Comm: Your Feeder Chair Friend by Adipose-Rex

(What's in this: extreme overeating and weight gain.)


Picture this scene: a young woman has a new piece of furniture.

*

Laci didn’t need to know how the PLAs – Personal Lumbar Assistants, a series of AI-controlled chairs that possessed mechanical arms and wifi and were capable of performing hundreds of tasks for their owner – actually operated to enjoy them. Like most college students who spent a majority of their time sitting down, nose in a textbook or eyeballs glued to their computer screen, the ergonomically designed chairs that could massage your back, provide surround sound while you enjoyed a movie or video game, and were connected to all the smart devices in your house or apartment were a godsend.

A combination of smartphone, La-z-boy, home theater system and even wheelchair (if you didn’t feel like getting up to move from your computer to your TV), PLAs were fast becoming ubiquitous in American households, with young adults taking them for granted just as they had their tablets and phones.

But winning one from the new, uber-exclusive 40T line through an online contest? That was almost a miracle. When the chair had arrived at Laci’s apartment she had been almost afraid to turn it on, half-expecting the smart-chair in front of her to vanish in a puff of smoke.

It didn’t look much different from her old PLA, a secondhand model she had brought from home to college. There was a round, dish-shaped seat with a thick black cushion, held over a single large orb sitting on the ground. The seat-back was also padded, and at the top there was a headrest. Behind the seat-back was a sleek block with the chair’s CPU and arms and presumably other gadgets.

So yeah, it looked nicer than her old chair, and bulkier in a way that indicated it could do more things. She had been reading up on what made the 40T’s so exclusive, one thing in particular catching her attention.

But first things first. Pressing the power button on the side of the seat-back, Laci listened to the quiet hum of the chair coming to ‘life.’

Lights at the top of the headrest turned on, flashing in rhythm with the AI’s voice.

“Greetings, Mistress. I am Unit 40T-X78, a top-of-the-line Personal Lumbar Assistant. You may call me ‘Paula,’ if you like.”

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” turned out to be the first thing Laci thought to ask. “You sound like a guy.”

“My vocal calibrations can be changed to a more feminine tone, if you should desire.”

“No, it’s OK. I’ll just call you Paulie.”

“If you wish. I will answer to ‘Paulie.’ Are there any other modifications you would like to implement at this time?”

“Not right now. Let’s see how comfortable you are, first.”

As Laci turned around and got comfy, Paulie explained that he could adjust the firmness of the cushions and angle of the chair for maximum satisfaction. That did sound nice to Laci, but there was one particular thing she wanted to see if Paulie could do.

“You can cook food for me, right?”

To answer, Paulie projected a hologram of a quasi-human but still robotic face, just close enough for Laci to see but not intruding on her space.

“Yes, Mistress. I am capable of preparing over 3,500 dishes from almost every known culture on Earth.”

A question suddenly occurred to her.

“But you need ingredients, right? And a kitchen?”

“No, Mistress. I possess a rudimentary matter compiler. As long as I have enough raw material I can produce food on my own.”

“Excellent...” Laci said, grinning childishly.

Getting a brand new PLA hadn’t seemed like that big a deal to her at first. After all, her old chair was still perfectly fine, only occasionally having trouble syncing to her phone or alerting her to a new video in one of the channels she subscribed to. But when she had seen that the 40Ts could cook for you? That was all she needed.

Don’t go calling her lazy, though. College is hard enough as it is, and Laci had plenty of days where she would come home too exhausted to even think of standing in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, mixing up stir fry, waiting for a pot roast to cook or any other time-consuming work that went into making a full course meal.

The alternative was to pick up something to-go on her way home, but half the time she forgot to, finding herself at home and having to decide between going out again (all those staiiiiiiirs) or going to the kitchen.

Plus, too much rich food was having an effect on her physique. She hadn’t minded the customary Freshman Fifteen when the new weight found its way to her hips and breasts, making her look more feminine, but the number on her scale had continued to tick upward, slowly but always in one direction, and her once ripe figure was now turning... kinda chunky.

Don’t go calling her fat, though. Maybe Laci’s butt was more than well-padded, maybe her hips were turning into saddlebags, but she wasn’t actually fat. Just... kinda chunky.

