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Patrons' Prompt: The Bounty of Peace 2
🕑 Added 2020-05-15 07:44:01 +0000 UTCCherno Station was a bit of an odd duck for a space station. Mostly made up of dark metals and deep colored hallways, it looked like the equivalent of a cookie cutter suburbanite home. While other stations would naturally develop a style, whether it be technicolor or gothic or even diesel inspired, in Cherno there was no flair, no sense of an architect’s personal touch. A mass-produced station for mass-produced people.
Its population was on the low side, its chambers of commerce on the much lower end. Made up from mostly residential districts, it served like a long island next to the sprawling metropolis that was Billa Station, the hotspot of the solar system, currently over 2,795,084,800 miles away.
A lot of people liked it that way. It was quieter. People kept to themselves and their own business, and the Marshalls’ office was all of four people, so you’d be forgiven to think you could get away with some small time infractions.
Ten minutes into her five-minute walk, and Samus Aran loathed every bolt that held the crappy sheet metal together.
The woman breathed through her mouth like a broken car engine, her doughy belly inflating and deflating with each heavy intake. A soft beauty mark beneath her lower left lip was highlighted by a thick double chin. The smothering fat displayed the remnants of the woman’s lost neck, deepening into a crevasse when she tried to hold onto her breath.
Her breathing was further obstructed by the mouthful of ice cream sandwich she slopped over, trying to focus on the pleasure of taste rather than the extreme weight of her weak body. Exhaustion was bubbling up, mixing with a gurgle of digestion over empty calories.
“What… oooh,” she grunted, eyes far away as a single droplet of sweat came down from her tied back hair, “kind of dumpster… doesn’t have auto-walks?”
The woman was exceptionally experienced with the layout of the small station, but found herself growing increasingly infuriated with the backwater people. Almost everywhere had auto-walks as a part of their hallways! How could a literal space station be so anti-technology?!
Her fingers were stained with cold, clinging chocolate. Beneath one meaty arm she carried her quickly heating box of ice cream sandwiches. Each bar, in a way, resembled Samus. Way too much dairy packed into two skintight garments. Her huge, jiggling stomach flowed over her waistband as if her very body were made of equally heavy cream.
People walked alongside of her. They tried not to stare, but it was hard not to see Samus as she strained just to waddle and fought even harder to fill her maw.
The ice cream woman was over six feet tall, and her wobbling belly pushed the impression that she might be nearly as wide. The fat in her thunder thighs was slapping loudly as she walked. It overlapped her knees, then spread into very fat cankles, over which she somehow managed to squeeze her piggy feet into orange and yellow high heeled boots.
With so much of her stomach covering her tiny pants, more than a few onlookers thought she was some sort of aspiring nudist. A few others pictured a bipedal cow that hadn’t seen the sun in her lifetime. Their eyes missed the blaster holster tied around her thigh with a belt that should fit more than a normal woman’s hip. Nobody knew the boots had jet-capabilities. Even Samus herself was beginning to forget the major usages of her arsenal, having only snagged her blaster, and the tight little disk currently buried inside of her cleavage.
The truth of the matter was that Samus was overweight by practical choice.
She was supposed to be the ultimate fighting machine.
And she had been! For a time, anyway…
Her genetic code had been altered at a young age, making her grow taller, stronger, act fast and think even quicker. She’d been capable of so much, otherworldly strengths and dexterous flexibility that allowed her to reach impossible shapes.
The girl lumbering through the hallway couldn’t even see her toes, much less reach down and touch them.
Her genetic guardians had enriched Samus’ body with their stabilizing technology, but even the laboratories couldn’t keep the unstoppable march of her very human age at bay. On the cusp of her thirtieth birthday, all Samus had ever known was the job, and the effect was undeniable.
Her eyesight was becoming increasingly blurry, the result of un-tempered plasma sparkling before her vision too many times. The cartilage in all of her joints was eviscerated from overstrained usage. Even her blood wasn’t hers anymore. At this point didn’t know if the fusion between herself and the Metroid DNA was beneficial, or detrimental, and a part of her wanted to blame her sluggish nature on her acquired sense of constant chill.
