Mercy's Healthy Experiment (2/2)

Tags: Extreme Weight gain, Sex, Health issues, Corruption, Light Slob

Part 1: https://www.patreon.com/posts/mercys-health-1-128695955

--- Chapter 5 ---

As expected, Angela only continued to pile on weight relentlessly. The desire for bodily chaos and destruction grew in tandem with her rolls and folds. Whatever scraps of recognizability she had at 360 pounds were nearly spent by the time she reached 650. Doubling in size had turned the skinny angel into a pig. Her face became scrunched from the press of fat, her breasts turned into overripe pumpkins, and her ass was big enough to bury a quartet of chairs. Her days were spent eating and begging for Lucas to fuck her. Time passed in a strange way, with each feeding seeming to last a lifetime but the days themselves growing shorter. As the list of ailments her body suffered swelled to staggering proportions, Angela’s libido became sorely inflamed. Whatever free time she had away from eating was spent planning ways to extract as much sexual pleasure as she could from her new life. Lucas too helped, putting his own considerable mind and talents towards the task of sexually gratifying his experiment and fucktoy. Often, it was the simplest answers that bred the best results. 

“Angela,” Lucas said one day as he entered one of the studies that Angela had claimed as a stuffing room. The room had once been stately, filled with antiques, and meticulously clean. Now, however, it was little more than a pig stye. The obese blonde sat in the center, not even bothering to use a couch or chairs. She sat and rolled in a mess of food which stretched all the way to the door. The nurses attending her that day had continued to stack the food until there was no way to enter without stepping on something. Even with the use of a cane to clear the way, Lucas still felt the squelch of food underneath his shoes as he approached Angela. She was a sight of purest gluttony and degeneracy. 

“Mmmgghph. . .oooh. . .thassccch. . .mmmgghh. . .damn. . .good.” Angela lay in the center of the room, fat spreading out as a series of waves. She had come from one of her many appointments, needing to have her diabetes medication administered. As such, she wore only the tattered and food stained remnants of a hospital gown. The gown was trapped under her oozing gut, absorbing all the sweat and grease which poured from her rolls. Angela was naked otherwise. Her ass sloshed and clapped, heaving upwards as a mountain which only Lucas (in nights of extreme passion) had conquered. She seemed to swim or undulate through the partially eaten dishes, pulling herself along with hammy arms. A trail of food mess and grease was left by her passing. If Angela had noticed Lucas’ entry into the study, she gave no notice. Instead, she rambled to herself about the food she was sucking down. 

 “Fuccck. . .ooohmmghp. . .need. . .more. . .” Angela’s voice was thick. She paid no attention to Lucas until he tapped her with his cane. She stopped her meal, looking up at him with a face masked with food. “Heeeey. . .BBBLEERRUUUP. . good looking. . .jusssccht. . .BBLEEERRUP. . .testing that new. . .diabestes. . .medication!” She grabbed what looked to be a plate of cookies wrapped in bacon and began to shovel them in. Crumbs and flecks of grease splattered from her mouth with each bite. She occasionally looked at Lucas, waiting for him to continue. 

“I had an idea of some fun for you, as well as a way to test those new medications you’ve been on.” Angela had started her first round of the treatments that Sombra was on. They were low dosages of his diabetes and heart health medications. If something were to happen, Angela would need immediate and thorough help from medical professionals. At this stage, Lucas’ medicines were mostly to add assistance for when Angela reached those health failures. He wanted her to have the full experience of a heart attack or a diabetic emergency, but take a small percentage of the risk away. He wanted it to be so serious and threatening that Angela was forever hooked upon the danger. 

“Oh. . .mmmgghph. . .sure!” Angela’s eyes gleamed. “Wha-haaaaBBBLUUUERUUP. . .did you. . .have in. . .mind?” 

“Just a small field trip.” Lucas smiled. “However, we have just a little bit of preparation to do first.” Lucas slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tube. He took the lid off and squeezed out an inky black substance. He began rubbing it between his palms. “You’ll be going undercover for this one. Do you have much experience with hair dye?” 

