Revolt at Fat Camp - WG Story

      “Mom!  I'm not going to fat camp!  Please, anything but fat camp!”  My mother's stern face was unchanged, so I doubled back with another tactic.  “I'm not even that fat, really.  Just a little chubby, that's all.”  Well, a little more than chubby, I thought realistically.  Plump, I guess.  No, that wasn't it, I thought, surveying my body - my big, round belly tucked into the waist of my capri pants, and still hanging a bit over my belt, my fully developed breasts hanging like ripe, swollen fruit from the tree, my curiously wide rear, so round that some of my less politically correct classmates had suggested that I was not entirely white, despite my fair skin and wavy, light brown hair - I guess I was rather fat.
      “Hush, dear.  Look at the pamphlet.  It's an 'All-Girls Summer Fitness Fun Camp'  Doesn't that sound great?”
      “No.  And besides, I rather like my body the way it is.  Really, I don't mind being fat.”
      “Oh, that's such silly talk.  I know you like that Danny boy who lives down the street, and I'm sure he would notice you if you lost some weight.”
      “Mom!”
      “Well it's true.  Anyway, I already sent in the deposit, so you're going, and that's final.  Pack your bags on Sunday night, we're leaving Monday morning at eight.”
      I agonizingly counted down the days until Monday.  On Sunday afternoon, my friends and I went to McDonald's.  Feeling like a prisoner eating her last meal, I stuffed myself with burger after burger, fries, and milkshakes, knowing full well that I would not taste, or even see, such foods again for many weeks.
---
      My mother and I stood at the entrance.  I looked around at the other girls, all about my age, ranging from merely fat to super-obese.  I stared at the sign.  There seemed to be some old letters underneath the fresh white paint.
      “It used to be 'Camp Ki-a-wa-ho,'” said the girl standing next to me.  She had short black hair and emo glasses, and was quite round like me, though with tiny breasts and slender arms, which made her look like a great big gumdrop.  “I know, my parents made me go last year.  They got rid of the Indian names because they were politically incorrect.  Oh, by the way, I'm Margaret.”
      “I'm Daisy,” I said.  “So you got forced into this, too.  I wonder if anyone actually wants to go here.”
      The camp counselors showed the amenities of the camp to us, mostly for our parents' sake, and answered questions.  Then the parents left, some tearful, others less so.
      “Have fun Daisy!” yelled my mom.  Then she sped off.
---
      “Another bag full of snacks!  I knew it!  Kristin, send this one to Building Seven,” said the woman, flinging a fat girl on the verge of tears out of her way.  She was rail-thin, with long, blonde hair, and a pretty, but terrible face highlighted by a sneering mouth.  “You may as well spare me the effort, not that I don't enjoy it.  Come to me with your contraband food, and you will receive the lightest punishment.”  No one moved.  “You there.”  She pointed to a soft, gelatinous girl.  “Pants.  Off.”
      “In...in front of everyone?” quivered the girl.
      “Now.”  The girl, terribly embarrassed, slowly took off her jeans.  Duct taped to the insides of her thighs were more than a dozen Milky Way and Snickers Bars.  “Building Seven,” said the woman.  “And stop your crying.”   
      The rest of us were herded off to the cabins, where we were assigned bunk beds.  We were given athletic uniforms and forced to march towards “The Eliminator.”
      “My name is Heather,” said the woman who had terrorized us earlier.  “I am the head counselor of All-Girls Summer Fitness Fun Camp.  This is the Eliminator,” she said, pointing to the vast network of trails, ladders, ropes, and other contrivances spread out over the hot and rocky North Carolina terrain.  “You will be doing section 1A today.  I will guide you on the first lap.  Now, follow me.”  She began jogging very slowly on the course, and we followed her, out of terrible fear of what might happen if we didn't.
      We were a great mass of jiggling and struggling bodies.  I tried my hardest, pumping my flabby arms and thrusting with my immense thighs in order to traverse the course.  The girls at the back were so fat that they could barely jog.  After two minutes, the last and fattest girl stopped.  She was like a great, round ball, with tiny arms and legs that could hardly propel her immense form.
      “I can't go on,” she said.
      “Pathetic,” muttered Heather.  She pulled a riding crop out of her waistband and smacked the girl.  “Send her off!” she yelled.  “Now, the rest of you, keep going.  Anyone who doesn't finish in 30 minutes will be penalized,” she screamed, hitting us indiscriminately with her crop.
      I barely made it over the finish line in time, dripping with sweat, my whole body convulsing.  I fell to the ground and curled up in the fetal position.  However, I counted myself lucky, as I listened to the terrible sounds of vomiting all around me.
      “This wasn't in the brochure,” I said glumly.  “Isn't there something we can do?”