Though, that could just be all the ice cream she ate…
She’d been the ultimate fighter, but she was no machine. Slowly, her body became burnt out, and as peace fell upon her like the warm wrappings of her thick blanket of blubber, Samus found not only temperance in sweets, but joy.
The taste of sweet sugar was a fix that sent shocks of relief and of bliss through the bounty hunter’s system. It made her tongue dance in her mouth, her eyes go soft and her aches all relaxed. It had grown past a desire into something she needed and was more than happy to indulge.
However, the blonde woman was practically broke. Saving the world, saving the galaxy, those were some of the hardest jobs she’d ever taken on, and she’d never got paid. Her moral duty had taken her knees, had sacrificed her muscles, and had led to the lazy indulgence that had turned her into a waddling creampuff. She needed money to keep up her habits, to invest into maintaining her ship and her outgrown wardrobe, and so she continued onward.
Another fat bar passed into her even fatter mouth, plentiful calories spilling into a stuffed tummy, and still she munched. She ate in spite of the cold, warmed by her suit of marshmallow-fluff, desire pulsating from every taste bud. Hardly able to breathe through a planet sized chomp, Samus experienced a sugar high that was helping distract from the sore weight in her fatty thighs.
Huffing and puffing and still wanting for more, Samus waddled through the crowd, breaking the flow of traffic like a tank.
She smelled the commercial district before she arrived, the scent of seared meat puckering her heaving nose. She wasn’t even aware of the scent enrapturing her, curving around her like a seductive paramour, until her stomach found the power to rumble a squelch that was not digestion, but desire.
Her eyes blinked, her head tilting back, and again she felt the rumble gyrate her insides.
It was beef. The girl had gotten so fat that she could tell instinctively, and her mind began twisting faster than her tree trunks could carry her.
The hallways in Cherno Station were long, wide, and sparsely lit with fluorescent ceiling lamps. But as they reached from the docking center towards the central commerce section, the tunnel opened up.
Samus trundled into an atrium, looking around for the source of the scent. A small botanical park had been manufactured beneath an immense glass dome, the trees dropping blooming cherry blossoms onto the deck.
She hardly even noticed, having an instant attraction to the nearby food court. Samus’ eyes could make out the warmer lights of inviting shop interiors, and her nose sorted through the gathering checklist.
There was a grill house, it smelled like beef and hot peppers. The spot next to it looked to be a sandwich shop. Another stand had the familiar logo of a chain burger restaurant.
It wasn’t until the dribble of vanilla coasted down her round chin that the hedonistic Samus realized she hadn’t swallowed her last bite.
She gulped, muttering in annoyance as she wiped the sticky drool off of her face. She felt the white liquid spreading over her beauty mark and double chin, rubbing at it almost like a fatty moisturizer until she was sure she’d done all she may.
A small partition separated the food court from the main shopping center, where Samus was able to lean over and catch her shortened breath. She discovered that the remaining four ice cream sandwiches had melted, possibly because she was radiating heat like a nuclear furnace, and was sadly forced to dump them in the nearby trash containers. From there, she looked again from shop to shop, considering each before her sight caught a nearby group eating thickly cut pizza slices.
Her belly churned, lips wetting with hungry desire. Instantly the excuse, ‘Well, ice cream isn’t really filling. I should stop to make sure I’m properly geared up!’ was forming in her mind.
She checked her watch, then tapped it to check her camera display and the notifications. She felt the disappointment grumbling through her, non-existent willpower battling with her common sense. If she just hurried over to the pizza restaurant, she could probably...
It took Samus a moment to remember that getting paid could fill her fridge with a couple of pizzas rather than one filling slice. Still, as she had done with her ice cream, Samus felt herself pouting at the shop before she dragged her green-tinted eyes off and stomped away from the tempting district. She didn’t have the time to stop. The mark could leave at any time, and if he disappeared again, Samus would have wasted jump fuel for nothing.
Maybe after she finished, she’d return to the food court.
Definitely after.
She hoped that he would come quietly with her to the Marshalls’ office, because she simply did not have the energy to drag the man along behind while she stopped for a slice.
