The Breaking of Matilda - Extended Ending

Just One More Year (Extended Ending)

Believe it or not, the idea to arrange a follow-up interview wasn't actually my own, but in fact came from Matilda herself. Or, at least, the department that ‘looked after’ her contacted me, on her behalf. Even from the assistant I dealt with, there seemed to be an air of urgency to Matilda’s request, and so immediate flights had been arranged for me, seemingly before I had actually agreed. It didn't feel like there was a moment to lose. 

During my flight, I tried to gather my thoughts and imagine what another year of extreme overindulgence would have done to Matilda's already burgeoning body. Yet, even I was unprepared for what I was about to see, as I was led into a new, even larger hall by a fast-trotting, quick talking nurse.

Matilda had been gigantic, the sheer size of such a girl imprinted vividly in my memory. Now, however, the word gigantic didn't seem even remotely adequate. She was, by definition, too big. Easily several thousand pounds heavier than the last time I had seen her, the challenge of defining the base features of a human became almost impossible. Rolls of fat fought one another, and formed deep, fleshy caverns. Mounds of soft, over-plumped skin jostled for space beneath a vast, spreading belly. I felt both keen and apprehensive to venture further, as I observed the state of the girl that, only twelve months ago, had confided in me that she didn't think she could take much more. Yet, here she was, easily weighing tons, and significantly heavier than ever before. 

My trepidation was easily outweighed by my curiosity, however, and I had enjoyed my previous meeting with Matilda - she had come across as easy-going and positive, despite her situation back then - and I only hoped that atitude had survived what must be an incredulous and punishing weight gain routine.

This time I was not raised on a platform, but instead lowered down on one, suspended from a large gantry crane that straddled the cavernous, warehouse-like space of a new, even larger testing ‘suite’.

As the platform gently lowered, I peered down at Matilda's head, sunken into its fatty surrounds of chest, back and shoulder flesh, her ginormous belly towering threateningly in front of her. I tried to bury my shocked expression with a smile, and gave a shy wave with my finger tips. Matilda smiled back weakly. I looked for a wave, but quickly realised that her hands, much like her feet, had since been cocooned within the greedy swells of fat. Briefly, I could just make out the very tips of her fingers wiggling, but that was about it. At our last meeting, she had at least been able to use her hands, but this was just another reminder of how much the gainer had grown since. 

Finally, the platform halted, and I knelt down, doing my best to reach a comfortable eye-line for us both. Matilda gazed at me with those big, beautiful eyes. There was silence. Heavy, breathy silence. Then she cracked another weak, but genuine smile.

“It's great to see you Matilda,” I ventured cheerfully, “but look, I don't have any more questions to ask. I mean, I do, just not in an official capacity, and, well… oh heck, I'm rambling…”

“Kiss me… please,” Matilda begged. Her voice was feint, and she gulped desperately for air between words.

“Sorry?”

“Please… kiss… me… it's been… so… long…

“Matilda, I don't understand…”

“So long… since your… last… visit… I couldn't… stop… thinking about… you… please… just one… kiss… before… our time is… up!”

Matilda's straining voice had a further urgency to it. This was only supposed to be a quick drop in, not an interview slot like my previous visit. Time was of the essence.

Whilst it didn't seem very dignified, I lay down on my front, hanging over the front of the platform in order to get close to Matilda's supple, plump pout. I had spent many restless nights thinking about Matilda, and so there was very little hesitation. Our lips pushed together, and I could feel her soft, fattened cheeks push against my own. Her skin was unimaginably soft - well nourished of course, stretched, and sheltered from the sun and its relentless radiation. I reached forward a hand and gently caressed the side of her face, once again admiring its tenderness.

Our moment was interrupted by the sound of a bell briefly ringing in the distance. I looked around, and when I looked back to Matilda I realised that the platform was beginning to move away. My face must have conveyed panic, but Matilda simply threw me the best smile she could, with tears forming in the ducts of her eyes.

As I lurched unsteadily to my feet, platform swaying, I traded places with another platform being lowered, as mine was rising up. On it were two nurses, equipped once again with the hose from the feeding machine, that was now routed across the gantry. I exchanged a brief and awkward look with the nurses, but they simply replied with a cheerful wave. 

“Sorry,” the slimmer of the two nurses exchanged, “We need to keep Matilda on schedule…”

Before I could find the words to retort, they disappeared further below, and I reached the top of the gantry crane, now even more confused than when I had first arrived. 

Once back on the ground, I was greeted by a short, plump nurse with mesmerising freckles and strawberry-blonde hair held in a sturdy, long plait. Her bottom and hips were just a little too large for her smock, and occasionally she would tug at it awkwardly.

