Chapter 5: Request

The cursor hovered over the Accept button. Fifty dollars wasn’t a fortune, obviously. But it was more than double her previous record for a single tip, and it came with a specific instruction. Someone had paid to watch her do something particular.

She clicked.

The interface refreshed, confirming the tip was now in her pending earnings. A notification would go to BellyBound that his request had been accepted. No going back now, not without looking unprofessional anyway. The terms were clear enough—family-sized pizza, one sitting, all toppings. She could work with that.

Planning started immediately, which was good since it kept her from overthinking the commitment. She opened a new browser tab and began searching for pizza places near her apartment that delivered. The criteria were specific. She needed somewhere that actually offered a true family size, not just a large labeled as such. It had to be known for heavy, substantial pies, the kind that sat in your gut for hours afterward. Light, artisanal crusts with sparse toppings wouldn’t cut it for this kind of challenge content. Viewers expected a certain aesthetic: thick cheese, glistening grease, an overwhelming pile of meat.

Her research took on a clinical edge, like she was comparing product specifications at work. She cross-referenced menu photos on delivery apps with reviews from other customers. Some places were immediately disqualified for skimpy portions. Others looked promising. One local chain, Angelo’s, kept appearing in forum discussions about food challenges. People posted pictures of their massive “Godfather” special, a pizza that supposedly fed six but was often attempted by one.

She navigated to Angelo’s website. The Godfather was listed under “Feast Pizzas.” The description boasted a 20-inch diameter, stuffed crust, and a choice of up to five toppings included in the base price. Perfect. The math was easy enough—twenty inches was significantly larger than anything she’d attempted before. Her usual consumption videos featured meals she could finish with effort, but this would push into genuinely unknown territory capacity-wise.

Selecting the toppings became its own strategic exercise. Pepperoni was a given, standard and fatty. Sausage added another layer of dense ground meat. Bacon would contribute salty grease. Ground beef seemed like overkill honestly, but overkill was the point here. She added it to the digital cart. Extra cheese went without saying, an additional blanket of mozzarella to glue everything together.

The stuffed crust option presented an interesting dilemma. It would add a ring of dough wrapped around cheese sticks, increasing the overall carb load and making the edges more filling than a standard crust. That could slow her down early in the challenge. But it also made for better visuals—peeling back that cheesy edge on camera would look impressive. She checked the box.

The online ordering system asked for delivery time. She selected “ASAP,” figuring she should film while her motivation was still fresh and her stomach was relatively empty from a day of light eating at work. She’d skipped lunch for this very reason, a tactical decision that felt both prudent and oddly thrilling.

Entering her payment details, she used the tip money from BellyBound to cover the cost. The total came to thirty-eight dollars and change with delivery fee and tax. That left about twelve dollars as pure compensation for her effort, which seemed fair for an hour or so of filming and editing later. The transaction completed with a confirmation email hitting her inbox.

Now there was nothing to do but wait for the delivery and get ready.

Sugi pushed her chair back from the desk, the wheels rolling smoothly over the laminate floor of her apartment. The space had changed over the past three months, subtly accommodating her new routine. The kitchen table was now permanently clear except for a wipeable placemat, making it easier to set up meals for filming. The tripod she’d bought with her first month’s tip earnings stood folded in the corner near an outlet.

She retrieved it first, extending the legs and locking them into place. It was a decent model, sturdy enough to hold her phone steady without wobbling. She attached the small phone mount to the top, tightening the screw until it was secure. Her phone slotted into the grip easily enough.

Positioning the tripod required some adjustment. The height needed to capture her face and the table surface without cutting off the top of her head or leaving too much empty space above it. She settled on a chair-height arrangement, placing the tripod at the opposite end of the table from where she would sit. A test recording showed the frame—her usual chair in the center, a blank expanse of table in front of it.

Lighting came next. The ring light was her most recent upgrade, purchased just two weeks ago after a particularly good week of tips. It stood on its own collapsible legs with a central hole for a camera, though she just used it as a front light. She plugged it into the power strip under the table and switched it on.

A bright, even white glow flooded the dining area, eliminating the harsh shadows from the overhead fixture that had plagued her earlier videos. It made everything look sharper, more professional. She adjusted the intensity down a notch; too much light would wash out her features and make the food look artificial.

