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Description
Agent Romanoff clutched her handbag tightly as she waited in line, her thighs becoming increasingly more uncomfortable as they rubbed together. She tugged down on the bottom of her recently purchased red bandage dress, which could hardly contain her backside and struggled to keep a handle on her breasts, as snacks on the way had added to her frame a decent amount.

She couldn't help but sway her hips in time with the music escaping the club’s walls, making the rest of her jiggle with them.

“Ashley Troy?!” One of the bouncers called into the line.

Natasha immediately breathed a sigh of relief and hurried forward, careful not to let her rack escape.

“That's me!” The plump blonde said with an expertly manufactured smile.

“Welcome to Jiggle.” He opened up the door, cueing her to elegantly waddle inside.

Upon entering, her eyes were met with a sea of obesity occupying the dance floor, but after a day in Violetsburg, the culture shock had worn off; it all seemed normal. She scanned the area whilst the music pounded against her eardrums, so loud that it caused her doughy belly to vibrate somewhat. She started forward and squeezed her way through the crowd of fatties until she reached a couch, containing a woman of about three hundred and sixty-ish pounds wearing a black and white dress that caused multiple bubbles of smooth, caramel-colored fat to ooze out.

“Are you Norah Burriss?!” Natasha shouted at her so she could be heard over the music.

“Yeah, what's it to you?!” Norah shouted back, her attention focused on the blonde bombshell adjacent to her.

“I'm Ashley! I heard you guys were hiring!”

“And who told you that?!”

“The busboy at Pizza Hut!” She repeated from what the snitch had told her.

Norah narrowed her eyes and nodded. “Help me up and I'll take you to my room!”

Natasha slingshotted herself up and grabbed Norah’s wrist, then tugged on it to assist her in hauling her pear of a body onto its heeled feet.

Norah led our hero through a curtain to their right, traversing the floor in a hybrid between a strut and a waddle, which made her massive ass jiggle like freshly-made Jell-O.

Inside the private room was a couch that stretched the whole length of the back wall, paintings and sketchings of its owner, and two two-hundred pound women in pantsuits, FAMAS rifles held to their bellies.

“Please, have a seat, my friend.” Norah gestured to the couch as she plopped herself down onto it.

Natasha placed her bubble-butt on the soft cushion surface and set her bag on her lap.

“Before we get to business, let's order food. What do you want?”

“I've been itching for a pizza all day.”

Norah turned to one of the guards. “Two extra large pepperoni and sausage pizzas with bacon in the crust.”

The guard nodded. “Right away, Fatty Burriss.” She left her rifle on the table and exited the room.

Norah turned her attention back to our hero. “Now, why do you want to join the Fatties?”

Natasha adopted a more devilish demeanor. “Why stop at having all the food I want? I want money and guns and fast cars.”

“Then you've come to the right place. What are your skills?”

“I know my way around a gun. I can drive with professional racers, too.”

“Have you been with a syndicate before?”

Upon seeing her face in better light and being closer, Natasha saw just how imposing this woman was. A scar separated her plump cheek in half, cutting a streak in her otherwise perfect brown skin. Her eyes were narrow and bright, almost like those of a tiger. Finally, she wasn't sure, but she looked as though she had more than the usual amount of canine teeth.

“No, but I'm not stupid.”

“Good. Stupid gets you killed. Our rules are simple, but if you break them, we will make you regret it. One: do not kill cops, under any circumstances. Two: half of what you take in heists goes to the syndicate. Three: never lose weight. Ever. Four: never pass by a Wendy’s without buying something, unless you need to be somewhere for the syndicate. The rest of the rules are common sense. Do you agree?” Norah used the armrest to stand and motioned for Natasha to do the same.

The blonde agent stood up once more and nodded. “I agree.”

Norah smiled and smacked her double-belly against Natasha’s doughy center, knocking her on her plump rump.

The guard entered back in with the pizzas and Norah took them both, then set the opened boxes on the couch where she was sat.

“It's time for part one of initiation.” She took a slice, folded it, then shoved it into her plump protégé’s lips. “Feeding.”

