The Transformation Punishment Program

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   The Transformation Punishment Program was a constant source of controversy, but that didn’t stop it from having more viewers than any other television show in the nation. 

 

    Even people who didn’t watch the live broadcast would tend to get suckered in by the gossip and would end up watching the highlights online. Most of the “contestants” were petty criminals, but even the most vocal objectors had tuned in to see the episode where the embezzling pop star had her gender changed or the politician transformed into a pig after taking a bribe. It was the kind of thing you’d end up hearing about even if you actively avoided it. For me, avoiding it hadn’t been an option.

 

    “You’re being singled out, you know,” Ellie grumbled as she adjusted my blouse for what felt like the fiftieth time. “If I hadn’t published that paper you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

 

    I winced at that. “I mean… I am guilty though.” She glared up at me and put her hands on her hips. Ellie was short and tattooed with dark hair and a septum piercing. She was used to being the smartest person in the room and didn’t like being contradicted.

 

    “Shut up. You’re hardly a criminal... Oh, this is all my fault.” She collapsed against my chest and began quietly sobbing into my bosom. 

 

    “Hey,” I whispered, lifting her head off my chest. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just trivia. I’m good at trivia.” I gave her a smile that I hoped looked more hopeful than I felt,

 

    Ellie was blinking back tears. She finally opened her mouth to say something when she was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. A man with thinning brown hair and a severe face peeked in. 

 

    “You’re on in three minutes. You have to come with me.” He seemed to notice Ellie crying and his face curled up into a sneer. I felt Ellie tense up, reeling back as if to strike at the weasley man. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek to disarm her and followed him out the door.

 

+++

 

    “I’m Chris Kaiser and Welcome to the Transformation Punishment Program!” The crowd roared in approval. It sounded like the stadium was packed, though I couldn’t exactly tell, from my position under the stage.

 

    “Today, we have a very special guest.” Chris continued. “Let’s put our hands together for Professor Tiffany Blake.” The crowd let loose with another round of applause and light streamed down as a trap door opened above me and the platform I was standing on began to rise. I blinked under the bright studio lights and raised a hand in front of my face as I was elevated into view.

 

    Chris Kaiser was a tall man of indeterminate middle-age with carefully coiffed orange hair and a permanent smile. His teeth were pristinely white and uncomfortably large. The tight smile-lines around his eyes reduced them to slits. Tonight, he wore a plum-colored suit with large shoulder pads, over a black dress shirt with no tie. I’d always imagined he’d smell strongly of hairspray and cologne, but even on stage with him, I was too far away to tell.  

 

    Even though Chris and I stood at the same level my platform was positioned several meters behind the stage and in the center of a wide pit. From this position Chris could easily banter with the show’s contestants without risking them attacking him or trying to escape.

  It was too dark to make out much of the audience but there was a large teleprompter currently flashing the word “Applause”. The studio looked the same as it had on television. The set itself only had two main fixtures. The first was a large television screen that would display questions as well as clips at Chris Kaiser’s prompting. It was positioned in such a way that it could be seen by both me and the audience. The second was a series of nine wide, horizontal stripes on the wall behind me alternating between yellow and purple 

 

    On the screen, I could see an image of myself standing on my platform in the black vest and pencil-skirt that Ellie had bought for me. My blouse was buttoned up to my collar and my dark hair was done up professionally in a bun with bangs that framed the thick rims of my glasses. I looked terrified and quickly tried to right my posture and regain some semblance of my dignity.

 

    “Professor!” Chris greeted warmly. “Glad you could join us. Did you have any trouble getting here?” The word “Laughter” flashed on the teleprompter and the audience responded in kind. I didn’t say anything, more focused on how hard my heart was beating.

 

    “Now Tiffany--can I call you Tiffany?” He didn’t wait for a response. “From what I understand, you’re a professor of music, and you plead guilty to two counts of possession of an illicit substance, is that correct?” He turned to me and waited quietly for my response.

 

    “I um…” My voice came out weak and a bit stammering. “It was pot.” 

 

    “Well, you’re hardly the first musician to smoke marijuana, but probably not the best person to be teaching the nation’s youth, wouldn’t you agree, folks?” The Teleprompter flashed again and the audience roared their disapproval. “Coincidently, Tiff here is dating one of the other professors at her university, and it’s someone fans of this show might be familiar with. Give it up for Doctor Elenore Sheely!” He motioned to the monitor which flashed to a live view of Ellie watching the show in the dressing room backstage. 

 

    She wrung her hands together and appeared to be totally miserable, but as soon as she realized she was on camera, she scowled and flipped off the audience. The camera cut quickly, but the audience gasped and began to boo with encouragement from the teleprompter.

 

    “Well…” Chris started, seemingly somewhat put off by Elanore’s rude gesture. “I wish I could say that that’s out of character but, as we all know, Professor Sheely has always been a critic of our show and even published a paper recently calling it…” He retrieved a notecard from his pocket along with a pair of glasses, which he placed on the bridge of his long nose before squinting at the card. “‘A hideous abortion of justice designed as much to entertain as it is to scare the masses into submission.’” He dropped his glasses into his pocket and looked up at the audience. “Quite a few five-dollar words there.” The audience laughed again.

 

    “Well, let’s get started.” Chris smiled at me and winked. “The rules of the game are simple. Tiffany, you’ll be asked a series of questions. If you manage to answer them correctly, you’ll be well on your way to walking out of here with no consequences for the crimes that you’ve committed.”

 

    The word “Boo” flashed on the teleprompter and the audience jeered in response. 

 

    “But…” Chris continued. “For every question that you get wrong, your body will be changed to better match the kind of person that your actions indicate you are. Answer five correctly and the game ends, but get five wrong and you’ll be leaving her with a much different body than the one you came in with.” More laughter from the audience, this time unprompted. 

 

    “Are you ready?” Chris asked, an evil gleam in his eye. 

 

    “W-wait!” I stammered. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me what sort of transformation I’m getting?”

