Yor's Last Contract

Tags: SpyXFamily Slob, gas, Implied USSBBW weight gain, slight mentions of health (seriously, very slight).

Hope January is treating you all well! I will have a special release next weekend, so hope you all are ready for that!

“I mussccht. . .oooorruup. . .hurry.” Yor Forger moaned as she waddled towards the door of the family apartment. One arm reached for the door whilst the other wiped sweat from her face. Her chins wobbled as her already sweat drenched arm tried to deal with the perspiration clouding her forehead, cheeks, and chins. Yor did little more than spread the sweat around, mingling what had come down from her forehead with what had originated on her arm. It was a valiant but useless effort, though not as ineffective as what was happening around the rest of her body. The raising of her flabby arms had revealed the deep pit stains currently ruining her long sweater dress. There were sister stains on her leggings, as a flood of salty liquid ran between her immense asscheeks. The hand which sought out the door handle even struggled, dripping with more perspiration. While Yor was able to enter finally, it was more a credit to her immense gut as anything else. The sagging orb pushed the door open, allowing the rest of the young mother’s corrupted bulk to enter. 

The briar rose had adjusted uneasily to a life of domestic plenty. Though she worked hard both at her job and doubly so with her husband and adopted child, Yor had not been able to keep the pounds off. She thickened as the days marched along, her body going from that of an elite assassin to a pampered pig. Forgetting assassination contracts, the situation had spiraled so far out of control that Yor was now struggling to complete even everyday tasks. “Ooooh. . .HLLOORRRUUUUUP. . .pleasscch move. . .faster.” Yor had to beg her body as she started to enter the house. Her 800 pounds of greasy flab wedged in tightly between the frame of the door. She tugged and pushed, summoning what little strength remained in her atrophied body. It seemed that her struggle only caused more sweat to trickle out of her rolls. Her vast, bulk buried itself around the white frame, allowing no progress despite how well lubricated it was. Yor tried again, pushing her bulk for all it was worth.

FFFRRRRRRRPPPPPTTTTHHH! She was rewarded with a noxious fart billowing out from between her buttcheeks. “AH!” Yor jerked upright, mortified of what had come out of her and was now infesting the hallway. She turned, looking past bouncing lovehandles at an ass that had grown to couch crushing size. “I can’t. . .ooooh. . .suffer any more. . .embarassments. . .” Yor sobbed, saddened at having poisoned the air of the otherwise beautiful apartment building. Sweat and hundreds of pounds of blubber had been bad enough, but gas had become a more pronounced part of her life. As the foods she craved grew greasier, so too did the various smells leaving her bulk. BRRRRRRMMMPPPTTH! With the levee now broken, another gigantic blast shook both the obese assassin and the apartment around her. Terrified that a neighbor would stick their head out to investigate the smell, Yor finally pushed hard enough to force herself into the apartment. She fell, landing on her stomach with enough force to make the entire apartment floor shake. 

Yor’s world became nothing but jiggles and ragged breathing as she tried to get her bearings. Many times wider than she was tall, the black haired assassin could drown in her own fat. It undulated round her, sweat pooling on the ground. Years past she would have been able to get up with little trouble, even flipping her way up acrobatically. Standing now was a torture for the semi-retired assassin. It took unabridged minutes to even get her legs under her. Fat swaddled knees knocked against a stomach which drooped almost to her knees. Yor’s arms wobble, any remaining bits of muscle long hidden under blubbery biceps the size of pickle jars. The obese woman groaned, slowly forcing her porcine body upwards. Though lacking everything else, she at least had the determination of an international agent. Which was good, she would need whatever help she could get for that evening. For the first time in years, the briar rose was going out on a mission. 

