Sinful Sweets

The Sinful Sweets Factory was the crowning pride and glory of Macy’s little town.  It was where young people went for jobs, old people went to reminisce about dates and parties from when they were young people (most occasions were catered by the factory), and everybody else went to satisfy their sweet tooths.  The chocolate eclairs, the cream puffs, the blueberry pies, the strawberry shortcakes, the peanut butter cookies, the apple streudel; nothing that came out of the factory failed to impress.  The only factor rescuing the town from gorging itself on a constant diet of the Sinful Sweets was the highly filling property of their foods.

Macy had long since proven herself to be above her peers, however, in her love of the sweets.  Her black hole stomach allowed her to down twice as many slices of cheesecake as her friends.  The stains on the walls of her kitchen – long-time remains of culinary experiments – proved her passion for baking itself.  Now, at the age of sixteen, she was positively bursting with excitement to finally go in for her job there.

She and four other teenagers, one boy and two girls, sat on the couches in the reception area, awaiting their tours of the factory.  Around them, buyers from across the county bustled about the ample storefront, wandering only into reception to ask whether or not they had run out of those tasty cinnamon rolls.  Macy bit her lip, her hands tucked beneath her legs as she forced herself not to leap up and down with excitement.  Finally, she was working in the greatest bakery ever!

A middle aged woman with gray-streaked red hair knotted in a loose bun came out of the back, her eyes glancing over half-moon spectacles at the clipboard in her hand.  Her high-heeled shoes tapped loudly on the tile as she approached them.

“You’re the kids then?” She more remarked than asked.  “Let’s see, one two three four five, yes, that’s it.  Okay, up all of you, follow me back.”

They rose and followed her.  The boy leaned over to one of the girls and murmured,

“Little rude, isn’t she?”

“She’s busy,” Macy retorted. “And she wasn’t mean about it.  Just very brisk.”

The boy scowled, and Macy hurriedly turned her head.  Well, here was one co-worker who wasn’t going to like her much.  She played with her strawberry hair anxiously.  When they passed through the doors, however, she forgot everything.

A massive expanse of silver machines buzzed, groaned, clanked, and hummed as they prepared confections.  Macy stared in awe, uncertain of where to start first.  Thankfully, the woman started her on the right path.

“I am Ms. Hannan,” she announced. “And I am your manager.  Now this,” she indicated a large machine that seemed to consist of several mace-like machines pounding into a large barrel of something or other. “Is our fruit-squisher.

“Excuse me, Ms. Hannan,” one of the girls interrupted. “But isn’t there a more efficient way to squish the fruit?”

Ms. Hannan eyed the girl severely, as though questioning company policy was a sin worthy of stoning.

“We prefer this way, Miss,” she consulted her clipboard. “Brown.  Now over here we have the over.  Right now we’re baking snickerdoodles.”

The boy snorted, as though the word ‘snickerdoodle’ out of a no-nonsense woman like Ms. Hannan was humorous.  To his own great luck, she ignored him.  From there, the tour went rather smoothly.  There were the pudding tanks-

“Don’t touch,” Ms. Hannan warned.

The bread-warmers. “Don’t touch.”

The cake line. “Don’t touch.”

The doughnut fryers. “Don’t touch.”

And so on and so forth.  Several of the others had grown impatient and demanded to know what their jobs would be if they couldn’t work the equipment.  Ms. Hannan frostily replied that they would be told at the end of the tour.

They were granted a small reprieve when, next to the line where chocolate frosting flowed from the mixers to elsewhere (Don’t touch).  Ms. Hannan presented them each with an oatmeal raisin cookie, which they munched on pleasantly while Ms. Hannan went over her checklist.  While the others savored the hot cookies with patience, Macy swiftly finished hers and glanced around boredly.

Behind her, the chocolate frosting hummed softly along its path.  Macy glanced at it, and instantly her mouth began to water.  It looked so good.  Just a small taste couldn’t hurt…

She glanced back at Ms. Hannan, still engrossed in writing something on the clipboard.

Quickly, before anyone could notice her proximity to the chocolate, she dipped her finger in and had a quick taste.  Exquisite!  It tasted better in the factory than on the cupcakes!  She sighed, tasting the chocolate long after she had swallowed the frosting.

At that moment, Ms. Hannan glanced up.

“All right,” she said. “Now, some of you will work at hauling ingredients here and there.  The rest will work the storefront.  The machines are fully automated.  We have engineers who check them, so it isn’t your concern.  However, it is necessary that you know the lay of the land back here, should an engineer need assistance or you should need to pick something up.”

