The Fast Track - Part 2 (Commission for Anonymous)

TAGS: Weight Gain, Hyper Weight/Blob, Gluttony/Endless Hunger

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So hungry, in fact, that Sandra missed the fact that everyone in the cantina was now looking at her. So hungry, that the tigress happily chowed down on whatever was placed in front of her, nevermind whether or not it was half-eaten already or if the person who did so also let her know how much they hoped they choked on it. She was hungry, and she needed to eat; anything else was secondary, nevermind how much a voice in her head kept telling her to stop and go back before it was too late.

It was getting louder as well; for whatever reason, whenever the tigress shovelled more food into her, there it was, shouting at her to stop putting stuff in her mouth and go out and exercise instead. Whenever she tried gorging herself, it kept letting her know how disappointed it was in her, how much she had to make due now that she had completely lost track of weight and diet, how hard she was disappointing herself and all manner of horrendous things, bellowed internally at such a high volume that Sandra couldn’t help but wince.

Her conscience, as it seemed, was still trying to act like it was in control. To a certain extent, it could definitely try; it was unlikely that it would succeed, but the last remnants of what used to be Sandra were tough, honed through years of discipline and self-denial, and it wouldn’t be one random act of self-indulgence that killed them off. They were still as powerful as before, merely muffled by a thick, blanketing carpet of horrendously cooked food and a hunger that would consume the world.

And the tigress, for once, didn’t know who to listen to. She had herself, the person she’d been all that time, and it wasn’t exactly easy to throw it all in the bin just because she was hungry; on the other hand, she was definitely famished, and even when her body began to visibly bloat in front of her eyes, it was practically impossible for her to stop. Every bite she took just left her emptier, nevermind how her clothes were being torn to shreds and her sports bra was feeling incredibly tight; every time she swallowed something, it felt as if it simply vanished before entering her stomach, reappearing elsewhere on her body while bypassing the systems designed to tell her brain that it could stop feeling hungry now.

So she kept eating, beset on all sides by a besieging resentment, one that left her with a deep-seated, horrendously hurtful sense of regret that made every bite taste like even more garbage than it was. She was no longer eating because she wanted to do so: she was eating because she needed to eat, and hating every moment of it. She was eating because her body was telling her that she needed nourishment, regardless of whether or not this was true, with every mouthful, every spoonful, every bit of meat on her fork, being a testament to her lack of willpower.

She should’ve resisted the urges. She was stronger than that, better than that. She should’ve been able to put her cutlery down and just say no to herself, like she had so many other times before; she should’ve looked at her body, figured something was wrong, and decided not to proceed until she had a medical check-up. But she didn’t, because it was stronger than she was, the need to consume, to gorge, to feast, to feel herself expanding in every direction as she packed on pound after pound, unable to stop. It didn’t matter if it was bad for her; she needed it.

And the rest of the troops were perfectly fine with indulging her, even if maliciously so. Most saw it as an opportunity to take Sandra down a peg, take her down from her high horse in a way that couldn’t possibly be thrown back at them; after all, she was a fully grown adult woman, an officer in the armed forces! If she couldn’t control her urges, then that was her own damned fault, no one else’s; so what if people kept pushing food in front of her face, she was the one who actually ate it, stuffing herself with whatever slop was thrown her way while everyone watched.

If anything, it was a sorry display on her part, and a sobering reminder of what too much self-restraint would do to a person. Workaholism had a way of catching up with people when they least expected, and Sandra was becoming living proof of it; looking at her, even the trainees who most feared her couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disgust: this was the person who they were so afraid of? This fatass who couldn’t control herself?

And to think, they all thought she was the be-all end-all! Now she could barely stay inside of her damned uniform; not that anyone could understand why or how the tigress was bursting free from her shirt and pants, nor how all the food was going straight to her whole everything instead of being digested properly, but no one was going to complain. Just as long as it allowed them to get some measure of revenge on her for all the shit she made them go through, they’d take it.

Sandra thus spent a good hour or so having food fed to her, which then progressed into the kitchen staff joining in to serve her whatever dregs were left in the bottom of the pots that not even the soldiery would dare to touch. Not one of them stopped to think that the tigress would eventually get back at them, or even have them suffer the consequences for their actions; when even the other officers joined in, everyone below them in rank assumed they were safe in participating as well.

