Sakuya WG - Vote 3 - Results (END) (Patreon)

End of the Sakuya short series finishing off with @ThePervertWithin’s colored piece! (From the year previous!)

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Sakuya’s phone buzzed against the soft mound of her belly.

She cracked one eye open in the dark. The screen’s glow lit the underside of her breasts and the deep crease where her gut met her thighs.

Meiling’s name flashed across the notifications.

You won.

Sakuya made a noise that was half gasp, half triumphant little squeak. She tried to sit up. The motion failed almost immediately as she felt gravity pull her back down. Her chest was too heavy; the pair of pale udders spilled sideways across her ribs and then outward, soft and dense, dragging at her shoulders. Her belly rose with the effort, a warm, trembling shelf that immediately folded over itself in thick rolls. She rolled instead, intending to swing her legs off the mattress. The shift sent everything pouring after her. Breasts first, then the long, heavy curve of her stomach, then the wide spill of her hips. She did not climb out of bed so much as spill, a slow, wobbling avalanche of naked flesh that hit the floor with a muted, fleshy thud.

The phone skittered away into the darkness of her room.

Sakuya lay on her side for a moment, stunned by her own weight. Her belly had settled against the carpet in a broad, warm pancake, the lower rolls already spreading outward. One breast was trapped beneath her arm, the other flattened and overflowing toward the floor. She pushed. Her arms sank into the softness of her sides. She got one knee under her, then the other, but her thighs were so thick they refused to part cleanly; the inner surfaces clung and dragged. Every small movement made new folds appear and vanish. A roll of fat above her hips slid over another. Her stomach wobbled in heavy, delayed waves. She groped blindly, fingers sinking into the heat of her own thigh, then the softer give of her lower belly, searching for the rectangle of plastic.

Her breasts swung with each reach, heavy enough that the motion pulled at her chest and made her breath catch. She had to rock her whole torso to shift the mass of her gut out of the way. It poured over her forearm when she tried to brace, warm and yielding and far too much. The dark made everything worse. She could feel how enormous she had become—how her body now took up more space than the bed had room for, how even on all fours her belly still brushed the floor, how standing felt like a project that required hours of planning.

A light clicked on.

Meiling stood in the doorway, already dressed, already holding the phone. She had heard the thud from the front of the mansion and come prepared. She crouched easily, the way Sakuya no longer could, and turned the screen toward her.

It was not the official poll. It was a handmade one, two entries only: Sakuya and Everyone Else. The winner’s line, in Meiling’s neat handwriting, simply said My favorite fatty.

Sakuya stared. Her cheeks went pink. The pout that formed was half genuine disappointment and half the automatic sulk of someone whose body had just betrayed her in front of an audience of one. She stayed on the floor because rising felt like too much work for the moment.

Meiling’s expression softened. “I can make breakfast.”

Sakuya’s eyes flicked up. The pout remained, but something hopeful entered it. “Eggs,” she said. “And toast. Thick toast. And the good jam. And bacon. A lot of bacon. And those little sausages you do. And fruit, but only if it’s heavy fruit. And rice. And—”

She kept listing. Meiling listened, already calculating the pan sizes she would need, while Sakuya’s belly slowly settled against the floorboards again, warm and vast like a good maid should…