Reagan Durant had never exactly been the poster child for moderation and restraint. It wasn't in her nature to deny herself things that she wanted—whether that be clothes, sweets, or delicious revenge on someone who had mildly inconvenienced or irritated her. She had always been a creature of want, and while there was nothing necessarily wrong with that, Reagan had been spending way too much time worrying about what Uma was doing about her weight, and not nearly enough time worrying about her own.
And okay yeah, obviously, there were going to be some people who said that she had this coming.
But those people weren't here right now. Do you understand?
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck" Reagan winced as she struggled to close the flaps on her jeans, "fuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuck—"
Finally, it clasped shut. The button slipped through the knotch and tugged hard against the denim. The fabric rebelled hard against the strain that its wearer had put it under. An assault from the back and the front, Reagan's fat ass was already becoming too much for even her newest pairs of jeans...
"Phew!" she said out loud, trying to ignore the horrendous muffin top looking back at her in the mirror, "Still fits."
She had said it like it was a major accomplishment. Like squeezing into a pair of jeans that she'd bought less than a month ago was something that she should have been proud of. And if she didn't look at where her zipper had already been pulled apart from where she'd fastened it, or how badly she was muffin topping, everything was a-okay!
Just a little relax, a little slouch, look natural, aaaaand—
A muffled snap! as the button ripped out of the denim. Her pale potbelly forced the flaps apart, pinched in the zipper as it bulged recklessly into its proper place. Reagan sighed angrily as she threw herself back onto the spread of her bed. Her tummy domed out to about nose-height as she surrendered against her own personal battle of the bulge.
"Godammit." she groaned, "Not another pair..."
Reagan knew what the issue was. She wasn't dumb. Hanging out with Uma all the time, eating from the Lone Star like four nights a week, not exercising or taking advantage of the school's on-campus gym, was it any wonder that she'd traded the ph in her phat ass for an f?
Scratch that, was it any wonder that she didn't have a single pair of pants in her closet that still fit?
The wide-bottomed redhead had spent the past few weeks watching herself expand, cautiously avoiding her reflection so as not to face the reality of her own expanding waistline in her efforts to keep enabling Uma's. It was so much easier to focus on someone else getting fat than it was for her to deal with the fact that she herself wasn't immune to the phenomenon.
Pushing off the bed, she took herself back to the mirror for another cursory glance, still hoping to find herself mistaken about any added poundage. But unfortunately, a rounder face and thicker appendages were all that she could see in the mirror. Besides, of course, her budding belly and her pocket-popping peach. That ass was getting wide.
Yes, she was well aware of the irony to be found in the situation.
No, she didn't find it very amusing.
Why? Because that was her ass on the line in the most literal sense of the phrase possible.
But as much as she was angry with herself for having eaten herself out of every pair of jeans, Reagan had a more important problem to handle—what the hell she was supposed to wear tonight...
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