“BBBBLOOOORRRRUUUUPPP. . .ooooh. . .UUURRRUUUPP. . .poor. . .tummy.” Some combination of nerves and an excessively huge lunch, even for Yor, had caused her gas to go out of control. As Yor slowly stood to her feet, she belched and farted, filling the apartment with scents that were as uniquely hers as they were disgusting. Few people in the affluent little area were even remotely as fat and nowhere near as slovenly as Yor had become. She started to stand again, thrusting her legs apart and using her arms to “walk” backwards into standing. Yor wheezed and huffed, sweat rolling down between her heaving breasts. Her leggings ripped, unprepared for the squish and squeeze of booty blubber. Her sweart was deformed by the constant drag and press of her breasts and gut. There had not originally been a bust line in the salmon colored sweater, but the weight of Yor’s mammaries had driven one into existence. She managed to stand before entirely ruining her outfit, though the individual pieces would have to be tossed. More and more the trash bin was laden with ripped and sweat stained clothing. Yor only hoped she could fit into her assassin uniform. 

“Oh. . .bbbluuurruup. . .where isscch it?” Yor waddled through the house, trying to find the stash which contained all of her assassination equipment. She could find only the nests and hideaways of snacks. Though they had long given up, Loid and Anya both had tried to help Yor diet. Unfortunately, those attempts had only caused her to create various nests of fattening foods to retreat to. What ones she hadn’t eaten became landmines and pitfalls for future diet attempts. Now, in an increasingly disparate bid to get her costume, Yor cleared out many of the snack nests. She was a mess of food stains by the third hideaway found. Her face dripped with chocolate and sugar, her fingers wiping what they could onto her sweater. Yor ate and waddled, slowly clearing the house out. She moved almost drunkenly, the shake and shimmy of her expanded attributes more than any one woman could handle. The slow waddle through the house only meant more gassy expulsions, further exacerbated by her binge of sweets.

By the time that Yor found her black assassin’s dress, her stomach had become so bloated and distended that it seemed unlikely it would fit. It had been refitted several times, then further stretched and distended by Yor’s massive bulk. “Ooooh. . .pleasscch. . .BBBBOLLOORRUUP. . .fit.” The dark haired woman sniffed, wiping away a little tear that had appeared. It ran down her puffy, blush and food stained cheeks to splatter on her black dress. Unlike movies, there was no magic in the tears of a needy woman, so Yor was forced to dress herself in the woefully small outfit. Even the first and easiest step, putting her legs through the dress and pulling up, was met with obscene struggle. She wiggled plump toes as she prepared to bend over and pull the dress up. FLLLLLRRRRTTTMMMPTTT! A loud and sickeningly long fart burst from her rear as she bent to pull the dress up. Her wide, flabby, pale cheeks clapped as the reeking wind wafted out. Yor fought the urge to jerk upright, knowing that would pull the dress to its doom. She wondered if she was even able to move with that speed anymore. Certainly, tonight’s contract would answer that question. 

If getting dressed was any indication of how the mission was going to go, it was not positive. Yor had to tug and jostle both the dress and herself, pushing things into place rather than letting the fall. Yor’s massive, bountiful, soaked flab fought her and the dress at every turn. Her cankles and thighs caught on the slim shoulders, the stretchy fabric lifting the heavy sacks of fat. As the fabric caressed Yor’s gut, secret pockets of trapped sweat were released. The salty wellsprings dribbled and dripped down her expansive rolls, showering the dress with smelly droplets. The dress had been specially made to be liquid resistant, though it had been made to keep telltale bloodstains away, rather than sweat. Yor sniffed again, thinking of how the times had changed. She heaved the dress under and over her hefty, tear shaped breasts. Normally they hung like fat watermelons, but the dress formed them into a veritable wall.

The battle with her clothes went on and on. Backrolls swallowed the straps of the dress and her gut pushed the hem up further than it was meant. Yor’s dimpled and flabby arms were put on display more than ever. She finished with a whimper, stumbling backwards towards her and Loid’s bed. She landed with such force that the pillows were tossed into the air. Only the military technology that had been installed into the frame, the same suspension that held tanks together, allowed the bed to remain standing. Yor panted, woozy from the effort. Food stained clothes littered the ground. She didn’t bother to pick them up. Loid was used to having to clean what his obese, unhealthy wife could no longer reach. “Ho-kaaay. . .BBBLOOORRUUP. . .now to. . .holllurrup. . .go. . .” Yor wheezed, unable to make her body respond. Rather than stand, she flopped backwards onto the mattress. The fight with the dress had taken too much, her bulk needed to rest for a moment. Yor began to snore, sucking in air. The mission could wait just a little while. 