 

    “Oh Tiff, what would be the point? A smart girl like you probably won’t even get a single question wrong.” I cringed as he reached into his coat pocket and produced another note-card and replaced his glasses on his face. I hated being called Tiff, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to complain.

 

    He looked down at the card and read the first question aloud. . .
 

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 “Question 1: The oldest mummy in the world was recently found in Canada. What type of animal is it?”

   The question displayed on the monitor even as he read it from the card. I scrunched up my brow as I read the question. I’d read articles about this, but paleontology wasn’t exactly my field of study.

 

    “It was a dinosaur,” I said confidently. There was a quiet giggle from the crowd.

 

    “Yes professor, it was a dinosaur, but can you be a bit more specific.” 

 

    I paused. I could picture the animal in my mind. It was one of those squat flat dinosaurs, covered in armor and spikes. Dinosaur names had a way of making sense when you heard them, but I’d never bothered to memorize them. Spinysaur? Bumpysaurous?

 

    “Fifteen seconds, Tiffiany” 

 

    “N-Nodosaurus,” I stammered out. There was a pause as the audience and I waited to see if I would be transforming.

 

    “That is correct!” Chris finally announced and the pillar I was standing on began to move upward. “Good job!. Nine more like that and you’re home free.” I experienced a swell of confidence before the pillar jolted to a halt about a meter up and I nearly lost my balance. The bottom yellow stripe on the wall behind me lit up as the host pulled out another note card. 

 

    “This question should be a cinch for a music major like you...”

“Question 2: What was Composer John Williams’ first music credit in a major motion picture?”

 

    I blinked. I had absolutely no idea. “Ummm… Duel?” There was a loud buzzer sound and the purple stripe above the yellow one I’d just illuminated turned bright red.

 

    “Oh, I’m sorry. While Williams has had a long career with Stephen Spielberg, that film was scored by Corey A. Jackson. Williams first soundtrack was for the movie, Daddy-O in 1958. I’m afraid that a wrong answer triggers a transformation.”

 

    The audience exploded into applause and I felt the blood drain from my face. A dull heat filled my chest and a tingling sensation spread over my breasts and across my skin. My whole body experienced a sort-of sensory white-noise, like when a limb falls asleep after sitting on it wrong. I cried out only for the scream to be caught in my throat as my arms and legs flexed outward involuntarily and my toes and fingers splayed in a paralyzed rigor.

 

    It was a subtle change to start. I felt a tightness across my chest and in the back of my skirt, and the high collar of my blouse began to feel uncomfortable. I shivered as I regained control of my body and the warmth in my chest seemed to fade away. I looked over my arms; felt my face. As far as I could tell, nothing had changed.

 

    “She seems a bit confused. Let’s help her out.” Chris Kaiser motioned to the screen and a live image of myself flashed into view. It was the same, slightly flustered woman from earlier, only this time, something was different. My hand, already on my cheek, slid down to my chin, feeling my softer neck and finally undoing the top button of my collar. There was an instant feeling of relief as my softer neckline was given some breathing room I hadn’t known I’d needed.

  The buttons on my blouse were pulled tight across my chest and my waist bulged slightly out the top of my pencil skirt. An outfit that had fit perfectly a few moments ago now seemed a bit too small and the effect was that my look had gone from professional and confident to slightly disheveled.  It was most notable around my middle where the hourglass shape between my hips and waist had been replaced with a plush round ball which strained the buttons of my vest and made my body look much softer.

 

    “We Here at the TPP thought you deserved a shape that better fits your habits. For every question you answer wrong you’ll find yourself a little… wider than you were before. This time it was only enough to get you to an even 150 pounds, but from here on out you’ll be gaining fifty pounds for every wrong answer, putting you at a maximum weight of 350 pounds of blubber.” I needed a moment to catch my breath. Other contestants had been fattened up before. I’d watched one woman turned into a blueberry more times than I could count with a sort of creeping horror scored with a sick fascination. How had he known?

 

    The crowd exploded. I stood in stunned silence feeling the convex shape of my belly under my vest. I’d gone from average to chubby in a matter of seconds. I was hardly fat. I’d known plenty of women who’d put on weight as they’d aged and I’d more or less expected to reach this size eventually. Still, I’d expected to have another decade or so of relative slimness. The idea of having my bodily autonomy stolen was one of my greatest fears… and yet…

 

    “Tiffany? Earth to Tiff, Are you there?” Chris Kaiser’s over polished baritone voice snapped me out of my thoughts and I blinked, looking up at the foppish man in the purple suit. “Tough break missing a music question, though I’ve heard drug use can have an effect on the memory. Let's move on to question number three, shall we?”

 

    I was still reeling, but Chris’s hand moved with a foreboding inevitability as he reached back into his coat pocket and retrieved another note card.

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“Question 3: The Graphic Novel ‘Watchmen’ was penned by which comic book artist?”

 

    I frowned. After the previous two questions this one seemed comically easy. I opened my mouth to answer but stopped short. The monitor displayed the question in white block text, but above it, space had been allocated for a live feed of my chest, The buttons on the front of my blouse were strained tight and the words “Wardrobe Malfunction Imminent” flashed in time with the rise and fall of my chest pulling at the fabric and creating widows between the buttons to see the soft pink flesh below. 

 

    “H-hey!” I yelped, covering my chest with my hands. “You can’t just--”

 

    “Fifteen seconds, Tiffany.” 

 

    For a moment I couldn’t remember what the question was. I looked up to the monitor but now the image of my chest filled the entire screen. If I couldn’t remember the question I’d blow up again and this time there’s be no chance for my blouse to survive. My tits would spill out for all the world to see, including Ellie who was likely panicking backstage. The audience began counting down, conducted by the teleprompter.

 

    “Ten…” Something about comic books. “...Nine…Eight...Seven...” Right, Watchmen. Who wrote Watchmen? The counting made it impossible to concentrate. “...Six... Five... Four…” The audience was practically salivating over the chance to watch my public humiliation.

 

    “Alan Moore!” I finally yelled. Immediately the studio went quiet. Chris always waited a moment before confirming whether or not a contestant had answered correctly, but it was obvious by the reaction of the crowd that most of them already knew I wouldn’t be growing.

