Sweet surrender in the break room

Opening scene

You finish counting out the last rep and glance over at the woman struggling on the treadmill. The joke leaves your mouth before you can stop it — something cruel about “maybe trying a salad instead of the vending machine.” She doesn’t argue. She just looks at you, calm and tired, and says under her breath, “Hope you enjoy the taste of sugar for the rest of your life.”

That night you find a half-eaten chocolate bar in your gym bag that you swear wasn’t there before. One bite and a warm, syrupy heat spreads through your stomach. By morning your face looks rounder, your chest is faintly swollen, and your jeans dig into soft new flesh at your waist.

A text from an unknown number arrives while you’re staring at the scale: “Every sweet makes you softer, prettier, and dumber. Keep starving yourself if you want. The curse loves a challenge.” Your hand is already reaching for the leftover donuts in the break room. The first real wave of changes has begun.

Turn 1 of 2

I start slowly eating all of the donuts, i slide to the floor and eat more and more and more, my body expanding. Detail how my thighs slowly expand over multiple turns going from tight in my pants to straining the fabric and eventually bursting through and spilling out onto the ground as i sit and they fatten, detail the same slowly for my ass, hips, belly, and breasts. Detail how erotic it is

Your hand closes around the glazed ring before you can think, and then you're on the break room floor with the box clutched against your chest. The first donut dissolves on your tongue like warm sugar, and that syrupy heat from last night floods back tenfold. You reach for another, and another, frosting smearing across your lips.

Your thighs press against each other, still firm but growing heavy, the denim of your jeans growing tight in the inner seam. You shift your hips and feel the fabric strain, a faint whisper of threads giving way. The pressure builds slowly, maddeningly, your quadriceps softening into plush weight that pushes outward, seeking space. A seam pops along your right thigh, then your left, and the cool air hits newly exposed skin. You keep eating. The tear widens, denim parting like a curtain, until your thighs spread across the linoleum in pale, yielding abundance, no longer contained by anything but gravity and their own swelling mass.

Your ass rises behind you, lifting you slightly from the floor as it broadens, your tailbone cushioned in flesh that strains the waistband of your jeans. You hear a rivet pop, then another, the back of your pants sagging open as your hips spread wider, bones softening, reconfiguring, carrying new weight in a curve that spills against the cool floor. Your belly rounds forward, pressing against the zipper, each donut you push into your mouth seeming to settle there instantly, a warm globe of softness that pulses with the curse's heat. The zipper teeth separate one by one, hissing, and your stomach emerges, pale and trembling, rising and falling with your quickened breath.

Your chest swells against your shirt, fabric pulling tight, nipples aching as they press outward. You feel the weight of your own growing breasts against your arms as you reach for another donut, another, the shirt growing translucent with sugar glaze where you've wiped your hands. The heat in you is relentless, a sweetness that has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with compulsion, rewriting you bite by bite. Your mind swims in it, thoughts slowing, the room narrowing to the box, your mouth, the endless spreading of your own body across this floor.

The shirt gives at the side seam, and your left breast spills free, heavy and unfamiliar, nipple darkened and sensitive to the air. You look down at yourself through a haze of sugar and growing confusion, unable to stop, not certain anymore why you would want to. The last donut is powdered sugar, and you press your face into it, breathing white dust, feeling your hips spread another inch, your thighs bunch and ripple, your ass rise like dough in an oven. Somewhere a phone buzzes with another text you cannot read, will not read, lost in the endless sweetness and the stranger's body that swallows yours whole.