Waddling around the inner edge of the atrium, Samus began watching for the shifting lights of the club’s exterior. Accompanied by a growing sense of revelry and the low bumping of a heavy beat, she saw the lights a bit down the line, and began making for the entrance. More traffic parted to let the semi push through.
The exterior of ‘Shell’ was emitting music from several well-placed speakers. The metal siding has been painted a deep purple color, with a pair of lights directed to the club’s label and the icon of an emerald mermaid behind it, holding her hands over her breasts.
A dark skinned, mean looking bald man stood in front of the black double doors. He wore a black shirt and black pants, nearly blending into the door’s silhouette until Samus got close enough to see him raise up his hand.
She stopped in front of him, tilting her head to one side. Her long ponytail slid over her fat back, tickling her own love handle.
“Sorry,” the guy said, sounding very not sorry. “Club’s closed to public for Kirb hour. Members only right now.”
Samus blinked. “Kirb hour?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Just how it goes. You don’t got a pass, you can’t go in. Sorry.” Somehow, he made the second apology sound even less sincere than the first.
Samus frowned. “I was just in here la-”
“Two days ago,” the guy nodded. “I know. Can’t really forget someone like you. Did you sign on for a pass?”
Samus swallowed. “No,” she admitted. Then, thinking quickly, her hand went to her shorts. “Would this help?”
An awkward pause followed as Samus realized she couldn’t reach into her own pocket to retrieve her wallet. She had to lift her fat side out of the way with one hand while tugging the tight wallet with the other. All the while, the man watched her with a half-amused smirk, causing Samus’ cheeks to heat up.
Very few things got to Samus, but she’d been walking for what felt like two miles and her stupid wallet getting stuck against her hip was the last thing the out-of-breath woman needed to fight. She hopped once, twice, feeling her fat forcing her pants to slide down while she tugged her pocket out.
It gave with a plop, sending Samus briefly off-balance before she had to try and fix her shorts. She pulled them up as far as they’d go, not aware that her shelf-like ass now peaked over the tops, revealing stretched underwear.
“W-would,” Samus blinked, taking another hefty breath. “Would this help?”
She opened her wallet and showed the man her Identification Card, displaying a picture of a blonde woman about a fourth her size and a severely outdated weight, along with her Bounty Hunting license. Beneath the picture was an insignia labeling her history working with the Federation Police next to another labeling her as a military veteran.
The guy, at first looking dismissive, became more intent upon the license. He raised a hand beneath Samus’ to inspect the card.
“Samus… Aran?” he asked, looking over to her face, as if directly comparing the picture.
Samus was huffing through her nose, trying to quiet her breath. “Yes.”
He frowned. “You working with the Galactic Federation now?”
“No,” she shook her head. “Nothing that dangerous. A man here is wanted by the Marshalls’ office. They put out a bounty for his delivery so they can serve him charges.”
The man’s frown became a smirk. “Ahh. Got you as an errand girl, eh? The Marshalls are too small to do anything of their own around here.”
Samus nodded, closing her ID. She didn’t try to put it back in her shorts. “So, may I come in?”
Gesturing towards a black podium, he shrugged. “I’ll sign you in, sure. Time in and time out when you leave with your boy. Need a punch slip?”
“No, I should be fine. My ship’s system auto logs for expenses and billing time.”
“Understood,” he nodded. “Kirb hour means free drinks and buffet for members, but I’ll throw in for a former. Anything else you need?”
Samus’ nose worked instinctively, twitching at the mention of a buffet and trying to discern the flavor. She swallowed, resting a hand over her top and trying to smother her hunger. “I should be fine,” she passed on, making for the door. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” the man waved. Then, so quietly that Samus almost missed it, he chuckled. “Hundred and ninety-eight pounds…” he laughed again.
When she entered through the wide double doors, Samus lifted her watch to check her camera feed. She saw herself, hips stretching to block most of the swinging entrance, blushing so bright that her moonlight skin glowed pink in the dark entrance hallway.