 

    “Oh… Bad luck Tiffany. That is incorrect.” 

 

    “What!” I shout, but my indignation is quickly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. I’m still yelling when Chris waves a hand to silence the audience.

 

    “Sorry about that, Tiff. What were you saying?”

   “Alan Moore wrote Watchmen!” I insisted. I was sure of my answer, I was halfway convinced that the show was so eager to make an example of me that they’re willing to cheat to do it.

 

    “Correct. Alan Moore did write Watchmen, but the question was: ‘Which comic book artist penned watchman.The art for the series was penned by Dave Gibbons and colored by John Higgins. I’m afraid that’s another fifty pounds.

 

    The unilluminated yellow stripe behind me lit up a bright red to match the one below it and the buzzer sounded again. Before I could protest I was frozen by the same sensation of warmth in my chest as the tingling feeling spread across my body, like ants marching along my arms

    I couldn’t have told you what my exact weight had been before the show, but It couldn’t have been more than thirty pounds below 150. This growth was more significant as I felt myself swell up like dough rising in an oven.

 

    My blouse hung on. The spaces between buttons growing wider even as the tails of my shirt were pulled out from my skirt as they began to migrate upward over my steadily expanding middle. I was getting fatter at a constant rate, and I could only watch, eyes darting between my growing bust and the full-body view of myself on the monitor.

 

    There was a tearing sound and the camera shifted to show a rip forming down the back of my skirt to accomodate my expanding behind. It peeled down a few inches before stopping, like a zipper being let out despite the fact the skirt had previously been one piece of fabric. The tear allowed the skirt to slip lower on my hips which in turn made room for my belly which was mercifully still covered by my shirt-tails, though I could feel it swelling larger.

 

     The pressure on my chest was excruciating, but just as I thought my shirt would finally burst, there was a loud pop, and one of the dark round buttons from my vest flew outward and fell into the darkness surrounding my tiny island. With the top button of my vest gone my tits spilled outward, taking the blouse with them, tugging it up from under the vest, but mercifully keeping my breasts covered. My belly wasn’t so lucky. With most of my shirt tucked under my boobs my stomach was free to poke out from the bottom of the vest. Round and gravity defying with a slight crease at the bottom, the first sign of how much more flesh I was carrying was now visible to the audience and they roared and jeered in approval. 

 

    The tingling faded and I staggered forward, widening my stance on my wider thighs in order to make up for my altered center of gravity. I tried to gasp, but was cut short by the tightness of my clothes. The buttons of my vest and blouse were so strained that any wrong move might burst them. There was no way that they would have fit had I not grown into them and inches of soft flab had been compressed by the taut fabric.
 

    “Oh my, that top is hanging on by a seam. Don’t make any sudden movements.” 

 

    I didn’t answer. I was too busy trying to process my feelings to handle banter. I glanced at the screen in the corner and winced at how ridiculous I looked. bulging out of a suit that barely covered my tits, with love handles hanging over my skirt. I felt like a sausage roll. Millions of people were watching me get fat on live TV and rooting for me to get even bigger. By all accounts I should be livid. This was usually the part where the contestant had a meltdown. Chris was expecting me to lash out or beg for him to turn the cameras off. 

 

    “Tiff?” He asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I’m sure the people at home would love to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

 

    I opened my mouth to speak but was instead greeted by an audible rumble from my tummy. I blushed, hands dropping to the exposed flesh of my stomach in confusion.

 

    “Side effect of the process I’m afraid.” Chris said, with mock sympathy. “I’m sure someone like you is familiar with ‘the munchies.’”

 

    I tensed but didn’t respond. I wanted to scream, but I knew that that would just be giving him what he wanted. Instead I simply looked up at him before asking:

 

    “What’s the next question?”

 

    His smile faltered, but only for a moment. He shrugged, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before reading:

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“Question 4: Who was the first Female space traveler?” 

 

    Immediately I realized that I didn’t know the answer. The first name to pop into my head was Sally Ride, but she was the first woman to become an American astronaut. The first woman in space was Russia Cosmonaut who I could never remember the name of.

 

    “20 seconds on the clock.”

 

    My heart pounded. I was about to blow up again. Everyone here was going to watch me spill out of my clothes. What would my friends say? What would Ellie say? I glanced at the screen which showcased my tits, ready to burst through my blouse on live TV. I was so caught up in my conflicting emotions that I nearly didn’t notice the question written below:
   “Who was the first Female space traveler?” 

 

    That was clunky phraising. The question wasn’t “Who was the first woman in space.” Just like the previous question, this one had been carefully worded to confuse whoever had to answer it. The show runners were probably counting on that. Between the deliberately confusing questions and the emotional turmoil that comes with watching your body transformed against your will, it was practically guaranteed that contestants wouldn’t get more than a handful of correct answers. 

 

    The audience was counting down again, eager to witness my continued fattening. “Five... Four...Three...Two…”

 

    “Laika!” I shouted. The audience went silent. Some of them looked at each other in confusion. For the moment no one was quite sure whether or not I’d answered correctly.

   “Do we have a last name?” Chris Kaiser asked.

 

    I shook my head, “Laika was a dog. She was sent into space as part of the USSR space program before any human.”

 

    “Well Tiff, the answer we were looking for was ‘Valentina Tereshkova.’”

 

    “Well then you were looking for the wrong answer.” I said it with more confidence than I felt. “The question was ‘Who was the first female space traveler.’ Not, who was the first woman in space.” I crossed my arms over my chest, partly to punctuate my point and partly to get my tits off screen.

 

    Chris frowned and placed two fingers to his left ear. He paused for a moment and I focused on keeping my breathing steady, my suspense weighing as much as the fifty pounds of fat it represented.

 

    “The judges say that that answer is correct!” There was the sound of a ringing bell and my platform rose another meter into the air and the fourth stripe went from an unilluminated plum to a bright violet as it lit up. Chris took a moment to address the audience directly, glaring at me before he turned to face the cameras.

