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Uncertainty reigns some hours later the next day with the hour approaching midday; I’m en route to check on Plenty, unsure as to how I will find her. Part of me thinks I will find that Melanie Carpenter has returned, as trim as I met her just two days previously, which to me now seems like years ago. Another part of me is convinced that Plenty O’ Room will be bounding around the room, unperturbed by her enormous belly heaving to and fro, with the energy of a seven-year-old. I’m sure you can guess what the part of me informed by too many horror films watched as a teenager thinks will greet me in the hotel room; in fact I find none of the above.

As my eyes adjust to the twilight in the curtained room I can soon distinguish the outline of a substantial mound swelling the bed covers to some four or five feet in height. I soon hear a now-familiar grumble as Plenty irately asks the time, accompanied by the sound of her expanded body shifting uneasily against the sheets. She requests that I open the large curtains upon hearing that it is noon. Having traversed the room and hastily thrown open the drapes, shedding bright sunlight onto the vacant walls, I’m startled to discover that despite the massive lump in the duvet, Plenty isn’t even lying on her back. The bed sheets scarcely cover her titanic tummy and billow up at their edges as Plenty lays on her right side, her stretched naval peeking out from beneath them, squashed into the mattress. I tentatively enquire as to how the weary-looking young woman slept, suspecting I can guess the answer already,
“Terrible,” she grunts, before letting out a mournful whine, “I feel like I’m the size of a whale!”
She rubs her eyes sleepily, and as I busy myself tidying the room and opening the curtains fully, she pitifully airs her grievances,
“This room is, like, designed to make me feel fat!” she begins, “There’s no way I can fit in the bath, and even the shower looks like a squeeze! I don’t know what was creaking more last night, my belly or this bed; I thought I was going to fall right through it! And the duvet doesn’t even cover me up!”
I note inwardly that she in fact looks in imminent danger of plunging through the tormented bed as her immense weight presses a deep dent into the mattress around her awesome circumference. As disquieting as this state of the furniture is, I’m entirely unsure what to do about it; at any rate, Plenty barely seems to hear my promise of fetching a larger duvet as she continues,
“I normally sleep on my back but I’m too heavy to do that, the weight of my belly would crush me. I’m too heavy to turn over in bed, I’ve been stuck in one position all night. I haven’t even bothered trying to get up yet, I’m probably too fat to do that!”
Her belly lets out a stifled rumble from beneath the sheets, which seems to vibrate them like a snoring cartoon character as she halts her speech momentarily,
“And every time I was dropping off to sleep, it’d do that! I’ve just been lying here like a beached whale most of the night!”
Looking uncomfortable, Plenty hauls upon her giant belly with her hips, trying to shift around in bed. She leans with her shoulders, thrashing with her naked legs, but the weight of her leaden gut has all but paralysed her. Her vocal strain of effort turns into an infuriated growl, and she punches the mattress with clenched fists in frustration,
“If only I was in my room! At least then I’d have a double bed and a bath I can fit into!” she rants, obviously having stewed over this all night as she all at once suggests, “Can you help me to get back to my room? We’ll do it late at night so there’s no-one around to see,”
I splutter exasperatedly at the overinflated young girl’s request, questioning how she will manage this journey in her current condition,
“I got here from the contest last night, didn’t I?” she points out, to my surprise given the struggles she experienced in doing so. But, I counter, if she can’t even shift her belly in bed, how does she expect to convey it all the way to a room on a different floor of the hotel? The journey she proposes takes her back along the corridor to one she traversed only with much difficulty the previous evening, into a short trip in the elevator, before concluding with an even lengthier corridor walk from the elevator to her room upstairs,
“Once I get upright I’ll be fine; it’s not like I’m gonna do this alone,” she sighs, rolling her eyes at my protestations, before fixing me with a steadfast gaze, “...Right?”
I try frantically to dodge the question, fibbing to her that I may not be free later on. But under her intense frown I’m eventually forced to tell Plenty that in my opinion, she doesn’t stand a chance of pulling off what she intends to; she’s too big, and the room is too far. She noisily grunts in aggravation, muttering disparagingly as I continue my protests, which appear to be falling upon deaf ears. I’m entirely unconvinced she could make the journey, but midway through telling her the reasons I think so, she interrupts forcefully,
“Look. I’ll be fine,” she tersely insists, “Will you help me or not?”