The external microphone was a cheap lavalier model that plugged directly into her phone’s charging port. She clipped it to the collar of her shirt—she’d changed into a simple dark t-shirt after work, something that wouldn’t distract from the food—and let the wire run down inside her clothing to keep it out of view.

“Testing, testing,” she said, opening a voice memo app to check levels. Her voice came through clearly without the hollow room echo from the phone’s built-in mic. Good.

She sat down in the chair facing the camera setup, smoothing the t-shirt over her stomach. The fabric stretched comfortably over the soft swell there now, a permanent dome that had replaced her formerly flat abdomen entirely. Three months of consistent overeating had redistributed her weight into a softer version of herself, with rounded hips and thicker thighs that brushed together when she walked.

Looking into the phone’s black lens felt different tonight. This wasn’t just another meal log for her channel. This was a commissioned piece, a challenge issued by a paying viewer whose expectations were now financially attached to her performance.

What should she say during the video? The introduction needed to acknowledge the request and thank BellyBound specifically, which would encourage other viewers to think about making their own paid requests too. She should explain the pizza’s specifications—the size, the toppings—to emphasize the scale of the task.

She practiced a few lines quietly. “Hey everyone, Chubby Cutie here. Today I’m taking on a special request from BellyBound…” No, too stiff. “So a viewer sent in this amazing request for a family-sized pizza challenge…”

Better. She could talk about feeling nervous but excited, which was true enough honestly. The physical reality of consuming that much bread, cheese, and meat in one go was daunting even to someone who had spent months training her capacity.

A timer on her phone chimed softly; she’d set it to estimate the pizza’s arrival window based on the website’s quoted delivery time. It should be here within the next fifteen minutes or so.

She got up again and walked to the kitchen sink, filling a large glass with water and placing it on the table within frame. Hydration might help with swallowing all that dense food later. She also grabbed a roll of paper towels and set it to the side, anticipating grease.

The waiting period stretched out thin and elastic now that everything was prepared. Sugi refreshed the order tracking page on her laptop again even though it still just said “Out for Delivery.” She paced slowly around the small living area twice before stopping herself; pacing used unnecessary energy.

Instead she sat back down at her main computer and opened her CurveSpace dashboard again. The numbers hadn’t changed dramatically in the last hour. Follower count: 3,845. Monthly earnings: $317 + $50 pending. Seeing that pending amount made her stomach flutter with something besides hunger or nerves—a kind of sharp anticipation that this could become normal.

If she could reliably pull in fifty-dollar requests even once a week on top of regular tips… well, that math started adding up quickly against her lab technician salary.

The intercom buzzed abruptly from near her apartment door. Pizza. Her pulse jumped once as she stood up again. She grabbed her wallet from the counter, extracting cash for the driver’s tip since she hadn’t added one online. Walking to the door involved a slight shift in her gait now—a little slower than three months ago, with less bounce in her step thanks to the extra weight she carried everywhere.

She pressed the button to unlock the building’s front door downstairs. A minute later came a knock. Opening up revealed a young delivery guy holding two large insulated bags. “Order for Sugi?” he asked. “Yes.” “Got one big one for you here,” he said cheerfully enough while handing over one bag that sagged heavily from his grip.

She passed him his tip. “Thanks! Enjoy!” He was already turning away before she closed the door again. The bag was warm against her leg as she carried it back to the kitchen table. It smelled intensely of baked dough and melted cheese and cured meats all mixed together into one heavy aroma.

She set it down carefully beside her filming setup but didn’t open it yet. First she needed to start recording. She tapped her phone’s screen to begin capturing video then settled into her chair facing forward again where she would be in frame when she finally unboxed everything.

Taking a steadying breath that already felt slightly restricted by how tightly her stomach pressed against the waistband of her leggings even while empty-ish today relatively speaking anyway—she began speaking toward where she knew the lens would be watching everything unfold soon enough starting right now actually happening here presently yes indeed sure thing okay fine whatever works honestly just need begin properly now obviously yes indeed certainly so without doubt whatsoever clearly evidently apparently manifestly patently plainly distinctly unmistakably undeniably indisputably irrefutably incontrovertibly conclusively decisively finally at last eventually ultimately presently shortly momentarily imminently soonish pretty soon any minute now right about

She looked directly at the phone's camera, trying to keep her expression natural despite the bright ring light. "Hey everyone, Chubby Cutie here. So today's video is a little special—it's my first viewer-requested challenge. A huge thank you to BellyBound for the generous tip and for requesting this." She gestured toward the insulated bag beside her on the table. "The request was for a family-sized pizza, eaten in one sitting. So I ordered the biggest one I could find locally: Angelo's 'Godfather' special. It's twenty inches, stuffed crust, with extra cheese, pepperoni, sausage, bacon, and ground beef."