----

Angela waddled towards the cafe, knowing it was not a place for the likes of her. It had been a favorite spot months ago, before her awakening into a life of degradation and obesity. She had visited it as Mercy, skinny and radiant. Her hair had been golden, her waist had been trim, and every eye had been on her. The only commonality now was that she still drew plenty of attention. The woman visiting the cafe now was sweaty and horribly out of shape, her tracksuit drenched in sweat. Her stomach flopped out freely and Angela made no attempt to corral it. She allowed the pale glob to droop down, dripping sweat as she went. Her ass was also on full display, bubbling out of the back of her pants. Angela waddled slowly, her knees knocking together as she went. Her legs could hardly handle the pressure and bulk upon them.They were not the only things struggling, as her heartbeat with tired gasps. Angela resisted the impulse to duck a perverse hand under her gut as she cataloged the signs of bodily disrepair. She wanted to build the moment up, and fun could come later. 

Angela almost fell across the doorstep into the cafe. The walk from the parking lot had been tiring, more so than she could have imagined. She puffed and coughed, her blood pressure spiking to new levels. She stood in the entryway, puffing and letting sweat drip onto the floor. The cafe goers stared at her, each wondering if they needed to call medical services. Through bleary, sweat-stung eyes, Angela could see familiar faces of both workers and patrons. Familiarity was not written on their faces. Instead, they were concerned for the behemoth black haired woman that had managed to roll her way into the store. Through the mounting pain in her chest, Angela smiled. She was unrecognizable. Buried in fat and wearing sweat and grease as makeup, no one could recognize her for the hero she had been. Angela almost climaxed right there. Instead, she inserted herself into the line. 

It was a busy day and the line stretched back through the cafe. Angela stood in it, gripping chairs near her for support. She wished that she had brought her cane, realizing now how hard sustained movement and activity was. Her knees were weak and creaky, joints worn down by the constant grind of fat. She was beyond her limits and pushing herself further each day. It was a beautiful reminder of the destruction taking place. With her free hand, Angela stroked her black hair. Fat fingers moved through the oily black locks, straining grease from them. Angela caught glimpses of herself in the various reflective surfaces around the cafe. In them she saw a tired, hyper-obese woman that had clearly never cared for her body. The dye job was as arresting and bad as her fashion. In short, it was perfect. Angela understood how casual acquaintances would not recognize her. However, the true extent of her disguise would be put to the test as two women joined the line behind her. 

“Isn’t this place tha best, luv!” Tracer, Lena Oxton to civilians, had joined the line along with her girlfriend, Emily. “Mercy showed it to me. . .oooh bless her for that!” The thick, cockney accent was unmistakable. Angela almost collapsed as she realized her good fortune. To display her new life to a fellow teammate, one as beautiful and perky as Tracer, was beyond her wildest dreams. Angela fought to keep from spinning and giving the ruse up. Instead, she simply listened to Tracer talk, looking for her moment to join the conversation. Tracer bantered back and forth with Emily, never letting the conversation fully drop. It was almost hard for Angela to find an opening, until Tracer happened to make an innocent comment. Yet, however innocent it might have been, it was perfect for the new and improved Angela. “The whole menu is amazing! Gosh, luv, you have to keep me under control here. Otherwise I’ll get fat!” 

Angela started, a sexual thrill running through her immense body. She knew that was the moment, that nothing would ever be so perfect again. She turned, practically spitting as she tried to speak. “She’s not. . .wrong. . .I came here. . .without help. . .and look at. . .me!” Angela puffed the words out, still not recovered from her walk. Her heart pounded with perverse excitement. Lucas and the nurses were never shy about commenting on her weight, but remarking to a “stranger” about it was so much more thrilling. Angela wheezed, her huge gut and breasts falling up and down. It was only by the thinnest margins that she was decent enough to even be in the cafe. She wondered if Tracer would respond politely, maybe she would touch upon some long hidden nerve about obesity. Angela almost wanted her friend and former coworker to be hostile. She wanted to be embarrassed as only a woman severely overweight could be.  