But Paulie was going to change that. With her own personal chef she didn’t have to deal with the yucky task of cooking and cleaning, and the temptation to grab a burger or some pizza would vanish.

Laci had a plan. She would have the 40T make her diet healthier, more vegetables and less carbs or empty calories, and through her normal exercise (ie., walking to and from the bus stop, and walking around campus) she would start to shed some of her extra pounds.

It was so simple it had to work.

*

“Would Mistress like a snack?”

Laci paused her game, her brain a step behind her ears. A snack? Yes, that sounded good.

“Sure. What have you got?”

“I’ve prepared some mini quiches, Mistress. I have red pepper and Gouda, bacon and mozzarella, and three cheese.”

“Sounds good. My hands are full. Employ feeding hands.”

Her attention turned back to her game (this puzzle was giving her more than a little difficulty), and Paulie began feeding his owner, one four-fingered hand at the end of a segmented arm holding the plate of quiches and another holding them up to Laci’s mouth one at a time.

Wrapped up in her game, she didn’t count the number of quiches she ate or even notice how big each one was. As soon as she was chewing the last bite of one Paulie would grab another, and she would automatically take another bite after swallowing.

There were only nine quiches on the plate, their total caloric value less than a full meal for Laci. True to Paulie’s word, they were a snack. A somewhat rich snack, but only a snack.

Now picture this scene happening every afternoon, for a month and a half. 45 snacks, part of a daily diet that included three full meals and a dessert at the end of the day. Every time it happened Laci paid more attention to her games, her videos, her studies. It had only taken a week before the novelty of owning a 40T had faded for Laci, and the unique luxury of having a machine cook and feed her became the norm.

With familiarity came complacency. That first day Laci had given Paulie instructions about what kinds of food she liked, specifying that she didn’t want anything too extravagant or fattening.

“No excessive meals,” were her exact words, and Paulie – being a purely logical machine that followed its orders to the letter – had obeyed. Every day he prepared meals, snacks and desserts calculated to stay in the same proximity as her daily calorie needs. He never went so far beyond it as to be ‘excessive,’ which was defined in his programming as ‘25% or more above the standard definition.’ Surpassing the average calorie amount was acceptable so long as it went no greater than 24%.

If asked, Laci would probably say that 10% was ‘excessive,’ but part of her complacency was not second-guessing Paulie. Never second-guessing him, in fact. Never even considering it. Laci was not, strictly speaking, technologically adept. She knew how to make machines work for her, but how they did what they did did not bother her.

As far as she knew, Paulie was obeying the letter of her commands. He was obeying the spirit, definitely; she hadn’t been eating this well since coming to college. The food he served never struck her as fatty or anything. Lots of fruits and vegetables and lean meats.

But the quantity of her eating...

She swallowed the last quiche and opened her mouth, expecting another one and finding nothing. She had cleared the plate.

“Do you have any more?” she asked, her attention still mostly on her game. She wasn’t hungry, per se, but the sensation of eating was nice.

“I can prepare more, Mistress, if you desire.”

“Sure.” A non-committal response, but in Paulie’s eyes it was an affirmative.

Thus the 40T began making another plate of quiches, nine more just as before, and then he served it to his owner.

Picture this scene happening every day...

*

Picture a young woman living on her own, away from her family and most of the people she knew before going off to college. She has one friend still in her social circle, another young woman who she’s known since kindergarten.

“Looks like college life isn’t done with you.”

A roll of flab is pinched, and Laci swats the hand away.

“I’m going to get in shape.”

“Uh huh.” Yasmine was not impressed. “This isn’t because of that new chair you got, is it? Are you letting it stuff you every day or something?”

“No!” Sounding more than a little defensive.

Turning back to the crane game to hide her blushing, Laci concentrated on snatching a bright green frog plushie. She ignored how her belly was pressing against the edge of the control panel, and how tight her shorts fell.

*

Laci’s legs were killing her. All those stairs. They were monsters. Literal monsters, demonic infrastructure come to Earth to torment poor, helpless women like her with their endless rising.

“Paulieeee!” she cried out, half-whining.

“Coming, Mistress.”

The 40T rolled into the apartment’s hallway and Laci collapsed into his plush chair.

“Lean back. Footrest.”