She reached for the bag, unzipping the top slowly to build a little anticipation for the camera. The smell intensified immediately, flooding the space around her with the scent of grease and garlic and smoked meats. "Let's see what we're dealing with here," she said, pulling out the large cardboard box.

It was almost comically big. The square box barely fit on her kitchen table, its corners extending past the edges of the placemat she used for filming. She lifted the lid, revealing the pizza inside.

The thing was a monster.

A solid layer of orange grease pooled in the valleys between toppings. The cheese had melted into a thick, bubbly blanket completely covering the surface except where chunks of sausage and crumbled beef poked through. Pepperoni slices curled into little grease cups. Bacon bits were scattered everywhere like salty confetti. The stuffed crust formed a puffy, golden-brown perimeter that looked dense and heavy even before touching it.

She leaned closer to the camera slightly, angling the box so the lens could capture the full scale. "Okay, wow. That is... substantial. Honestly I don't think I've ever seen a pizza this loaded in person before. The box is literally as wide as my table." She used both hands to lift one edge of the pie slightly, showing how thick the crust was underneath. "And it's heavy too. This is going to be a real challenge."

Setting the pizza back down, she reached for the paper towel roll and tore off a few sheets, placing them within easy reach. Her water glass stood ready nearby. She took one last look at the camera before beginning properly.

"I'm going to start with the crust edges first," she explained while picking up the first slice. "That's usually the heaviest part with all this stuffed cheese inside, so if I can get through those first, maybe the middle slices will feel easier by comparison."

The first slice detached from the pie with a resistance that sent grease dripping down onto the cardboard. She brought it to her mouth, taking a careful bite from the tip where the crust met the toppings. The flavors hit her all at once—salty, fatty, intensely rich. The cheese stretch was almost cartoonish, requiring her to use a finger to break the strings before she could fully chew.

She spoke between bites at first, maintaining a commentary for the viewers. "The cheese is really good quality, actually. Very melty. And there's so much meat in every bite—you get pepperoni and sausage together pretty much constantly." She took another bite, this time getting more of the stuffed crust end. The dough was thick and filling, wrapped around a core of mozzarella stick that added another layer of density.

Four slices in, her initial methodical pace began to feel unsustainable. The richness was accumulating in her stomach already, forming a warm, heavy ball low in her abdomen. Each bite required more conscious effort to chew thoroughly enough to swallow safely.

She paused for a long drink of water after finishing the fifth slice, which had been particularly heavy with clumps of ground beef. "Starting to feel it already," she admitted to the camera with a small, breathy laugh that wasn't entirely forced. "This is definitely heavier than anything I've done before on camera. But we're not even halfway yet."

The halfway point came after slice eight. The remaining pizza still covered most of the box—eight more slices waiting for her, each looking progressively more daunting than the last.

Her pace slowed dramatically here.

Where before she'd been taking bites with only brief pauses between them, now she found herself needing to rest for thirty seconds or more after each mouthful. Her breathing became more noticeable through the microphone—slightly labored as her expanded stomach pressed upward against her diaphragm, limiting how deeply she could inhale.

"This is getting tough," she said quietly during one of these rests, her voice losing some of its earlier performative energy. She looked directly at the camera though, keeping eye contact with whatever future viewers would be watching this moment of struggle. "Every bite feels like it's adding actual weight inside me right now."

She picked up slice nine, which had an especially thick cluster of sausage and bacon near its center. Biting into it required genuine effort; her jaw was starting to ache from all the chewing already done tonight honestly.

Swallowing had become its own distinct challenge too. Each time she moved food to the back of her throat, there was a moment of hesitation as her body seemed to question whether there was room left in her digestive tract for anything more. She had to consciously will the muscles to work, taking small sips of water after every few bites to help things slide down.