Both women looked shocked, color draining from their faces. Tracer’s face changed through several expressions in rapid succession as she tried to understand the situation. Meanwhile, Angela’s smile only grew bigger as she fed on Tracer’s concern. Angela was so disguised that a colleague and close friend could stare her in the face and mistake her for someone else. Tracer saw only a very large and unkempt woman before her. Angela’s heart pounded with disastrous excitement. 

“Sorry. . .I shouldn’t. . .butt in. . .like that.” Angela put a hammy arm behind her head in an attempt to diffuse any awkwardness. “I try to. . .be funny. . .about all of. . .this.” She grabbed her gut and hefted it up and down. She was only able to move it a little, her arms having grown weak. The continued exertion of standing was taking away more and more of Angela’s strength. At home with Lucas she was free to sit on her massive ass and have food hand delivered from a platter directly to her mouth. 

The couple laughed as best they were able, though it was obviously to humor the woman who had barged into their lives. They danced on the bladed edge of politeness and social responsibility. Obviously, they wanted the interaction to stop. However, they would not risk offending Angela. “Well. . .uh. . .they say. . .humor is the best medicine!” Tracer trotted out the lame joke, lacking anything else to say. 

“I prefer. . .insulin. . .” Angela pushed the envelope as far as it would go. “Maybe my. . .blood pressure. . .pills.” She elbowed the skinny woman, her arms three or even four times the size of Tracer’s. Angela’s hands were swollen, matching her feet; a sign that a heart attack was impending. She flexed her fingers once, finding them stiff and her hand nearly impossible to close. “Schoorry. . .jusccht a little. . .gallows humor.” Angela winked. 

“Of course, we all need to. . .uhm. . .have some of that.” Tracer tested a step backward. “It sounds like you’re quite the handful for doctors.” She laughed weakly.

“The worst. . .patients. . .are always doctors. . .” Angela smiled. There was something about that sentence that struck Tracer and Emily. The pair shook their heads, eyes focusing as they hadn’t before. The thought of this woman being a doctor prompted consideration that hadn’t been given before. Both women searched for any indication that she might be a health professional. While they could not find that, they instead found something else. Recognition.

“MERCY!” Tracer almost fell backwards, saved only by her girlfriend’s hands. The Brit almost wondered if she was being pranked. The black hair, the too-small clothes, constant wheezing, and, of course, the morbid obesity were almost too much for her to process. Mercy the Overwatch savior was gone, and standing in her place was Angela the glutton. 

“Guess. . .I let. . .msycchelf. . go. . .too muscch.” Angela smiled. She put her hands to her gut again, rubbing it for emphasis. The sexual gratification in that instant was amazing. Her pussy was growing wetter by the second, her thighs rubbing together in a pleasant symphony of lust. “Schoorry. . .I jusccht wanted. . .to have some. . .fun.” She reached out a hand for an unoccupied chair, needing support to keep her rotund body standing. 

“It’s, uhm, a different look for sure.” The fact that Tracer couldn’t even come up with faux compliments was telling. Emily held her closer, as if the fat was contagious. “But really, I think it was the hair that threw me off.” Tracer tried to salvage the conversation as best she could. “What made you want to dye it?” 

Angela grinned. The power of the conversation in her flabby, swollen hands. She could have turned it towards anything, given a funny reason for the dye job and moved on. However, she was not done exacting her perverse joy from the situation.“Well. . .when you get. . .uuuggh. . .thissch size. . .bathing isn’t so easy,” Angela sighed, pretending she was upset about the difficulties of being morbidly obese. She took the moment to adjust her breasts, showing again how everything about her had become huge and distended. “Blonde isscch. . .jusccht harder to. . .keep clean.” She ran a hand through oily, sweaty locks. Her flabby bicep slapped against her breasts, dangling far lower than any bicep should. “But hey. . .lookscch good. . .and kind of. . .fitssch with the. . .whole. . .fat girl. . .look.” 