They nodded in agreement.  Macy swallowed and frowned.  She suddenly felt oddly full, as though she’d just finished an entire box of cookies rather than just the one.  Ms. Hannan went on, talking about rules, regulations, and other such things.  All of which she had already read in the handbook.

Macy took a deep breath and winced.  Bad idea.  Breathing deeply seemed to make her feel all the more full.  She settled for shallower breaths and waited for her stomach to digest the food and return to its normal slightly-hungry feeling.  The seconds ticked by, but rather than calming, her stomach grew more and more full.  Absently, Macy placed a hand on it, rubbing with her thumb.  Odd.  Her belly felt the same but more… squishy.

Then she began to feel an odd pressure surpassing the full-feeling.  It was almost as though something was pushing at it from the inside.  Reasonably, it made no sense, but with this fullness, she found she could believe it.  The pressure and the fullness grew.  Macy shifted uncomfortably.  Focus on Ms. Hannan’s words.  Just focus on that.

“…And, of course, always wash your hands…”

So full…  Macy winced and burped softly.  Immediately all eyes turned to her.

“S-sorry,” she stammered.  Ms. Hannan narrowed her eyes.

“Are you alright, miss?” she demanded.  Macy hurriedly nodded.  Surveying her only a moment more, Ms. Hannan returned to her speech.

Macy now openly massaged her stomach, breathing shallowly.  If only her stomach had more room for all this pressure...

And then, as though to answer her prayer, her belly poked out, squishing against her fingers.  Macy nearly jumped but for her fear of drawing attention to herself.  Surely a bite of frosting wasn’t that filling?

A moment later, she felt a tightness around her waist as her hips began to push out, too, straight into her belt.

“Stop,” she mentally pleaded. “No, not there, anywhere but there.”

Once again, as though listening to her, it stopped at her hips.  Her relief had barely begun, however, when her sore middle swelled outward another inch.  Macy glanced down at a very slight but noticeable paunch.  She swallowed, tasting that bit of chocolate and raisins.

“Stop,” she thought silently. “Please, stop altogether…”  But no such luck.  The fullness grew and her stomach began to creep out slowly, steadily against her fingers.  For a short while it gave under her fingers, but when her stomach passed five inches, she could push in no more.

Frantically, she glanced about to see if anyone else reacted the way she had.  Perhaps the cookies?  But no.  All were normal.

Macy hitched a breath and glanced back down.  The belly now poked out from beneath her black sweater, fleshy but taut.  She looked like a pregnant woman.  Helplessly, she whimpered and tried to push it back.  Her whimper once again drew attention, but this time there was no way to hide.

“Oh my God,” someone whispered.

“Look at her stomach!”

“She’s huge.”

“She was not that big when we got here.”

Macy flushed and stared down at her growing girth, which continued to peek further and further out, rolling her sweater up.  How distended was her belly now?  A good eight inches?

“What did you touch?” Ms. Hannan demanded, her voice icy as a midwinter morning.

“N-nothing,” Macy stuttered, stumbling back a few steps.  Her stomach bounced, and she suddenly realized how light it was compared to how she looked.  Ms. Hannan glanced from her to the chocolate flowing behind them.

“It was the frosting, wasn’t it, girl?” she said.  Macy squeaked and shook her head.  No, she couldn’t be fired her first day of work!  As though in response to her panic, her belly ballooned out several more inches, now beginning to droop.

“No, that’s too big!” Macy thought frantically.  The swelling in her belly slowed, replaced instead by a tightening around her hips.  Macy moaned as the belt seemed to tighten, her bottom filling up the small space within her pants.

“Yes, it most certainly was,” Ms. Hannan snapped. “Did I not specifically tell you not to touch anything?”

Her pants grew snug around her bottom, almost skin tight.  Then, the swelling flowed downward, filling her thighs.  These, too, took little time to fill all available space.

“Admit it,” Ms. Hannan ordered.

Awkwardly, Macy spread her legs, fearing that her thighs might touch.  Then, the fullness went to her chest.  Macy gasped as her breasts began to swell outward, straining briefly against her sports bra.  Then, as with her pants, when the resistance proved too much, it stopped again.

“What’s happening to her?”  One of the girls asked nervously.

“Nothing,” Ms. Hannan said coldly. “Clearly, Macy has broken no rule and therefore nothing is happening at all.”

