THE PIE THIEF: SUPERCUT (SSBBW)

The warm aroma of cinnamon and sugar filled the air of the modest yet cozy kitchen. A freshly baked pie rested on the floral-patterned tablecloth draped over a well-worn table. The soft hum of the radio in the corner was barely audible over the bubbling of a pot on the stove. Stacks of mismatched Tupperware were piled high in one corner, and a sticky spot on the floor hinted at a mishap someone had neglected to clean up.

Mrs. Bloomfield was a bombshell who never left the 80s. She was blonde, glamorous and curvy. She was a milf and took pride in that fact, her lipstick glossy pink, and her nails were long and manicured. Her oversized earrings jingled as she stirred the pot on the stove, humming along to a pop song on her old radio. She was wearing a snug pink tracksuit that hugged her curves perfectly. To an outsider, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a workout video, but to anyone who knew her that knew that, that was the last place she wanted to be.

She took a deep breath taking in the heavenly scent of the pie she had taken out of the oven and smiled to herself, proud of her work.

Then, she heard a familiar sound: At first all she heard was the creak of floorboards. Then came the heavy, deliberate thud, thud, thud of footsteps making their way down the hall. The mom glanced toward the doorway just as her oldest daughter Beverly appeared, filling the frame entirely.

Beverly lumbered into the kitchen. Her immense body filled the doorway nearly entirely as she turned sideways to squeeze herself in.. She was built like a mountain of soft flesh, her sagging apron belly hanging low enough to obscure the waistband of her ill-fitted sweatpants. Her arms, thick and dimpled, swung slightly as she moved, while her thighs pressed tightly against each other, forcing her into a slow, rolling waddle. The effort of walking left her flushed, her breath coming in labored huffs.

Her presence was unmistakable. Built like a living monument of soft flesh, she had a body that demanded space, her immense frame almost too large for the doorway she stood in. She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, catching her breath, her flushed face glistening with sweat.

At 20 years old and over 500 pounds, she was living proof of what unchecked indulgence and her mother’s enabling had led to. Her story was not one of sudden change but of years of steady, unapologetic growth.

She had started gaining weight noticeably in high school, a combination of stress eating, her mom’s doting, and a metabolism that seemed to slow with every passing year. By her senior year, she had to quit the basketball team—her size made running unbearable, and her coach’s subtle comments about “conditioning” didn’t help. College was supposed to be her fresh start. She imagined herself as an independent young woman, living on campus, making friends, and finally finding balance in her life. But that wasn’t how it played out.

Her weight had ballooned in her first semester. With unlimited access to the dining hall and late-night fast food runs with new friends, while most of her friends only succumbed to the typical freshman 15 she had gained a whopping 130 pounds in her freshman year. By the time she returned home for winter break, she could barely fit into her largest pair of sweatpants, and her family’s eyes widened when she walked—or rather waddled—through the door.

Her second semester was even harder. By then, she had outgrown the desks in her lecture halls, her professors growing increasingly uncomfortable as she asked for “special accommodations.” Walking across campus was a Herculean effort, and stairs became her sworn enemy. The final straw came when she realized she couldn’t fit comfortably in her dorm room anymore. Her tiny twin bed seemed to groan under her weight, and she dreaded squeezing into the narrow communal showers. Reluctantly, she dropped out after her first semester in her sophomore year, citing “health reasons,” though everyone knew the truth.

Now, back at home, she spent most of her days in her specially adapted room—a sanctuary of comfort and indulgence. Her mom had set it up for her with reinforced furniture, a bariatric bed, and even a mini-fridge so she wouldn’t have to make frequent trips to the kitchen. The isolation, however, had only deepened her dependence on her mom’s doting care and the food she so readily provided.

"Hi, sweetheart," her mom cooed, immediately noticing the beads of sweat forming on her daughter's brow. "You know you shouldn't be walking so much without mommy’s help.”

“H-Hih ... mohm ...gasp...” ******Her behemoth of a daughter struggled to answer as she slowly lumbered into the room, Her body jiggled with every movement, the rolls of her stomach swaying heavily beneath her oversized, food-stained T-shirt. Her breathing was audible—deep and heavy from the short walk.

