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Rated: 13+ · Interactive · Comedy · #2171124
Five ladies getting large and gaining weight in a cramped townhouse.
This choice: Stick her with the growth hormones. She won't know what hit her.  •  Go Back...
Chapter #20

Rachel & Rx

    by: Bobo the Hobo
Reagan had never felt like she was doing anything wrong when she bought drugs before. Like, at all.

Sure her first time doing it she had been a little nervous, but that had been back in high school. And the weed had sucked. As a fully grown woman who was no stranger to a good house party or dorm shaker, Reagan had very quickly lost that little voice in the back of her head that told her that the police could bust in at any second and take her to jail. And while she wasn't exactly going to be on Narcos or anything, Reagan had done this sort of thing enough time to know that she wasn't in any danger.

But something about this particular trip made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She hadn't been able to stop fidgeting or clenching her toes; gripping her wide, plush thighs and running her hands down in slow spooked stripes. Her thighs wobbled with her legs' incessant bouncing, to the point where they were actually a little sore from all of this activity.

"You're giving me bad vibes tonight, Rae." Rachel said sternly, laying out the night's selection nonetheless while her customer clamored on the couch, "I'm gonna need you to knock it off. I don't sell when I get bad vibes."

"I'm sorry. Just... y'know... this isn't my usual forte."

"Well, it's very important that we all experiment now and again." Rachel meticulously twisted the last bottle on the left so that it faced Reagan, "Everything I sell are tools, you see—they all do different things and have different purposes that..."

When Rachel got like this, Reagan tended to ignore her. Even now, when her nerves were catching up with her, Rachel's voice droned out into a nice atonal hum. They had been through this enough times to know the gist of whatever sales pitch her dealer had whipped up for the occasion; drugs are neutral, we are in control of our own actions, and objectively speaking high usage didn't correlate to being lazy or a bad person. Whatever. She'd heard it all before in one way, shape, or another.

No matter how good the spiel was, Rachel wasn't on QVC. She was in her apartment, meticulously tweaking the position of livestock supplies so as to make a better show for the (...probably?) one person who finally wanted to buy them off of her. The fact that Reagan wanted the other horse drugs instead of having moved up to the harder stuff had probably sent her skinny ass plummeting off the couch when she got the text.

But Rachel was the only person that could get this stuff. At least reliably. And Reagan was willing to pay a premium in the name of secrecy, a lack of a paper trail, and an assurance of quality.

"Do you know what I'm saying, Rae?"

"...yeah." Reagan had not listened to even a tenth of Rachel's speechifying, "So what do you have for me?"

"Right to the point." Rachel flourished a little, rubbing her hands together after a resounding clap, "I respect that."

On the coffee table that sat in front of her drawn blinds, Rachel had placed a series of pill bottles of varying sizes. All six of them were white, with half of them bearing purple caps and the other half red. They were laid out in sizes from small to large, with the purple-capped bottles being noticeably more stout. Judging by their labels, Rachel was exhibiting two products in various sizes, laid out for Reagan to peruse at her leisure.

Exactly how much Ketamine had Rachel bought to have this much laying around? If this had been a special order just for Reagan, she was gonna feel like shit.

"So, you asked for two very different things. I respect and understand that." Rachel shrugged noncomittally for the bit, "That being said, I had to hunt a little bit, pull a couple of strings to find these in pill form—so I hope you know that they're not going to be as effective as if you were injecting them—"

"Yeah, I can't do that." Reagan curled a nostril, "Too risky."

"If this is about trackmarks, then you might want to try injecting between your toes, maybe—"

"No needles. And it's not about track marks, gawd."

"Alright, alright, just so we're clear." Rachel held up her hands in mock defense, "As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

I'm not gonna be happy as long as Uma's running her mouth. Reagan thought bitterly to herself. Sitting on the couch, stretching the hell out of a pair of Chel's old pants to the point where she could see her panty-line sitting down in a sketchy-ass apartment on the bad side of town wasn't exactly going to make her feel at ease, either. To say nothing of the burrito she'd shotgunned on her way over here—how was it was starting to come back on her already?

"So here, on our right, we have our friend Equi-Max." Rachel held up the smallest of the red-capped bottles, "Good if you're looking to build some mass. Maybe you're bulking, maybe you're trying to lose a couple of holiday pounds, whatever. This little guy has minimal side effects, including increased appetite and mood swings. Maybe some aggression? Ooh~, good for the bedroom."

"Now I don't know if you're using this on its own, but keep in mind that your energy levels are gonna get reaaaal high and then reaaaaal low after you come down.", Rachel waved a hand over the triplicate bottles, tapping the tops of them gently in time as they were called, "We have three different sizes here, as you can see, so you do have options. The smallest one if you just want to try it out for a little while, see how it goes, or the larger one if you're all in. Or both! I'm just saying, all three are great options if you're looking to bulk up."

The novelty of it all was intimidating. Rachel's presentation of the stuff wasn't all that dissimilar to her spiels on the various strands of pot that Reagan had bought for her over the years. Whether she really did sell a lot of this stuff or was just a natural-born salesman was beginning to become a little unclear.

"Now Bovigrow, on the other hand, is going to run the opposite. Equi-Max is gonna feel like an upper, y'know, you're gonna be moving all over the place for a while before you crash. Bovigrow's not like that. Bovigrow's kind of a slow, cool kind of down. You're not gonna wanna move a lot, you're gonna get the munchies, you're gonna have some lethargy. Not enough that you won't be able to drive or anything, but you're definitely gonna feel that lack of energy at the end of the day if you use this stuff a lot."

Rachel once again tapped the bottles on their tops, one at a time from smallest to largest.

"Either one of these guys is gonna get you hungry, gonna make you predisposed to some weight gain—"

"It's, uh... it's not for me." Reagan hastily corrected, "It's... for a friend."

"Sure it is, honey." Rachel's regular voice clipped through into her saleswoman spiel, "They're both options, just putting them on the table for you, but they do have their own sets of side effects. Maybe don't do anything super hard on either one of them until you build up your tolerance; no coke, no H, no anything like that, y'know?"

"...is weed alright?" Reagan piqued a rusty red eyebrow, "Because I kind of wanted to pick up something for me too, and if Uma can't toke up then I don't want her to—"

"I'm sure Uma will be fine." Rachel winked mockingly, "A little weed on top never hurt nobody. That's my motto."

Reagan's too. And after getting so worked up throughout this deal, she was already looking forward to getting a little zonked tonight.

But that left her with the million-dollar question, didn't it? Both of these options were up her alley, and if Rachel said that they were good for "building mass" or whatever, Reagan was inclined to agree with her. With either of these, Uma would be on the train back to chunky town in no time!

There was just the matter of which one to pick...
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