 

    “You know, we on the Transformation Punishment Program take our role in corrections very seriously. Which is why we strive to make sure the game is fair even though the criminals we punish deserve everything that’s coming to them”

 

    The word “applause” flashed on the teleprompter, and the audience complied, but with restrained enthusiasm. He sliped his notecard back into his pocket and at that moment, though I was too far away to read what was printed on it, I was sure that the correct answer had been “Laika.” He turned back to face me, a glint in his eyes as he pulled a new card from his pocket. 

 

    “Alright Tiff, You’re all tied up with two correct answers and weight in at exactly Two-hundred pounds. Are you ready for your next question?”

 

    “Stop calling me Tiff.” I snapped. Chris just tutted, shaking his head and read the next question:

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“Question 4: Who was the first Female space traveler?” 

 

    Immediately I realized that I didn’t know the answer. The first name to pop into my head was Sally Ride, but she was the first woman to become an American astronaut. The first woman in space was Russia Cosmonaut who I could never remember the name of.

 

    “20 seconds on the clock.”

 

    My heart pounded. I was about to blow up again. Everyone here was going to watch me spill out of my clothes. What would my friends say? What would Ellie say? I glanced at the screen which showcased my tits, ready to burst through my blouse on live TV. I was so caught up in my conflicting emotions that I nearly didn’t notice the question written below:
   “Who was the first Female space traveler?” 

 

    That was clunky phraising. The question wasn’t “Who was the first woman in space.” Just like the previous question, this one had been carefully worded to confuse whoever had to answer it. The show runners were probably counting on that. Between the deliberately confusing questions and the emotional turmoil that comes with watching your body transformed against your will, it was practically guaranteed that contestants wouldn’t get more than a handful of correct answers. 

 

    The audience was counting down again, eager to witness my continued fattening. “Five... Four...Three...Two…”

 

    “Laika!” I shouted. The audience went silent. Some of them looked at each other in confusion. For the moment no one was quite sure whether or not I’d answered correctly.

   “Do we have a last name?” Chris Kaiser asked.

 

    I shook my head, “Laika was a dog. She was sent into space as part of the USSR space program before any human.”

 

    “Well Tiff, the answer we were looking for was ‘Valentina Tereshkova.’”

 

    “Well then you were looking for the wrong answer.” I said it with more confidence than I felt. “The question was ‘Who was the first female space traveler.’ Not, who was the first woman in space.” I crossed my arms over my chest, partly to punctuate my point and partly to get my tits off screen.

 

    Chris frowned and placed two fingers to his left ear. He paused for a moment and I focused on keeping my breathing steady, my suspense weighing as much as the fifty pounds of fat it represented.

 

    “The judges say that that answer is correct!” There was the sound of a ringing bell and my platform rose another meter into the air and the fourth stripe went from an unilluminated plum to a bright violet as it lit up. Chris took a moment to address the audience directly, glaring at me before he turned to face the cameras.

 

    “You know, we on the Transformation Punishment Program take our role in corrections very seriously. Which is why we strive to make sure the game is fair even though the criminals we punish deserve everything that’s coming to them”

 

    The word “applause” flashed on the teleprompter, and the audience complied, but with restrained enthusiasm. He sliped his notecard back into his pocket and at that moment, though I was too far away to read what was printed on it, I was sure that the correct answer had been “Laika.” He turned back to face me, a glint in his eyes as he pulled a new card from his pocket. 

 

    “Alright Tiff, You’re all tied up with two correct answers and weight in at exactly Two-hundred pounds. Are you ready for your next question?”

 

    “Stop calling me Tiff.” I snapped. Chris just tutted, shaking his head and read the next question:

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“Question 5: Who was the Greek god of war?”

 

    I laughed out loud before I could catch myself and the quick intake of breath managed to pop the top three buttons off my shirt and sent  them flying into the void. One made it all the way to the stage where it rolled in a wide circle before impacting with Chris Kaiser’s shoe and coming to a stop.

 

    I blushed and tried to pull my shirt closed over the long canyon of cleavage, but now that my tits were free to breathe they bubbled out from my open collar like water boiling over the edge of a pan and defied my attempts to confine them.

 

    “Something funny, Tiffany?” he drew out my name as if to draw attention to the fact that he wasn’t calling me Tiff. I gave up on the shirt letting it fall open exposing acres of soft pink flesh and the edges of my black lace bra, which now dug into the meat of my bosom. I was fairly certain it was no longer hooked in the back, though I couldn’t place when exactly it had snapped. The audience laughed without prompting, and I felt my blush deepen. Looking at the monitor I could see that the rosy color from my cheeks had already spread down my neck and was encroaching on my now exposed cleavage. 

 

    The woman on the monitor looked more like a fat, slutty librarian in an amatuer porno than anyone I’d recognize as myself.  I felt something rise in my chest, but it wasn’t the heat of another transformation. I shoved it down and  took a breath before I finally spoke. 

 

    “It’s a stupid question.” I answered. The audience’s laughter died off and I could feel their scrutiny from behind the studio lights. “There are two war gods, Ares and Athena.” I counted them off on my fingers.

 

    “So which is your answer?” Chris asked, he raised an eyebrow. Every bit of his body language conveyed poise. It signaled to the audience that there was a correct answer and that I was just stalling for time.

 

    “Both.” I said flatly. “Unless I can only choose one, in which case, why don’t you tell me which isn’t a god of war?”

 

    There was a pause and Chris placed his two fingers to his ear while he conferred with the powers that be. I waited, heart pounding.

 

    “The judges have made a decision,” He announced. You can answer both Ares and Athena, but since we’re being so nice, are there any other gods you’d like to add?” His tone was sarcastic and the audience chuckled sympathetically. 

 

    I shrugged, “If you say ‘Kratos’ I’m jumping off the platform.”

 

    The audience laughed at that and Chris merely looked confused, but the bell rang and the platform moved upward as another yellow stripe lit up behind me. Chris put on a brave face and waited for the audience to stop laughing but his fist’s were clenched as he read the next question:

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“Question 6: An icosahedron is a shape with how many faces?”