She paused in the middle of the kitchen, leaning against the counter for support. Her face was flushed, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead. She fanned herself with one hand, her eyes immediately locking onto the pie on the counter.

“W-What’sh ...wheeze... that'sh ...wheeze... shmell? ...wheeze...” she asked, her voice husky with hunger.

"That, my darling, is pie," her mom replied, placing the spoon down and turning to face her daughter. "But dinner’s not ready yet, so you’ll have to wait just a little while longer."

Beverly’s stomach growled loudly, cutting through the room like thunder.

"Aw, baby," her mom cooed, walking over and patting her daughter’s arm, which was so thick her fingers couldn’t wrap all the way around it. "You look like you’re starving!"

“I-Im fine” she said, though her eyes never left the pie.

"Well, I can’t have you wasting away on me," her mom joked, placing her hands on her hips. "You’ll ruin that gorgeous figure of yours!"

The older sister snorted, but a small smile tugged at her lips. Her mom had always been her biggest cheerleader, even when it was clear her "gorgeous figure" had long since become a medical concern.

"I’ll tell you what," her mom continued, glancing back at the pie. "I made this for your sister since it’s her last night at home, but I’ll let you have a small slice to hold you over. But just a small one, alright? Your sister will be upset if there’s not enough."

But before the words had fully left her mouth, Beverly had shuffled forward and grabbed a knife.

"A small slice," her mom repeated, raising an eyebrow as she watched her daughter cut a quarter of the pie.

She smirked, lifting the hefty slice onto a plate. "It’s a small slice for me," she said, licking a bit of filling off her finger and cut a quarter of the pie with practiced precision. She lifted the slice with her hands—ignoring the fork—and shoved the first bite into her mouth with a satisfied groan.

"Goodness," her mom exclaimed, watching in amusement. "I hope the rest is enough for your sister.

"She’ll be fine," Beverly mumbled, already halfway through her slice.

Her mom watched with a mix of amusement and mild concern as she rummaged through the fridge in search for some whipped cream and ice cream to go with her slice.

"You know," her mom said, leaning against the counter, "I’ve been thinking about getting a bigger fridge. We’re running out of space with all the food I’ve been having to buy lately."

Beverly paused her search, raising an eyebrow. "Are you saying I eat too much?"

"Not at all!" her mom said quickly, waving her hands. "I’m just saying we could use a bit more storage. That’s all. It’s a compliment, really—it means I’m such a good cook you can’t get enough of my food!"

The older sister rolled her eyes and continued her search until she found everything she needed and began her slow, deliberate trek back to her room. Her footsteps echoed through the house, each one accompanied by the faint creak of floorboards beneath her weight.

Beverly pushed her bedroom door open with her hip, the reinforced hinges creaking slightly under the strain.

Her room was a world of its own, adapted to accommodate her ever-expanding body. Her room was dimly lit, with thick curtains drawn over the windows to keep out the heat and prying eyes. It was a space built for comfort—or perhaps survival. The bed was a custom bariatric model, reinforced to handle her size, with an extra-wide mattress and sturdy steel legs. Beside it, a mini-fridge hummed quietly, stocked with snacks and sodas for easy access. The nightstand groaned under the weight of empty wrappers, crumpled napkins, and a half-empty bottle of lotion.

The air in the room was warm and heavy, the oscillating fan in the corner doing little to keep it cool. She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, catching her breath, before making her way inside. Each step was accompanied by the sound of floorboards creaking in protest beneath her immense weight. By the time she reached the bed, she was flushed and glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

“God, iit’sh sho d-daamn hawt in here," she muttered, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

She reached for the hem of her shirt and struggled to pull it over her head, the fabric clinging stubbornly to her damp skin. With a frustrated grunt, she finally yanked it off, tossing it onto a pile of laundry in the corner. Her bra barely contained her, the straps digging deep into her shoulders and the cups overflowing with soft, heavy flesh. Her belly, divided into distinct rolls, hung low over her waistband, its lower curve grazing the tops of her thighs.