She began to take me on a tour of the facility, around the gigantic, heavy duty platform and the incredible girl that manages to fill it to near-capacity. In the background I can hear the sound of the feeding pump humming into life. The nurse explained to me the cleaning regimes, the medical care Matilda received, and all the intricate processes of this monstrous operation. As we slowly navigate around the huge platform, I still find it almost impossible to comprehend that all that flesh belongs to just one girl. Frustratingly though, I find myself with one big, unanswered question.

“So, what is the purpose of this research project?” I tentatively ask the young nurse.

“Well…” she begins, but before she can continue we both freeze as an urgent sounding klaxon begins to ring out across the enormous, echoing space. Warning beacons above the doorways begin to flash and strobe. The nurse doesn't answer me. Instead, she looks around in hastened agitation for her colleagues, and then grabs my hand.

“Wait here!” She barks, “No, actually, come with me! Quick!”

Almost immediately there was a sudden and increasing bustle of bodies, moving with urgency as the klaxon continued to sound.

“What's… what's happening?” I blurted, as the nurse dragged me to an emergency exit that was already swarming with staff running both in and out. 

“We told them!” the nurse huffed, “We told them she was getting too big! They just don't listen, ever. They just want more!”

“Who does?! What's happening?!”

“They do! It doesn't… it doesn't matter… If we're lucky, this is just an early warning sensor that has triggered but… but if not, we really are in trouble. Oh heck!”

“Is… is she choking?”

“Worse - overinflating!”

“Is that even…?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” the nurse confirmed, checking back eagerly toward Matilda and the ant-like activity that surrounded her mountainous body. She continued, “Matilda's body is balancing on an absolute knife-edge, and it has been for quite some time. The heavier she gets, the harder it is to keep that balance, even with all the additives and supplements we pump into her. We've known for a while that until there are further developments - significant developments - in the formulas we use, Matilda was already far exceeding her limits, and our calculations, and we have really been pushing into the unknown. That's why they called you in, and fast.”

“Me? What's so special about me?”

“I guess you listened to her. Let her tell her story. Plus, she thinks you're kinda hot - so I've heard, anyway. I can sort of see where she's coming from with…”

“Thanks, thanks, but… but why now? What's going to happen to her?!”

“Like I say, if we're lucky, this is just an early warning sensor being triggered. We've had several of them over the past few weeks, and she's been fine, so it could just be that…”

“But?”

“If it isn't, then she'll start to gain weight - rapidly! We call it ‘Fatspansion’, but really it is an extreme metabolic reaction. It could be a few pounds, it could be a few hundred, or it could be much, much more. There's no way of knowing, and no way of controlling it…”

“And if that happens? Then what?” I asked, my eyes darting to both Matilda and the crowd in search of clues.

“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but, she could, y’know, potentially… explode…”

“Explode?!”

“I said could! Not will!” The nurse snapped, tension in the room running higher than ever.

The room continued to scurry with bodies, activity focused around the gargantuan mound of woman that formed its centerpiece. Trollies laden with equipment were hurriedly both into, and out of the exits. Pockets of commotion arose, and then died down, only to make way for others. The great, unrecognisable swellings of fat would occasionally wobble and ripple, before seemingly becoming somewhat still again. I tried several times to inch closer, away from the safety of the outer walls, but each time my wrist was firmly clamped by the anxious nurse.

There were a few climatic moments of creaking and heaving, some jostling and jiggling, and heightened panic from the crowd of support staff, but eventually stability seemed to reign over, and the room slowly emptied of urgent white coats and exhausted nurses' smocks. In fact, everyone seemed exhausted, myself included, and no one more so than poor Matilda. 

Yet another dangerously close call only highlighted just how near the huge feedee was to her limits. Whilst the plan had been for me to visit and then leave, senior staff decided it would be better if I stayed the night, and met with Matilda again the next day, to keep her spirits up. It was an offer I felt that I couldn't refuse. 

As another young nurse led me to the accommodation block through a maze of almost identical corridors, my mind puzzled at the thought of, potentially, having the world's heaviest girlfriend. And, well, that nurse did say that Matilda liked me, right?

The accommodation was comfortable, but functional - the kind of room a student nurse or doctor most likely stayed in. The air was stale, but crisp and disinfected.

That night I barely slept. Since that first interview around one year ago, it seemed that my inner feeder had been awakened. Those brief moments sharing that part eaten flapjack had been on repeat, over and over again. I couldn't put my finger on the exact forces in action, but just the thought of that already enormous body becoming even bigger, heavier and over-burdened had kept me restlessly awake for many more nights. I had to feed her again. 