She looked up and pouted into the camera feed, lips puckered in severe disapproval. But there was nothing for it. She knew she was fat, and since everyone else knew, what point was there in getting upset?
The calm, collected, logical side told her she shouldn’t care about the jibe, so naturally, Samus ignored it and continued to pout with her arms crossed over her chest, giving her the look of a meat-packed dumpling.
Several hundred pounds managed to look squeezed on her six-and-a-half-foot frame. She’d not weighed herself in years, and was doing her best to continue that trend. But even she had to admit, looking down at how far her tummy stuck out from her waist, she was a little… curious.
The hallway was a brief sitting room, with long leather couches set against either wall and continued into the building. Samus followed it to another dark set of doors. The music was, at both times, quieter in the hallway yet somehow had more feeling than outside. A heavy bass throbbed from the building’s center, washing over her body with enough of a tremor to make her tummy feel as if it was vibrating.
Which it was, because following the soundwaves was an intoxicating smell of sweet, savory meats. Chicken, she thought, feeling her stomach flex the remnants of muscles beneath the swelling curves of her gut. There were other scents too, but Samus was picturing saucy dunked chicken served by the pound, and her wandering mind nearly had her waddle further in without setting her disk.
Samus would have kicked herself, if she could raise her foot that high. Instead she trundled back towards her camera display and tucked her hand into the triangle window her top displayed her cleavage through. She dug through the heavy mounds, feeling them pulling her top in opposite directions while she plucked the sweat-covered device out.
She made a face, wondering inwardly if she was really sweating that badly, before pushing the concern away. ‘Work to do,’ her mind instructed.
Her gut rumbled, ‘Food to e-’
‘WORK. TO. DO.’
Samus clicked the central button of the disk, glancing to the doors of the club before looking up to where she had planted her micro-camera. She considered climbing onto the couch so she could reach the ceiling, same as she’d done before, but grimaced when she saw what she thought might be the damage of her overbearing weight. Instead she leaned over the padded rest, causing her shorts to lodge further into her massive ass, and affixed the disk to a higher spot on the wall.
Samus righted herself, tugging her top back down to her love handle rolls. Hopefully nobody would notice the device. It mostly blended into the dark, but if anyone were looking, they’d certainly see.
She tapped her watch, linking the disk to the camera feed and used the control to flip the view so it faced inward rather than out. Then Samus watched her wobbling ass waddle down the center, before her waning will was again beset with the scent of honey and barbeque and spicy hot garlic, and she entered the club.
For a brief moment, Samus forgot everything, even her grumbling hunger, as the impression of pink slammed into her like a sledgehammer. The dark walls were suddenly bright with throbbing colors of white and pink, with the small little touch of a scarlet red, flashing in tune with music straight from some land of dreams.
An array of tables had been erected around a large, wooden dance floor. Samus’ poor sight was washed over by happy pink outfits as clearly intoxicated people bounced rhythmically with the happy electronic music, though whether they were influenced by alcohol or simply drunk on life wasn’t readily apparent.
But as a girl wobbled past screaming “I love you Kirb!” over the jiggling bass, Samus had a hard time believing anything but alcohol could be involved.
She blinked several times, moving away from the entrance and tried to keep from being overwhelmed by the sense that she’d waddled into a cotton candy factory.
Behind the dance floor was the DJ’s stand, where the vague shape of what appeared to be a man with blue skin and the beak of a duck made Samus wish she’d just invest in the corrective eye surgery. He stood in front of a huge screen which displayed a giant wooden mallet beating down on a glowing yellow star on a fat pink background, and people cheered even louder as the star struck back.
On either side of the main dance floor were a pair of brightly lit bars, red light pouring down on the bartenders. Both were filled with patrons ordering pink drinks, served in globular glasses, which glowed even brighter as they neared the floor. Exceptionally thirsty women gulped it down at a speed that impressed the heavyset bounty hunter.
She found herself guided by a need to sit down and process the fever dream, but a glance at the tiny bar stool at the singles table made her rumbling belly squelch in discomfort. A simple solution came to her, taking the stool from the other side of the table and perching her fat rear on top of both, resting her arms on her cake-like tummy and looking around at the scene. She sat right next to the dance floor, separated by an iron black railing.