 

    He read it quickly, almost frantically. Apparently he’d given up on trick questions and was now going for obscure. “Twenty.” I answered flatly, allowing no time for dramatic posturing. He spun to stare at me, his annoyance changing to outright hostility. Still, when he spoke he managed to keep his voice friendly and professional.

 

    “Are you sure about that, Tiff?”

 

    “What did I say about calling me Tiff?” I placed a fist on one jiggly lovehandle, cocking my hip to one side and raising my chin. If I was forced to look like a stripper I could at least act like a dominant. No one had to know that the only reason I’d know that answer was from playing Dungeons and Dragons.

 

    “Sorry, that’s incorrect.” The sixth stripe, this one purple, flashed red and before I could protest I was frozen again with the now familiar heat rising in my chest. “ An icosahedron actually has 30 sides. Bad luck, Tiff.”

 

    I wanted to scream in protest but I couldn’t so much as breathe as the tingling sensation reached my fingers and toes and my body began to plump up again. My blouse was the first thing to go. The shirt was pulled up through my vest until my breasts were nearly the size of my head and my buttons began to pop off one after another, flying wildly across the stage. 

 

    My belly wasn’t exempt from the growth either and my vest burst off all at once, allowing my rounding gut to spill forward and hang over the front of my skirt. Now free of their confines I could finally see how fat I was actually getting. Two hundred pounds had always seemed like a milestone for fatness to me, but two hundred and fifty was pushing serious obesity. 

 

    I whimpered as I felt my belly swell rounder and softer, though I couldn’t see it with my Tits pressed up against my face. Finally, they flopped forward over the cups of my ruined bra and parted, letting me get a better look at the growing dome beneath them.

 

    My stomach was huge. I had the gut of a woman who’d been fat her entire life, round and wobbling as it jiggled and swelled bigger to catch up with my ballooning breasts. It didn’t rise like dough, but rather with the kind of sloshing expansion of a water balloon being filled from a garden hose.

 

    I stated, unable to move my neck, eyes peering down as far as they could when I heard another tearing sound coming from behind me. I tried to look over my shoulder, but paralysed as I was, I couldn’t get a good view. I finally remembered the monitor and my eyes darted up to get a better view of myself. I would have gasped if that were possible.

 

    I was huge. The previous gain had been contained within my clothes, but now, standing naked on stage, I could fully appreciate just how fat I was getting. The ripping I had heard was my skirt finally giving in and it was easy to see why. My hips were wider than my shoulders, and even with my thighs touching, I could see the bottoms of my butt-cheeks hanging down from between my legs.

   My belly hadn’t gotten so large as to hide my privates yet, and a pair of over-stretched panties digging into a fatty pubic mound were the last surviving remnants of the outfit Ellie had bought for me. Those finally snapped as well and, as if on cue the growth came to a halt.

 

    I immediately shrieked, a sound of both horror and anger.

 

    “Easy there it, Tiff. It’s not so bad. With the right diet and exercise you might have your old body back within three to five years… if you can avoid the munchies.”  The audience laughed dutifully at the prompt, but I was far too angry to notice.

 

    “You Cheating bastard!” I yelled, channeling Ellie as I attempted to cover my now fat body with my pudgy arms. “A icosahedron does have twenty faces!”

 

    Chris Kaiser gave me a pitying look. “Whoa there! Don’t get us in trouble with the FCC. An icosahedron does have twenty faces but the question was about how many sides it has.”

 

    “You said faces.” I said through clenched teeth. Letting my arm drop from my tits which hung now without support and pointing an accusing finger at him. There was a murmur through the audience, but Chris looked unphased.

 

    “Let's play the clip.” He pointed to the monitor.

 

    An image of him from minutes earlier appeared on screen. When he’d read the question before the camera had been focused on me, but this shot showed a close up of him reading from the card. He’d sounded hurried before but now I could see the beads of sweat standing on his forehead and the way he clenched his jaw when he read:
 

“Question 6: An icosahedron is a shape with how many faces?”

 

    The audience gasped. Chris, cool and collected only moments before  jumped to his own defense.

   “The card said sides!” He insisted, waving the notecard frantically. “Obviously I meant to say sides.” The audience didn’t seem convinced and their protests began to rise louder in the studio.

 

    “What was it that Ellie called your show? ‘A hideous abortion of justice?’”

 

    “Why you arrogant little--” Chris marched forward but stopped in his tracks, two fingers going up to one ear. He paused, sighed deeply and then turned back to the audience.

 

    “Ladies and Gentleman, I have to apologize. Professor Tiffany’s answer was correct and we acted in error.” The stripe behind me switched to neon purple as the platform I was on began to rise upward again. The vibration of the movement sent ripples through my body until my pedestal came to a stop.

 

    “And what about my body?” I demanded. “What about this?” I shook my belly, emphasizing just how much bigger I had gotten. 

 

    Chris frowned. “Unfortunately, transformations from our program are irreversible, they wouldn’t be much of a punishment otherwise, but you do have four correct answers now! One more correct answer is all you need and you can go home no fatter than you are now!”

 

    I balked. “B-but--”

 

    “This is the judges’ decision and they’ve deemed it fair. Now Tiffany…” He grinned at me, a plastic smile with an evil glint in his eyes. “...Are you ready for your next question?”

 

    I looked over at the image of the fat woman on the monitor. It wasn’t like I had a choice. My stomach let out another dissatisfied gurgle, this one louder in proportion to the new hugeness of my belly.

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“Question 7: Sometimes called ‘the Fifth Beatle’ this musician played with the band on their ‘Get Back’ sessions”

 

    Something was scratching under my tit and I reached under to remove the remains of my bra. The underwire had punctured the fabric during my growth and had left a long red scratch under my larger breast. There was so much more of it now than there had been a few hours ago.

 

    I looked up at the monitor. The image of that fat girl holding the remains of her ruined underwear was being beamed live for millions of people to see, including my girlfriend. No matter what happened with this next question I was leaving the studio a fatty and I was likely going to stay that way for some time. 