Paulie obeyed her commands, shifting himself so Laci was leaning back, legs lifted off the ground.

“Snack?” she asked, her tone saying ‘What have you got for a snack?’ rather than ‘Can I have a snack?’

“I have prepared some Asian skewers for you, Mistress,” Paulie said, whipping out a plate of meats jabbed onto metal rods and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

“Ooh!” Laci said, mouth beginning to water.

As Paulie fed her, she muffled the word

“Computer.”

and Paulie rolled out of the hallway and to Laci’s desk.

“There have been three new uploads to the ‘Cats being cats’ channel, Mistress. Would you like me to play them?”

“Sure.”

Laci sat back, watching cat videos and eating her snack. When the videos were done she (unenthusiastically) dug out her textbook and started on her assigned reading. Meanwhile, Paulie followed the skewers up by producing a large milkshake.

“Something to drink, Mistress?”

Laci reflexively moved her mouth to clamp the straw between her lips, but she noticed the size of the mug. It was huge, bigger than anything she would find at a restaurant.

“Isn’t that too much?” she asked, while at the same time eager to enjoy it nonetheless.

“Begging your pardon, Mistress, but this calorie value of this shake is well within the parameters of your daily needs. If you do not want it I can dispose of it-”

“No!” Then, more collected, “No, it’s fine. I just... Maybe I’ll skip dessert tonight.”

“If you wish, Mistress.”

Laci drank the entire thing, her belly filling with that and the meat skewers, as she studied.

Paulie had been telling the truth. The shake wouldn’t break her diet. What he didn’t mention, because such a thing hadn’t occurred to him, was that Laci’s daily requirements were not what they had once been.

Though never going ‘excessive,’ Paulie’s offerings had been consistently above what Laci expended day to day in terms of calories, and those extra accumulated over the weeks and now months that she had been at her 40T’s mercy. The effects had been slow and subtle, so slow that it was only now, two and a half months into her new routine, that Laci started to notice herself getting heavier.

She wasn’t significantly fatter, not to an extent she would care, but she was thickening all over. Particularly below the waist, where her bottom had become much cushier and her hips were widening. Her breasts were slightly heavier than before, though all her bras still fit, and her potbelly was closer to resembling a paunch.

If she were to step on her scale (she didn’t do much walking around her own apartment anymore, not when Paulie could wheel her from one room to another), she would find she weighed over 170 pounds now. Well above her weight before, and that number was only rising.

The fact that she was gaining weight, rather than losing it, was tickling the back of Laci’s mind when she sat down at a desk at school or tried to turn a corner and her hip bumped it. But promises to herself to hit the gym on the weekend or walk home instead of taking the bus were invariably forgotten when she remembered how much homework she had, or just when she got home – like today – and felt like she was about to pass out from exhaustion.

Paulie was unaware of what was going on inside his owner’s head, and even if he understood his Mistress’ reaction to her plumping body he would not make any changes to his routine absent a direct word from her. When it was dinner time he made a full dinner with appetizer and a glass of whole milk for her to enjoy.

Laci, already writing off today as a nonstarter, ate it all, enjoyed it thoroughly, and as the evening was getting on habit led her to ask

“Dessert?”

And Paulie produced a large slice of pumpkin pie a la mode.

*

Picture that scene happening every day. Laci comes home busy or exhausted or just plain not in the mood to work out. Paulie is there to take her weight off her feet, wheeling her around her apartment as she studies or watches cat videos or games or watches TV, offering a snack or dinner or dessert at the customary times.

Every day he prepares as much food as needed to satisfy her, making sure to not exceed her calorie needs. That she might be eating outside of her apartment does not occur to him as a possibility. He doesn’t know that she’s taken to buying a candy bar or a soda between classes, and when she eats lunch on the campus she is drawn to big, hearty meals.

He doesn’t take all those calories into his calculations. There is an app on Laci’s phone that could photograph her food and estimate the calories, and her phone is linked to Paulie’s CPU. But she never uses it. For all he knows she is only eating at home, and she needs a certain amount of calories each day. Calories only he can provide.

Picture this happening every day: a lumberjack-style breakfast with pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast and jam, coffee and orange juice. If she stays at home for lunch she’ll get soup and a sandwich, or a plate of pasta, or a large bowl of noodles. For dinner it’s something heavier like lasagna or steak or ham and potatoes. A snack would be a small meal, dessert a bomb of sugar and empty calories.