--- Fuel On the Go ---

“I’ll take. . .oooooh. . .bbblluurruup. . .three sschpescials. . .to go.” Yor gripped her stomach as she spoke her order into the walk up window of the restaurant. It was hard to see in to the building, grease and smoke filled the air. She could only just make out the shapes of people milling about within, cooking up the fiendish smelling food. The owners were from a country that Yor had never heard of, she was almost sure that it no longer existed. They spoke with thick accents and it was hard to understand anything they said. She did not even know if her order had been taken until the food was shoved out at her. A little door within the panel below the ordering window opened and a sack of dripping food was shoved out at her. Yor took the food, hating how quickly she moved for the pile of wretched smelling food piles. Clutching her prize, she started to waddle away from the window. She looked away from the other people on the street. They were no doubt judging her. 

It was not hard to understand why. The food clutched in Yor’s hand was a mess. Within the sack were three piles of meat, cheese, roasted vegetables, and bread that could only loosely be called sandwiches. They were all slathered in grease and mysterious sauce. They gave off a sickening smell, one that was both enticing and repulsive. Only a woman like Yor, who had exchanged her stomach with a garbage bag, could possibly enjoy them. She did so the only way one could, by stuffing them into her mouth in a headlong rush of gluttony. 

Yor’s cooking had always been subpar. She was not gifted with a sense of taste like chefs or even other mothers. The one benefit was that she was able to enjoy food that others found utterly repulsive. Such was the case with the special sandwiches. She devoured them, splattering hunks of meat and roasted veggies with each bite. Her stomach roiled, once again being filled with culinary trash. It would process the food into fat and gas, almost in equal measure. The dress she wore was protected only by the thinnest of margins, the radioactive grease coming close to burning its way into the fabric. “Oooooh. . .HHEEERUUURRLLOOOOOP. . .give me. . .uuurrup. . .energy.” Yor moaned, begging the food to empower her. Her plump lips and chins sunk back into the soggy morass, sucking the fattening contents into her gut. 

BBBBBLLLLRRRRRRT! The cape of Yor’s uniform was blown back as a fart blew out into the otherwise pristine streets. Yor ate more voraciously, trying to escape the embarrassment of farting on the streets. Her flabby calves and fat swaddled knees knocked together as she waddled towards her destination. The location of the hit had already been memorized, she now only had to make sure that she had the strength and energy for it. Another bite of the sandwiches brought sloppy food into her mouth. She tasted eggs between the fat layers of cheese. There seemed to be peppers of a sort within, draped in seasoned cooking oils. She had never been able to convince Loid or Anya to try the specials, their portions ending up going to her. Yor had only gotten more comfortable eating for two or three people at a time. If she was pressed to tell the truth, she was probably able to eat a meal meant for five or six. The only limiting factor was the quality of the food. Already it was making a difference within Yor. A strained and grotesque gurgle came from within her gut. 

----

“I caaaaan’t. . .” FFFFUURRRR-BBBLLEEERTTT! Yor doubled over as a wave of noxious gas was sent out of her rear. She had moved several blocks away from the food shop, just long enough to begin to digest the sloppily made sandwiches. Her stomach tied itself in knots, expressing displeasure via gas. Frrrrreeeeppprrrt! Her enormous butt bellowed again, flapping nakedly in the self-created breeze. Her dress and cape had ridden up as she bent over, exposing massive dimpled buttcheeks with only a hint of sweaty panties underneath. Yor straightened as best she could, trying to waddle away from the scene of her most recent embarrassment. Yet, she could not make her cankles move fast enough. 