Kicking off her sweatpants, she collapsed onto the bed in nothing but her bra and underwear. The bed frame groaned loudly, but it held firm. She sighed in relief, the coolness of the sheets a welcome reprieve against her overheated skin.

Her gaze shifted to the plate of pie, which was accompanied by a tub of ice cream and can of whipped cream. That she had carried with her, still perched on the nightstand. A small, guilty smile tugged at her lips as she grabbed it and settled back against the mountain of pillows propped behind her.

"Time for some me time," she murmured, grabbing the fork and digging in.

The first bite was pure bliss. The crust was flaky and buttery, the filling sweet and tangy with a perfect balance of spices. She closed her eyes, letting the flavors wash over her, and hummed softly in contentment. Bite after bite, she became completely absorbed in the pie, her mind zoning out as she focused solely on the indulgence.

Crumbs clung to her fingers, and a smear of filling dotted her chin, but she didn’t care. She was lost in the moment, savoring each bite like it was her last. The heat, the cluttered room, the creaking bed—none of it mattered. This was her sanctuary, her escape from the world’s judgments and expectations.

Her peace, however, was short-lived.

A muffled thudding sound caught her attention, growing louder with each passing second. She paused, fork halfway to her mouth, and frowned.

"What de heck ish that?" she muttered.

The thudding was accompanied by a high-pitched voice, though she couldn’t make out the words. Setting the plate down on the nightstand, she wiped her hands on her thighs and tried to sit up straighter, her belly shifting and jiggling with the effort.

 Blaire was in a bad mood, which was typical for the overweight freshman. She stomped into the room, her pink sweatpants swishing noisily with every step. Her shirt stretched taut across her rounded stomach and heavy chest, the fabric riding up slightly whenever she moved too fast. She yanked it back down in irritation, muttering under her breath.

Blaire’s anger wasn’t just about the pie. It was about everything.

At 18 years old and 350 pounds, Blaire had spent her entire life watching her older sister, Beverly, expand. As a child, she used to idolize Beverly, who was once confident and carefree, always making people laugh. She had it all, she was a star basketball player and had her pick of any guy in the school. But over time, that confidence seemed to turn into something darker—a kind of obliviousness Blaire couldn’t understand. When Beverly started gaining weight in high school, Blaire had been too young to notice how it was affecting her sister’s life. She just knew Beverly was always eating, always sitting out of gym class, and always insisting it didn’t matter.

But it did matter. By the time Blaire entered high school, Beverly had grown so large that she had to quit sports entirely. Blaire remembered sitting on the bleachers during one of her sister’s last basketball games, cringing as Beverly struggled to keep up with the rest of the team. The crowd whispered and laughed whenever she missed a shot or tripped over her own feet, and Blaire had wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Then came college. Beverly’s freshman year was a disaster Blaire could never forget. She’d come home every holiday break noticeably bigger, her once snug jeans replaced with oversized sweatpants, her confidence replaced with excuses. “It’s just stress,” Beverly would say, grabbing another plate of food at Thanksgiving. By the end of that year, Beverly was a blimp, easily the fattest girl in town and the rumor of her getting too fat to live on campus had began circulating amongst Blaire's classmates.

The day Beverly dropped out, Blaire felt like her family had hit rock bottom. She was embarrassed—not just for Beverly, but for herself. Everyone at school knew about her “big sister,” and Blaire hated how people pitied her. “Oh, it must run in the family,” they’d say, casting sidelong glances at Blaire’s growing hips and softening stomach.

Blaire swore she’d never end up like Beverly. She wouldn’t let herself become the girl who couldn’t even go to class because she was too big to fit through the doors. But by her high school graduation Blaire had crossed the 300 pound milestone and didn't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. Then her own freshman year had hit, and suddenly Blaire found herself eating late-night pizzas, skipping workouts, and gaining weight faster than she thought possible. Now, at 350 pounds, she was terrified she was already on the same path as Beverly—and the thought filled her with shame and rage.

Which led her to endlessly torment her older sister in a vain attempt to separate herself from her glutton of a sister, but she was more like her than she wanted to admit.