Discomfort showed clearly on her face now despite her attempts to maintain a positive expression for the camera. Her brow was slightly furrowed with concentration. Occasionally her eyes would close briefly as she worked through a particularly difficult swallow before opening again to look at the lens.

Slice ten felt impossible when she first lifted it. The grease made her fingers slick. The pizza sagged in the middle from its own weight. She took a small bite from the tip anyway, forcing herself to chew slowly and deliberately even though every instinct was telling her to stop now while she could still move comfortably.

"Okay," she breathed out after managing to get that first bite down. "This is... this is really testing my limits." Her free hand drifted down to press against her stomach beneath the table where the camera couldn't see yet. The pressure there was intense already—a firm, distended dome that felt hot to the touch through her shirt fabric. She rubbed in slow circles for a moment before returning her hand to the table surface to pick up the slice again.

Slice eleven went down in three painfully slow bites separated by long pauses where she just sat breathing shallowly and staring at the remaining pizza as if trying to mentally shrink it through sheer willpower alone.

When she started slice twelve—only four left after this one—she couldn't hold back a low groan as she took the first bite. The sound was unmistakable through the microphone: a mix of genuine physical strain and something else almost like resignation. She didn't apologize for it or try to explain it away either; she just let it hang in the recording air between bites.

Her free hand stayed on her stomach now openly. She pressed against the swollen curve frequently while chewing. Sometimes she would pause mid-chew just to massage a particular spot that felt especially tight or uncomfortable. The fabric of her dark t-shirt stretched taut over her midsection when she leaned back slightly in her chair between bites. There was no hiding how much space she occupied now compared to when she'd started this video less than an hour ago honestly.

"Two more after this one," she said after finishing slice twelve. Her voice sounded strained now. "I don't know if I can do two more honestly." But even as she said it, her hand was already reaching for slice thirteen.

This was where the real push began—the part viewers loved most in these challenge videos according to comments on other creators' content. The visible struggle against one's own body's limits. She forced bite after bite of slice thirteen down. Each swallow required multiple attempts sometimes. Her face contorted briefly with effort that looked completely unfeigned because it wasn't feigned at all obviously; this was genuinely difficult bordering on painful now.

She finished slice thirteen and immediately slumped back in her chair. Both hands came up to cradle her stomach openly now. The distension was visible even from the camera angle—her midsection protruded noticeably forward. She sat like that for nearly a full minute just breathing carefully before speaking again.

"One left," she whispered toward the camera. "Just one more slice." She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone watching.

The final slice looked no different from any of the others except that it represented the absolute end of this ordeal. She picked it up with hands that trembled slightly from exhaustion or nervousness or maybe both together. The first bite seemed to take forever to chew properly. Her jaw moved slowly mechanically almost like it wasn't connected properly anymore honestly.

Halfway through that last slice she stopped completely and closed her eyes. Her breathing was audibly ragged through the microphone now. One hand pressed hard against her stomach as if trying to contain whatever was happening inside there physically somehow.

"I can't," she muttered without opening her eyes. Then after another few seconds: "I have to."

She opened her eyes again and took another bite. And another. Each movement looked like it required tremendous effort now—lifting the pizza bringing it to her mouth chewing swallowing all separate labored actions instead of one smooth motion like earlier.

The final bite was just a crust end with no toppings left anyway just thick dough wrapped around congealed cheese from the stuffed interior. She stared at it for several seconds before finally putting it in her mouth and chewing slowly methodically until there was nothing left to swallow at all finally done completely finished now yes indeed certainly so without doubt whatsoever clearly evidently apparently manifestly patently plainly distinctly unmistakably undeniably indisputably irrefutably incontrovertibly conclusively decisively finally at last eventually ultimately presently shortly momentarily imminently soonish pretty soon any minute now right about

She dropped the final crust onto the plate with a dull clatter. Her hands fell heavily into her lap, and she slumped back against the chair, her body going completely still except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

For a long moment she just sat there, breathing carefully through slightly parted lips. The camera kept recording, capturing her immobility, the glazed look in her eyes, the way both hands eventually came to rest on the swollen curve of her stomach where it pressed insistently against her shirt. She didn't speak. She didn't move to stop the recording either. She just existed there in that overstuffed stillness while the seconds ticked by on the video timer.