Seeing the stern young woman is not in a mood to be reasoned with, I reluctantly concur to her plan, for the timebeing at least. As a stopgap, I agree to help flip over the Eater onto her other side and resolve to work on convincing her to stay put upon my return later. Plenty seems placated by this arrangement, and we begin the awkward operation of turning her onto her left side for the next few hours. It immediately doesn’t bode well that she’s lost no discernible amount of weight overnight as we troublesomely try to rotate the young woman’s inundated body. With my help, she shuffles heavily over to the right-hand side of the bed under the frame’s upsurging protests, her belly flopping over the mattress’ edge and slumping towards the floor. Her face contorts in discomfort as her midriff skin stretches with extra load, gravity dragging her girth groundwards until we begin to rotate her. Although no lighter, her belly seems more pliable, moulding itself around my hands as I scoop her tummy upwards and jiggling as if its contents are changing viscosity as they digest. Her less-solid gut is difficult to shift, and we both sweat and toil in banking her around. Plenty’s eyes and cheeks bulge as her full 88 lbs mass bears down on top of her momentarily, sinking in height as it spreads over her before I shove her brimming belly and it sloshes noisily across her body. Her immense belly slithers across the bed and Plenty finally hefts herself onto her left side to face the wall,
“Thank you,” the naked eater pants gratefully, the pair of us drained by the ordeal and her unsettled belly gurgling and churning discontentedly. Having covered her with the ill-fitting duvet once more, I leave Plenty to try and get some sleep, agreeing to return at midnight when our operation will supposedly commence.

When I get back some twelve hours later, I find Plenty O’ Room positively raring to go, her face lighting up with conspiratorial mischievousness as I re-enter the room,
“I thought you were never coming back,” she excitedly half-whispers, “Help me up and let’s do this!”
Portentously, she hasn’t found the strength to move on her own yet, as she’s still clearly in exactly the same position as when I left her this afternoon. The busty, mammoth-bellied young woman also remains in her distractingly unclothed state, her swathes of oscillating flesh spreading and contracting with each one of her weight-limited movements. None of this bodes well for our journey to the upstairs suite and I begin to voice my reservations by asking Plenty if she’s tried to move around in bed at all, suggesting that she is no less bulky and perhaps more fatigued than the previous night. She waves my concerns away however,
“I tried, but I think I was too tired. I’ve slept since then. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine once I’m on my feet,” the excuses tumble out of her mouth as quickly as the food was crammed in last night and I seriously doubt this scheme of hers is a good idea. In contrast, she seems absolutely dead-set on executing it, so I feel compelled to play along at this early stage before working up to actively discouraging her. The Super-Eater’s body is now pointing to the right side of the bed, so I assist her into a sitting position on the edge, pulling her upright by her arms whilst her belly growls a warning even at this slight positional shift,
“Mmmpphh,” Plenty breathes as her gut judders with reverberations, gushing over both the mattress’ borders and her legs as she plants her feet on the floor at the bedside. Despite her belly’s renewed protestations, she nods affirmatively and outstretches her arms towards me. I take both of her hands and ready myself as Plenty takes the strain on the ground, her calf muscles tensing; with her legs propelling her upwards, I then pull gently backwards. But nothing happens,
“Come on, put some effort into it!” she encourages. I resume my hauling, reluctantly putting more energy into my efforts this time, but again to no avail; Plenty’s backside didn’t even leave the mattress. I begin to worry as I recall that it wasn’t this difficult to raise her last night, fostering even graver doubts in my mind as to whether Plenty can actually make it upstairs. Finally, with her encouragement and express permission, I use all of my strength as a last resort in pulling the swollen eater to her feet. As the muscles in the young girl’s legs strain visibly and the skin pulls astonishingly taut across her distended midriff, Plenty pushes with her lower body; I lean backwards and we both heave with all the force we can muster. With our hands clasped together painfully and arms shaking with effort, gradually, laboriously, we hoist her epically distended and colossally heavy mass upright. Her belly’s contents slosh about torpidly, pitching and surging inside her as her stomach vociferously gurgles its complaints. Plenty grunts in discomfort once standing, wavering on the spot as her still-full belly visibly undulates whilst it settles on her slight frame, and she steadies herself for some moments to find her wildly distorted centre of gravity,
