’re just a big boy.” She said, smiling thinly at Clark. She leaned in to kiss him as the sage faded.

“You’re not second guessing us, are you?”

“Not at all! I just … was hoping to keep you a little bit smaller. To help us out a little. But it's okay. I’ll start working on getting everything set up.” She squeezed one of his rolls and walked away, leaving him to his own thoughts. He desperately wanted to tell her about Arthur, but knew it was almost as fruitless as him trying to workout.

All he could do was gain the last 35 pounds as fast as possible.

_-_-_-_

800-plus pounds came in three months … and Arthur was still there. Clark was screaming inside his mind, Arthur having yanked him from the controls. He did promise to relinquish Clark when his goal was met - too bad his goal had shifted.

Arthur chuckled slyly, enjoying the upperhand. It was just a shame Clark was struggling so much. The human was livid, his fury rolling off of him in waves, threatening the very edges of Arthur’s grip.

He still held him firmly, but even he had to wonder if he would outlast Clark’s anger. Or Dahlia’s perceptiveness. She was catching on again, catching the moments Clark and Arthur swapped control. Which, after several years of dating Clark, she really ought to know when he was no longer in the pilot seat.

“Dahlia? Are you there?” He called, suddenly curious where she was. It was nearing his second lunch time, and he really hated being hungry. He slowly began rocking himself side to side, slowly scooting Clark to the edge of the bed. Planting the two heavy feet, he counted to five and stood, reaching out to hold the wall as Clark’s body shifted and sloshed.

Five minutes later, he made it to the kitchen, where Dahlia was in the kitchen with her back to him.

“Lunch… ready?” He gasped, making a beeline to the chair. He missed her, turning on him with a glare, and as he lowered Clark to the chair, he suddenly realized she was holding a saw in her hands. The chair legs gave out under their bulk, sending him crashing to the floor.

“What the fuck?” Clark yelled, seizing the moment of shock from Arthur to slip in control.

“Just hang on, Clark!” She yelled, running from the kitchen.

“That broad of yours is really beginning to piss me off, Clark.” Arthur growled, slipping back in.

“Dahl-!” Clark was cut off mid scream, and could do nothing but watch and feel Arthur thrash around on their back. Unfortunately for Arthur, moving that much fat on his own was hard.

Arthur paused his movements as Dahlia walked back into the kitchen, pulling the duct tape off the plate.

“Easy there, tiger. Let’s just calm down.” Arthur said, his true voice leaking through instead of Clark’s.

“Say goodbye, you motherfucker.” Dahlia snarled, smashing the plate against the ground. Arthur renewed his efforts to get up, but even he couldn’t propel 809 pounds of fat quick enough to catch the plate. He screamed curses at her as his soul was ripped out of Clark as the ceramic shattered, the latter passing out as soon as he was alone in his own head for the first time in five years.

She squeezed some holy oil and tossed a handful of blessed salt onto the plate fragments and pulled out a match.

“My uncle sends his regards. Now go burn in hell.” And with shaking hands, she struck a match - dropping it onto the pile. Arthur snarled as his frame caught holy fire, growling as his apparition vanished in embers. Dahlia leaned against the counter top, the adrenaline leaving her body. Relief flooded her, prodding her to look over at the too still mound of blubber that was just Clark.

“Come on, baby. Wake up.” She ran over to him, sinking down next to his right side. She pressed two fingers along his wrist, searching for a pulse. With Arthur’s supernatural abilities gone for good, she wasn’t sure if Clark would have any lingering benefits or if the delayed ailments would flood back to him.

She adjusted her grip, pressing deeper, until she felt the faint beats. Crying in relief, she laid across his belly and watched as his breathing grew stronger, holding her breath as his eyelids began to flutter.

“Wha-”

“Hey, baby. It’s over for good now.” She said, leaning over his belly and moobs to caress his face.

“Really? I- I can’t feel him any more!”

“I know, I know. He’s hopefully burning in hell, or at least far from us.” She said, laughing a bit and Clark grinned at her, his cheeks forcing his eyes into slits.

“But how? How did you know about the plate? He wouldn’t let me tell you.”

“My uncle told me. He’d been trying to, for a couple years now, but Arthur was blocking him.”

“You can see your uncle?”

“Yeah, he was the one who led me to you at the beginning.”

“Is he still here?” Clark asked, looking around as much as he could for a ghost to suddenly appear.

“No, he’s moved on, I think. Stopping Arthur was his last wish, and he can finally pass on.”

“So can we.” Clark said, his voice raspy. He squeezed her hand and held it to his chest. “So can we.”

_-_-_-_

A year and a half later, Clark waddled out of one of the bedrooms of their new house (blessed by a priest and a rabbi, just to be safe) and headed to the kitchen where Dahlia was busy cooking.

“Hey there. Is Ernest down for his nap?” Dahlia asked, watching Clark settle into a chair to help chop vegetables.

“He is. He went down easy today.” He said, setting the baby monitor on the table next to him. He smiled at the image of his son, just a few months old already. They had named him in memory of Dahlia’s uncle, and his intervention to save Clark.

Speaking of Clark, he had managed to lose some of the weight, his body finding equilibrium around 690, although he had drifted up to 715 for the holidays and the last of Dahlia’s pregnancy. After a lot of soul searching and talking with his now wife, he had come to admit he liked being fat. He liked the soft, plushness of his body; the weight of his belly slapping against his thighs and he walked; and how Dahlia doted over him, the gentle way she would caress his body and find him semi-healthy treats.

And even though Arthur had taken over his life, held his hostage, and probably would’ve inadvertently killed him - he was thankful for the curse. Clark gained a lot more than 522 pounds, he gained a life worth having.

#ssbhm fic

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#ssbhm fic