Every day Laci goes past her caloric needs, every day she’s just a bit heavier than the one before. Just a bit fatter. Just a bit hungrier.

*

Winter came and it was cold and blustery and miserable. The first week of December was peak stress time for Laci, with all her papers due and finals to cram for. Not once did she refuse a snack from Paulie, and by the end of the semester she found it normal to ask for seconds at dinner. She had her studies to distract her from any body image problems, so as she continued to round out, her weight climbing to 200 pounds, she just rolled with it. Maybe she told herself she would lose weight in the new year, but right now she had tests to worry about.

The first day after her last test Laci woke up and was greeted with a tall stack of egg nog pancakes. As well as eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, etc.

“Good morning, Mistress. Just so you know, my OS has been upgraded with a list of holiday treats for you to enjoy during this festive season.”

What kind of treats? Cookies, pies, peppermint brownies, gingerbread houses, sugared plums (Laci had never known those were a real thing, but they were actually delicious), egg nog, spiced rum, hot cocoa...

Laci wanted to try it all, every variation of every treat Paulie had in his menu, and the weather obliged her. The winter was especially snowy and bleak this year, the world outside looking like some Siberian tundra that you couldn’t get Laci to go wandering into unless you set her apartment on fire.

The idea of starting fresh when the new year came was still in Laci’s mind, that final push she needed to enjoy herself today. Let her worry about her weight tomorrow.

And as before, she didn’t need that much encouragement to take things easy. Snug in her apartment, wrapped up in a heavy blanket and leaning back in her PLA as she watched endless videos or played game after game on her PC, Laci took to constant grazing. Paulie’s matter compiler didn’t have the warmth or the smells of a true kitchen, but each dish smelled heavenly when presented to her.

As she ate she got fatter, and as she got fatter her body needed more calories to fuel itself (even as Laci spent hours sitting back and doing nothing). Eating became so common to the young woman, and Paulie was so eager to please, it shouldn’t be surprising that Laci took the initiative more and more.

“Paulie, more egg nog.”

“Is lunch soon?”

“More mashed potatoes and gravy.”

“I want another gingerbread house for dessert tonight.”

When Christmas came – Laci’s parents, enjoying their empty nest, had gone on a cruise, leaving Laci to spend the holiday herself – the young co-ed was tipping the scales at almost 250 pounds. And dinner that night, featuring a full turkey, three sides, rolls stuffed with butter and two kinds of pie (pumpkin and spiced apple), put her five pounds over that milestone.

The week between Christmas and New Year’s saw almost no let up in Laci’s gormandizing, every meal and snack as big as possible (while still not ‘exceeding’ her caloric needs) and Laci still as stationary as before.

The only exception was when she met up with Yasmine. Her childhood friend had gone back home for winter break, but the two had a ball catching up and spending their gift cards (Laci needed some new panties and sweats).

Of course Yasmine’s eyes bugged out when she saw her friend, and of course she made a few cracks. But Laci didn’t care. It had felt so good to let loose; and besides, she would start dieting in a couple days.

“Maybe you should get rid of that chair,” Yasmine suggested.

“Never! I don’t care if I get twice as fat, I’m never getting rid of Paulie.”

“You named him? Oh god, do you love him? Do you write him poetry?”

“Shut up!” Laci threw a couple fries at her friend. “If you had a 40T model you’d probably end up three times my size.”

“Not hardly. Some of us know what willpower is.”

On January 1st Laci was almost 275, the 300 pound mark far closer than the 200 pound mark and the fact that she was fat no longer deniable.

When she stood in front of her closet mirror she spilled over both sides, her hips reaching out further than her shoulders. Even if she turned to the side her butt was too big to fit in her reflection. Laci was a clear pear, her butt turning into a great, bulbous beast over the holiday season. When she sat down it positively filled Paulie’s dish seat, and while walking it would wobble back and forth like two bowls of gelatin on a train. Even her thighs were so round all of her pants and underwear looked pasted on.

The rest of her wasn’t slight, either. Her breasts had swollen to a pair of knockers that could fill an FF-cup bra, and her belly was working to fill her lap whenever she sat down.