The tigress herself was stuck between two sides of herself, even if one had clearly won: the half of her that wanted to keep gorging itself, and her old self, the one that baulked at the mere notion of even dreaming about what was happening. Unfortunately for the latter, momentum was the true victor there: once Sandra got started, stopping was all-but impossible, especially when she was outright surrounded on all sides and physically stopped whenever she tried moving away.

By then, even her clothes had given up: only her sports bra held on, and even then only due to her tits spilling out of it, sparing the piece an ignominious death while condemning it to a slow, gradual suffocation underneath two fat mounds of breastflesh. Her belly as well had gone from a perfectly toned platform where the tigress proudly displayed a set of abs that could grind diamonds… into a rounded, flabby ball, gurgling and growling the more it was fed, begging for more even as food was thrown into it like it was some kind of trash compactor.

The rest of her wasn’t any better: flabby arms, thick thighs, an ass wide enough that it had begun cracking the seat she was on while also oozing from the sides, it was nothing short of a wonder that the chair was still in one piece… though not for long, given the noises coming from it. Of course, by the time her seat did give up the ghost, the tigress was already fat enough that the descent barely registered; she still felt the slap of her cheeks on the ground, but it mostly just made her whole form wobble, as opposed to feeling like her spine had been violently readjusted.

She didn’t notice when people started filing out; if anything, it just gave her more of a reason to focus on the food she had in front of her, rather than the fact that she had a whole crowd gathered around her swelling self, egging her on. But as the numbers trickled away, groups vanishing into the night discussing what had just happened, Sandra found herself alone, in a messy mess hall, staring at a stack of plates high enough that she couldn’t see past them.

Something clicked inside of her, and she came back to reality. She was alone, the lights were off, the kitchen was in the dark as well, and the whole base was quiet. Whenever she tried moving, she heard the sound of grumbling and sloshing as her belly gurgled loudly in complaint, and trying to pull herself up was… less than possible, given how heavy she felt. There was a table in front of her, there were enough plates to feed the whole base, and she was… full. Too full. Full enough to know that something was wrong.

Her first instinct was to rush to her feet, which only resulted in her falling sideways and rolling onto her front like a massive ball of blubber, burping so loudly that it reverberated in the empty mass hall. She had trouble reaching the ground as well; even with her arms outstretched, only her fingertips touched anything solid, sending a panic response coursing through her whole body… not that it did much, given how immense she was, but still.

Like a turtle on its back, all Sandra could manage was to roll around and hope for the best. One sideways motion here, another move there, and eventually she was somewhat getting close to her gargantuan self reaching a point where she could get back on her own two feet. It still took about ten or so minutes before she did so, and even then it was less than pleasant: her balance was so out of whack that the best the tigress could do was keep one hand on the table while having the other one awkwardly out at an angle, unable to find how exactly to remain upright.

Was this herself? Was this her body? She’d spent years cultivating a perfect form, and now this was it? How could it have happened over the course of a single meal? How did over a decade of hard work and dedication be upturned with such little difficulty, her whole life sent down the drain as she was turned into a collection of pudge rolls? It was impossible as well; literally impossible, as bodies weren’t meant to metabolise food so quickly.

Yet, she was clearly there… and a lot of her as well. Sandra couldn’t just rationalise it away as a food baby, not when her sense of balance and self was so altered; couldn’t think it was a dream either, not when it felt so real as well. Her last resort was convincing herself that it was a hallucination, not that it did much to stop the wobbling from being one of the most embarrassing experiences she’d had in her whole life.

She’d heard of the walk of shame, but never once thought it would apply to her, and certainly not in these conditions either. But when Sandra reached the edge of the last table in the mess hall, with nothing else to help her along, what else was left? Just her legs, her fat, round, pudgy legs, atop which rested her blubbery self, too massive to fit through the door properly. Her walking, too, was not her own: not the determined, ground-quaking stomps that used to let people know she was heading towards them, but a series of circular wobbles where Sandra had to be careful not to tip over and find herself on the ground, unable to do much but be generally helpless.