There was something… more, in the club than there should be. Normally, the scene would be off-putting to the solitary Samus. The music was too loud, there were too many people, and the way that they all moved reminded Samus of being in battle. The explosions of sound and color would have gotten to her if they were blue or red or yellow, but they weren’t.
They were an incorruptible pink, a sweetness of mood that Samus could taste on her tongue, and despite herself, she found herself smirking as people laughed and had fun. An undeniable warmth of life ebbed from the room, washing over Samus and her nuclear tummy. She could catch her breath her, sitting on her fat bottom and watching the happy people sipping from the tubby pink drinks. Could rest with her heavy arms on the shelf of her belly.
As she did, she found her head bobbing gently, long hair ticking the fat on her back, and she began lightly patting herself to the tune of the beat.
“Excuse me!” a voice asked before Samus felt the tap on her shoulder. A young woman wearing a bulbous pink hat grinned up at her behind a brilliant white grin. “You stole my seat!”
Samus blinked, looking the girl up and down. She was maybe five feet tall, her slender body peeking out from beneath a pretty pink top. “Oh, uhh, sorry,” Samus made to get up.
The girl waved her off, holding her hands over Samus’ side so she couldn’t move without touching her. “No no! It’s okay!!” the girl giggled. She had large, unnatural lime-green eyes and wavy brown hair that fluffed out of her hat. “Can I buy you a drink?!”
“Aren’t they free?” Samus asked.
The girl lifted a hand to her hair, making tiny circular movements. “Oopsie! Ya caught me!” she giggled again, suddenly coming off like a malicious schoolgirl. Her other hand lifted to the bright pink pass tied around her neck, where a pair of wholesome blue eyes were set over a tiny c shaped grin. “How about something to eat?! I’m starving!”
Samus glanced awkwardly to the bar. She’d no idea how this place operated, or if they’d ask for a pass. Still, she was about to refuse when the girl hopped up and down on the balls of her feet like a tiny penguin.
“The wings here are so yummy! You’ve gotta try ‘em! And I can get you a Kirb too!”
Samus gritted her teeth as an exceptional burst of bass drowned out the whine of her belly. There were cheers from the dance floor and the other girl was colored by an immense flair of pink that colored her like a bright, pleasant blush.
Finally, Samus nodded. “Yeah. Okay, sure.”
“You wait right here, miss!” The little woman winked, her other eye falling to Samus’ belly before twisting away and heading towards the left bar with a tiny, bright dance.
Samus watched her go, a tiny bird hopping along in a cheerful prance before looking back to her watch. Still nothing on that front.
A sharp thought finally breached Samus as she looked around the crowd. The mark, Mr. Sauce, did not seem the type who would revel in this type of atmosphere. In fact, the profile constructor had labeled him much like a recluse. Introverted, pulls away from large crowds and would rather spend time away from such a scene. Maybe it was the undeniable happiness of the place that brought him out here, or maybe he just really liked pink.
It wouldn’t matter. She’d have her bounty one way or another, and then she could get paid, and then she could get groceries. It’d be easiest if she could find him herself, but she didn’t mind taking her time.
She pinched her fingers over her eyes, looking again around the crowd. She quickly counted about four dozen people at the dance floor. She was surprised when she spotted a blonde Elfin girl that was nearly as large as she was, giggling and jiggling as she danced with a blonde Elfin boy. They looked quite intimate, wearing matching bright blue clothes that jumped out amongst all of the pink. His hands held her, squishing her wobbling stomach to him.
There was something about the girl that gave Samus pause. Perhaps it was the fancy braid in her hair, or the fresh, exhausted blush on her chubby cheeks. She looked different than normal Elfin girls did, with her thick blonde eyebrows and her flabby enjoyment. There was a certain… glow, to the couple.
Samus realized she was staring and instead turned away. It was none of her business who was where, she was hunting a human. Still, she felt a little relieved that she wasn’t the only overweight woman in the club. She was just the fattest… and dressed in much less.