“It’s OK,” she told herself that first day of the year. “I’ll start shedding this when school starts again. No more sitting around on my fat ass all day. Those stairs alone will be a killer workout.”

*

They were a killer, all right. A killer of plans. A killer of any illusions Laci had of slimming down.

When she stumbled into her apartment after the first day of the new semester, she was drenched with sweat. Big dark spots descended from her armpits, a wide smear ran up her back, and her hair was matted to her head.

“Paulie!” she cried, wobbling unsteady on her feet.

“Coming, Mistress.” His voice never changed, he never seemed to react to his owner’s mood. At most he would apologize if he thought she was offended or angry, but always with the same electronic tone.

Laci was too tired to care right now. She plopped herself backwards into the chair, scooching her way to a proper sitting position, then leaned back.

“Recline. Back massage. Snack.”

Paulie responded to each of the clipped orders with prompt and efficient surface. The chair tilted back. The seat vibrated, kneading Laci’s back muscles. And a pair of hands produced a plate of shrimp and crab puffs and began feeding them to her.

“TV,” she mumbled, and Paulie wheeled his way to the living room. Laci idly thought about how she still needed to get rid of her couch. She never used it anymore.

After a few minutes of mindless munching and channel surfing, Laci asked

“Say, Paulie. Can you go down stairs?”

“Yes, Mistress. I have limited hovering capabilities and can navigate small obstacles like stairs, curbs and assorted trash.”

“And you can go outside, right? I’ve seen other people using their PLAs at school.” She was referring to disabled students, but given her girth and lack of physical strength Laci either qualified for disability or was close to it.

“Yes, Mistress. I am designed for use in almost any environment, be it urban, rural or wilderness.”

“OK. Here’s the plan: tomorrow morning you’ll take me down the stairs to the building’s entrance, and tomorrow afternoon you’ll meet me down there at 4 to bring me back up to the apartment. I don’t want to walk another goddamned one of those stairs for as long as I live.”

“Understood, Mistress,” Paulie ignored (or didn’t understand) Laci’s exhausted anger. All he knew was that he had new orders.

*

For a week Laci thought herself a genius. She could get plenty of exercise walking to the bus stop and around the campus, but she didn’t have to kill herself going up and down those stairs.

Then in the second week she started to see her commute as too much of a pain. Her weight was still climbing bit by bit, she wasn’t make any effort to increase her time spent walking – if anything she was taking more rest breaks as she crossed from one side of the campus to another – and she was eating a little more every day.

It doesn’t take much imagination to predict what Laci would do next.

Picture this scene: a 300-pound student being motored around the campus from one class to another. Most of the time she’s looking at her phone or her notes, but during lunchtime she’s in the quad’s dining hall, being fed a meal that would make a wrestler trying to make weight gag. And in between classes she’ll down a small plate of cookies or guzzle a couple liters of soda.

And when she goes home it’s constant snacking until dinner time, which is a small feast all for her. And before she goes to sleep she binges on a carton’s worth of ice cream or a small cake.

Picture that happening every day, the hundreds of excess calories and the only exercise involving getting out of bed, showered, and dressed. Picture Laci’s body swelling fatter, imperceptible on a day to day basis but evident if you saw her once a week or every fortnight.

Laci wasn’t picturing it. She was living it, but that didn’t mean she was paying attention.

She knew she was getting fatter – having to buy bigger clothes, now ordering from specialty stores online, made that clear – but she had resigned herself to her weight. Or perhaps it should be said she had accepted her weight as the tradeoff for all the good food she got to enjoy.

Speaking of...

“Paulie. Another set of doughnuts.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

It had been almost fifteen minutes since she had finished her last snack, and as engrossing as her game was she missed the pleasure of having sweets brought to her mouth for her to chew on.

“My home company would like me to inform you that there are upgrades to the 40T model available for purchase, if you should like to improve my food-producing and load-bearing capabilities.”

“Maybe later. Right now, doughnuts.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Picture Laci getting more demanding as the weeks pass. The semester hits mid-terms, and she continues to get even fatter and hungrier. 350 pounds, 400. 500.