“Right,” she puffs, her voice feeble as she seems to be doubting her own abilities, “I’ll use the bathroom and then we can get going,”
As the replete young woman wobbles heavily to the en suite, I commence panicking in earnest, coming ever nearer to the conclusion that I should just help Plenty O’ Room back to bed and forget her mad scheme. I nervously pace the room as if waiting for a first date with the Eater, rehearsing to myself how I should propose this to her. Presently, the bathroom door opens and the gigantic Plenty staggers into view, outrageously out of breath and with her hand on the doorframe for support. I can scarcely open my mouth before she interjects, pre-empting my concerns,
“I know what you’re going to say, you don’t think I can make it,” she forcefully begins, “But I really don’t care, I’ve got to stay in the one room for a few weeks yet, and it won’t be this one. I’m going with or without your help; with would be a whole lot easier. Either way, you’re not getting me back into that bed,”
I resolve to reply just as assertively that in my opinion she should do so, but I hesitate. Plenty takes advantage of my pause, planting her hands on her hips as if expecting a retort and crossing her arms over her big naked breasts. I approach submissively to reason with her, feeling like a mouse approaching an elephant when Plenty lets out a sudden derisive cackle that makes me jump,
“Anyway, I’d like to see you try!” she smiles. Then she jabs her gigantic gut forwards slightly, dealing me a glancing blow with the naked face up her pumped-up girth which bounces me backwards by a few inches,
“Just ‘cos I’m fat doesn’t mean I’m helpless… and I weigh a ton,” she scoffs, “Exactly how would you get me back into that bed?”
She smirks triumphantly, her enormous round belly squared at me, apparently ready to fend off any resistance I might offer. As if allying itself to her, her tummy also snarls a warning which seems to be directed at me. I sigh and roll my eyes, recognising my position as untenable, and finally consent once and for all to escort Plenty to her room,
“Great!” she chirps breezily, patting her pet belly as she turns towards the door, “Let’s get going then,”
If she has half of the will she appears to, I reflect, perhaps we will get there with less effort than anticipated. It’s obvious that the Super-Eater intends to make the journey unclothed as she makes her way towards the exit without giving me an opportunity to remonstrate further, and so I remain silent about this. We depart the room and I pause to lock the door, Plenty wasting no time in boldly bouncing off towards the elevators. I slide the keycard into the electronic lock, the light blinks red and I hurry to catch up with Plenty as she makes her way at a slow but nonetheless impressive walking pace. Her plump bosoms seem to jostle for position atop her curved tummy as she walks, shaken and jiggled around by her swinging shoulders as her arms work to maintain the young girl’s balance. I brush past to call an elevator and a few seconds later Plenty’s belly, eventually followed by Plenty herself, sloshes to a halt beside me. We have made this portion of the journey in what would appear to be far less than half the time it took us to cover the same distance yesterday. I ask how she’s doing while we’re stopped,
“I’m ok,” she mechanically replies, her chest heaving. She stares resolutely at the lights above the sets of doors that equally resolutely refuse to correspond to this floor, as she holds on quietly to the sides of her bloated belly. Long moments pass, still without sign of either elevator no matter how much I jab at the button; the Super-Eater’s stomach rumbles quietly, momentarily drowning out the distant whirr of machinery as she closes her eyes and exhales softly in response. Her left hand lightly pats her tight skin either as if to soothe it or in a nervous tic, and I again ask if she’s alright. She opens her eyes and sharply turns her head towards me,
“I’m so heavy I can hardly stand up,” she quickly says, an unmistakable look of serene effort etched upon her thin features, despite the dark circles noticeable underneath her determined eyes,
“But I’ll make it,”
The elevator’s arrival is heralded with a ‘ding’, and we both turn our heads as the left-hand doors slide open at that moment. Plenty waddles inside, her arms encircling her colossal gut, and I follow, pressing the button for the top floor. The doors scrape closed and we begin our short ascent, both of our faces inclined to the display indicating floor number,
“You know,” my companion begins, maintaining her forward gaze, “You could’ve easily called my bluff back there in the room. I wouldn’t have done this alone. If you’d have left me there, I’d have stayed,”
I begin to smile as she continues,
“And I wouldn’t have been able to fight you off either, I’m way too fat. If I belly-bounced you much harder, I’d probably burst,” she turns to me, “Is it far to the room when we get out of the lift?”