 

    Would Ellie even want me anymore like this? How could I hide these breasts or this belly? I’d never dieted a day in my life. Would I even be able to lose the weight? The idea of being stuck this way forever made me shiver and I felt goosebumps pop up on my skin. So much flesh… so huge… and yet, was I really that big in the grand scheme of things?
 

    Two hundred and fifty pounds was fat, no doubt, but it wasn’t exactly unbelievable. If Iwent back to my job at this size I wouldn’t have even been the fattest professor at her university. If I could get my new appetite under control it might even be something that I could recover from. It was only after you hit the big three-hundred that you had to buy different scales. Whether or not it was true, in my mind three hundred was the point of no return.

 

    “Five... Four… Three…” The audience snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked down to see Chris Kaiser, grinning up at me, eager to put me in my place.

 

    “Uh… Pete Best!” I shouted, knowing it was the wrong answer even as the words left my mouth.

 

“Ooooh. Sorry, Tiff. The answer that we were looking for is ‘Billy Preston.’”

 

    My heart sank at the implication of what I had just done when I was struck by the now familiar heat in my chest and my thick flabby arms were forced out to my sides. 

 

    My stomach lurched forward and spilled over my panties, which finally snapped under the strain weight of my doughy girth. I Spilled outward. Every part of me growing, swelling, fattening until I was sure that I would burst. 

 

    The woman on the monitor was barely recognisable. This wasn’t the kind of fat that came with a low-energy job and a sweet tooth. This was the kind of woman who’d lived her entire life on fried food with extra helpings. Naked and soft I expanded, wider softer, hungrier. My belly cried out again, but I was unable to touch it let alone fill it with the mountains of carbs it was crying out for.

 

    Tiffany, the talented and pretty university professor was melting away to reveal the new me. This Tiffany, who couldn’t see over her belly  and had no self-control around food. All of me felt heavy. My buttcheeks pressed down on my thighs even as the cheeks on my face pushed up on the rims of my glasses.

 

    Finally it stopped, and I grabbed at my belly. It hung over my crotch and it was bisected under its own weight with a crease above my navel. I lifted it with some effort, hands sinking into the soft flesh and bubbling between my fingers and I tried to get a better look at my fattened pubic mound on the view screen.

 

    I was aware that I was showing my privates to the entire world, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t already seen me naked, and besides, at my size I might not ever get another chance. There it was. Smooth and pink and round, like a smaller version of my fleshy middle. I reached one hand down and pressed into it gently, feeling a tingle of excitement.

 

    “Um… Tiff,” Chris Started. Why don’t you wait until you’re home where your girlfriend can help you with that.”
 

    That brought me out of my daze. What would Ellie think? A bolt of fear flashed through me as I imagined waddling back stage only to find the dressing room empty, driving home alone only to find the locks changed on our apartment. I was conflicted about this new body, but my feelings on being left fat and alone were stark. I couldn’t allow myself to get any bigger. 

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“Question 8: What is the tallest mountain in the world?”

 

    Hy heart was pounding in my ears. Either I got the question right and I was allowed to leave, or I got it wrong and I would expand up to the Maximum weight of Three hundred and fifty pounds. I had already been fattened beyond repair, but the but at this point, every stray jiggle and inch of extra flesh felt like another nail in the coffin for my relationship with Ellie.

 

    I scrunched up my face. Everest was the obvious choice, but I was also fairly certain it was wrong.

 

    “Mount… Kilimanjaro?”

 

    “Not even close.” Chris said. The purple stripe behind me flashed Red and I immediately froze as the paralysis overtook me again. “Kilimanjaro is neither the highest by height or elevation.” Heat rose in my chest as my final expansion took hold. “The highest Mountain is Mount Everest, but even that isn’t the tallest mountain.” My already fat belly rolled forward as my tits began to fill my vision. “The tallest Mountain Mauna Kea which is part of the Island of Hawaii and is mostly submerged.” My legs began to buckle. Frozen as they were they couldn’t accommodate my widening rear and shifting center of balance.

 

    The growth finally stopped and I toppled forward. My knees impacted with the platform first and hundreds of pounds of wobbling flesh pulled me forward and I ended up on all fours. My belly slapped against the ground audibly, so large that it lay on the ground beneath me. If I was to try to get back into shape, push ups would be out of the question. My breasts weren't much safer, my nipples dangled centimeters from the ground on heavy pendulous breasts capped with areolas’ which bore a striking resemblance to grapefruit slices both in size and color. 

 

    Chris Kaiser whistled. “Three-hundred and fifty pounds. Much more appropriate for a pot-head.” There was muffled laughter from the audience as I tried to catch my breath.

 

    “Alright…” I weazed. “You’ve had your fun. Can I go home now?” 

 

    Chris blinked. “But Tiffany, you still have one more question left!” 

 

    “What?” I demanded. With some effort, I managed to push myself up to a kneel. Getting my shoulders up was the hard part as  my enormous ass took some of the strain off of my arms once it was stirred into motion and it rolled back, finally coming to rest on top of my meaty calves. “You said 350 was the limit!” I screamed, even as my fattened body undulated beneath me.

 

    “Five answers, correct or incorrect; that’s the only way the show ends. Right now you have four of each. It’s not my fault you got an extra dose with Question six.”
 

    “It literally is,” I huffed as I forced my jiggling body to its feet. The crowd let out a murmur of confusion, but Chris ignored it.

 

    “One more question, Tiff,” He held out a finger. “Just one more and you either get to go home as you are or at a earth-shaking four-hundred pounds. Are you ready?”

 

    I was speechless. Livid. Any conflicting feelings about my body were swept away by the injustice of the experience. I was too fat already, but what could I do? It occurred to me that Chris probably wouldn’t have been looking so smug if he was within squashing distance. 

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“Final Question: What vertebrate doesn’t have a backbone?”

