>>2813Here's a section from the second chapter. Compare with the original source:
https://www.deviantart.com/crudeatoms/art/Test-of-Generations-2-860957803When Pete Jr saw Ginger waddling to the door to the yard, he got up and helped her. It was already open, just not open enough.
“Thanks,” she said as he slid the glass door as far as he could.
“You’re welcome.”
He stood to the side and watched her wheel out a cart, creaking under the load of what could have been called a banquet (by him) or snack (by his mother). The cart wasn’t the only thing that was heavy - even with the door open, Ginger’s hips barely made it through.
Phoebe’s eyes lit up when she saw the food coming. Pete Jr knew it wasn’t that she was hungry. After all, she had a tube in her mouth, pumping her full of rich slop infused with weight gain powder and potent appetite stimulants.
But that was flavored goo.
This was real food.
Another servant, Ronda, came out with another cart. She was newer than Ginger - at only around 300 pounds she stepped through the door with ease.
Both wore uniforms Molly and Phoebe, as heads of the household, had commissioned for their servants - dresses tight enough to show every bulge and curve, but stretchy enough to survive their growth. Strangely, few of the maids hired by their family displayed the urge to grow alongside their mistresses. Yet still, an endless cycle of feeding and cleaning and cooking basically ensured weight gain, at some point. Beneath the notice of their employers the maids of the town had an entire subculture to themselves, including superstitions about magical energies and satanic pacts for endless growth.
Pete Jr loved them, not that he knew anything about all that. Not allowed to have “big boy sex” as his mother annoyingly called it, he fantasized about the revolving cast of maids. Before Samantha, of course. Now every woman paled before her divine beauty.
Ginger dragged her cart onto a small, elevated platform. She turned off Phoebe’s food pump and started feeding her by hand. Pete Jr listened as his mother moaned and gasped in ecstasy. “Mm, yes, feed me!" she said.
“It’s an honor to fatten you up, miss,” Ginger said.
Phoebe smiled at her. Thanks to the best weight gain powder available anywhere, she didn’t have a human shape anymore. Her face emerged from a vast sea of blubber and rolls that swallowed her limbs. Her breasts, belly and ass had all merged into one enormous blob.
She was fat, even by the standards of this town, which made her the fattest person in history.
But it wasn’t enough. She weighed tens of tons and was too big for any house… but if a genie offered to double her weight, she would in a moment.
She was extraordinarily obese… but not fat enough.
Molly felt the same way, she knew. Her best friend turned lover turned sister-wife was probably only a thousand pounds lighter than her… and closing the gap. The beautiful blonde was too competitive to settle for second biggest.
If Phoebe was at all insecure, she might be worried. Molly had a great appetite and her pale skin had developed a tan from being in (that is, taking up half of) the backyard. Plus she and Peter had a history.
She could turn their husband’s head as easily as breathing.
But she wasn’t worried. Partly because Peter could feed and fuck every woman in the world, and she knew he’d still have the time to satisfy her. And partly because Phoebe wasn’t the kind of girl to feel shame even before her sudden slip into obesity.
Phoebe missed her husband - he had been gone for months and the video visits with her touchless computer set up didn’t cut it - but she knew when he returned, he was gonna lose all control and sink into her fat body, bringing them both endless pleasure…
Molly simpered at her closest sister-wife. She knew Phoebe well enough to know what she was thinking, even behind those balloon cheeks of hers. It was easier to spot her face, flagged by gorgeous black curls tipped with blonde highlights, flowing into a huge mane that threatened to obscure her entire vision if she didn’t get it cut every month or so. Molly was lucky, hers was straight. Still, letting it get too long was awfully itchy.
Pete Jr smiled as Ginger fed his birth-mother, Phoebe, and Ronda fed his other mother, Molly. One of these days, Samantha would give in and him fatten her up like this…
“Hey,” Riley said, sidling up next to him. Her face was flushed and she gleamed of sweat. She was still the opposite of who her mother was now - lean, toned and athletic, with no desire to eat more than three light meals a day.
She exercised regularly, in a family with women too fat to wiggle their fingers. Or rather, too preoccupied to try. They still had all their muscle, somewhere under there.
“Hey,” Pete Jr said.
“Dad gets back soon, right?” she asked.
“I think so?” he said, even though he was counting down the days. They had been chatting every other day on the phone and he had told his father about Samantha… and how stubborn she was about staying skinny.
Peter said the same thing over and over, “Don’t get hasty Petey/patience is rewarded greatly by fate/ I’m sure it’ll turn out fine if you’re honest with her and take it slow.”
Pete Jr was a bit miffed about this. His day was an uber-cool badass playboy, why was he parroting an after-school special? Still, excitement ran up and down his spine.
“Good,” Riley said, “because I had some ideas to run by him. I know Dad did some marketing back when he was about our age, so he knows what he’s doing, but I did some research. Did you know there are entire platforms we could be advertising on-“
He scoffed. “Advertising? Every woman in town buys as much weight gain powder as she can afford. Who needs it when everyone girl wants to be fat?”
Every woman except my girl friend, he thought bitterly, hating the space between the letters.
Riley frowned. “Everyone except your girlfriend. But you gotta think bigger. What about the accessories? Feeding tubes, stretchy uniforms - I think there’s more money to be made.”
“Wow, if you like this stuff so much why do you hate getting fat?” Pete meant it as a joke, but his sister clearly didn’t take it that way.
She gave him a scowl – no, this wasn’t a scowl. She was a teenager; she scowled all the time. This was a loaded weapon, a glare that didn’t just launch daggers, but entire armories at her half-brother.
Junior walked away, desperate to avoid her gorgon gaze.
After a moment’s consideration, he then doubled back. “I hope he likes your ideas.”
“Thanks.” she said, poison dripping with the syllable. She turned her attention to her notes, a small tear dropping onto her notepad, and he wandered off, once again feeling the sting of shame.
