**<b>WARNING: This is a dark and sadistic tale of graphic and gratuitous weight-gain. If this is not a topic that pleases you, kindly refrain from reading it.</b>**

Carnie Wilson half-opened her bleary eyes and cast them drowsily over the surprising scene before her. Through a thick cloud of confusion, she tried to recall where she could be, but the only thing she observed with any clarity was the pain that seemed to be radiating from her stomach. She groaned and made a feeble effort to sit up, collapsing back into her pillows.

"Ah, you're awake..."

The voice floated across to her from the doorway where a middle-aged, white coated male with a stethoscope slung around his neck was standing. Even in Carnie's confused and sluggish state, it did not take her long to realise that it was a doctor addressing her and that the white tiled room with its monitor and oxygen cylinders comprised part of a medical facility.

"I'm in hospital?" she half asked, and half stated.

"No, my dear," The response came with the slightest trace of amusement. "Not quite a hospital... though the mistake is an understandable one."

"Oh, but I thought... Where am I?"

"Well," he said, thoughtfully. "Let's just say that this is a very exclusive clinic. One constructed, furnished and staffed with only one patient in mind."

"I see," said Carnie, not seeing at all. "I'm sorry... I don't really understand. I'm just so... just so very tired."

"Let me tell you a little story, my dear. It may help to lift the veil of your confusion. Once upon a time, in a land far away lived a woman, a daughter of a brilliant, but drug addled musician who, in turn, became a musician herself." The tale was vaguely familiar to Carnie, who listened, patiently enough, in spite of her growing uneasiness. "Now, being 5'3" and having reached a weight of 300lbs, this young woman did not quite fit in with the narrow stereotype of how a popstar should appear..."

"You're talking about me..." she said, stupidly.

"Yes, I'm talking about you," he confirmed. "May I continue? ... Good... Now, seeing that she was morbidly obese and lacking the self-control to cease the mindless gorging to which she had become accustomed, the heroine of my tale elected to have surgery to force her to lose the excess pounds she had acquired. It is on account of that procedure that you find yourself here."

"Something has gone wrong... with the surgery?" Carnie cried, recalling, with panic, the pain in her stomach.

"No, not wrong precisely." He hesitated. "The thing is, Ms. Wilson, that the gentleman for whom I work is not only a great admirer of the larger female form... he is also a man who despises cheating. Thus, your surgery and subsequent weight loss disappointed him on two fronts: you rejected your fat and you cheated in the process."

"Cheated?" echoed Carnie, blankly.

"Yes, my dear. Cheated. If you were so keen to be thin, you should have curbed your appetite, reined yourself in. But instead, you decided for the easy way out. That angered my employer very deeply. What angered him more was that his wife; his beautiful, amply-sized, rubenesque wife, heard of your procedure and promptly elected to have it done herself. Unfortunately, in her case, it was not successful. She died a few days after having had the surgery."

Carnie processed the information slowly, wondering of what relevance it might be through the retreating haze of anaesthetic. There was a long pause as she wondered at the man's accusatory tone. "But surely... surely he can't blame me for her death!" she said, comprehending at last the nature of the complaint against her.

"Nevertheless, illogical as it may seem to you, he does. What is more, he proposes to ensure that you are brought to justice for it."

"He'll be laughed out of every court in the land," she assured the white-coated messenger, suddenly outraged. "I'd be surprised if he can even get a lawyer to take the case. It's patently ridiculous!"

"Ah, I see you are thinking of justice though the courts," laughed the doctor. "Well, I am sorry to disillusion you, but we have something rather more suitable planned for you. The punishment will fit the crime... courtesy of my skill with a scalpel. You've just had another little operation, my dear."

"What the... What have you done to me?" Carnie demanded in a hoarse cry that was barely more than a terrified whisper. She gingerly probed in the area from which her stomach pain seemed to radiate and found it agonisingly tender to the touch and swathed beneath a large surgical dressing.

"It's a very nice, neat piece of work, even if I do say so myself," laughed the doctor. Not only have I reversed your initial bypass surgery, but I have actually increased your capacity for food consumption and digestion to four hundred percent of what it was at your peak weight. Now, my dear, your alimentary system bears a slight resemblance to that of a cow. They, as you may know, have four stomachs... and now, so do you."

His patient blanched beneath liberally-applied make-up.

"Why?!" was the only coherent ejaculation Carnie could utter.

"Why? I thought that would be obvious! It makes it all the easier for you to be fattened up. Against your will you made it to 300lbs with just the one stomach. Think what you can become with four stomachs and a team of people dedicated to filling them!"