Macy’s arms began to plump up, oddly light but frightening nevertheless.  She brought her hand to light and watched, horrorstruck, as her upper arm fattened, then her lower arm.  As her fingers began to plumpen, it became more and more difficult to hold her arm bent at all.  Whatever was filling her was swiftly impairing her of her ability to bend her joints.  Weakly, she let her arms fall back to her sides.  Or, it would have, had they not been so full that they stuck out a little.  The sudden thought of this, of not even being able to use her hands, frightened Macy terribly.

“O-Okay,” she squealed as her shoulders began to fill. “I-I did have some frosting.  It was only a bite.  I d-didn’t mean any harm by it.  I just love this place so much!”

Her arms lifted, inch by inch, thickening.  Macy flapped frantically, trying to force them down as they fattened.  When at last the swelling stopped, her shoulders just brushed her jaw, and her arms stuck out a good forty-five degrees.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Ms. Hannan asked.

“Please, ma’am,” asked the girl again. “What’s happening to her?”

“It’s a special ingredient we like to put in things like frosting,” Ms. Hannan said calmly. “Its of a somewhat… mystical property, you might say.  No harm at all to the customer, but while it’s back here in the factory, it’s still a little unstable.

Macy shifted awkwardly.  She was beginning to feel full again, but this time all over.

“You see, the frosting duplicates itself over and over again,” Ms. Hannan explained. “It saves us money on ingredients and insures that every bite is as perfect as the last.”

“But how do you make it stop duplicating?” the boy asked. “And why won’t you do it to her?”

“The counter-mechanism won’t work inside a human body.  Too much interference.”

Macy moaned.  Her stomach filled, though it did not swell further, and every part of her was beginning to feel heavier and heavier.

“But it stopped,” Another said. “She isn’t growing anymore.”

“That’s because it was a light and fluffy frosting she ate,” Ms. Hannan said. “Very airy, you see.  Doesn’t have the weight to push out against a barrier like jeans or something.  But it will.  Give it a few moments and the pressure will build.”

Macy grunted, flapping her arms again.  The frosting inside of her grew and grew, filling her to the point where she felt she’d explode if something didn’t happen soon.

Wait… explode?

Before she could voice her fears, her hips and bottom began filling again, pressing painfully against the barriers.  Her feet plumped, squeezing tightly within her sneakers.  Her chest strained bravely against her bra, stretching it painfully out, pulling against her soft shoulders.  Her arms thickened.  Her stomach swelled outward.

“Can’t we do something?” someone demanded. “Maybe move her, help her?”

“She took too long to confess,” Ms. Hannan replied.  “We’ll have to wait until she’s big enough to roll.”

“B-big enough?” Macy stammered.  To her horror, she discovered her cheeks had plumped, her lips filled with the frosting in such a way that speech became difficult. “How big will I get?”

“Big,” Ms. Hannan said.  “And round.”

“But what if she explodes?” the boy cried. “If the swelling doesn’t stop?”

“If should stop,” Ms. Hannan interjected. “There is a point where it naturally will, and she should be fine.”

Macy’s gut throbbed from the belt as her hips and sides swelled outward in a great hourglass, forcing her arms up and her legs further apart.

“Should be?” she exclaimed.  Ms. Hannan eyed her coldly.

“Well, we’ve never had someone taste the frosting before it was ready.”

Macy gasped, though it came out more like a wheeze.  This belt was cutting her in two, creaking and groaning beneath her belly.  She couldn’t even see it anymore, but she could feel it.

Then, with a great ‘snap’!, it broke, along with the top button of her jeans, allowing the fly to zip down.  The frosting immediately flowed to fill the space, and though the pressure was relieved, Macy was beginning to comprehend how round she was going to be.  At this point, she really was a ball with fat, cone-like legs, fat sausage-like arms, and a chubby head sticking out the top.

Her sweater, now tucked firmly between her stomach and breast, was beginning to rip and tear as her arms and side outgrew it.   Her thighs fattened, tearing at her jeans as though they were tissue paper.  Macy whimpered and flapped her arms furiously, swaying from side to side.

“Careful, there,” Ms. Hannan warned. “Don’t want to tip over.”

“Isn’t she round enough?” a girl asked frantically.

“Almost.”

The sweater finally gave with a terrific rip, joining the shreds of her jeans on the floor, leaving her only in strained undergarments.  The massive globe that was her torso began assimilating her chest, arms, and legs.  There went her knees.  Now her elbows.