It took her nearly fifteen minutes to find her dormitory, and another five just to get inside, the sound of churning chyme accompanying her throughout; every step made her stomach slorsh with its thick slurry of low-grade cantina slop, leaving her desperate for even more. It felt nonsensical, almost farcical, but she was still hungry, and the more her body made her perfectly aware that she couldn’t eat another bite, Sandra needed to eat even more. She awoke most of the dormitory in the process as well, which didn’t exactly endear her to the rest of the people there; comments of “fatass” interspaced with choice insults were thrown around, most of which the tigress ignored.

Problem being, her belly was still loud enough to make it impossible for anyone in there to get any sort of shut-eye, resulting in most of the unfortunate souls having to make a decision between kicking the officer out or just leaving themselves… and at her size, no one wanted to get anywhere near Sandra, for fear that she might eat them instead. One by one, all present took their things and left, preferring to be admonished for dragging their mattress outdoors than have to deal with the endless rumbling and churning of a belly too big for the person it was attached to.

This of course left Sandra herself alone in the dormitory with no one to stop her from doing something stupid, like going through everyone’s belongings for whatever scraps of food she could find. Not a lot, but, at that point, she would literally take anything so long as it was remotely edible, nevermind how close to the expiration date it was. In her mini-rampage, she’d eventually trip and fall over, once again ending up stranded atop her rotund gut; that time, however, there would be no wiggling and no attempt to free herself, just a helpless tigress giving up after a few moments and eventually falling asleep in that most undignified of positions.

Hours later, Sandra’s eyes opened to find the dormitory door open, most of its beds empty (even of their mattresses as well), and a large group of people staring at her from outside. Memories of the previous day were slow to come by, even slower to process, and the rate at which she absorbed them and made a coherent timeline out of it was so fast one could probably bet on molasses crawling uphill to win the race.

But in return, when every puzzle piece -did- fall into place, and Sandra was suddenly aware of everything that had taken place in as coherent a straight line as she could make… to call her embarrassment otherworldly wouldn’t be doing it justice. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and pretend the outside world didn’t exist; it’d be the only way to make everything right, the only way she had out of the pit she had dug for herself in her mindless consumption, in her brainless gorging feast. How else was she supposed to recover from the sheer, unfettered shame?!

No, only making everything go away would suffice, even if this meant magical thinking. So, she did her best to ignore it; surely, if she acted as if it weren’t true, then it wouldn’t be just as long as she managed to go through her day without bringing attention to the fact that none of her clothes even fit anymore. It was just her luck that she happened to have spares around in a variety of sizes, precisely because “someone” might need to use them while they waited for their own uniform to be handed out; she didn’t expect this “someone” to be herself, but, beggars and choosers and all.

At the very least, her body wasn’t as round and blubbery as it had been when she went to sleep. Digestion being what it was, even her hyperactive metabolism took care of most of what she had on her… though not all of it. She was still clearly fatter than before, and enough that none of her old clothes would fit, even accounting for extra tearing; every step taken was a reminder of how much mass she had on her, and every bit of exertion bringing her closer to the edge of exhaustion a stark warning about the dangers of overindulgence.

Sandra didn’t want to believe that her well-toned physique and athletic form had been completely ruined by just one binge. For one, it went against everything she knew about biology, and for seconds… she didn’t want it to be true. It was childish and she knew it, but mostly it was a denial, a negation of reality that could only come from her realising she’d fucked up so severely that there was no turning back. The tigress was six again, and she’d just finish tipping a vase over the side of a table and onto the floor, where it smashed into a thousand pieces; she was six again, and trying to explain how it wasn’t her fault despite the fact that she was clearly seen doing it.

So she kept at it. Pointless though it may be, it was the only thing Sandra could think to do; the other option was to accept it, which wasn’t an option considering what it meant, so the best she could manage was to pretend everything was fine even when it clearly was not. Under the watchful eye of far too many people, the tigress put on whatever clothes she could find that still… not fit, but at least covered enough of her that it wouldn’t be too indecent. She still had a fat gut slung out in front of her, she still had a pair of tits that were surprisingly larger than what any sports bra she owned could contain… but she tried.

Results were mixed at best. Once Sandra stepped out of the dormitory, making a mental note to do so at an angle from that point forward, she straightened her back and addressed the assembled crowd. Or, to be more accurate, she attempted to do so; the spirit was there, but as soon as it became clear that the expressions the trainees sported were jeers and sneers, rather than the typical scowls and growls, Sandra felt all authority leave her as quickly as her dignity had.