Carnie began to pull the leads of the cardiac monitor from off her chest and to scramble out of bed. "I'm not waiting to hear any more," she shrieked. "Let me out of this place, this minute, you sick fuck, or I shall call the police."

"Hmm, I feared it might be too soon to have this conversation with you," mused the doctor, as two broad-shouldered orderlies swiftly bundled the kicking, screaming Carnie back into the bed and held her there. "I should have waited until the effects of the anaesthetic had worn off a little, but," he confided with a malicious smirk. "I just couldn't wait to see the look on your pretty face. After all, it won't be so pretty for very much longer."

With that, he drew up a liberal dose of fentanyl and emptied it rapidly into the cannula in her forearm.

*******

It was another month before Dr. Braddock saw fit to allow Carnie to reawaken from her chemically induced coma. For the first two weeks after surgery, he had fed her intravenously for the sake of allowing her restored and extended digestive system to heal: another seven days were dedicated to rigorous testing of the capacity and efficiency of her alimentary canal... thus, it was not until the beginning of the third week that the feedings began in earnest.

A wide bore nasogastric tube had been inserted into each of Carnie's nostrils. Ceaselessly, day and night, a mixture consisting principally of emulsified fats and digestive enzymes poured into the first of her stomachs, over flowing into one of the transplants as required. By the day scheduled for her reawakening, all four were permanently full to capacity and the gurgling of her overworked intestines could often be heard clearly on the other side of the room.

To Carnie, it seemed that barely a few seconds had passed when her eyes opened on her clinical prison for the second time but, even in her opiate addled state, she quickly realised that she had to have been unconscious for some considerable time. She struggled to sit up, but discovered something under the blankets that was holding her down. She pulled them away to one side, but now the obstruction seem to be under her gown. Carnie lifted it, and screamed at the sight of the enormously distended ball of pink flesh that now rested where her flat stomach had once been.

"That outburst was quite a feat for someone who hasn't used their vocal cords in four months," remarked Braddock. "Did you have pleasant dreams? Perhaps nightmares of being stuffed and fattened like a prize pig?"

Carnie could only whimper and stare at her overfilled belly whilst Braddock ran his hands over it with great satisfaction.

"They make for quite a spectacle when all filled, don't they? Of course, I say 'when they are' but I must admit that you've been full to bursting for over forty eight hours now and will never be anything other than full to the gunnels again. Nevertheless, I still can't quite get over how bloated they make you!"

He called over one of the guards and helped to lift and arrange her into a sitting position.

"Now, don't you want to know how long you've been asleep, or how much weight you've gained?" he asked, as the tears flowed down over Carnie's rounded cheeks. "No? Maybe that's just as well. After all time will soon mean nothing to you... It will tick by and you will be too fat to care about it or anything else."

Braddock gave her a top-up dose of opiate.

"Now this is not to render you unconscious," he explained. "Just to keep you nice and docile. Eventually, your own fat will pin you down, but for now, chemical measures are more appropriate. I will give you a shot of this every four hours along with a few hormones to keep you gaining nicely. Your feed bags will be refreshed every two hours... Oh, and I nearly forgot! I have a gift for you..."

He turned the digital readout at the foot of the bed to face her.

"That, my dear, is attached to the scales on which your bed sits. It will display your weight twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Oh, and just in case you become tired of watching the scale, you can read the label on your feeding bag and imagine how fat the contents are making you... that is, if you can't actually see it happening anyway."

Carnie turned and read the printed text on the side of the four-litre feed bag in horror.

<i>C. WILSON

Replenish every 2 hours.

Total calories per bag: 7,000 kcal

Total bags per day: 12

Total calories per day: 80,000

Predicted daily gain: 15-25 lbs</i>

Dr. Braddock turned on the digital scale display. Carnie Wilson who, two weeks ago, had weighed in at 145lbs, was already perilously close of surpassing her previous peak of 300lbs.

*******

Braddock's prediction proved correct. There were times when Carnie was convinced she could literally see and feel herself becoming inflated with fat. The regular doses of narcotics left her dazed and barely aware of passing time but her rocketing weight confirmed that the days were speeding by.

At the close of the first week of full-speed feeding, she teetered on the brink of 450lbs: a fact which caused her doctor much delight.

"So fat, and in such a short time!" he enthused. "Already, you're one of the world's fattest people! Think of it! Just over a week on these rations and you're a bloated sideshow freak!" He leant down and whispered in her ear. "Another two weeks and you may double in size again; like a rising loaf of bread. Are you looking forward to it?"