 

    It was another trick question, but if I hadn’t been so upset I might have been able to work it out. Instead, I felt my chubby fists clench, lifted my chins and spat:

   “Chris Kaiser.” There was a gasp from the audience. Chris’s smile faltered.

 

    “We were looking for ‘Hagfish.’” 

 

    “Same thing,” I shrugged, as the final Stripe on the wall behind me flashed to red.holding my arms out to my sides.

 

    The tingling started again. It was familiar now, though no less unnerving as I lost control of my body, both for the final time and forever. My hips grew ever wider until they wouldn’t fit most doors. My belly grew rounder, sagging lower until I’d likely never be able to reach my privates again. My chest ripened into mellon sized monstrosities that I’d liked never fit into a bra again. I’d entered a kind of excessive life-altering fattness that would likely define me from that point onward. Contemplating a future living like this made me feel light headed. 

 

    The Growth finally stopped and I dropped my arms to my sides, sending ripples through my expanded form.I tried to lift my belly, only to find it too heavy. I adjusted, but my heavy leg made it difficult to move. My appetite was the cherry on top. It was the TPP’s way of ensuring I had a tough time undoing what they’d made me into. I was ravenous, and it occurred to me that if I wasn’t careful I might get even bigger. 

 

    “Thank you everyone! You’ve been a lovely audience.” Chris turned to take a bow, but there was scant applause. Once the lights were out and the cameras were off he pulled the stack of notecards from his pocket and tosse them onto the floor. He turned to watch me as my platform descended below the stage and held my eye contact until I was out of sight.

 

    Two techs were waiting for me under the stage. They draped a blanket around me and led me toward the dressing room. It was a long, slow waddle down the dark hall with frequent breaks to catch my breath. Most people my size had years to grow accustomed to carrying such girth. Apparently the executives hadn’t considered increasing my muscle mass a priority.

 

    My heart pounded, and not just from the exercise. The Door to the dressing room stood closed at the end of the hall and my sense of foreboding only grew as we drew closer. One of the techs opened the door and I had to turn sideways to step inside, sucking my belly in to keep it’s doughy roundness from rubbing against the doorframe.

 

    Ellie was nowhere to be found, but a giant set of overalls and a T-shirt the size of a tent lay on the couch in the corner. The door was slammed behind me and I took that to mean I was on my own. I felt tears well up in my eyes, but blinked wiped them away, smudging my glasses in the process and having nothing to clean them with. 

 

    I grabbed the T-shirt and held it in front of me. It had a large Phish logo on the front. Likely Kaiser’s idea of a joke. I pulled it on with some effort and managed to get it over my titanic tits, but it kept rolling up on my belly. The overalls weren’t so easy.

 

    At first I’d planned to drop them on the floor and step into them, but given that I couldn’t reach past my belly that plan was proving to be difficult. I resorted to dangling them in front of me by their straps and trying to step into them, but after a half dozen failed attempts the stress of the situation finally bubbled over and I collapsed into tears, sitting down hard on the couch and hearing the sound of splintering wood as the cheap furniture struggled to support me.

 

    I heard the sound of the door open and someone stepped inside.

 

    “Oh my god, Tiffany.” A familiar voice said full of compassion and concern. She hurried over and helped me pull the overalls onto my legs before standing me up and hooking the straps over my shoulders. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss my nose before snatching the smudged and foggy glasses from my face and wiping them on her own shirt and placing them back on my nose.

 

    Ellie stared back at me, looking slim and beautiful as ever as my sobbing faded into quiet hiccups. 

 

    “I-I lost the show.” I admitted. 

 

    A sad smile tugged at the corner of Ellie’s lip. “I know baby.” She pulled me in for a hug, pressing herself into my belly and wrapping her arms tightly around my shoulders. “Come on,” She said, finally letting go. “Let's get you home.”

 

    Ellie had apparently left the room during the final question to call her lawyer. She didn’t think it was fair that I could be fattened up an extra time despite only getting only five questions wrong, though she conveyed her opinion using much more colorful language as she helped me into the passenger seat of her tiny car. We’d moved the seat back as far as it would go, but my belly still pressed against the dashboard. 

 

    Once she was sure I was secure, She marched around to the drivers side and got in. gripping the steering wheel with white knuckled fury. She managed to take a deep breath, calm herself and then turn to me.

 

    “So what the hell was up with question seven?” She asked.

 

    “I uh… Got it right but they still made me fatter.” 

 

    “No, that was question six. I’m talking about the one about the Beatles.” 

 

    My heart skipped a beat. “I... guess I got it wrong.”

 

    Ellie actually laughed. “You got it wrong? Tiffany, the answer was ‘Billy Preston’. You’ve made me listen to ‘Will It Go Round in Circles’ more times than I can count.”

 

    “It slipped my mind! I was under a lot of stress up there.” I paused, doing my best to look hurt. For a moment she didn’t say anything. She just looked me in the eye and finally responded:

 

    “You know that I’ve seen your internet history, right?” 

 

    “Oh God.” I buried my face in my chubby palms feeling the heat build up on my cheeks and my fingers go numb. The feeling of blushing wasn’t unlike the feeling of being transformed. “I didn’t mean to get so big… it just sorta happened.” 

 

    “Hey!” She assured, patting my shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not sure I’d be able to resist if I had my darkest sexual fantasy dangling in front of me like that.” She punched my shoulder and started the car.

 

    “You’re not mad?” I tried to ignore the way the vibration of the engine made my belly jiggle and my shirt ride up under my breasts.

 

    “Mad? No. But now that the secret is out I am going to tease you about it constantly.” She patted my belly with a few slaps that only caused it to jiggle more. I blushed even deeper, when I saw the twinkle in her eye as she looked over my thickened booty and burgeoning breasts. I was so distracted that I almost didn’t notice that we were going the wrong way.

 

    “This isn’t the way home.”

 

    “No it’s not.” She shrugged. “I figured I’d make a quick stop to buy you a pizza.” As if in response my belly let out another loud rumble and Ellie smirked. “Maybe more than one pizza.”