How could she order those people around in her state? What right did she have to enforce any degree of discipline when hers had failed her so terribly, and in full view of everyone as well! While she couldn’t remember any face in particular, mess hall dinner hours were such for everyone: all those young ones looking at her, taunting her with their expressions, had definitely seen her lose control and gorge herself, and now this was her reward.

She did try to raise her voice, but every word she could come up with was caught stuck in her throat. She attempted to issue an order, but whenever she did, Sandra’s inner self protested, claiming she no longer had the authority to do so. And in the meantime, the crowd around her grew rowdier, a few even going so far as to ask if she wanted more to eat, in… significantly more offensive verbiage.

Even worse was how Sandra wanted to reply. She did want to eat more, that was the point and the problem: by then, she was so desperate that she’d happily eat off a trough of someone placed one in front of her, a thought so horrifying that her face went bright scarlet and the tigress automatically turned around and attempted to hide back in the dormitory, much to the delight of her trainees. Even shutting the door didn’t help; she could still hear them, laughing, laughing at her, happy that the bitch they all hated had finally gotten what she “deserved”.

They’d all see. What she had was a momentary embarrassment, Sandra was certain of it. Once the physicians had a good look at her, once her body was back to normal, then they’d all see; if they thought they’d been having it rough until then, then they knew nothing of discipline, nothing of hardship. The only reason Sandra hadn’t gone harder still was purely because, despite everything, the newest batch was actually performing decently, and thus needed no extra “care” put into them.

Now, however, it was clear that this obedience and respect was skin-deep at best, and that meant some readjustments were in order… as soon as she was done eating. The tigress didn’t know when those snacks showed up in front of her, nor why they looked suspiciously like cantina leftovers, but they were there, and the jeering was back in full force: an open door, faces looking into the dormitory, the pieces were all there for her to take and build a puzzle out of, had she the mental fortitude to still do so.

Nothing of the sort though. There was only hunger, and a desire to eat more, a need to gorge herself until her body declared that she was finished. There was only a ravenous black hole where her stomach used to be, demanding the tigress feed it with as much sustenance as possible; quality was no concern, just as long as quantity was assured… and given how much garbage the mess hall was supplied with, quantity was definitely not an issue, not as far as the trainees were concerned; they were happy to get rid of all the slop they would otherwise be forced to eat, thus giving the higher-ups a reason to let them go eat outside the base due to “unfortunate supply shortages”.

And for Sandra, it was yet another convenient excuse for her to eat even more, until she could feel herself bloating again. Without a mess hall around her, less distractions meant her mind could focus on much more minute details, mostly those to do with herself: how ever bite she took was accompanied by a sensation of fullness permeating every inch of her form, how the warmth spread from her mouth down to her stomach and from there diffused to the rest of her. How her clothes, already teetering on the edge of oblivion, were slowly ripped apart as their constituent seams were stressed enough to turn gashes into holes until there stopped being anything other than holes altogether.

And other, even more important little things, like how her belly was always the first to grow and the one to receive more mass than the rest of her, leading to the rest of her body being pushed upwards as she ate whatever was placed in front of her. Or how her tits, despite never having been anything less than perfectly average, were receiving enough of her pudge that, were it not for the rest of her being equally round, she could likely pursue a career in some… specialty fields.

All of this joined together in a beautiful cacophony of madness and self-indulgence from which Sandra, despite knowing she needed to, couldn’t escape from. Or, perhaps, she could; it was not a matter of whether or not she had the capacity, but rather the willpower to do so, the presence of mind to put her foot down and declare that she wasn’t going to eat anymore, that she’d had enough!

Unfortunately for her, that willpower was not there. It had been, before the binging began; had anyone asked her a few days prior what she would’ve done if her body decided to have cravings, her response would’ve been something along the lines of beating said cravings into a pulp and feeding them to themselves. Now stuck inside a physical form that seemed intent on disobeying her, however, Sandra wasn’t so sure she could even give an answer at all; it’d cut into her precious eating time.

This continued for long enough that, eventually, the food ran out. Not because there wasn’t any, but because the trainees were either ordered away from the dormitory or found something better to do, leaving the tigress to wallow in her own misery as the reality of it all sank in. There she was, again, stranded atop her swollen, stuffed gut, wanting more, needing more, and lacking any way to tell herself to stop.