      “I don't think so,” said Margaret.  “Remember those releases our parents signed?”  
      I nodded, sighing.  “I guess we'll just have to tough it out.  I wonder what we get for lunch?”
---
      “I should have known,” I said, spooning some of the meager gruel from my bowl into my mouth.  “Ooh, I would kill for some chocolate right now.”
      “Me too,” said Margaret.  “And some ice cream, and cheesecake, and...”
      “I'm getting out of here right now!”  said a chubby girl with long, bleached blonde hair and dark tanned skin.  “Daddy, it's Cheryl.  Look, you need to get me out of this camp, the instructor is like this psycho bitch...”
      We all turned towards Cheryl, making faces and pointing, but she didn't get it.
       “What?”  Heather was looming over her, listening to every word.  She snatched the cellphone from Cheryl's hand and, with one quick motion, severed the screen from the keypad.
      “Rule 22B, no cell phones.  Punishment, two extra laps of the Eliminator.”
      “You can't do this, when my dad finds about, I swear...” Cheryl went on as Heather dragged her out of the mess hall.
---
       Gradually we sunk into the routine of camp life.  A prison mentality filled the air.  The girls wandered about sullenly.  Most of them were too scared to look Heather in the eye.  When we weren't exercising or being tortured, they made us do slave labor in this old factory on the camp grounds, melting down scrap metal or soldering pipes together.   But we had a few hours each day to hang out in the bunks and play cards or sing songs, just like real prison.  Margaret and I became friends with Olivia, who had been sent here all the way from Germany.  She was a darling girl with luxurious brown tresses.  She had a short neck, with her huge breasts propped up nearly to her chin by her massive belly.
One time she rushed to us, breathing heavily.  “Those girls that got in trouble,” she said, in nearly perfect English.  “I saw them through the bars in one of the outbuildings.  Some of them were wearing black hoods over their heads, and others were tied up with ropes and chains.  Heather was there, tempting them with food.”
      “My God!”  I said.  “That's terribly wrong.  But what can we do about it?”  The girls looked around anxiously, but no one had any idea.
---
      I watched disconsolately as my magnificent belly began to shrink.  My breasts began to droop, losing their characteristic fullness.  I was faint from the poor food and lack of essential nutrients.  I felt as if my essence were slowly being drained away.  After a particularly vicious round of the Eliminator, I lay in bed, vowing not to leave.  I was going to let Heather drag me away, and I didn't care.  But just then, a girl named Kaitlin came to my bed and woke me up.
      “Daisy...you have to help me.  I still have my cellphone,” she whispered.  “And I called my parents.  They're working on getting us out of camp.  Then I called my boyfriend, and he put together a huge crate full of food.  He's leaving it inside a really big bush, north of building three, but I can't go because I tore my ACL on the Eliminator.  Take someone with you and get the crate, and we'll share the food.  And Daisy...tell him I love him.”    
      Margaret and I left under cover of darkness.  We looked carefully for signs of the sadistic Heather or her flunkies.  But the coast was clear.  We thanked Kaitlin's boyfriend.  He promised leave a crate every  day at the same spot. Then we went back to the bunk.
      Opening the crate to see the tightly packed Hershey bars and Entenmann's Crumb Cakes was like finding Captain Kidd's treasure.  We feasted, with the decadent food tasting exceptionally good after so many days of gruel and stale bread.  We went to sleep full and prepared to face the next day with conviction.
      We repeated our ritual each day.  To my delight, I ate enough junk food to begin gaining back the pounds I had lost.  After an intense eating session, I lay on my bed, my luxuriant belly hanging towards the side in a slovenly manner, swollen almost to its original size.  
      Margret and I went to get the crate in our usual manner.  There were no guards to duck, so I thought they must have been relaxing or torturing someone.  But we should have known better.  As we neared the bunk on our return trip, Heather and her cronies were waiting for us.  I turned to run, but it was no use.  Then everything went black as Heather slipped a prisoner hood over my head.  
---
      “Unbelievable.  You thought you could get away with this?”
      I struggled against the ropes which tightly bound my arms and legs, to no avail.  Heather, wearing a black leather corset, had stripped me down to my bra and panties.  “I'm not afraid of you,” I said.
      “Silence!  You disgusting, fat slob.  Look at you, your big gut hanging out, jiggling with every move.”  She raised her black whip and hit me, leaving a long red line on my soft flesh.  “You're a filthy, sweaty pig.”  Heather moved towards me, ripping my bra off and grabbing my breasts.  “Look at these great big, gross things,” she said, fondling them.  “You're a fat, sloppy little slut.  You go to McDonald's or Burger King, stuff your fat face til you can barely move.  You laze around all day watching tv and playing video games.”  I thrashed against the ropes helplessly as Heather fondled my body, rubbing up against me and calling me a whore.  She slapped and punched me, harder and harder til I could barely take it.  Then she sunk to the floor, exhausted. “Twenty laps on the Eliminator,” she said.  