The morning was spent being given another impromptu tour of further areas of the sprawling facility, although I was carefully whisked past many doors that remained private. All the while, my mind kept flitting back to Matilda and her enormity. Heck, the only reason I was being given this tour was because they, whoever they were, wanted to keep up Matilda's routine! Despite the warnings, despite yesterday, the department were still feeding her. 

“Could I make it, y’know, more of a ‘date?’” I asked the nurse with timidity, as I was finally escorted to Matilda's vast, warehouse-like room.

“A date?” She rattled, stopping dead in her tracks. 

I almost backed down. “Well, maybe more like a picnic, or something. A few snacks, one of those check tablecloths from the canteen… uhm…”

The nurse, quite a heavy woman herself, frowned her glowing brow and adjusted her big, weighty bosom. My mind scrambled for backup, “...uhm… because, well, she said how much she liked her treats when I interviewed her last year, and, and… well, doesn't she deserve a little treat after what happened yesterday?”

For a moment the nurse sucked thinly at the air, and then rolled her eyes, “Why can't my husband do thoughtful things like this?”

“So, it's… it's okay?”

“Sure. Sure, it's sweet. We'll swing by the canteen on the way there. Not too much though, Matilda's just been fed!”

A short while later I found myself standing on the familiar, suspended platform, trying to ignore the lofty height, and instead focusing on the modest selection of treats that I had obtained, wrapped in a small table cloth, reminiscent of a bindle. I waved to Matilda, and her smile grew between those big, over-indulged cheeks as my platform made its way down to a more friendly height. 

Once stationary, I knelt down and then unfurled the tablecloth, draping it over the edge of the platform, the furthest corner of it resting on the exquisitely soft flesh of her fattened chest. It perhaps wasn’t the romantic picnic scene many would imagine, but it was at least an attempt.

“What's… this?” Matilda husked.

“A picnic,” I stated, before realising how ridiculous that sounded, “well, kinda. Look, I… I like you Matilda, and I just thought you deserved something a bit special, maybe like a little date? Just us two - well, in close range, anyway…”

Matilda smiled, and nodded as best as her sunken skull would allow. I held up the flapjack bar and grinned.

“From our first da…” I stopped myself,  “...from the interview, you remember right?”

Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard, still nodding. I then held up a small bag of filled doughnuts oozing with cream, and then a dense, icing-laden cupcake. There were also eclairs, millionaires shortbread, and a few large cookies, generously coated in chocolate chips.

“Which would you like first?” I ventured. 

“The… flap… jack,” she gasped, “... but please… only a… bite… I'm full. 

She sounded full, both in her voice, and from the gentle heaving and creaking sounds her body seemed to emit, interspersed by gurgles and rumbles of industrious digestion.

No sooner had I unwrapped the flapjack and offered it up to the greedy girl, than she took a bite, and then another. My heart raced faster as she hungrily chewed and smacked with steadily increasing indulgent pleasure.

As she swallowed, I held the remainder of the flapjack bar up and smiled, dutifully trying to override my own desires and, in turn, respect her wishes. “Well, it wasn't much, but it was a nice treat I bet?”

“... More…” Matilda breathed.

“More?! But you said…”

“Please… just a little…”

She took a bite, and then another, and then devoured the last piece, her eyes rolling back with each eagre mouthful. 

“... So… full…” she whispered airlessly.

“Well, we can leave the rest and, well, talk about things and…”

“... More… Please…”

Much like the monster that was Matilda's inner greed, I also couldn't say no to assisting this gorgeous girl into excessive over-indulgence. So big - too big by far - and yet even at this incredulous size and weight, she just could not say no. She was perilously full, even by her own standards, but whatever was inside her kept on pushing for more.

“... More…” Matilda begged, helplessly.

First a doughnut, and then another. 

“You… can't beat… a real… doughnut!” She munched.

My plan had been to talk a little more - indeed, those treats had been for both of us - but with each snack heartily consumed, she was almost immediately expecting the next.

“...More…”

“...More…”

“...More…”

Slowly but surely the collection of calorific treats began to dwindle as Matilda, and perhaps myself to some degree, lost control. It now seemed that within us both, there were monsters that we would struggle to tame. Soon, there was just one large, chocolate chip cookie left.

As I held the cookie up, Matilda fixated on it, with wide, suspicious eyes. She panted heavily, gasping for air under her mountainous excess. Her cheeks and brow were flushed, and they glistened with exhausted perspiration. So very gently, she did her best to shake her head.

