Another Chapter of My Life

Part 1:https://www.patreon.com/posts/new-chapter-of-6569347

A new side series I'm working on - rest assured I'm still working on more Maple's Story, but given that ANCoML Part 1 had such a warm reception I couldn't help but work on a sequel! ;u;

Lemme know what you think about it, as always!

This chapter, and chapter 1 were both edited by the amazinghttp://www.furaffinity.net/user/firefox/

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Chapter 2

“Jenny? Good morning Jenny. Jenny?”

“Mmmph... five more minutes.”

“Don’t make me use the defib units we had installed.”

“Augh... fine Gene... whatever...”

Jenny groaned. Waking up was always the worst part of the day. Obviously it wasn’t so much the being conscious part - that part more or less took care of itself. But whereas some people could rouse themselves to some degree of alertness and jump out of bed within moments, for Jenny the procedure took closer to half an hour. First she opened her eyes, mumbling barely audible obscenities under her breath as Genevieve gripped the sheets and pulled them off of her, exposing her body to the comparatively cool air of her cabin. Next, she was met with the same sight that had greeted her for the last three weeks, changing infrequently, and never for the better.

Her stomach.

Weighing almost five hundred pounds by itself, Jenny had to have her sleeping quarters modified, along with the rest of her ship, just to be able to accommodate the massive, bubblegum pink mound of blubber. It rose like a hill above her, the dual blessings of hover-pads mounted to its underside and a lower-than-average gravity drive outfitted in her ship preventing her from being crushed or suffocated by her own flesh in her sleep. With some small effort Jenny lifted the wobbling pillowy sacks of flab that surrounded her arms to gently poke at her stomach, sometimes wondering just how real it could be. One day she’d been merely a chubby pig, the next she’d been so modified that most doctors refused to operate on her or prescribe medication on account of her spliced genetics. Frowning as her hands sunk well into the blubbery mass, Jenny had come to realise that for better or worse her stomach was here, and it wasn’t going away.

“Do you require assistance?”

To her right, hovering in the middle of her sleeping quarters, Genevieve fixed her solitary camera lens on the struggling, massive pig. Jenny contemplated the question for a moment before nodding; assistance would be appreciated. Genevieve was an AI that Jenny had fitted to the ship and her MPAD (Mobility and Personal Assistance Drone), a spherical device about as large as a soccer ball.

The drone had become a necessity after the sheer size of her stomach rendered most things beyond the reach of the small boulder of a pig. Even with the hoverplates affixed to the underside of her stomach, reaching things on counters or tables was next to impossible without either spending five minutes slowly waddling herself into position, or worse, falling on her stomach and being unable to get up. Genevieve, as well as maintaining her primary role of ship’s computer, was able to pilot the drone to provide assistance for menial tasks and, if Jenny required it, she herself could take manual control over the robotic hoverdrone. The pig avoided doing that as much as possible, disliking the strange sensation that accompanied her consciousness assuming control of the robot. It felt too much like suddenly growing an extra limb.

Whirring across to the bed on a mixture of pulse-wave propulsion and magnetic lev control, Genevieve quickly nudged her way under Jenny’s arm, the sweat-coated flesh squeaking against the cold metal shell of the robot. Once Jenny had a grip on it, the drone began to lift from the bed, dragging Jenny along with glacial speed. The most disconcerting part of the experience was feeling her stomach wobble and slap against her legs as it slowly slumped further and further forward.

The drone’s lens-plate lit up as she spoke. “Really Jenny, I think it’s time we took you to the shower.”

The MPAD was equipped with all five senses, most of them keener than the average sentient’s. At that moment, her ‘nose’ was way too close to Jenny’s armpit, so Jenny could understand why Genevieve thought the pig stank.

“N-no!” Jenny squeaked, her free hand going reflexively to rest upon her wobbling mound of a stomach. “I-I mean— I’m just hungry is all. ” She added quickly, when Genevieve rotated in her grasp to fix her with a cold, metallic eye. “We can shower afterwards.”

Standing was made easy when a drone did all the heavy lifting, and Jenny wondered just how much difficulty she’d have should Genevieve’s MPAD ever break. When she realised it would likely result in her being unable to move from her bed, she stopped. As soon as the pig’s feet were under her, Genevieve reversed out from under the girl’s arm fat and hovered around to face her.

“No,” The drone replied, her robotic voice somehow managing to be impersonal and yet no-nonsense. “Shower now, breakfast later. You positively reek, and I’m not wiping down the cockpit chair again because you couldn’t be bothered to bathe.”