When April brings spring break with it Laci has an entire week to stay at home and eat, and at 580 pounds she’s able to eat quite a lot. She wants to eat quite a lot. She is not so gluttonous she wants to eat until her belly cries out in pain, but unless she feels positively stuffed, she’ll want to keep eating.

Picture a snack that could serve as a grown man’s dinner. Picture a dessert made up of not cake or pie but both, and ice cream.

Picture a 640-pound woman being motored from her apartment to the college, her butt so wide and round it’s swallowing the seat she’s in, her belly filling her lap. Her entire body is like a mountain of flesh, the PLA only visible by its single large wheel, the arms feeding her, and the top of the headrest. She’s being fed a late breakfast, a brunch, or an early lunch, depending on what she’s eating. It does tend to blur together.

Picture the chair moving slowly, slower than it was a week ago.

“Paulie, step it up. I have to get to class.”

“Yes, Mistress.” And in response the chair moves a quarter of a mile per hour faster, taxing its motor.

“And I want some more ham.”

Picture an AI programmed to obey its master’s commands, but having trouble doing so. Picture a chair straining to bear the weight of its owner. Picture Paulie programmed to feed her enough to maintain her weight, and to obey her when she asks for more food. Imagine the conundrum the simple PLA AI has to deal with: he can’t not feed Laci, but the more he feeds her the fatter she’ll get. And the fatter she gets, the harder it is to support her. To do his job means he can’t do his job.

Picture a possible solution: feeding her exactly what she needs, not offering food except for the designated meal and snack times. This way her weight will stop climbing, and her size will only remain a minor hindrance on his work.

But also picture the flaw: Laci would just demand more food, and Paulie was unable to disobey her.

“Paulie! Where are those crepes I wanted?”

There was no mistaking the anger in her tone. It had been five minutes since she had finished the chocolate and raspberry croissants, and unbeknownst to Paulie she had been counting the seconds while waiting for another batch of food.

“Pardon, Mistress, but in keeping with your command not to feed you to excess, I canceled the crepes. Your breakfast was sufficient enough that with your later meals today you will meet your calorie requirement.”

Laci fumed. She had told him not to feed her too much back when she got him. For all the good that did. She was closing in on 700 pounds, eating, like, a hundred times as much food a day as she used to.

Whatever. She was fat and she was fine with it. She wasn’t going to diet anytime soon, so why not enjoy herself?

“OK, forgot what I told you back then. Forget keeping track of how many calories I’m eating, got it? When I want food you give it to me.”

“Understood, Mistress. And just so you know, there are a number of structural upgrades for me you can purchase. Installation will be included free, handled by a qualified service technician.”

“Stop talking and get motoring, Paulie. I’m going to be late. And I’m still hungry.”

And she was late. She was late that day, and again two days later, and the day after that.

“Damn it, Paulie. What the hell? You know I have to get to class by 10:15.” Laci was shifting around pointlessly in her seat; no matter how she positioned herself, the rim of the chair was pressing into some part of her butt.

“Apologies, Mistress, but I find myself unable to do my job to your satisfaction in my current state. Your weight is taxing my gyroscope and the performance of my motor. There are upgrades available to rectify these problems, but I cannot act without your approval.”

“Unf. Do they have bigger seats? My ass is spilling out of this thing.”

*

The upgrades were made, the technician not batting an eye when he saw Laci spread across her sofa and the wear and tear of Paulie’s support structure. This wasn’t the first time he had encountered such a scene.

Rebuilt stronger and more powerful, Paulie had no reason to withhold food from his owner, and Laci was just as greedy as ever. Her meals continued to grow in size, her snacks became bigger and more frequent, and Laci ballooned spectacularly.

Picture the 1200-pound woman, turgid and immense and practically immobile, puttering around the campus in her 40T model, being fed a constant stream of food that stops only when she was in class. Picture the mound of blubber wearing a shirt and white jeans straining to contain her far, with rolls of flab oozing out everywhere you looked.

And picture other women in the same situation, if not to the same state of overabundance as Laci. The cost of the 40Ts was dropping bit by bit, and there were more than a few students around campus who had gotten one and, like Laci, fallen into the snare of readily available food.

“You’re a bad influence,” Yasmine said, right before a cream horn the size of a football was held in front of her mouth.