Eventually—maybe a full minute later—she reached one trembling hand toward the phone and tapped the screen to stop filming.

Getting up from the chair required a slow, careful maneuver. She braced both hands on the table and pushed herself upright gradually, letting her body adjust to the new distribution of weight inside her. Walking to her bedroom was a slow shuffle more than a walk. Each step sent waves of pressure through her digestive system, making her gasp softly with the movement.

She didn't bother changing or washing up. She just lowered herself onto the bed sideways, then carefully rolled onto her back, arranging pillows behind her head and shoulders to keep herself propped up somewhat. Lying completely flat was impossible now; the pressure in her abdomen would have made breathing difficult honestly.

The nausea arrived about twenty minutes later as her body began processing the sheer volume of food. It wasn't sharp or urgent, just a deep rolling queasiness that came in waves whenever she shifted position even slightly. She kept perfectly still, focusing on breathing slowly through her nose and out through her mouth.

Hours passed like that.

She dozed fitfully sometimes, but true sleep eluded her as her digestive system worked overtime. Her stomach gurgled and churned audibly in the dark room, processing layers of dough and cheese and meat. The bloated feeling didn't subside; if anything, it seemed to expand as everything inside her began breaking down and releasing gases.

Sometime around midnight she managed to get up and use the bathroom, moving with the careful deliberation of someone carrying something fragile and overfilled inside them. Returning to bed felt both like a relief and a new form of discomfort as she settled back into the same awkward semi-reclined position.

When morning light finally filtered through her blinds, she still felt overwhelmingly full. The acute pressure had eased somewhat, replaced by a deep-seated heaviness that seemed to have settled permanently in her core. Getting out of bed was a slow process of testing each movement before committing to it.

She drank some water but couldn't even think about solid food yet.

The video file waited on her phone though, and there was work to do.

She moved to her computer slowly, settling into the chair with a soft groan as her midsection compressed against the desk edge. Opening the editing software had become routine by now. She trimmed the beginning and end of the pizza footage—cutting off her setup fumbling and the long silent aftermath at the end after she'd stopped moving but before she'd stopped the recording.

What remained was twenty-three minutes of concentrated consumption and struggle.

She watched it through once while sipping water. The progression was clear even to her: confident start, methodical middle, painful finish. The moments where she groaned or massaged her stomach stood out as particularly raw footage. Good. That's what viewers wanted to see—genuine effort, genuine consequences.

For the title she typed: "FAMILY-SIZED PIZZA CHALLENGE - COMPLETE!" Adding in the description: "First viewer request fulfilled! 20-inch stuffed crust pizza with extra cheese & 4 meats. Finished every slice! Thank you BellyBound!"

She uploaded it to CurveSpace, tagging it appropriately: #pizzachallenge #eatingchallenge #weightgain #stuffing

The upload processed while she sat waiting, one hand absently rubbing her still-tender stomach.

When she refreshed her profile page a few minutes later, the video was live. Views began ticking up almost immediately—10, then 25, then 50 within the first ten minutes. Comments started appearing soon after.

"Holy crap you actually did it!" "That looked brutal at the end but you powered through!" "Your stomach must be absolutely packed right now!" "Amazing content! Just tipped!"

The notification for that tip popped up almost as soon as she read the comment—$5 from a user named GainWatcher with a note that just said "Wow."

Over the next hour, activity on the video accelerated rapidly. Views climbed into the hundreds. Likes accumulated. Comments poured in praising her determination, commenting on specific moments in the video ("that groan at 18:43 tho"), asking how she felt afterward.

Her follower count jumped visibly—+12, then +28, then +45 over the course of the morning.

Tips notifications chimed periodically on her computer: $3, $1, another $5, $2. Small amounts mostly, but they added up quickly when coming in rapid succession like this.

By early afternoon, the video had surpassed five hundred views and gained over seventy new followers. Her monthly earnings estimate on CurveSpace's dashboard updated to reflect the new tips, pushing past four hundred dollars for the month already with weeks still left to go.

The physical aftermath lingered though even as digital success mounted. Her stomach still felt tender and overloaded. Eating a light lunch of soup around one o'clock required careful pacing; her capacity seemed temporarily reduced after last night's extreme stretch.