How comforting.
She found herself again glancing towards them, now feeling self-conscious, but her attention was pulled away as the smell of meat bounced off of her belly. The other girl returned, holding two fat drinks in either hand and carrying three plates of drool-inducing wings stretched between her arms.
“I didn’t know what you’d like!” she called over the music, “So I got some of my favorites!”
Samus tucked back as the girl placed the plates down and went to the other side, where she stood and took a sip of her drink. She was about to offer one of the stools, even knowing that one simply wouldn’t hold her, when the other girl flashed a dimpled grin.
“What’s up? I get something on my face?!”
The bounty hunter swallowed. She shook her head, feeling as awkward as social interactions always made her, only now the feeling was redoubled. She wished quite suddenly that she had an inch of Varia armor in between herself and the whole club. Things were easier when people couldn’t see her face.
The girl reached out and took one of the wings off the plate. “I didn’t poison them!” she chuckled with a wink. “Go on, try!” Her little mouth chomped down on the wing, tearing the meat free.
Samus took from the same plate, finally looking down at the multi-colored sauces that coated the wings. One was the familiar dark color of barbeque, another a lighter, tangier looking orange, and the last was, oddly enough, more pink.
She took from the barbeque plate, holding the wing between meaty paws and chomping down to the bone. The wash of comforting spices struck against her tongue, her hungry stomach sliding further over her thighs as she pulled in a heavy, lovely breath.
“Good, right?!” the girl wiggled, her poofy hat jiggling on her head.
“Mhmm,” Samus muttered quietly, lost beneath the sound of the music. Still, her enjoyment was more than apparent. She scooched forward on her massive cheeks, belly now pushing up against the table. The wing was delicious. But it only wetted Samus’ intense hunger.
She ate it slowly, tempering herself while the other woman’s teeth struck like a viper, tearing it apart with a quick strike. The pink girl looked over the table before taking a napkin and opening it up between them, discarding her bone. Samus followed suit.
She let herself relax a bit more as the other girl blitzed through a second and then a third wing, allowing her plump lips to eat at a comfortable pace. She kept pace with the other, being careful not to eat like the fat slob that she was.
Thankfully, the little woman seemed to have quite the appetite. She ate loudly, making noises of heady enjoyment and wiggling in a small dance from side to side. It was comforting in its own way, until Samus leaned forward and unconsciously took a tiny sip of her fat pink drink.
Sweet, sweet sugar lapped over her tongue, washing waves immediately eliciting a response of widening hunger. Her eyes dilated, vision disappearing into the sugarplum sea, and the next thing she knew she was sucking down the cold froth by the mouthful.
It tasted like ice cream, a shake of vanilla hinted with cherries, terrifically chilly and exceptionally delicious. Samus’ weakness for sugary sweetness held the girl’s body in its fatty grip, her aversion to cold spiking her senses of life. She picked the bowl up in both pudgy paws. Her chest was too fat to hold the bowl straight, making her lean forward till her solid stomach formed a pinched double roll over her deep navel.
She slurped until there was nothing left, twisting the straw around with an almost frantic desire. There had to be more. She hadn’t had enou-
A weighty scratch came over the table as the second cup was passed over towards her. Samus’ hand caught it by the thick base, her blue eyes meeting a devilish reply from the other side. The pink brunette was watching her with almost the same hunger that Samus was filled with and nodded towards the cup.
“I can get another,” she purred, the low heat piercing through much louder revelry. “Have mine.”
Samus wanted to say no. She wanted to return it, to offer to go and get her own. But not nearly as much as the fatty wanted to say yes.
She nodded, almost embarrassed, and began hungrily drinking from the second cup. She realized again that she was having trouble breathing, and only then comprehended it was because she had stopped. Too busy filling her gut to take in for her lungs, Samus wheezed through her nose between thick mouthfuls.
She held herself to only half this time, trying to analyze more than just the flavor as she drank. The contents were icy, cold near the top, but made her feel so warm inside. The fat glass felt like it might weigh a full pound or two, quickly emptying into Samus’ belly. She placed it on the table, making for a heavy exhale but her sausage fingers were instantly filled with meaty wings and she snapped at them with such hunger as to crack through the bone.