“... I'm… full…” Matilda said aloud, in a way that almost felt like she was reminding herself, “... I don't… think I've… ever… felt… so… stuffed… I… I feel… fit to… burst…”

There was a moment of silence as the huge gainer desperately tried to catch her breath. However, as I gently lowered the cookie back toward the blanket, I couldn't help but notice that Matilda's gaze remained locked onto it with a hawk-like side eye. She still wanted it. Inside her mind, there was an incredible battle taking place - one in which I'm pretty sure she'd lost the ability to win.

In vain I tried to spark up conversation to try and get her attention, to distract her, but she barely responded, and her eyes remained greedily hooked on to the large, delicious cookie. Matilda swallowed hard. 

“Go on,” I ventured, holding the cookie a little closer, “it is the last one.”

“I'm… full…” she moaned feebly, doing her best to shake her head, “...I …can't…”

I leaned forward gently, and held the cookie closer still. Matilda’s gaze was glued to the delicious looking snack.

“How about just one tiny bite?” I pushed, my own greed to see this vast girl keep on eating steadily taking over. 

“M-m-maybe…” she squeezed, “...just one… little… taste…”

The desire to satisfy my curiosity didn't take much more convincing. I held the cookie up to Matilda's plumped, pouting lips, and her large, cow-like eyes changed their focus from the cookie, and instead turned to look up at me. Matilda bit fiercely into the chocolate-chipped treat, taking far more than many would consider a reasonable mouthful. Then she chewed, and chewed, her eyes flickering back.

“I hope you don't mind me saying this Matilda,” I cautiously began to reveal, “but I think you look super hot when…”

“...More…” Matilda gasped, cutting me off. Of course, I readily obliged. Once again, she pecked forward and greedily removed another filling mouthful of cookie. 

I continued, “I… I just wanted to say that I think you look really hot when you're eating. Really hot!”

“...That’s… good…” she munched, her tone only half joking, “... because it's… about… all I… can… do…”

“Well…” I began. 

“... More…” Matilda begged. 

She took a bite, unstoppable greed coursing through every incredible inch of her gigantic body. 

“... More…”

Then her chewing began to slow, from gluttonous insatiability, to a cautious concern. Her enormous body continued to provide a subtle backing track of heaving and creaking, with accompanying vocals from deep, grumbling digestion. Slower and slower here mastication became until, finally, with wide, worried eyes, Matilda swallowed.

For a moment there was near-silence. The huge feedee closed her eyes, and held her breath. Neither of us dared to move so much as a hair on our bodies. Then, her eyes flicked open with a sudden, desperate intake of air, and she lay panting. The grumbling sounds intensified for a second, and then subsided to their usual chatter. 

I gave a warm grin, and then held up the last, modest mouthful of cookie. Immediately her eyes locked back onto it, her gaze stubbornly fixed, as though something inside of her had to consume it. 

“I'm… full…” she breathed once more, “... Really… full…”

Held within the tips of my fingers, I slowly offer the cookie just a touch closer.

“... Why won't… anybody… listen… to me?… Any more… and… I'm going… to…to… explode…”

Still Matilda’s stare was focused on the last crumbling crumb of cookie in my hold. She swallowed, hard.

“... I… I can't… I mustn't…” she reasoned with herself, “... What's wrong… with… you… Matilda?”

Inside my chest, my heart pounded aggressively against the confines of my ribcage. This superstructure of a girl before me had eaten, and stuffed, and glutted herself to the absolute limits of what her body was capable of, and yet here she was, on the edge, still unable to leave a morsel. Unable to say no, even to herself.

Matilda’s eyes flick up to mine, then back to the last piece of cookie as I carefully positioned it closer.

“It's just one last, little bite.” I offered with encouragement. 

“I… know…” she whispered hoarsely, “...but… I'm…”

An intense pause followed. With it Matilda tightly shut her eyes with a soft-browed frown, and then began to take deep, heavy gasps for air, much like an athlete preparing for their next record-breaking event. Then suddenly she seemed to return, her eyes once again locking onto the final remains of our ‘picnic’.

“Heck… to it!” Matilda gasped firmly, “As you… say… it's just… one… little… bite…”

“You sure?” I quizzed, only out of politeness, my hand now trembling with anticipation. 

She nodded with subtle, reluctant affirmation, “What's… one… more… bite… huh?”

“Well, exactly.” I agreed, savoring every moment as I slowly pushed the cookie forward towards the adorably helpless gainer.”