Blaire stopped in the middle of the kitchen, placing her hands on her wide hips as her eyes darted around in search of the pie her mother had made her. Her gaze fell on the cooling rack, and her stomach dropped.

"Mom!" Blaire shrieked, her voice echoing off the kitchen walls.

Her mom appeared from the dining room, wiping her hands on a towel.

"What is it, honey?" her mom asked, her tone airy and light.

Blaire placed her hands on her hips, her nostrils flaring as she tried to keep her voice steady. "What happened to my pie?" she demanded.

Her mom blinked, confused. "Umm, well you see, your sister was so starving. I thought she might faint so I offered her a small slice of your pie," she said nervously

Blaire’s eyes narrowed. "A small slice?" she hissed. "You call that a small little slice?! She took more than half the damn pie?!" Her hands gesture wildly at the pie. "Mom, you promised that pie was for me!"

Her mom turned, tilting her head and pursing her glossy lips. "Now, don’t be dramatic, Blaire. It wasn’t that much. You know how your sister is.”

Blaire threw her arms up in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? That was supposed to be my pie! My last night at home before I have to go back to campus, and you let that pig eat it?”

Her mom sighed, clearly trying to keep her patience. "Honey, your sister can't help herself when it comes to my baking, you know that.” she explained. “Besides, think about it, you'll have all the desserts you want when you're back on campus. She is always home, she doesn't just get to have desserts whenever she wants like you do hun.”

"Exactly!" Blaire interrupted, her voice trembling with rage. "She’s home all the time. She can eat your pies whenever she wants! This was supposed to be special. For me!"

"Blaire," her mom said gently, reaching out to touch her arm. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing."

"It’s not nothing!" Blaire shouted, pulling her arm away. Her cheeks were flushed, her ponytail swinging as she paced back and forth in the small kitchen. "She gets everything! You always baby her. You act like she’s some kind of victim. Meanwhile, I have to go back to school and deal with people staring at me because of this!" She grabbed the hem of her shirt, stretching it out to emphasize her stomach.

Her mom’s expression faltered, her usual confidence wavering for a split second. "Blaire," she said softly, her tone tinged with warning.

"No, don’t Blaire me!" Blaire snapped, rounding on her mom. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a sister like her? Having everyone talking about how pathetically fat your sister has become? And you’re here, feeding her pies and telling her how beautiful she is, like it’s some kind of accomplishment to be the size of a hippo!"

Her mom straightened, her hands now on her hips. "Enough," she said firmly. "You are beautiful, Blaire. Both of you are. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you need to take a long look in the mirror."

Blaire let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Don’t you dare compare me to her. I’m not her. I’ll never be that bad.“

Her mom’s face softened again, and she stepped forward, reaching out once more. "Sweetheart, you need to calm down. It’s just a pie. I’ll make another one tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow doesn’t help me tonight," Blaire muttered, her voice low and venomous. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she turned on her heel and stomped toward the hallway.

"Blaire!" her mom called after her, her voice tinged with exasperation.

But Blaire didn’t stop. Her footsteps pounded against the floor as she stormed toward her sister’s room, her mind racing.

"She’s not getting away with this," Blaire muttered under her breath, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

Blaire stormed into Beverly’s room without knocking, her footsteps heavy and deliberate. She shoved the door open, her pink sweatpants swishing audibly as she stepped inside. Her shirt had ridden up during her march, exposing the soft, rounded curve of her lower belly, but she was too angry to care. Her chest heaved from the effort of walking and shot daggers at her sister as she watched as her older sister devoured the pie with reckless abandon.

The air was warm, stuffy, and faintly smelled of vanilla lotion and something fried—probably leftover snacks from the night before.

Beverly looked up from her bed, her eyes wide with alarm and her face smeared with pie filling. She was nearly naked only in her bra and panties but the only thing visible to Blaire was her bra. Her panties were completely obscured by her monumental belly. She was sprawled out against a mountain of oversized pillows, her massive body taking up most of the reinforced mattress. The remains of the pie sat on a plate perched precariously on her belly, which rose and fell like a soft, jiggling mound with every breath. Its crust nearly demolished, and crumbs clung to her chin and fingers.

