Nhhh... P-Please don't make me any f-fatter...
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Nhhh... P-Please don't make me any f-fatter...
Ange Le Carré was experiencing the biggest problem she'd ever faced. Even as a spy, the trials and tribulations of the average enemy-packed mission could never compare to this. Even with her c-ball broken. Even with her gun out of bullets. Even with her hands bound and tied. There was simply nothing that was as big of an issue as this; Ange's arms were useless, now.
"Nngh!" Grunting as she tried to force those two pudgy blobs of blubber as far forwards as they'd go, Ange's adorably plump face blushed as she found even the further ranks of her fingertips couldn't reach past it. Her belly was just too big. She simply couldn't reach the world straight in front of her. "Aghk!" She scowled, slumping back into her bed, accompanied by nothing but the sounds of the seam in her tatty blue pyjama top tearing another little bit.
Ange bit her lip, wondering just what she was going to do about this. "Too big..." Charlotte would love to hear those words, and know they're the truth. "Too round..." She'd instantly drop to her knees, and beg to serve the true queen of Albion. She'd force food into Ange's gob, and there wouldn't be a single thing she could do to stop her.
It wasn't even like Ange's arms had gotten shorter. Although they were certainly less capable, thanks to all the built-up pudge and atrophied muscle, it wasn't like they couldn't grip, or reach, or grab what she needed to. They had been rendered stubby, by the size of her ballooned stomach. Ange was a blob, in all but name.
Now, there was nothing to look forwards to except complete and entire immobility. The surrendering of her legs, and the inevitable transformation into fat-sludge that came with it. Ange couldn't feed herself, and she certainly couldn't feel herself. Ange hadn't orgasmed in weeks, because Charlotte was simply too chaste to soil herself with the expedition beneath Ange's blobby belly.
And this would just another task for her princess to accomplish; deciding anything and everything that Ange ate. With her arms too thick too say No but too greedy to say Stop, Ange was practically a food-bin. As long as it was yummy enough, she'd be gobbling it up. Anything that passed the former-spies lips would be dictated by the lesbian dictator of Greater Albion. Whether it made her fatter, or helped her lose a pound or two. It would all be Charlotte's oh-so loving decision.
"Unnh..." As the words cycled in Ange's similarly-obsessed brain, she found herself painfully excited by it all. The only milestone left for her ridiculously obese body was utter immobility, and the only way that would be accomplished in her lifetime was if someone stole the c-ball.
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"A new shipment, huh~?" Dorothy MacBean trills as she takes the box from your hands. "It's a heavy one!" She giggles, blatantly already inebriated. With a wink, the girl turns away from you, letting her meaty backside do the talking as she waddles away.
With every step, Dorothy's entire body sags, one half at a time. Her butt, and the handful of handles above it, slosh about like pendulums. Hardly constrained inside of her green dress, Dorothy's curves are all convex, now. She gives you another wink as she goes, smacking one of her love-handles with a plump, gloved hand.
"Oh come on," she muses, halfway out of the door as she catches you staring. With a little huff of pretend-frustration, she indulges you. "You wanna know what's in these things, don't you?" Licking her lips, Dorothy leans forwards until her belly is squished hard against the doorframe. She's carrying an entire crate of somethings, and her stomach is still significantly larger than it. Your intel was perfect; she does have a beer-belly, without a doubt. "It's a secret, but I'll tell you if you promise to stay quiet, babe~..." Using her trademark seductions on you without pause, Dorothy cinches herself back up, letting her belly bob about under the crate's underside.
"They're upgrades." With a tease, Dorothy puffs her belly out as far as it'll go. It strains against her dress' fabric, until you can hear the tortured tearings from across her hips. Her dress is pulled so tight that you can see her squashed navel, taut against the front. It looks entirely defeated; pummelled into place by a hundred-or-more kilos of tummy meat. "For my special weapon, here~!"
"Oof!" Princess Charlotte made a noise somewhere between a giggle and a moan as she 'accidentally' squished her chubby cheek against the far chubbier rear-cheek of her wife. "Ange?" She called, wondering if her voice could even reach past the huge ass she saw in front of her. "You've stopped?" She cocked her head, entirely oblivious to what was going on, thanks to the low light levels in the tiny vent she'd been crawling through, until a few seconds ago.
"I have..." Ange called back, swallowing her blushing as she tried to keep a handle on her vocal chords. "You see," Trying to explain what'd got her into such an awful situation, Ange promptly realised that that would require her to wholly admit the problem; her size. Her obesity. Her implacable, absolute rotundness. "The-" She gulped, trying to move as she became more anxious and antsy. "The vent becomes smaller from here." With a drizzle of sweat licking off of her forehead, Ange pushed forwards again, but realised she was entirely stranded. Like the beached whale she was, Ange couldn't proceed further, and wouldn't dare ask her goddess-girlfriend to reverse her own fat ass either.
"It does?!" Charlotte gasped, biting back a smile as she came to her own conclusions. "So... You're too big to get through?" She wished she could just shove Ange forwards, but wasn't nearly bold enough to squish her obese girlfriend into a tube half the size of her body. "W-We are?"
"Affirmative." Ange swallowed, squidging her body about in the vent. She filled it from side-to-side, like a sausage filling its own packaging. To be honest, it'd been an outlier that thin Ange could've fit through a vent, in the first place. Even before she'd filled out, she'd been a freak of nature. Now, everything had simply been returned to nought — or perhaps, she'd bobbed her way along to the other end of the spectrum. Now, Ange was all but a freak of obesity. "I-I'm too big. I've gotten too fat." Biting her bottom lip as she spoke, Ange rolled her eyes as she heard a few rather specific squee-ing noises from behind the flabby wall of her butt. "You've made me far too fat..."
"Usually..."
Ange is bathed in a green glow, and similarly swathed in sweat. She moans as she tries to move. "Usually," with a huff, she looks at the spherical device in her chubby right hand and gives it a frustrated, cynical look. "Usually, this works...!" She just barely fights back a blush.
Usually, the C-Ball does relieve her of all the issues caused by her weight; only this time, the problem isn't her weight. It's her size. "I..." Ange gulps finally, after bounding once more at the alleyway's entrance and finding her plushy, round body simply bounces off, zero-Gs or not. A pathetic jiggle undulates across Ange's bodysuit, sloshing the lycra about until she can't fight it, any more. With a blush, the obese spy admits: "My body might be too big for this mission..."