Carnie wasn't, but Braddock most certainly was. He gleaned a twisted pleasure from watching his charge ballooning before his very eyes. Every day brought new changes. An extra bulge here, an additional roll there; her arms elevated a few more degrees by the soft, blubbery fat accumulating beneath them and her enormous belly expanding further and further across the vast expanse of the bariatric bed. Barely able to move or think, Carnie had been transformed into a giant fat-making machine... and a very efficient one at that.

After the second month, Braddock began a slow withdrawal of the sedative. At over 1500bs, she certainly didn't need to be restrained either physically or chemically. Such was the rate of her gain and the long spell of narcotically induced indolence that her atrophied muscles could no longer even bend her arms to pull out the nasogastric tubes. Occasionally, she'd still scream and cry, but these outbursts were rarer by the day as the incredible weight pressing down on her chest was beginning to make breathing difficult. With all methods of protest denied her, Carnie could do nothing but sit and watch helplessly as she became more and more obese.

Her last words, uttered in breathless panic on the day she attained a weight of 4,080lbs were: "Please... please. I'm getting too fat... I can't take anymore." Braddock's response had been one of gleeful laughter. He jiggled a roll of her upper belly and assured her that she was indeed too fat.

"The thing is, what do you propose to do to stop yourself becoming fatter still?" he enquired, trying, and failing to shift one of the colossal rolls of flab that had amassed on her left calf. "Thinking of a new exercise regime?"

The only answer from the immense mountain of adipose tissue engulfing the bed was a low moan, almost inaudible over the violent gurgling of her digestive system. With all motor control rapidly diminishing, exercise of any kind was a vain hope. Even her head was held completely immobile; hemmed in at the sides by the fat that had mounted up on her shoulders, back and neck, she could not turn it at all. Braddock wondered if she would survive for long enough for it all to rise up to swallow her head completely.

Every part of Carnie's anatomy seemed to be melding into another. Her toes had been lost to the fat of her feet; her feet disappeared under the rising tide of her calves, and now her calves were threatened by thighs that weighed nearly 600lbs a piece and were cascading over the sides of the bed and flowing across the floor. Her face was barely human any more. Careful scrutiny revealed two, tiny eye slits sitting above a bulbous, piggish nose into which ran her calorific liquid rations. Her mouth was highlighted by the oxygen supply line which had been forced past her puckered lips when the face mask could no longer be squeezed between the fat pads of the inflating cheeks sagging down to her chest.

Quite the most amazing part of her ballooning anatomy, however, was her monstrous belly. It had long outgrown the full length of the bed and had been proceeding across the floor in three directions a spectacular rate ever since. Braddock would have dearly loved to have discovered just how deep her navel was now, but it had long since been lost under yet another tremendous roll of flab that spilling down from what had once been her waist.

"She is almost impossibly fat, Sir," announced Braddock, as he telephoned in a progress report to his employer that evening. "Perhaps, next week, you would like to come and witness it in person."

*******

On the Thursday of the following week, Dr. Braddock held open the door of Carnie's room to admit his employer. The elderly, delicate-looking man could scarcely believe the sight that met him. Over the buckled remains of a bariatric hospital bed flowed an amorphous mass of pink and white flesh which, on closer inspection, appeared to be human... a woman whose form had been almost entirely absorbed by her own body; a woman immersed, floating in her own sea of fat.

"I'm glad that you decided to visit us this morning, Sir. I don't think she'll hold out for a great deal longer," Braddock admitted, apologetically. "Her own body weight is crushing her."

"I'm surprised you got her this far," remarked his employer, in awe, walking around the woman who'd been inflated to bursting point on his orders; stopping now and again to prod at parts of her engorged physique with the end of his walking stick and chuckling to himself as he surveyed the obscene spectacle before him.

"I dare say you thought you were fat at 300lbs, Ms. Wilson," he said to her at last. "How do you feel at over 8,000?" He paused for a moment to poke at the roll of flab that had absorbed her doughy fingers. "Well, I suppose we have a dilemma on our hands now! Part of me is tempted to keep feeding you... yet another part of me; a more humane part, wonders if I should arrange for you to be transferred to hospital. Perhaps they'd be able to do something with you."

Carnie's eyes had long since been squeezed shut by all the fat surrounding them, but a few hopeful tears leaked out at this. Perhaps she would never be thin again, but maybe, just maybe she could be saved if she didn't gain any more weight. Desperately, she tried to speak, but the fat pressing on her trachea and vocal cords denied her the power making any sound.

"Any orders, Sir?" Braddock asked as the elderly gentlemen made his way back into the corridor.

His employer, turned and regarded Carnie thoughtfully for a moment whilst she, trying to hold her rasping breaths, waited to hear his decision.