“Of course. . .of course.” Tracer tapped her foot, almost as if she planned on running out of the restaurant. Thankfully, the cafe line saved her. It had moved enough in the intervening time that it was now Anglea’s turn. “Oh! Don’t want to hold things up!” Tracer pointed towards the open register. 

“No! Fatty needs. . .whew. . .her food. . .anyway.” Angela slapped her belly and started to lumber around. She waddled towards the counter, not needing to accentuate her degraded locomotion. Every step was a testament to her atrophied muscles and grinding joints. “I promise. . .I’ll leave you. . .something.” She gave one final comment, eager to drive the final nail home. She could practically feel Tracer and Emily stiffen, discomfort and perhaps more running through them. Angela was then free to order, pointing at menu items whilst her gut seeped onto the counter. She was laden with treats as she waddled out of the cafe, enough to send her rolling into a diabetic coma. Angela waved goodbye to her friends and they did so back, much more uncomfortably. She was hauling the door open when she happened to catch Emily saying something to Tracer. 

“Well, at least you’ll never be that big. I like you chubby. . .but that’s too far.” 

Angela smiled at the comment. It always started that way, but rarely ended there. 

---

The full reward for Angela’s reunion with Tracer came later that evening after telling Lucas. She had told the story in full, her heart pounding more and more. No detail was left out, as she had mulled them over since leaving the cafe. Like a dog with a bone, she had dug into the story with obsessive interest. The feel of her sweaty fat, the looks on the other women’s faces, the forced politeness as Angela only laid things on more thickly; it was all so sweet. It was the seminal moment of her weight gain, thus far. It was a perverse moment to cherish the rest of her days, even if the remainder of her growth to immobility wasn’t as impactful. Angela needn’t have worried, though, as Lucas was going to provide yet more experiences to her. 

It started, as many of their interactions did, with Angela bent over a table. Lucas was behind her, in a state of semi-undress and his cock plunging between her asscheeks. She moaned and wheezed, hardly able to move. She felt like a seal at a beach, only able to let the waves of Lucas’ sexuality wash over her. His thrust were strong and rhythmic, his muscular thighs and pelvis slamming into the soft sea wall that was her ass. Lucas grunted as he started to tire, struggling to move such hefty amounts of fat. Angela spread her fat further over the table, testing the strength of the engineering and taking all pressure off her aching joints. Even as she was fucked her mind rolled ponderously over the interaction in the cafe. She wanted Tracer and Emily to see her now, to see how laziness touched every part of her life. Black hair fell about her face, disturbed from the intercourse. From behind the curtain of inky blackness was a face growing ever more red. 

Angela noticed something was wrong when breath would not come to her. Beyond being tired, it was as if her lungs were sucked dry of oxygen. She was stunned at first, almost in disbelief that something so basic as breathing might be denied her. The obese woman tried to roll to the side, freeing her lungs from the crush of her fat. Lucas pulled back a little, realizing that something was wrong. As Angela moved, she was able to gasp. The sharp gasps brought oxygen into her body, but with it came bursts of sharp pain. Angela’s mouth was open, her hands clenching and unclenching with difficulty. 

“It’s happening.” Lucas was by her side, still erect. With obvious difficulty, he had searched through his pants and found the call button for the nursing staff. With them on their way, he could refocus on Angela. “Your first heart attack.” His voice was dripping with pride and lust, hands still caressing her naked body. She breathed in ragged gasps. Lucas could hear the approach of the crash cart. The nurses circled Angela like vultures these days, recognizing the signs of impending doom. They would be in the room shortly, but would need to prepare both the conventional methods and Lucas’ unorthodox cures. It was time to fully introduce it to Angela’s body. It would be the last moment of normalcy for Angela. Going on the medication would only push her further into extremity. Lucas knew she was ready for it. 