“What'sh ...hrrpPPPHH... de hell Blaire" Beverly sputtered, hastily setting the plate aside.

"You greedy cow!" Blaire snapped, her voice trembling with rage. She took a step closer, her pink sweatpants swishing audibly. "You ate my pie! That was my pie!"

Beverly frowned, her flushed face settling into a defensive pout. "M-Mom ...aaahhh... shaid I c-could ...urrRPPphh... have ...hrrpPPPHH... shome," she said, her voice defiant but tinged with guilt as she licked her fingers and wiped crumbs from her lips.

"Some?!" Blaire barked, throwing her arms up. "You took half the damn pie, Beverly! Half! You always do this!"

Beverly rolled her eyes, shifting slightly on the bed. The movement sent ripples through her enormous frame, her belly jiggling as she tried to adjust her position. "It washn’t half" she muttered.

"It was half!" Blaire shot back, taking another step forward. "And don’t even try to act like it wasn’t. You always do this! You're such a fucking pig!”

Blaire’s eyes narrowed, and without hesitation, she lunged forward. Grabbing the plate from on top of Beverly’s belly, she yanked it away, sending pie crumbs flying everywhere.

"G-Give ...urrRPPphh... it ...hmmff... back" Beverly moaned, her voice rising in panic. She attempted to sit up, her arms straining as she tried to lift her immense weight. But her body protested, her apron belly weighing her down and making it nearly impossible to move quickly.

Blaire stepped back, holding the plate close to her chest. "You’ve had enough!" she snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and triumph.

Beverly glared at her, her cheeks flushing with frustration as she finally managed to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet pressed into the floor, and she braced herself on the bed frame, her breathing heavy as she struggled to stand.

"I shaid give it back**!**" Beverly demanded, wobbling as she pushed herself upright.

Blaire smirked, the corners of her mouth curling as she turned and started for the door. "You’re not getting this back," she called over her shoulder, her voice muffled as she took a bite of a piece of remaining crust.

Beverly’s eyes widened, and she let out a frustrated groan. "Blaire!" she shouted, her voice cracking. She began to waddle after her sister, each step was agonizing. Her body swayed heavily, her belly jiggling with every movement, and the floorboards creaked ominously beneath her weight.

Meanwhile, Blaire made her way down the hall, but her own body was working against her. The short walk was already leaving her winded, and the plate of pie felt heavier with each passing second. Her sweatpants clung to her thighs, the fabric damp with sweat, and her shirt had ridden up even further, exposing the soft rolls of her midsection. She yanked it down again, muttering curses under her breath.

By the time she reached her room, she was gasping for air. She paused in the doorway, clutching the plate tightly as she glanced over her shoulder. Beverly was still several feet behind, leaning heavily on the wall with both hands for support as she inched her way forward.

"Jesus, walk much?," Blaire taunted, taking another bite of the pie and chewing noisily.

Y-You’re …shuch ...frPPp... a ... b-brat!" Beverly shot back, her voice breathless but filled with anger.

The commotion caught their mom’s attention.

"Girls!" she called, her voice sharp and authoritative. "What is going on here?"

Blaire turned to face her mom, gesturing wildly toward Beverly. “S-She ...wheeze... shtole ...urrRPPphh... muh ...hahhh... p-pie!”

"I didn’t steal it," Beverly huffed, her chest heaving as she leaned against the wall for support.

"It wasn’t hers to begin with!" Blaire snapped, her voice rising.

Their mom sighed dramatically, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. "Alright, enough," she said, stepping between them. "I’ll make another pie. One for each of you. Now stop this nonsense before you tear the house apart."

Both sisters grumbled but relented, the promise of more pie enough to quell their argument.

Beverly turned and waddled back to her room, muttering under her breath, while Blaire retreated into hers, still clutching the plate of pie like a trophy.

Their mom shook her head and sighed as she made her way back to the kitchen. 

"Honestly," she muttered to herself. "What would they do without me?"