Yes, I tell her, much farther than the distance we’ve just covered downstairs,
“Then I’m probably gonna need your help,”
The ‘lift’, as the Londoner calls it, halts with a jolt, the doors open and Plenty lurches ponderously into the corridor. Plenty wanders forwards tentatively, her colossal weight shifting unsteadily as she barely picks her feet up and swings her legs in an almost circular movement beneath her bulging, rotund tum. I exit behind her, as she pauses with one hand upon the wall,
“Good, there’s no-one around,” she mutters, surveying the deserted hallway as her free hand grasps the convex of her belly where it dips shallowly back towards her body somewhere below hip-level. Her breath is audibly still not fully recovered from her previous labours, but she now declares,
“Let’s go before someone sees us... and before I explode,”
The bloated Eater sets off slowly, leaving her hand trailing on the passageway wall as a guide for several seconds. Her hand eventually leaves the wall and joins in with the other, held at arm’s length from her body at waist height, windmilling wildly to maintain her centre of gravity as she totters bulkily from foot to foot, a tremor rippling through her crammed belly with each heavy step she takes. It’s clear her efficient march of the previous journey downstairs is quickly deserting her as she tires; our progress was more gradual than before to begin with and now Plenty is slowing to a plod as her weight besets her. Hands no longer needed for balance at this pace move back to the descending curve of her stomach,
“Is it… close?” she wearily asks, her hands attempting to quell her belly’s intensifying protests and imaginably to provide some extra support for its colossal bulk, no matter how meagre. I inform her that she’s well over halfway; the distance remaining is probably equivalent to that of the journey to the elevator just conducted downstairs,
“I can’t… carry this much longer,” she wheezes, cringing at both the distance remaining and her overwhelming bulk, her arms cradling her gut almost as if she is actually carrying it now, “It’s too… heavy,”
The gorged young girl staggers onwards, her breathing becoming steadily louder and more arduous like a runner who set out too fast. Her feet drag along the floor as Plenty shuffles along more and more slowly as her immense weight becomes more and more unbearable to her dwarfed frame,
“I can’t… go on,” she groans as a gurgle issues from deep within her, “I’m too fat,”
Yes you can, I urge her,
“No… I can’t!” she whimpers, another rumble shuddering through her belly. Her pretty face bathed with sweat, she stumbles a final leaden few steps until her stretched midriff skin creaks threateningly, seemingly ready to blow right open this second,
“Ooohhhhhh! I need to rest!” the Eater howls as she stops and slumps her back heavily onto the corridor wall, which trembles under her enormous weight. There are some twenty metres to the door on a journey neither Plenty O’ Room nor her overstuffed belly are enjoying,
“How much further?” she breathlessly enquires, her hands resting on knees obscured by her titanic tummy, “I really… can’t stand up… much longer.”
After informing her of the remaining distance, I allow the Super-Eater to get her breath back for a short while before engaging in appeals to start her walking again,
“I can’t! I’m too fat!” she wails, “I can’t move, I’m too… heavy! Nnnnnnghh!”
Plenty’s straining is worryingly little to do with her trying to move any further, but either the result of the effort required to just keep her bloated frame upright or to stop her tummy from blowing open like an overinflated balloon. It lets out another burdened creak and in response she sinks lower down the wall on which she leans under the overwhelming pressure of her weighty belly, her spine now vertical with her head titled exhaustedly back as her buckling, angled legs barely prop her up. I plead with her, plying her with the facts that it isn’t far to the room now and that the hardest part is done. Tears well up in Plenty’s eyes as she turns her face towards mine,
“I can hardly mooooooove, I’m too heavy!” she whines, her arms wrapping protectively around her growling belly, which rests weightily on her thighs, “Oooohhh God I’m so huuuuge!”