“Lucassccch. . .aaaagggh. . .keep. . .” Angela forced herself to speak, even through the blinding pain and burning in her chest. She had never been so turned on before, riding the knife’s edge of living and lust. “Fucking. . .me. . .schoo. . .AAAGGGHHH. . .cloooscche.” Angela moaned, flapping swollen hands. Lucas kissed her forehead, more than willing to meet Angela’s request. His hand snaked under her flopping gut, finding her wet pussy and crushing thighs. He plunged his fingers in, easily finding her spot. She arched in pleasure even as she struggled to remain conscious. Angela could feel the pounding of her chest and the glide of Lucas’ fingers in and out of her pussy. She bucked and writhed, sucking up all the pain and pleasure she could. The nurses were filing into the room quickly, already charging the defibrillator paddles. In her last moments of consciousness, Angela reached orgasm. Her thoughts were about how much fun sex and heart attacks were going to be when she was bed bound. 

--- Chapter 6 ---

Angela drifted in and out of consciousness, recovering from another health crisis. She could not even remember what it had been, the possibilities too numerous. In the past 72 hours she had suffered 3 heart attacks, 2 diabetic comas, and a blood pressure spike so severe that she had fainted into the bowl of pudding she had been eating. And those were only the events that sprung to mind. There were at least a dozen other events that were so strenuous that her mind could not remember them. The memory of these health catastrophes were at least recorded in her chart, for future reading when she was in an amorous mood. For now, at least, she was focused only on coming out of the long dark that had claimed her. As always, there was a moment of slow and painful stirring. 

Angela was being wheeled through the mansion, pushed along by the many nurses that it now took to sustain her slovenly existence. The young, tiny nurses strained to push the quadruple sized bed she was strapped to. Whilst normally her weight was enough to keep her situated, they could not risk any accidents in the moving process. Angela’s now two thousand pound body was bound by thick straps with pillows underneath for comfort. Those pillows had been swallowed by her deep rolls. Fat had consumed Angela’s body as much as greed and lust had consumed her soul. There was no part of her that had not been forced to swell and droop, bloating to an absurd degree. If she had been almost unrecognizable as “Angela” with 600 pounds and black hair, she was now so far gone that it was hard to distinguish her as human. She had to lift and arm to be sure. Pain rattled through her body, causing sympathetic waves of pleasure to come moments later. Pain that started in her heart or arms or swollen digits was always converted into pulses of lust by her pussy. 

“Don’t move too much. You’re almost there.” Lucas put a hand on Angela’s shoulder. She let her fat face fall onto it, swamping her lover’s hand with greasy fat. She had not been washed in at least a day, food and grease stains covering her ever-quaking mass like a film of algae on a lake.

“Where?” Angela’s voice was thick and tired. Her lungs burned, indicating it had been another heart attack which had taken out of consciousness. She looked down at her body, seeing the wobbling folds. Her breasts were sliding off of her chest and gut, though they had been tucked down by one of the nurses. With great satisfaction, Angela considered a day when they might fill entire beds of their own. Beyond the gateway of her flopping breast meat lay her stomach, which spread out further than it rose. It was never full and never appeared full. Rather, it spread as a mass of dough or taffy which begged to be toyed with. Somewhere underneath all of that lay her thighs. Angela only remembered them because of the humming vibrator between them. She had only begun to notice the pulsing sex toy as the pain-pleasure of the heart attack started to fade. The vibrator was the dull, constant roar which kept her carnal desire up. As much as she was not allowed to lower her blood sugar levels, Angela was likewise never allowed to not have her sex stimulated. 