Her cheeks puffed and filled, pressing into her eyes and affecting her vision.  Her lips puffed until the idea of speech became a joke.  Her sausage-like fingers tried to grope for something around her, but they could barely bend.  In no time at all, her arms were gone, leaving only her useless, fat hands flapping against her soft side.

Her legs swelled and shrank until, with a dubious feeling, her crotch brushed against the floor.  It took several moments, as the frosting was like a great cushion inside her, but finally her feet lifted off the floor, her ruined sneakers and tattered socks falling like autumn leaves.

Then, the swelling stopped.

“Now, we roll her,” Ms. Hannan said, coming up to Macy’s side.  To her horror, Macy realized that in her inflation, she had grown at least a foot in height.  This was impossible!

Hands brushed against her sides, all pushing or poking experimentally.

“This is remarkable,” a girl said. “It’s like pushing into a filled doughtnut.”

“Well, push her this direction,” Ms. Hannan instructed. “Before she swells again.”

“Again?” the boy cried. “But she’s so fat already.”

Macy moaned feebly in protest, but it was true.  The pressure was growing again.

“Our stuff isn’t that weak,” Ms. Hannan snapped.  “Now push.”

Macy would have shuddered if she could at the eerie feeling of being pushed by five near strangers.  And furthermore, rolling.  The frosting shifted inside of her as she was rolled through the factory, but thankfully didn’t slosh or push dreadfully.  It seemed too distracted at building up pressure to push her body past its limits.

She began to feel queasy and dizzy as the factory rolled past her until a much stronger feeling came.  Right here, in motion, she felt her body swell.  The others didn’t seem to notice at first.  Frosting pressed against her sides pushing her upward.  Macy feebly flapped her swollen hands and feet as the floor seemed to fall away and the ceiling grew just a little closer.  Then one of the others noticed.

“Keep pushing,” Ms. Hannan ordered. “It’s her only hope!

They rolled Macy into a large room devoid of anything.  The rolling stopped, and Macy sat swaying from side to side as the momentum died away and her body pushed outward.  Her bra and panties strained as her swelling form pushed around them, creaking and groaning until, with two snaps like gunshots, they snapped off.

“What now?” the boy demanded.

“We wait,” Ms. Hannan said.

“MMMPH!?” Macy cried.

“We wait until it stops again.  Then, we put in a failsafe nanobot.  It should eat up the frosting inside of her.”

“And if it doesn’t?” the boy exclaimed, outraged.

Ms. Hannan didn’t answer.

Macy moaned.  Her skin, soft and cushy throughout the entire process, was growing tight and sore as the frosting filled it.  Then, as the swelling began to slow, something else happened.

Her creamy white skin began to darken and darken until it was a deep mocha color.  The chocolate was actually filling her skin!

The swelling stopped again.  The next thing she knew, a pair of hands was playing with her mouth, trying to force her swollen lips open.

“Come on, Miss,” Ms. Hannan ordered.  Macy unworked her jaw as best she could-not easy considering the body that pressed against it, but somehow Ms. Hannan managed to force something small, cold, and metallic in.  Instinctively, Macy swallowed.

The pressure grew, and once again she felt her body pushing outward.  Her skin groaned in protest, trembling for the pressure.  Macy whimpered again.  It was too late.  Why had Ms. Hannan had to wait so long to help her?  She didn’t want to die like this.

Someone said something to her, but she couldn’t hear.  Had her ears swelled, too?

Her entire body was shaking now, aching with the pressure.  Then…

BANG!

o-o-o

After that, safety measures were taken to ensure that no one would ever manage to suffer Macy’s fate again.  The famous “Watch the blob of jelly-filling grow” initiation prank for junior workers had been cancelled, as employees were informed of Sinful Sweets’s use of frosting before even entering the factory.

As for Macy, she got the job in the end.  After all, she walked around a walking lawsuit against the company if she chose to be, and with an expensive bit of technology safely in her gut.  Her right hip still had a scar from where her skin had ripped, threatening to explode her.  Indeed, for a moment after the too-tight skin had split with a ‘bang’, everyone-herself included-had thought her a goner.  Still, the scar was a way to tell a good story, especially considering it was the only part of her pale body that was such a dark shade of chocolatey brown.

For her part, she had turned out okay.  The nanobot ate constantly at any excessive frosting or fat build-up, keeping her in better shape than she could ever have been on her own.  Occasionally, when it would malfunction and she found herself swelling again, a quick trip to maintenance (who turned out to be a team of mystics) would fix her right up.

She’d even managed to sad-story her way into the chef position.  Though, for all her frosting, she preferred good old elbow grease to the magic.