The time it takes to calm her down for a few minutes gives the emotionally and physically drained young woman an opportunity to rest, thankfully without anybody investigating the commotion outside the several surrounding room doors. Presently, Plenty’s few remaining tears dry and I more tentatively try to coax her into moving once more,
“Believe me… I wish I could... But there’s just… too much of me,” she sniffs, her hands skirting over the span of her enormous belly, “I haven’t got the strength… to move all this weight,”
I guarantee to her that she will be able to with my help; I also inform her that remaining at a standstill is merely sapping energy reserves better utilized in moving. With the assurance that with one last effort she can rest in the room all night, Plenty apparently grasps the sense in this and nods with a calming inhalation. After a few puffs from her pursed lips, she strives to heave her bloated belly into an upright position, bracing herself against the wall with her hands before stepping her bare feet squarely beneath her massive bulk. She cranes herself upwards carefully several inches before gradually pushing herself away from the wall to stand under her own steam once more, wavering on the spot momentarily,
“Nnnnnnnnngggghhh! I feel like my whole… body’s packed with food!” she complains as she tries to sink backwards onto the wall once again. I catch the small of her back and push her gently, which coaxes her into waddling forwards rather than falling straight over. I’m adamant that she keeps going, so I cajole her into moving step-by-step with my right hand still on her back,
“Ooohhhh! I’m gonna pop!” she objects as I edge the over-inflated Eater little by little down the corridor. She toddles gingerly from foot to foot as her corpulent gut sways to and fro,
“Stop shoving me!” she shrieks, wise to my tactics, “This belly is really… reeeaally heavy!”
I point out that we’re just away yards from the room door now and also assert that I’m not going to stop pushing her until we reach our destination. I notice Plenty’s seemingly elastic midriff skin contorting and relaxing as the capacious contents jiggle within her, rippling the Eater’s enormous tummy mesmerizingly. The gorged young girl probably finds this less hypnotic than me, as her struggling stomach again gurgles noisily,
“Uuuuuuuuuuugggggghhh!” she groans, “I’m going to burst! Please stop!”
I implore her to keep trying as the pace gets slower and slower; not far, I inform her, just another few doors down. She looks up and sees that the room is indeed within reach,
“Ooohh! Almost… there!” Plenty yelps, clutching her burdensome belly with grasping fingers as she bounces onwards, each step quaking painfully through her laden form. Just as she appears to be gaining momentum, Plenty’s arm shoots out to the wall once more and we grind to a halt as she leans against it,
“I just… need… a rest… for two seconds,” she pants, sweat bathing her brow as she sucks in lungfuls of air, “I’m just… soooo… heavy! Nnnnghh!”
We undergo another lengthy pause later as the overfilled Super Eater gathers her strength, this time at least appearing ready for the final push at any moment,
“Right,” she nods determinedly, “I’ve got to do it… this time... If I don’t sit down in a minute… I’ll explode,”
We ease her groaning girth gently into an upright position as her belly skin shudders with an agonizing creak, her stretched midriff skin trembling with strain ever more intensely. The Super-Eater’s overstretched gut bursting suddenly doesn’t seem the remotest of possibilities, given its escalating complaints,
“Come on, belly! Just hold on… a bit longer!” Plenty pleads to her voluminous tum as she shoves herself off the wall and soon begins to waddle with urgency. In return, her stomach complains of its contents with renewed vigour as a thunderous rumble from her cavernous innards garners a loud keening groan from her throat in response. Nearing the room door, we’re close to crawling pace and I’m all but carrying the exhausted Eater, who is slumped upon my shoulder, all but spent from her exertions,
“Help… I can’t…” she wheezes, faltering with her arm over my neck and both of my hands around her spread, strained hips. She slumps a great portion of her mammoth weight onto my shoulder as I have to hold her around her spongy waist with my left hand whilst opening the door with my right. I feel as if Plenty is compressing me with her bulk as she leans on me and I briefly think that maybe not even two people can carry her massive weight, but dragging her into the room proves less of a problem than anticipated, even as her legs barely push at the ground ineffectually. I haul her swollen body towards the bed, managing to turn her around and place her naked backside upon it as gingerly as possible. The mattress indents like a crater under her colossal mass as I seat the worn-out Super-Eater and her arm slides from around my neck,
“Thank… you…” she barely whispers and almost instantly collapses backwards into a deep sleep. I don’t even wake her as I clumsily struggle to push her heavy form to the middle of the mattress and cover her as effectively as I can with the duvet.