The creampuff huffed, adding wing after wing to her fluff and adjusting her weight. Her low pants came even lower, with her blubbery butt now peaking over the tops. Her back fat pinched into her love handles as if desperate to try and keep a womanly, hourglass shape, but failed entirely as Samus gut was much larger than her top and was plentiful enough to flow over her hips. Her tremendous body jiggled with each hungry puff.
Every ache of age, every pain of her body, disappeared in that sweet pink cloud of dreamland. Samus found her coldness melted by the freezy taste, wiggling unconsciously on her bottom as she ate more and more. The pink wings were equally sweet, a sugary sauce on top of salty, spiced meat.
The littler girl had appeared at her side, sampling slowly as Samus ate like a cow. She was saying something about the club, something else about mermaids, but it wasn’t about food so Samus wasn’t really paying attention until someone else appeared before them.
As if out of thin air, an older woman startled Samus by appearing where the pink girl had been standing. This woman had black hair and four exceptionally angry scars dragged down the side of her face, giving the cloud-heady bounty hunter an immediate grounding. She wore a lab coat, though this too was colored a bright pink, and around her neck had several security passes displayed beneath her pink Kirb.
“You…” the older woman whispered under her breath just as the music began to pick up. “You’re… You’re Samus Aran.”
Samus swallowed the mouthful of meat. She said nothing, but her hand dropped the wings as instinct sent a screech of adrenaline through her body. The aches and pains returned like an explosion, and Samus was suddenly returned to just how fat she’d become. Years of instinct kept her movements slow, trained eyes staring into the sparkling recognition on the other woman’s face.
She didn’t bother lying, just began, very slowly, reaching for her blaster.
The small girl at her round shoulder had no such fears. “Who the hell are you?!” she demanded. “Hey, I spotted her first, she’s my whal-” The girl immediately went straight and as bright as her outfit. “Erm, um.” She shook her head wildly and pointed towards the door. “Get outta here!”
The woman in the lab coat looked startled, as if she’d not even seen the, now blushing, shorty. With another wide-eyed glance at Samus that tightened into a furious glare, she turned and ran away from the table, nearly smacking into a couple as she dashed for the exit.
“Hmph!” the girl crossed her arms over her chest. “Frikin poacher…” She then turned back to Samus, only to find the lustful hunger frozen beneath the bounty hunter’s shell of ice.
“‘She’s my whale’?”
“E-erm!” the young girl blinked. “W-well…” A couple awkward seconds passed and she took a step back, coughing. “Hey! It’s… endearing?”
Samus scowled. Her hand was still on her blaster.
The temperature had dropped several degrees. Samus didn’t like the cold, especially cold without ice cream, and she felt below freezing as the little devilish girl puckered her lips in a bratty pout.
“It is!” the girl stamped. “I mean, look at you! You’re as fat as a-”
Samus’ blaster was set for a very light stun. It bubbled for a second, coloring the pink girl with a yellow fear before impacting on her exposed belly and jittering through her body. Samus caught her before she fell to the floor, lowering her against the railing near the table and fixing her hat.
She leaned over, her massive rear exposing her fat backside to the whole club. “Some advice. Don’t call girls animals. Especially fat ones,” said the creampuff.
Samus straightened, plucking her shorts from the crack of her ass. She looked around, seeing more than a few people watching them now. Nobody said anything. People kept to themselves on Cherno.
She noticed the Elfin couple, the boy now standing protectively between Samus and the tubby girl. A knight protecting his timid princess.
Samus wasn’t anyone’s princess. She was a bounty hunter.
And she had work to do.
She walked away from the pink girl, who despite herself, couldn’t help watching Samus’ fat rear bouncing up and down as she waddled off to the bar.
Comments
Undertaker
They never get paid enough for the job!
David Oh
Dunno why but I think that term ‘aspiring nudist’ would fit into any fat girls introduced in your literature😂😂 Also yeah everytime I see games of heroes saving a princess or a world, I wonder if yhey get paid for that?