“... More…” she moaned, “... More…” 

And with that, the cookie was pulled into Matilda’s expectant maw, clamped and then shattered between her teeth, plump cheeks furiously rattling.

“... Mmm…” she moaned.

“I told you that you look hot when you're eating, Matilda.” I whispered to her, as I leaned over the platform and gave her glistening forehead a gentle kiss. 

Matilda didn't seem to notice, instead consumed by whatever crippling self-indulgence made it possible for this to happen to her. She chewed on steadily, working the cookie dough hard with her jaw.

In my mind, I was already contemplating how I could get an opportunity to do this - to feed Matilda - again, and soon. Helping someone so big, so gluttonous continue to over-indulge pushed buttons in my brain that I never knew existed. I'd find a way to buy more treats next time, or smuggle them in, somehow. 

The steady chewing slowed gradually to a cautious, tentative crunch, and Matilda's brow creased between her eyebrows. Her cheeks were flushed with pink, glowing worry. Her beautiful, glistening eyes stared with concentration through the great belly that blocked her view, to something deeper. Something seemed wrong.

Finally Matilda swallowed, slowly, and with a quiver to her laboured breathing. Her body grumbled under the small yet ever-increasing load.

“Anyway,” I began, trying to rouse the overfed girl from her concerned gaze, “What I really wanted to ask was, if you don't think it's too forward an’ all, but, well, I sense there's a chemistry between us and, thing is, I was wondering if you'd like to be my girlfr…”

“Oh… shit…” Matilda coughed, cutting off my heartfelt, if somewhat rambling proposal.

We both fell into a stunned silence for a moment. With it, it sounded like the now familiar creaking of her colossal body, and the low, guttural growls from within were growing louder.

“...I… I… don't… feel… so…”

Matilda seemed to wriggle uncomfortably within her own enormousness, although it was hard for her diminutive frame to have much effect on the monstrous bulk of her corpulence. Then the movement grew gradually more intense, as though she were being jostled from beneath, sending sloshing ripples through her gargantuan flanks of fat.

“Oh… shit!… Oh god!… I… I think… I'm… starting to… get… bigger…”

“Surely you're always getting kind of bigger?” I tried to comfort, lightheartedly. There was no response though. Matilda just looked at me with wide, panicking eyes. As the jostling intensified further, her gaze instead began to dart around, fearfully observing the ever so slowly swelling of her already engorged figure.

She was indeed getting bigger, and heavier, and at a steadily increasing rate. And  then, the klaxon once again began to sound, and before I could give Matilda a reassuring touch to her cheek, the platform began to lift, rapidly. 

“W-What's… what's happening… to… me…?!”

I stumbled and fell back giddily, then quickly attempted to stand and brace myself on the handrails of the swaying platform. I peered over the edge, back down to the helpless girl steadily swelling, her voice growing ever more faint as the hoist whisked me away, and the commotion in the room began to grow.

“Help!… please… some… one… help!… I'm… I'm blowing up!”

Hurried footsteps clattered on the catwalk of the gantry crane above, as the impossibly large girl swelled even larger.

“I'm getting… too… mmpphhh!... big… please… mmpphhh!!

I managed one final, fleeting glance over the platform before my wrist was firmly gripped and I was pulled with ferocity behind a tight-bunned nurse with purposeful, striding hips.

“Will… will she be okay?” I wheezed as I was hurried towards the nearest upper-exit. The nurse didn't respond.

As the exit door closed behind us, the sound of the klaxon could still be made out, echoing down the dark centered stairwell. Smatterings of staff rushed by us, as we began to descend. Still the nurse did not speak. It was the same for all of the stairs, the corridors and the hallways, until finally I found myself in a somewhat familiar waiting room, ushered into a sober, cloth-covered chair by the nurse. Still she said nothing, only giving a raise of an eyebrow, before transforming it into part of a steely scowl. Then she flicked around and trotted with urgent purpose the way we had come, making a quick, inaudible comment to the receptionist. The receptionist nodded.

The familiarity slowly sank in. This was the same reception area that I had been asked to wait in when I first came to interview Matilda some twelve months or so ago. Nothing much seemed to have changed, even some of the air felt as though it were the same as last time.

“Sir,” the receptionist called out, gesturing to the main doors of the waiting room, “Sir, your car is here to take you to the airport. I'm sorry your visit was cut short, it looks like we've had some technical difficulties in one of the departments. It’s probably just a faulty fire alarm going off, we’re always getting those…”

I nodded politely, and made my way out. I never did hear back from that department about conducting another interview - well, at least, not with Matilda…