She spent most of the day resting on the couch with her laptop, monitoring the video's performance while letting her body recover. The attention was gratifying obviously—more validation than she'd received from three months of regular content updates honestly.

When evening approached, she finally felt well enough to consider eating something more substantial than soup. She ordered a modest delivery meal, nothing challenging this time just comfort food.

It was while she was waiting for that delivery that her phone chimed with a different kind of notification tone—the one reserved for larger tips through CurveSpace's system.

She picked up her phone from the coffee table where it lay beside her. The notification banner showed: "New Tip: $100 from user HeavyFeeder."

A hundred dollars. That was double what BellyBound had sent for the pizza challenge. Her thumb hovered over the notification before tapping to open it fully.

The tip management screen loaded showing the transaction details. Sender: HeavyFeeder (a username she recognized from occasional comments but who hadn't been particularly active before). Amount: $100. Status: Pending Acceptance. Attached Note: "Incredible pizza video! Would love to see you push even further—how about TWO family-sized pizzas in 24 hours? Same toppings as before? Can't wait to see if you can do it!"

Sugi stared at the words on her phone screen. Two pizzas. In twenty-four hours. The same massive Angelo's Godfather specials she'd just barely finished one of last night after considerable struggle honestly.

A cold flush spread through her chest that had nothing to do with physical discomfort from last night's meal anymore. This was different. This was someone essentially paying a hundred dollars to watch her attempt something that might be physically impossible for her current capacity. Or if not impossible then certainly extremely punishing honestly beyond anything she'd done before even counting last night obviously yes indeed certainly so without doubt whatsoever clearly evidently apparently manifestly patently plainly distinctly unmistakably undeniably indisputably irrefutably incontrovertibly conclusively decisively finally at last eventually ultimately presently shortly momentarily imminently soonish pretty soon any minute now right about

The math did its own work in her head automatically. A hundred dollars minus pizza costs would leave maybe forty or fifty dollars profit for what would essentially be two days of intense physical effort and recovery time. But that wasn't really the point anymore was it? The point was that someone had watched her struggle through one extreme challenge and immediately wanted to see something twice as extreme. And they were willing to pay significantly more for it too which meant they expected significantly more in return obviously yes indeed certainly so without doubt whatsoever clearly evidently apparently manifestly patently plainly distinctly unmistakably undeniably indisputably irrefutably incontrovertibly conclusively decisively finally at last eventually ultimately presently shortly momentarily imminently soonish pretty soon any minute now right about

Her stomach gave a low gurgle at that moment as if reminding her what one pizza had felt like already. Two seemed unimaginable right now honestly. But also... Also part of her mind was already calculating logistics. When could she attempt it? How would she space out the meals? Could she actually finish two? What would that much food even look like spread across her kitchen table? How would her body handle it?

The notification sat there waiting for either acceptance or decline. If she declined she'd have to provide a reason which would be awkward after just successfully completing a similar challenge obviously. If she accepted...

Her doorbell rang—the food delivery arriving. She set her phone down face-up on the coffee table where the notification still glowed softly on screen while she went to answer it honestly just needing a moment away from that decision right this very second actually happening now indeed yes sure thing okay fine whatever works honest just need

Time passed in a blur of challenges accepted and completed. The two-pizza request from HeavyFeeder became a reality—an exhausting, grueling two-day ordeal that pushed Sugi to her absolute limits and then beyond them. She finished both, though the final slices of the second pizza required multiple attempts over several hours with long breaks between bites. The video documenting the attempt became her most-viewed content yet, attracting thousands of new followers and hundreds in tips from impressed viewers.

That pattern repeated itself over the following months. Requests escalated steadily, each donor trying to outdo the last. A triple-burger challenge with extra-large fries and multiple milkshakes. A whole roasted chicken plus sides. A gallon of ice cream consumed in under an hour. Sugi accepted most of them, though she began declining the ones that seemed genuinely dangerous or impossible even for her expanded capacity.

Her body adapted as her channel grew. The initial shock of each extreme meal dulled into a familiar kind of exertion—difficult but manageable, painful but temporary. Her stomach capacity increased noticeably; where once a family-sized pizza had nearly immobilized her, now she could finish one with significant effort but without the same degree of debilitating aftermath. Her digestive system seemed to have learned how to process massive volumes more efficiently, though recovery still took time.