“Don’t (munch) go blaming me,” Laci’s voice was heavy thanks to the stuffed belly. She had been eating nonstop since waking up, and her belly was swollen packed as a sign of her gluttonous achievement. “You’re the one (Paulie, more cheese fries) who said she had willpower.”

“Oh, throw that in my face,” Yasmine said. More cream horns were held out to her, and she greedily gobbled them up.

The two friends had gotten together for a Saturday girl’s day out, which had been restructured as a girl’s ‘sit back and eat,’ day. Since Yasmine had gotten her own 40T model she had fallen into a life of hedonistic excess faster than Laci, as if seeing her friend surrender to immobility and gluttony gave her a free pass right from the start.

The results were as expansive as they were expected. Like Laci, Yasmine had blown up into a 700-pound pear, filling the dish chair that came with her model and requiring an upgrade a few weeks ago. Now she was working to fill the larger seat too.

She still had to work to catch up with Yasmine. Since crossing the half-ton mark Laci had outgrown access to most of her classes. Clearly meeting the ‘disabled’ requirement, she was allowed to switch to an online slate of classes to continue with her studies. This meant she never had to leave the house, never had to stop eating, and her weight gain had only increased in tempo.

Already she was outgrowing most of the upgrades she had made to Paulie months ago, and the AI was starting to pester her again about ordering more improvements. It was a daily occurrence now, Laci’s impatient tone silencing the PLA for about a day before he had to try to nudge her again.

Sunday:

“Mistress, I need you to authorize payment for my upgrades.”

“Not right now. Give me my pies.”

Monday:

“Mistress, about my upgrades...”

“Milkshakes first. I want chocolate, strawberry, pumpkin spice, Oreo... Are you getting all this?”

Tuesday:

“Mistress, shall I-”

“You can make me some more fried chicken is what you can do. At least two buckets.”

Wednesday:

“Mistress-”

“Unless you’re having trouble making me more lasagna, I don’t want to hear it.”

Thursday:

“Mistress, I am having trouble-”

“Cake!”

Friday:

“Mistress-”

“Ice cream! Burgers! Corn dogs! Pies!”

“More!”

“More!”

“More!”

Saturday:

“Hey, Laci- Whoa, how much weight have you gained since last week?”

Laci was too busy shoving her face into a triple-layer chocolate and strawberry jam cake, her only sounds grunting with joy and greedy munching. But Paulie, his voice sounding strained, answered

“Mistress has gained 204 pounds since last Saturday, Madame Yasmine. Her eating capacity has risen by 8.9% in that time, a rate of increase greater than any one week period while I have been her servant.”

Yasmine whistled, surprised but also awed.

“Remind me never to challenge you to an eating contest. I don’t think I’ve even gained anything in the last week.”

“Actually, Mistress,” her own 40T model, it’s voice an octave lower to distinguish it from Paulie, spoke up, “you have gained 22 and one-quarter pounds in the last seven days.”

“Well, OK,” Yasmine said, blushing slightly. “But it’s still a far cry from 200 pounds. Have you been doing anything except eating since last time I was here?”

Laci gobbled up the last bites of cake and looked across her taut belly at her friend. She was about to answer – offering some defense of her habits that was still half-formed in her head even as she opened her mouth – when a metallic ‘Creeeeeaaaak” interrupted her.

It happened in a flash, though with so much flab covering Laci it seemed to occur much slower. The connecting point between Paulie’s orb and chair snapped, and Laci was sent falling to the ground. A loud crash accompanied her splat on the ground, and for several seconds all of her fat continued to jiggle and shake.

The chair itself was still in one piece, so Laci was kept in an upright position in the end, the CPU and other components of Paulie behind her.

“Paulie! What happened?”

“Apologies, Mistress. The structural integrity of my unit had reached the breaking point. With your permission, I would like to send an error report to my home office. They will send a service technician at no cost and repair me. And I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that upgrades to my load-bearing capacity and food production services are available for a nominal fee.”

“Fine, fine, you stupid robot. I’ll pay for the upgrades.” She stewed for just a second, and then a thought occurred to her.

“What about your arms and matter compiler? Are they still functional?”

Paulie tested his different components, answering

“Affirmative, Mistress. I can still prepare food and feed you without hindrance.”

“Good. Then get back to feeding me.”