TPP 9.png

    It’d been two months since my initial transformation. My fears about being too fat for Ellie had proven to be entirely ungrounded. If anything she’d become more affectionate, and her dominant personality had immediately taken to how much I’d come to rely on her. I was still working, but simple tasks like taking a shower and getting dressed had become two person jobs.

    Basic things that I’d taken for granted before getting fat had become a struggle, and by the time the day was over all that I wanted to do was lie down, cuddle up with Ellie and have something to eat. I’d taken more personal days in the last month than I had in my entire time at the university and it wasn’t going unnoticed.Ellie wasn’t much help and, in fact, It was behavior that she was eager to encourage, even if she would tease me about how lazy I was getting.

 

    “Keep eating like that and we’ll have to go clothes shopping again.” She’d tease, placing both hands on my overfull tummy as I sucked down a milkshake, or devoured a half dozen hamburgers. I would roll my eyes and tell her to shut up, but a part of me worried she was right. My appetite was out of control and I really didn’t know how much I weighed anymore. 

 

    Ellie had bought an industrial scale and installed it in our bathroom, but my view of the floor was eclipsed by a canyon of cleavage above a mountain of belly. Even if I stood sideways or looked over my shoulder there was no way I could see my feet. It was as if I’d grown outward in all directions with the express purpose of keeping anything around my toes a secret.

 

    “W-what does it say?” I would ask, pawing at my doughy middle in an attempt to compress it enough to see the read-out. Ellie would just kiss my cheek and tell me not to worry about it, but the gleam in her eyes was enough to give me a hint. 

 

    One night, as we lay in bed finishing off some Chinese food Ellie snatched the remote off of my belly and changed the channel from the horror show I was watching. I glared at her, mouth full of noodles.

 

    “Easy there tubby, I think you’re going to be interested in what I’m about to show you.”

 

    “It was about to get to my favorite part.” I whined, swallowing down the mouthful of food.

 

    “Oh? Well then, go ahead and change it back.” She placed the remote on the lower roll of my belly and I reached and strained to grab it. The woman on the television was talking to a live studio audience.

 

    “Good evening everyone. I’m Kelly Conrad and welcome to the Transformation Punishment Program!”

 

    I stopped reaching and turned back to Ellie, who was sitting cross legged, a self-satisfied look on her face. I forgot about the remote, scooting my girth into a sitting position and letting the remote slide of my belly and plop down on my ocean of thighs.

 

    “Where’s Chris?” I asked, reaching for a joint. Ever since I’d been on the show I’d found it hard to keep focused without a bit of pot to take the edge off. I wasn’t sure if it was part of my transformation, my own kink or a mix of both. 

 

    Ellie didn’t answer my question and the woman on the TV kept talking.

 

    “Tonight we have a very special contestant.” She was younger than Chris had been with more severe features, all arched eyebrows and cheekbones to contrast her flawless alabaster skin. She was in a plum colored powersuit and her dark hair was done up in meticulously sculpted curls. 

 

    “You remember our old host, Chris Kaiser?”  Her cherry-dark lips pulled into a mischievous smile as she tilted her chin up. The audience booed dutifully in response. “Well, it sounds like you do! For those of you at home, Chris got in a spat with one of the contestants a few months back. She insulted him and he gave her an extra dose of transformation, despite her getting her questions right. It’s cost the company a whole lot of money, not to mention our reputation.” 

 

    I lit the joint, not sure how I felt about having my dirty laundry aired on live TV. It didn’t even occur to me what was going on until the stage opened up. When the orange over-coiffed hair rose into view I gasped so hard I nearly swallowed the roach. Chris Kaiser stood in a stark white suit with a sky blue shirt underneath. He was smiling still, but his teeth were clenched and he wrung his hands nervously. The new host began to banter with him, but I was barely paying attention.

 

    “Chris is on? Chris is going to be the one transformed?” I demanded, doing my best to sit up straighter and only causing my fattened body to wobble. 

 

    “Got the news this morning.” Ellie said, leaning back against our reinforced bedframe with her hands behind her head. “It’s part of the settlement. I insisted.”

 

    “Did…” I paused, searching through my semi-high fog. “...did they say we got money?” Ellie only smiled wider. “Did we?” I demanded.

 

    “What’s all this ‘we’ stuff. It was my lawyer.” 

 

    With the speed of a fatass who’d spent the last two months learning to move her new bulk, I rolled over onto Ellie until I was straddling her. My huge belly pressed against her flat one and my tits dangling in her face.

 

    “Mmmmf, Hey!” she yelped, craning her neck to keep from suffocating on my boobs, as she giggled and tried ineffectually to push me off of her. “Cut it out.” 

   

    “How much, El? Don’t make me drop on you.”

 

    Ellie stopped struggling, parting my melon sized breasts to grin up at me. “How do you fancy never working again?” Now it was my turn to squeal as I rolled over again, carrying Ellie with me until I was lying on my back with her perched atop my belly. She Rolled her hips against me and leaned down to give me a kiss. The woman on TV was explaining the rules of the game and how they’d be turning the old host into a hagfish.

   Ellie looked over her shoulder and frowned. “You in the mood for this show?” she asked, turning back to me and stabbing a thumb over her shoulder.

 

    “Maybe…” I admitted. “...but not this episode.”

 

    She smiled and reached between my thighs, pulling out the remote from where it’d gotten stuck with a quick tug. My fleshy flanks and legs jiggled in response. She pointed the remote over her shoulder and, without breaking eye-contact, selected an episode we’d saved just for this purpose. 

 

    “Now Tiffany, Can I call you Tiffany?” Chris’s thick mid-atlantic accent played through the speakers as the episode started. I craned my neck to look past Ellie and the mountain of fat she was sitting on. She reached down and rubbed gentle circles in one of my nipples until it was standing hard on my heavy chest. 

 

    On screen was a woman, Black vest, white blouse, hair done up in a bun with bangs that framed the thick rims of her glasses. At the moment she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds, but that was all about to change...

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An epilogue was written by my good friend, BodyEx.
It can be read on his deviantart profile.

The image bellow was drawn with inspiration from his story.

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