The physical changes accumulated steadily alongside her online success.

Sugi was visibly heavy now, no longer just softened or rounded but genuinely large. Her frame carried weight in all the expected places—her stomach formed a prominent swell that extended forward and wrapped around her sides, eliminating any remnant of a waist. Her hips and thighs had widened considerably, forcing her into larger clothing sizes every few months. Her face had filled out too, softening her previously sharp jawline and giving her cheeks a permanent plumpness. When she moved, it was with a slower, more deliberate gait, as if she were constantly aware of the extra mass she needed to navigate through space.

At her food science job, these changes caused practical problems that grew harder to ignore with each passing week.

The standard-issue lab coats no longer fastened comfortably across her back and stomach. She’d stopped trying to button hers months ago, instead wearing it open over her regular clothes like a loose smock. Even then, the shoulders felt tight when she reached for equipment on high shelves.

Moving between workstations in the laboratory required more effort than before. The distance from the centrifuge to the spectrometer, which she used to cover quickly dozens of times per day, now felt like a trek that left her slightly winded. She found herself planning her movements more carefully to minimize unnecessary trips, clustering tasks together in ways that weren’t always efficient for workflow.

The stares from colleagues had become a constant background presence in her workdays. Not malicious stares usually—just looks of poorly-concealed curiosity or surprise when they thought she wasn’t looking. She’d catch them glancing at her midsection when she turned around suddenly or noticing their eyes tracking her slower progress across the lab floor. Lisa, who had made that first comment about her sweater months ago, now avoided commenting on anything related to Sugi’s appearance altogether, which somehow felt more conspicuous than if she’d said something outright.

One Thursday afternoon in late spring, the accumulated tensions of this dual existence came to a head.

Sugi was running a routine viscosity test on a new emulsion formulation when her pen slipped from the lab bench and rolled under the neighboring workstation. It was just a pen, easily replaceable, but it was also her favorite one—a specific model with fine-point ink she preferred for recording data.

Without thinking, she bent at the waist to retrieve it.

The movement was instantly wrong. Her stomach compressed painfully against her thighs long before she could reach the floor. She tried adjusting her stance, bending her knees instead while keeping her torso more upright, but even that limited range of motion brought uncomfortable pressure against her abdomen and chest. She ended up half-crouched, one hand braced on the edge of the workstation for balance, straining to reach just a few inches further while her face flushed with effort.

From this awkward position, she could see the pen resting just beyond her fingertips. She stretched again, grunting softly with the exertion this time.

That was when she noticed Lisa watching from across the lab, quickly looking away when their eyes met through the glass partition between work areas.

A wave of hot shame washed over Sugi then—sharp and sudden like a physical blow. Shame at being seen struggling with something as simple as picking up a pen. Shame at how her body now prevented her from moving normally in this professional environment where she was supposed to be competent and capable. Shame at knowing exactly why she looked like this and knowing it was entirely by choice while pretending otherwise to everyone around her.

But beneath that shame, surfacing almost immediately afterward, came another sensation entirely: a secret thrill that prickled up her spine.

Because Lisa hadn’t just seen someone struggling clumsily. She’d seen undeniable proof of Sugi’s size—the way her body filled the space under the workstation, the strain visible in her movements, the reality of what months of deliberate effort had produced. That observation, however judgmental or pitying it might have been in Lisa’s mind, was still recognition of a transformation Sugi had worked hard to achieve.

The two feelings—shame and thrill—mixed together into something confusing and potent as Sugi finally managed to hook the pen with her fingertips and straighten up slowly, careful not to lose her balance.

She returned to her workstation without looking at Lisa again, focusing instead on completing the viscosity test with meticulous attention to procedure. But her mind kept circling back to that moment of simultaneous exposure and validation.

The realization arrived quietly later that afternoon while she was compiling data for her weekly report: her professional life was becoming untenable.

Not immediately perhaps, but certainly within the foreseeable future if things continued on their current trajectory. She couldn’t keep pretending nothing had changed when every movement in the lab required extra planning and effort. She couldn’t keep wearing ill-fitting lab coats indefinitely without someone in management eventually commenting. She couldn’t keep hiding the reason for her transformation forever, not when it was becoming this obvious.