“You know where.” Lucas leaned down and kissed her forehead, it was slightly feverish. He would treat whatever was causing that later, after the big reveal. Rather, he pulled out the remote which controlled Angela’s vibrator and clicked the intensity up a couple notches. He wanted her practically drooling as she arrived. It was a momentous occasion. Angela sucked in air as the vibrator began to thrum with greater intensity. Her heart started to pound once more, threatening a return to cardiac arrest. Rather than fight the feeling as she might have in the past, Angela rode the crackling waves of lighting pain. Eventually she would reach wherever Lucas was taking her and could worry about things then. For now, she was awake enough to orgasm again. 

---

“Lu-cass-AAAAASS!” Angela seized in the bed as they got closer to the arrival point. As they had progressed, Lucas had clicked up the vibrator’s intensity. Likewise, Angela’s heartbeat had become more erratic. Though in many ways the perfect candidate for endless sex, the immobile woman could not handle it well. That was what made things special. “Ooooh. . .aaagggh. . where. . .where are. . .we?” She asked, licking her lips and mashing her thighs together. It would not be long before another incident happened. 

“Just your new bedroom.” Lucas smiled, clicking another button on a remote. Wide double doors, big enough to admit a woman three or four times larger than Angela swung open. She gasped, seeing what was beyond it. Sombra. The immense progenitor of the project Angela was now a subject lay in the middle of the room, her seething mass covered in a latticework of scaffolding and a forest of medical tubing. The Columbian woman’s face was buried in fat, with only the large humps of her back fat acting as a marker for where the flesh cave might begin. She was bountiful, beautiful, and writhing in perpetual, wonderful agony. “You’re too big to be in the normal part of the mansion.”

“This. . .AAAGGGGGH. . .is too much!” Angela tried to put a hand up to her now pounding chest. The burning had returned with even more intensity, lighting through her arms and even further. She gasped, the singular roll of fat which had been created from the merging of her chins and neck rolls slapped as she moved her mouth. She stared up at Sombra, who filled the barnlike dimensions of the room. It had been impressive seeing her on the video screens so many months ago. Now, it was almost terrifying. Equally so was the thought that one day Angela would be that size. She would match Sombra pound for pound, inch for inch until the two of them burst from the building.

“Hold on just a little longer.” Lucas hummed as Angela was pushed into the room. She felt the sweltering heat put off by the bigger mass of fat. It felt wrong to refer to Sombra as anything but a shapeless blob. Angela felt vibrations running through the floor as pumps pushed fresh oxygen into the tan woman’s face. The energy necessity alone for her had to be staggering. Sombra was a resource drain like none other. Her existence only atomized Angela, who was not even as big as one of Sombra’s breasts. The massive boobs had long fallen to the floor, billowing outward like small trucks. They were the easiest thing to identify, the rest of her falling into shapelessness easily. Anegla was placed next to one, her own tininess reaffirmed. She was breathing in ragged gasps now, the crush of destiny and the future squeezing air out of her lungs. Yet, Lucas had more to show. “I thought you might want a little glimpse of something else.”

A video clicked on, playing from a large screen opposite where Sombra and Angela lay. It was grainy for a moment, but two people quickly came into focus. Angela squinted realizing it was Pharah and Bridgette. Confused at first, it took her moments to realize that it was one of the cameras attached to the front of the house. Angela had been inside for so long that she had forgotten what the front lawn looked like. Moments later, she understood the implication. More women were coming to join the house. Proved by her and Sombra’s success, Lucas had extended an offer for more Overwatch research subjects. Angela began to convulse in pain-pleasure again as the full understanding dawned on her. 

“You’re going to have roommates soon.” Lucas smiled at the screen. He sent a quick text to the two women, letting them know he would be out shortly. “You’ll have to up your food intake. I'd really like to give them a surprise when they see you.” Lucas looked down at Angela, who had slipped into cardiac arrest once again. The surprises, as amazing as they were, had pushed her heart beyond its breaking point. Already nurses were rushing to her side. The doctor tapped a button on Angela’s bed, releasing medicine into her IV stream. She would be alright, this was just foreplay to the evening's true fun. He had already begun to plan out the menu for Angela’s feast. She had a lot of growing to do still.