Jenny wobbled, still unused to her weight despite the weeks she’d had to carry it. At any moment in the trek from her room to the fab unit in the kitchen, the porcine pilot could fall, and although Genevieve was programmed to assist her, the pesky drone would likely take the opportunity to drag her by the heel towards the shower instead. ‘Sometimes what you need and what you want are two different things.’ The A.I would often remind her. Thinking on this, Jenny decided it would be less trouble in the long run to do as Genevieve insisted and - although Jenny hated to admit it, she did have a bit of a funk about her.

“Alright, alright,” Jenny replied, taking her moment of freedom (before being crammed into the shower’s tiny cubicle) to stretch.

Her room was a spartan affair. Back before she had the sort of body that could easily fit two to three people inside it, she’d collected VR and AR games, as well as various books and mementos from places she’d visited. Genevieve, citing that cleaning her room was something that was still well within Jenny’s capabilities, refused to tidy the place up for her. Most of what she owned sat in awkward stacks around the place. Her clothes were sorted into three piles: dirty, clean, and things that still fit her. The last pile was pathetically small, resulting in her current, naked form. Her eyes caught on some of the posters she’d hung up. It seemed like it’d been in another lifetime, back when ‘freelance trader’ had felt less than ‘fed-ex in space’. Back when she’d thought it was a good idea to equip her spacecraft with salvage tools in case she ever came upon a rare treasure.

The crushing truth of space was that it was just that. Space. Work was what you brought with you and money wasn’t something you stumbled upon, but something that leakedout of you with every meal. She smiled bitterly at the thin men and women standing in front of what had then been top of the line spacecraft on the old, faded posters. Her own body was a cruel parody, a massively bloated sack of lard that no amount of surgery or medicine could reel in.

* * *

“The PEEP show recording was right,” One doctor had told her, after having just equipped her massive, heaving stomach with hoverpads and preventing her second cardiac arrest since her gain. “What you are is not exactly fat in the scientific sense, although certainly you are in every other sense. The typical fat cell is considered by the body as potential energy. By over-eating and under exerting oneself, one can store this energy to be burned off at a later time. Given the way you’ve modified yourself,”

“Doctor I didn’t do this to—“

“As I was saying, given the way you’ve become modified,” he said with barely subtle skepticism, “the ‘fat’ your body has stored is completely useless to you. It cannot be burned for energy and its unique composition makes it dangerous for chemical or surgical extraction. Not to mention your stomach and intestines are both grossly distended and to reign in your current weight without addressing these issues would likely be disastrous for your health.”

At that point a computer generated image had been shown to Jennifer of her body, removed of fat. Even still her stomach pushed out a few feet in front of her, and worse, it drooped obscenely low where her intestines had been inflated like party balloons. Were she to somehow get thin, she would still be a freak.

The doctor had gone on to explain that no surgeon on the rim would risk their license performing surgery on such a heavily modified pig as herself, and that the most practical course of action would be to curtail her eating, supplement her diet with medication to provide nutrients to her enlarged body, and make sure her own gluttonous weight didn’t crush her to death. He hadn’t been able to believe that she hadn’t done this to herself, despite personally reviewing the more relevant sections of the PEEP show, but it wasn’t just him.

Nobody believed Jenny. People treated the show as though it were sewerage. They were hesitant to slip into a body such as hers and eager to slip back out of it. Although most of them didn’t say it, Jenny guessed that they figured she’d set the whole thing up. Sure, it had been an incredible boost to her feedee profile, but at what cost?

The only ‘cure’ was back in the core with a specialist surgeon who could reverse what had happened to her, and the price tag on that was so large that Jenny would have to sell her ship - her home- several times over just to be able to afford it. She was stuck like this.

So she bought Genevieve.

* * *

“Come on Jenny, you can look at your old posters later.” Genevieve’s robotic voice was almost tender as the drone gave her a little nudge. “Here, hold on to me.”

Jenny didn’t need to be told twice. Almost any relief from the constant weight she had to carry was welcome, and she eagerly latched onto the drone which began to help her waddle towards the bathroom.

Already, the pig’s knees were starting to hurt and her ankles were worse. Jenny was on a constant diet of medical-grade anti-inflammatories and painkillers to help manage the pain of standing for too long. She often thanked her lucky stars that she was able to refit her ship with a gravity drive that could handle less than Core-Standard. But, it was a sad fact that all the lower gravity and the lev-plates managed to do was get her on her feet; she still had to contend with her bulk. Her legs rubbed together down to her knees, producing muted squeaks, and her free arm had to rest gently atop the heaving swell of her stomach for lack of any space for it to hang down. Given her sheer size, Jennifer had to take a wide stance, and each step was a matter of slowly moving her body to the left, plonking her foot down, and then slowly moving her body to the right again. The whole motion felt like some sort of absurd, wobbling dance.