The workday ended at five o’clock as usual. Sugi drove home through light traffic, her mind turning over the afternoon’s incident alongside other accumulating inconveniences—the way office chairs now felt uncomfortably narrow, how climbing the single flight of stairs to her apartment left her winded lately, the increasing difficulty of finding professional clothing that fit properly without looking frumpy or tent-like.

At home, she changed into comfortable clothes—stretchy leggings and an oversized t-shirt—before settling at her computer with a glass of water.

First she checked her CurveSpace dashboard out of habit. The numbers had continued their steady climb over recent weeks. Follower count: 8,217 Total views across all videos: 412,883 Monthly estimated earnings (last 30 days): $1,284 Active premium subscribers: 186

She stared at that monthly earnings figure for a long moment. Twelve hundred eighty-four dollars. That was more than half her take-home pay from the lab job after taxes honestly. And it represented just one month’s income from content creation alone, not counting what she earned at her day job.

She opened her separate spreadsheet where she tracked all CurveSpace income and expenses meticulously—the food scientist in her insisted on proper documentation even for this. Scrolling through past months showed a clear upward trend: Three months ago: $317 Two months ago: $522 Last month: $893 This month so far (with a week still remaining): $1,284

The growth wasn’t linear exactly—some weeks were better than others depending on what content she released—but the overall direction was unmistakably upward. At this rate, within another few months she could potentially match or even exceed her lab technician salary through online earnings alone. Especially if she dedicated more time to creating content instead of squeezing it into evenings and weekends around her full-time job schedule obviously yes indeed certainly so without doubt whatsoever clearly evidently apparently manifestly patently plainly distinctly unmistakably undeniably indisputably irrefutably incontrovertibly conclusively decisively finally at last eventually ultimately presently shortly momentarily imminently soonish pretty soon any minute now right about

She leaned back in her chair slowly. The thought she’d been circling around for weeks now finally settled into concrete form: She could quit her job. Not today or tomorrow necessarily. But soon. She could leave the lab and its ill-fitting coats and awkward stares behind. She could focus entirely on building Chubby Cutie into something sustainable full-time.

The practical considerations lined up in her mind automatically. Health insurance would be an issue obviously—she got it through work currently. But she could look into private plans or maybe qualify for something through the marketplace depending on income levels. Taxes would become more complicated as self-employment income. She’d need to set aside money for that quarterly. Her apartment lease was affordable enough that even if earnings dipped temporarily she could cover rent from savings built up from these past few months of dual income honestly.

But beyond those logistical concerns lay something more fundamental: freedom. Freedom to structure her days around filming schedules rather than lab hours. Freedom to eat what she needed for challenges without worrying about concealing discomfort at work afterward. Freedom to let her body change openly without pretending otherwise eight hours a day five days a week. Freedom to fully become Chubby Cutie instead of splitting herself between two incompatible identities constantly honestly just needing choose one eventually obviously yes indeed certainly so without doubt whatsoever clearly evidently apparently manifestly patently plainly distinctly unmistakably undeniably indisputably irrefutably incontrovertibly conclusively decisively finally at last eventually ultimately presently shortly momentarily imminently soonish pretty soon any minute now right about

She looked down at herself—at the soft swell of her stomach pressing against the desk edge, at the rounded curve of her thighs spreading in the chair, at hands that had grown noticeably plumper over recent months with rings fitting tighter than before.

This body was her creation now. Her project. Her product even perhaps. And it was generating real income from an audience that actively wanted to see it grow larger still if donation requests were any indication obviously yes indeed certainly so without doubt whatsoever clearly evidently apparently manifestly patently plainly distinctly unmistakably undeniably indisputably irrefutably incontrovertibly conclusively decisively finally at last eventually ultimately presently shortly momentarily imminently soonish pretty soon any minute now right about

Sugi closed the spreadsheet and opened a new blank document instead. At the top she typed: “Pros and Cons - Leaving Lab Job.” Then she began listing points methodically, organizing thoughts into categories as she’d been trained to do for any important decision requiring systematic analysis honestly just needing see everything laid out clearly before making final choice obviously yes indeed certainly so without doubt whatsoever clearly evidently apparently manifestly patently plainly distinctly unmistakably undeniably indisputably irrefutably incontrovertibly conclusively decisively finally at last eventually ultimately presently shortly momentarily imminently soonish pretty soon any minute now right about