Natasha moaned and chewed the slice until it was ready to be swallowed, then gave it passage into her gut. Before she was able to speak, Norah forced slice number two in her maw, which got the same treatment as its predecessor. It wasn't long before the first mostly meat pizza had disappeared into Natasha’s burgeoning belly, making it look like a full water balloon in her taut red dress. However, Norah was only halfway done with the newest addition to the syndicate. She took the second pizza and began popping slices in almost faster than Natasha could handle.

By the end of the stuffing, it was taking all of Natasha’s willpower to hold her packed gut in so her dress didn't disintegrate. Her face held a distressed feeling, her eyes shut tight and her teeth clenched in straining effort. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead onto her cheeks and nose.

Norah leaned in and put her lips to Natasha’s ear. “Just let it go, Ashley~ Be a real Fatty~”

Natasha took a deep breath before letting her belly take its rightful place: three inches in front of her. Her dress split open right down the middle, revealing her thick gut and simple strapless black bra.

“You've taken your first step into a larger world, Chubette Troy.” Norah said and left the room to let her nap.

----Two hours later---

Natasha awoke from her slumber, her tattered dress clinging to her body like used band-aids.

‘Alright….’ She thought as she wiped her forehead. ‘I'm in.’

The club had closed its doors twenty minutes ago, so the pounding of music no longer filled the air of the establishment, just the smell of greasy food.

Norah strut-waddled back in, now dressed down to high-waisted jeans with golden buttons and a purple sleeveless shirt that clung to her fat body like matte tape.

“Good, you're awake.” The underboss began. “It's time to take you back to the simulator, see how you do in a mission situation.”

“Can I get a change of clothes?” Natasha asked while she peeled herself from the couch.

“Of course. There's a closet in the second room.” Norah gestured to a curtain on the east wall of the room.

Once Natasha was on her feet, she waddled inside and removed the ruins of her dress, then changed into subtly ripped black skinny jeans and a blue/purple plaid shirt; both items adhering to her curves perfectly and comfortably.

Norah took her first to a table in the almost empty club, where there was a woman of two-fifty big ones waiting. She wore a white tank top and a leather vest, leaving her pale, tattoo covered arms exposed. She took Natasha’s right wrist, pushed her sleeve back, then tattooed the basic shape of a pig’s head on the inside. Natasha expressed no pain.

Norah smiled. “You're now officially a Chubette, our starting rank. Someday, you'll hopefully waddle among us Fatties, the highest you can get.”

“I'll get there in no time at all.” Natasha remarked and pulled her other sleeve back for symmetry’s sake.

“That's ambitious. Just don't get in over your head. Wouldn't want you to get a bullet in it.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

The two plump women descended a staircase into the club’s basement, which contained a full simulation suite, akin to what they had at the Triskelion in Washington.

“Prepare hideout attack simulation, clearance: Fatty Burriss zero-four.” Norah spoke into a small microphone.

The suite created an environment exactly like the upper floor of the club, real and not real at the same time.

Natasha turned toward a weapons cabinet and took a belt with a single holster attached, then looped it around her waist and fastened it securely. She filled the holster with a M9 Beretta pistol, then an Adaptive Combat Rifle for her main armament.

She stepped into the suite, then heard the blaring of sirens, followed by the sound of approaching boots. She dove for the bar and slid smoothly into cover, then loaded her rifle. The first wave of attackers came in, carrying simple double-barreled shotguns. Natasha popped out of cover and took each one out with a shot to their gut.

“Level two.” The simulation announced.

Cops charged inside, brandishing Glock 11s and demanding surrender.

Natasha remembered the rule Norah explained to her and switched out the ACR for the pistol. She popped out several times, each time popping an attacker in his knee or thigh while taking care not to get shot. She maintained her calmness as the simulation announced level three.

Armored SWAT cops entered in, shouting all kinds of demands for surrender.

Natasha grabbed a tall beer glass from under the bar and chucked it at one’s head, then put a bullet in his shoulder. The next one down suffered a hanging light falling on his leg, the third getting a stock to the face, the fourth and final getting pistol whipped.

Norah Clapped her hands enthusiastically and grinned. “Bravo! Bravo! You are going places, Ashley!”

Natasha smiled smugly. “I aim to please.”

