Savanah's Swan Song (Part 10)

158 pounds.  The number seemed impossible to Savanah.  She’d never weighed more than 125 pounds in her life.

Savanah twisted the shower spigot closer to ‘H,’ as if additional heat might melt away her extra pounds.  If the rudimentary math in her head was correct, she’d gained more than a pound per day while she was away.  Thank God, her bot had only been on a four-week European tour.  Early in her career, it wasn’t unusual for her to be on the road for one hundred days straight. 

The thought sent a shiver through Savanah and her newfound fat.  To counteract the chill, Savanah inched the spigot further into the red.  At her mother’s house, she had two minutes-- tops--before the tap turned icy.  And if she lingered much longer, her mother turned even icier, banging on the door and reminding Savanah that “there are other people in the house.”  As a result, she took very few showers and only spent as much time in the bathroom as necessary.  Had she been allowed time to self-inspect, she might’ve noticed how her body was changing and nipped the problem in the bud before it could blossom.

Unfortunately, the problem blossomed and so did she.  

Making up for lost time and the lack of hot water, the plumping pop star commenced a steamy journey of self-discovery.  First, she ran her soaped-up washcloth beneath her breasts.  Lifting them in its terrycloth cradle, she felt their weight and the tickle of the nap against her nipples, before letting them slap back into place against her wet skin.  As she squeezed the cloth, a torrent of bubbles funneled between them, racing through the deepening valley like sudsy slalom skiers, down her torso and along the slope of her swollen belly, before launching from its crest and falling to the floor with a plop and a pop.  A lucky few diverted around the imposing peak, sliding down her legs until they safely touched ground.

Savanah followed the slippery slope with her washcloth.  It was firm, packed tight with a month’s-worth of feasting.  How long would that last?  How long before her stomach’s swell subsided only to be substituted with softness?  Both in her belly and in areas yet to be determined? 

Her hand slid beyond its crest and down the steep decline on the other side.  She lost sight of the cloth as it disappeared beneath her meaty middle, but she could feel the jiggle of her inner thighs and the press of her engorged belly against her arm as if trying to prevent her self-satisfaction.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“I’m almost finished!” Savanah shouted reflexively, expecting to be scolded by her mother.    

“Why’d you lock it?” came Chad’s muffled voice from the other side of the door.  “I wanted to join you.”

The thought caused Savanah’s heart to race harder than it had in a month.  “You don’t want to be with me right now.  I smell like a barnyard animal.” 

“Oooh, kinky.  Hey, I brought dinner.  Barbecue.”  There was a pause and then, “You’re in charge of dessert though!” 

“Just go set the table.”  Chad’s dirty innuendo made her want to shower all over again.  And the thought of eating made her sick, especially after seeing (and feeling) firsthand what too much of it had done to her body.

Although she wanted to, Savanah knew she couldn’t stay in the shower forever.  So, she turned it off, determined to ignore any other signs she was getting fat. She ignored how there was less towel to cinch above her breasts than before. She ignored how her bathrobe barely covered her belly. She ignored how her bra and panties dug into her tender flesh.

But she couldn’t ignore her reflection in the mirror.  Because it wasn’t her.  It couldn’t be. 

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Savanah’s heart matched the cadence of the pounding at the bedroom door as Chad announced the last thing she needed--

“Dinner is ready! Come eat!”