Within a few minutes Jenny managed to make it to her bathroom, sliding through the widened doorway without trouble. Each doorway in her ship was now triple wide to accommodate her body, and even so it seemed only just big enough. Despite the other ‘upgrades’ to her vessel, her bathroom had to remain more or less the same. Doors could be widened, but rooms couldn’t be extended without altering the shape of the ship itself, or cutting into hallways and other floors. In the corner of the grey, metal tiled room, her bathtub sat dejected and disused, completely useless to her since she had outgrown it. Another corner was occupied by what had once been the shower cubicle, its glass walls now removed to allow Jenny access to the shower head. Opposite her, she avoided her reflection in the mirror above her sink, and the judgement of makeup she hadn’t touched since becoming so enormous and encumbered. The cold metal tiles sent shivers through her legs, but in truth she was glad for the difference in temperature. It was often hard to shake the feeling that her body was an oven in the middle of which she was inescapably trapped..

“You okay?” Genevieve asked, making sure that Jenny had her feet beneath her. Once it was sure that the pig wasn’t going to fall over, the drone flew over to the wall and plucked the shower head off its perch with its single, dextrous hand. “There’s only one of me, so you’ll have to handle the soap.”

Jenny nodded. She’d been distracted, lost in thought. As lukewarm water began to spray across her immense body, she managed to slowly work her way so that she could reach her pudgy fingers across the bloated lovehandles of her right side and grasp a bottle of shower gel, which she slowly poured across the dome of her gut. Once a liberal third of the bottle had been emptied and a streak of blue shower gel decorated the upper portion of her massive gut, she began to knead and work whatever flesh she could reach.

This was her favourite part of having a shower. Her legs hurt, her breath was short with all the steam in the air, but for once she could unabashedly knead and grope at her own flesh and not feel ashamed about it. After all, hadn’t she once dreamed of having a body this big? She scooped great handfuls of bubbles and rubbed under her arms, pushed soap beneath the great folds of her breasts and around the tire of blubber that was her neck. She would run her fingers down the sides of her massive stomach, struggling to heft up even a fraction of it before letting it flop back down with the heavy, fleshy slap of skin against blubbery skin. There wasn’t a lot she could reach, and there was less that she could lift, but for a few brief moments it seemed as though she could still do the mundane things she once took for granted. And that was worth it.

Then came the tired, out of breath panting. The huffing and wheezing as her body reminded her that she wasn’t used to the nearly half a ton of fat she’d been lumped with. Genevieve beeped with concern, a sound she barely heard over the rush of her pumping blood in her ears and the constant pitter patter of the water against the canvas of her body. Heaving and light headed, Jenny slowly made her way over to the sink which she leaned against whilst she regained her breath.

As the porcine girl rested, her chest heaving with every breath, Genevieve quickly went over Jenny’s body with the head of the hose, pushing it everywhere it would fit. She nudged it beneath Jenny’s arms, into her armpits, and thoroughly rinsed where her blubber had folded into thick creases on her sides. The shower head managed to find its way under her chins and water eventually cascaded down the doughy tree trunks of her legs. The pig blushed, despite how familiar she was with Genevieve’s lack of personal space, as the shower head was pulled beneath the great overhang of her stomach to wash the sweat out from between her thighs. She squirmed a little, knowing that there was no way she could reach between her legs under her own power any time soon, and being almost excited by the power of what that suggested. What she’d done to herself.

Noticing the increased heart rate, Genevieve pulled out, no doubt concerned for Jenny’s safety. For her part, Jenny just panted and tried not to think about it. In truth she was about as safe as she could be, her body had been purposefully modified to be resistant to the natural health problems that would typically plague someone of her immense weight. In truth, there were still plenty of dangers, but at least she could get around the place. She could still work.

As the shower head switched off and Genevieve hovered to replace it on the wall, Jenny shut her eyes and listened to her own panting breath. She focused on the feeling of water, sliding down her immense body. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye, every fold, every roll, every bulge trickling with slowly cooling water.

During the few moments of Jenny’s silent reflection, Genevieve fetched the parachute of a towel she kept in the pig’s room and began to dry her off with it. Usually the drone would make some quip about having Jenny retain her independence before passing her the towel. Today, Genevieve remained silent and went about the chore for her, perhaps sensing Jenny’s mood. It would take a full ten minutes of constant rubbing and drying before Jenny was able to leave, and she was grateful to have the time to think. She had a lot to think about, lately.