Description
Agent Romanoff clutched her handbag tightly as she waited in line, her thighs becoming increasingly more uncomfortable as they rubbed together. She tugged down on the bottom of her recently purchased red bandage dress, which could hardly contain her backside and struggled to keep a handle on her breasts, as snacks on the way had added to her frame a decent amount.

She couldn't help but sway her hips in time with the music escaping the club’s walls, making the rest of her jiggle with them.

“Ashley Troy?!” One of the bouncers called into the line.

Natasha immediately breathed a sigh of relief and hurried forward, careful not to let her rack escape.

“That's me!” The plump blonde said with an expertly manufactured smile.

“Welcome to Jiggle.” He opened up the door, cueing her to elegantly waddle inside.

Upon entering, her eyes were met with a sea of obesity occupying the dance floor, but after a day in Violetsburg, the culture shock had worn off; it all seemed normal. She scanned the area whilst the music pounded against her eardrums, so loud that it caused her doughy belly to vibrate somewhat. She started forward and squeezed her way through the crowd of fatties until she reached a couch, containing a woman of about three hundred and sixty-ish pounds wearing a black and white dress that caused multiple bubbles of smooth, caramel-colored fat to ooze out.

“Are you Norah Burriss?!” Natasha shouted at her so she could be heard over the music.

“Yeah, what's it to you?!” Norah shouted back, her attention focused on the blonde bombshell adjacent to her.

“I'm Ashley! I heard you guys were hiring!”

“And who told you that?!”

“The busboy at Pizza Hut!” She repeated from what the snitch had told her.

Norah narrowed her eyes and nodded. “Help me up and I'll take you to my room!”

Natasha slingshotted herself up and grabbed Norah’s wrist, then tugged on it to assist her in hauling her pear of a body onto its heeled feet.

Norah led our hero through a curtain to their right, traversing the floor in a hybrid between a strut and a waddle, which made her massive ass jiggle like freshly-made Jell-O.

Inside the private room was a couch that stretched the whole length of the back wall, paintings and sketchings of its owner, and two two-hundred pound women in pantsuits, FAMAS rifles held to their bellies.

“Please, have a seat, my friend.” Norah gestured to the couch as she plopped herself down onto it.

Natasha placed her bubble-butt on the soft cushion surface and set her bag on her lap.

“Before we get to business, let's order food. What do you want?”

“I've been itching for a pizza all day.”

Norah turned to one of the guards. “Two extra large pepperoni and sausage pizzas with bacon in the crust.”

The guard nodded. “Right away, Fatty Burriss.” She left her rifle on the table and exited the room.

Norah turned her attention back to our hero. “Now, why do you want to join the Fatties?”

Natasha adopted a more devilish demeanor. “Why stop at having all the food I want? I want money and guns and fast cars.”

“Then you've come to the right place. What are your skills?”

“I know my way around a gun. I can drive with professional racers, too.”

“Have you been with a syndicate before?”

Upon seeing her face in better light and being closer, Natasha saw just how imposing this woman was. A scar separated her plump cheek in half, cutting a streak in her otherwise perfect brown skin. Her eyes were narrow and bright, almost like those of a tiger. Finally, she wasn't sure, but she looked as though she had more than the usual amount of canine teeth.

“No, but I'm not stupid.”

“Good. Stupid gets you killed. Our rules are simple, but if you break them, we will make you regret it. One: do not kill cops, under any circumstances. Two: half of what you take in heists goes to the syndicate. Three: never lose weight. Ever. Four: never pass by a Wendy’s without buying something, unless you need to be somewhere for the syndicate. The rest of the rules are common sense. Do you agree?” Norah used the armrest to stand and motioned for Natasha to do the same.

The blonde agent stood up once more and nodded. “I agree.”

Norah smiled and smacked her double-belly against Natasha’s doughy center, knocking her on her plump rump.

The guard entered back in with the pizzas and Norah took them both, then set the opened boxes on the couch where she was sat.

“It's time for part one of initiation.” She took a slice, folded it, then shoved it into her plump protégé’s lips. “Feeding.”