     Margaret had had a similar experience with Heather.  Black and blue, we walked about the camp, burning with rage but feeling impotent.  There were rumors going around that some of the girls had allied themselves with Heather, pleasuring her in exchange for chocolate bars or other trifles.
      We little expected that the old factory would become our salvation.  But gradually, we worked out a plan.  We arrived early and stayed late, telling Heather that we just loved soldering circuit boards.  She left us alone as she focused on other girls whom she had not yet violated.
      With the other girls, we combined all our knowledge of biology, running projections and tests on the factory computer.  We soldered, cut, fabricated, and assembled pieces until we had finished out project.  It was a great network of pumps and gauges, made of stainless surgical steel, with many small tubes running from it.  There was one large tube, too.  We hid our project inside an metal cabinet behind a generator.  For the last step, we made a big chair, large enough for any of us to sit comfortably in, with thick leather straps for the hands and feet.
---
       BAM!  I coldcocked Heather over the head with a torque multiplier.  Then we got to work.  When Heather woke up, she tried to yell, but we had gagged her.  Her thin body looked incongruous in such a large chair.
      “Well, Heather.  You haven't been very nice to us this summer,” I started.  Heather grunted at me.  “But we know that deep down inside, you really do like us.  That you like our bodies.  So we wanted to give you a little gift before camp ends.  You know, one of those gifts that has a little bit of each of us in it.”  Heather followed me with her eyes, puzzled.   “You see, we've become such good friends over the summer, you and us girls, that we want you to join our club.  You know, be one of us.”  Heather was still mystified.  However, she became terribly anxious and began sweating as soon as Margaret surgically affixed the one thick tube deep down into her belly, right through the belly button.  Then the horrible reality dawned upon her.
      There were twelve of us.  We carefully affixed the tubes to our big, bulging bellies, keeping everything disinfected and sanitary.
      “Alright, everyone's ready,” said Olivia.  I pulled the switch.
      It started out slowly, almost imperceptibly.  We watched Heather's body in suspense, no one daring to take a breath.  Finally, we saw it start to bulge out the tiniest amount.  Then it began to pick up speed.  First Heather's shirt began to slide up.  Then her pants began to fill as fat built up around her thighs.  Then her belly popped out and fell into her lap.  The button from her pants flew across the room.  As her breasts got bigger, her bra strings snapped.  Then her whole shirt was torn in half.  As we watched, each of our bellies got a little bit smaller.  Finally the machine took off.  Heather's butt began to fill the chair.  Her thighs doubled in size, then tripled.  Her belly filled the space between her thighs, then covered her thighs, reaching for her knees.  Her arms became bloated like two giant sausages.  Even her calves became huge.  She had every kind of fat - belly fat, back fat, dimples on her elbows and at her knees.  Finally, the stout chair began to sag under her weight.  We looked at our bodies.  I noticed that I had contributed a little bit of my butt, my belly, and my breasts, to Heather, about fifty pounds worth.  Each of the girls had contributed about that amount, leaving Heather with an additional six hundred pounds.  Guessing her original weight to be about one forty, we looked at the seven hundred forty pound Heather in front of us.  The chair had broken, and she struggled out of it.  Her tight abs, developed over years of strenuous workouts at the gym, had been replaced by an enormous apron of flesh which sank down to her knees.  Her giant, flabby breasts weighed down on top of her belly.  Heather's arms were laden with so much fat that she could barely lift them.  She started to waddle, her two gigantic ass cheeks crashing up and down with thunderous force.
      “What...what happened to me?   I'm...so fat!”  Heather burst into tears.  
      “Hey, it's not so bad, cheer up,” said Margaret.  “You can eat what you want without feeling guilty.”  
      We walked Heather slowly back to our bunk after dismantling our machine.  When the other counselors found her, they didn't know what to do, so they called 911.  It was soon clear that the transformation had left Heather in a state of shock.  
      “They...they did this to me, with their machine...I want to go back...I want to be me again...” mumbled Heather.
      “What?” asked the medic.  “Must have got swollen up, some sort of water retention problem, something like that,” he said, turning to the medic beside him.  “Hey, tell us again what happened?”
Heather continued to ramble incoherently.  
      “She keeps talking about some kind of machine that she thinks made her swell up,” said the other medic.  “I think, after the hospital, it's off to the looney bin for her.”
      “I hear that,” said the medic.
      The camp closed down and our parents came to take us home.
      “Hey Daisy.  It looks like you lost some weight.  Well a little bit, at least.  You have to tell me about it,”  said my mother.
      A wry smile crossed my lips.  “It's a long story.”