Her body rubbed unpleasantly on itself. Uncountable rolls and folds each tried to get in the way of their neighbors, sweat filling between the open areas. The faster Yor tried to go, the more her flab resisted. She resorted to swinging her arms, using whatever momentum the soft tree trunks could generate to keep herself going. Her breasts sloshed behind, with heavy lag that moved opposite to the momentum of the rest of her. Just after the completion of a swing of her arms, Yor’s boulder breasts would come crashing into that arm. She moaned, feeling like her weight was ever increasing. Her stomach grew tighter, her jiggles there replaced with the painful swell of gas. The digesting food gave off only rancid pre-flatulence, begging to come out of her in great gouts. “BbbbOOOORRRUUUP!” Yor belched, scattering yet more people out of her way. The streets were starting to empty as the smelly, gassy, obese woman waddled towards them. 

Yor almost did not notice the people around her. So much of her vision was taken up by the swell of her breasts and belly. Even that was starting to grow hazy. The food and following exercise had done a number on her, worse than any poison she had been exposed to. Her butt lifted up and down, her buttcheeks changed into flabby pistons. She only kept waddling because they rose and fell, hitting out the drumbeats of her heavy step. Her arms swung in a strange rhythm, halting as she was overcome with weakness. BBBBLLOOOORRRRRT! More gas gouted out of her. Yor tried to keep waddling, her heart thumping desperately. It was obvious that Yor’s assassination contract was going to go unfulfilled. The road before her went dim again and Yor stopped. She stood, wavering like a sack of lard that had been released from the hook which held it. She teetered back and forth, hand gripping her chest as pangs sprang up within it. FFFFRRRRRRMMMMPPPPPTTT! A fart louder than any other rumbled out, signaling the end of Yor’s mission. She fell backwards, landing first on her chair swallowing ass. Her vision darkened as she passed out. 

--- Picked Up ---

“Mama!” 

Yor stirred, waking to the sounds of Loid and Anya running to her. She moaned, trying to pull herself up. Though she remembered falling onto her butt, it seemed as though she had fallen further onto her gut. Perhaps she had failed in an attempt to stand as she lost consciousness. Her sweaty fat spread around her, no longer held by the dress. It had, presumably, burst open when she landed on her belly. The bloating from the gas compounding with her already bountiful form had been too much for it. The threads had been shorn open, allowing her pale mass to seep out in all directions. A puddle of perspiration had formed around her as she had sweated out the grease from her before assassination snack. 

“Yor. . . dear, are you ok?” Loid asked, putting his hand on top of Yor’s doughy shoulder. He shook her gently. “Anya and I got worried when you didn’t come home.” Yor’s fat undulated as Loid moved her back and forth. He coaked her up, giving her a warm drink of tea. Yor sniffled, ashamed that her instincts demanded something with more sugar. She took the drink, sitting on the sidewalk in her dress. Tears ran down either of her chubby cheeks. Not only had she failed to complete her contract, she was forced to lie to Loid again. 

“I’m. . .bbbluuurruup. . .sorry. . .” She sniffed. Thankfully, her fainting spell had let out all of the gas bubbling within her system. She did not have to fart and blech her way through explaining things to Loid. “Work was. . .uurrup. . .having a function.” She wiped one of her eyes with a chubby hand. “I thought. . .I could. . .walk there.” She sighed so ponderously that her dress ripped more, almost spilling her breasts out. “I must have. . .hooorruup. . .had some bad. . .” Yor stopped to grip her gut. She tried to repress a fart, but it slipped out quietly. Loid politely ignored it. “. . .food.”

“It’s ok.” Loid was nothing but a consummate gentleman. He knelt down on on knee, taking Yor’s hand. He stroked it, making sure she was alright. “Why don’t we take you home, maybe a little snack or two on the way to test your stomach?” Loid could not keep the idea of Yor getting fatter from his mind. 

“I. . .” Yor sniffed, brightening quickly after. “. . .would like that. . .bbbuooorup. . .very much!” She smiled, tears now of joy. At least she had a husband that understood her. 

Anya, who watched everything from a foot or two away, read either of her parents’ minds. “Mama is a mess. . .but at least Papa is a mess too.” As Yor was brought standing, she grabbed her hand. The makeshift family slowly made their way into the car. Loid had to shove Yor’s fat into the small door. Both husband and wife tried not to look happy about it.