Natasha moaned and chewed the slice until it was ready to be swallowed, then gave it passage into her gut. Before she was able to speak, Norah forced slice number two in her maw, which got the same treatment as its predecessor. It wasn't long before the first mostly meat pizza had disappeared into Natasha’s burgeoning belly, making it look like a full water balloon in her taut red dress. However, Norah was only halfway done with the newest addition to the syndicate. She took the second pizza and began popping slices in almost faster than Natasha could handle.

By the end of the stuffing, it was taking all of Natasha’s willpower to hold her packed gut in so her dress didn't disintegrate. Her face held a distressed feeling, her eyes shut tight and her teeth clenched in straining effort. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead onto her cheeks and nose.

Norah leaned in and put her lips to Natasha’s ear. “Just let it go, Ashley~ Be a real Fatty~”

Natasha took a deep breath before letting her belly take its rightful place: three inches in front of her. Her dress split open right down the middle, revealing her thick gut and simple strapless black bra.

“You've taken your first step into a larger world, Chubette Troy.” Norah said and left the room to let her nap.

----Two hours later---

Natasha awoke from her slumber, her tattered dress clinging to her body like used band-aids.

‘Alright….’ She thought as she wiped her forehead. ‘I'm in.’

The club had closed its doors twenty minutes ago, so the pounding of music no longer filled the air of the establishment, just the smell of greasy food.

Norah strut-waddled back in, now dressed down to high-waisted jeans with golden buttons and a purple sleeveless shirt that clung to her fat body like matte tape.

“Good, you're awake.” The underboss began. “It's time to take you back to the simulator, see how you do in a mission situation.”

“Can I get a change of clothes?” Natasha asked while she peeled herself from the couch.

“Of course. There's a closet in the second room.” Norah gestured to a curtain on the east wall of the room.

Once Natasha was on her feet, she waddled inside and removed the ruins of her dress, then changed into subtly ripped black skinny jeans and a blue/purple plaid shirt; both items adhering to her curves perfectly and comfortably.

Norah took her first to a table in the almost empty club, where there was a woman of two-fifty big ones waiting. She wore a white tank top and a leather vest, leaving her pale, tattoo covered arms exposed. She took Natasha’s right wrist, pushed her sleeve back, then tattooed the basic shape of a pig’s head on the inside. Natasha expressed no pain.

Norah smiled. “You're now officially a Chubette, our starting rank. Someday, you'll hopefully waddle among us Fatties, the highest you can get.”

“I'll get there in no time at all.” Natasha remarked and pulled her other sleeve back for symmetry’s sake.

“That's ambitious. Just don't get in over your head. Wouldn't want you to get a bullet in it.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

The two plump women descended a staircase into the club’s basement, which contained a full simulation suite, akin to what they had at the Triskelion in Washington.

“Prepare hideout attack simulation, clearance: Fatty Burriss zero-four.” Norah spoke into a small microphone.

The suite created an environment exactly like the upper floor of the club, real and not real at the same time.

Natasha turned toward a weapons cabinet and took a belt with a single holster attached, then looped it around her waist and fastened it securely. She filled the holster with a M9 Beretta pistol, then an Adaptive Combat Rifle for her main armament.

She stepped into the suite, then heard the blaring of sirens, followed by the sound of approaching boots. She dove for the bar and slid smoothly into cover, then loaded her rifle. The first wave of attackers came in, carrying simple double-barreled shotguns. Natasha popped out of cover and took each one out with a shot to their gut.

“Level two.” The simulation announced.

Cops charged inside, brandishing Glock 11s and demanding surrender.

Natasha remembered the rule Norah explained to her and switched out the ACR for the pistol. She popped out several times, each time popping an attacker in his knee or thigh while taking care not to get shot. She maintained her calmness as the simulation announced level three.

Armored SWAT cops entered in, shouting all kinds of demands for surrender.

Natasha grabbed a tall beer glass from under the bar and chucked it at one’s head, then put a bullet in his shoulder. The next one down suffered a hanging light falling on his leg, the third getting a stock to the face, the fourth and final getting pistol whipped.

Norah Clapped her hands enthusiastically and grinned. “Bravo! Bravo! You are going places, Ashley!”

Natasha smiled smugly. “I aim to please.”