Desire of the Night, Pt. 3

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"Hey there, cutie," the strange woman said, her eyes narrowed seductively in Raymond's direction. "Where're you going?"

Raymond froze, staring dumbly into the woman's face, before switching his gaze to the hand laying softly on his. There was no way…Not him. Not how he looked.

When he failed to respond, the woman pouted. "You're not leaving already, are you?" she asked cutely.

Raymond sputtered slightly, trying to find his voice before the shock rendered him completely mute. Even when he did manage to speak, he couldn't come out with anything coherent. "Er…I just…I don't…But the…"

The woman's frown grew. "But the night's so young…Surely you could stick around for just a few more drinks?"

Before Raymond had a chance to think, his mouth came out with the excuse, "B-but I don't have any money."

"Oh don't worry, cutie," the woman said, taking a few bills out her back pocket; Raymond noticed that she wasn't carrying a purse. She made a motion for the bartender, while still keeping her eyes glued on Raymond. "I'll spot you."

Raymond could've sworn he saw her eyes dart momentarily to his belly, but he couldn't be sure in the darkness of the bar.

"My name's Elizabeth, by the way," she said, tilting her head back to give Raymond the opportunity to speak.

"Raymond," he said after a moment of hesitation. "Raymond Williams." Out of habit, he reached out to shake her hand; being a car salesman, he learned to make as good a first impression as possible.

Elizabeth was obviously impressed. "Ooh, my," she said, putting a hand to her chest. She took her other hand and laid it gently in his, allowing him to feel the softness of her fingers as they curled in his hand. "Such a gentleman, Mr. Williams."

Just then, the bartender showed up, distracting Elizabeth for a moment and allowing Raymond the opportunity to gaze her over completely.

And she was, without a doubt, the most stunning woman he had ever laid his eyes on.

Now to be fair, she did not match everyone's ideal picture of beauty. For one, she looked like she weighed easily over 300 pounds. Every inch of her body was coated in a thick layer of blubber, and it appeared as though she rivaled even Raymond in weight. Most of it gathered above her waist: her massive breasts created a bottomless line of cleavage that completely filled out of her top, her bulbous belly laid heavily on her thick thighs, her pillowy arms remained bare for all the world to see, and her chubby face came complete with two deep dimples beside her mouth and a second chin clinging desperately to the first one. Below the waist, though, she was still quite hefty. Her huge ass poured over the edge of the feeble bar stool in all directions, completely engulfing the poor wooden seat in its doughy embrace. And her thighs resembled two logs sitting next to each other, straining the fabric of her tight pants in a very obvious fashion. She was altogether epically obese, which may have turned many people off.

But even if she had been physically fit, even if she did have a body you could bounce coins off of, she still would have been an odd sight. She looked very "goth" in almost every aspect. She wore a glossy black leather vest that was stretched to the max to fit across her expansive midriff, an equally ill-fitting pair of leather trousers, and red stiletto shoes. Her outfit showed off an inordinate amount of pale, almost ghostly-white skin that contrasted greatly with her all-black attire, making her puffy arms look even more like pillows. Her face positively glowed under the red-tipped bangs of her otherwise inky-black hair, and her thick, full lips were coated in a deep shade of red lipstick. All-in-all, she was quite an odd sight, and not your average late-night flirt.

But still, there was something about her that was absolutely…paralyzing. The way she carried her weight with nothing but pride, the way she moved with an unearthly grace, the way her black eyes gazed deeply into his very soul...she seemed almost ethereal. He found himself breathless just looking at her.

Suddenly, Raymond realized that she was handing him a drink. It looked like a Bloody Mary, but he couldn't be too sure; he was so distracted by her beauty that he didn't even hear her order it.

Nevertheless, he took the drink without a word, his eyes still glued to her delicate facial features.

Elizabeth took this silence as an invitation to speak, so she lifted her glass, winked, and said, "Well Mr. Williams, here's to a fun and fruitful night."

And they drank.

***

"Well Mrs. Turner, it seems as though everything is squared away," Raymond said after helping the hefty housewife into her hospital bed. "Are you ready for your new life to begin?"

"I suppose so," Patricia said, nonchalantly smoothing down the ruffles in her surgery gown. "Let's get on with it then."

"Very good, Your Majesty."

Raymond then circled the bed, kicking the brakes off on all sides. He pulled the bed away from the wall and began pushing it toward a set of double doors on the far end of the room.

He was a few steps away from the doors before they automatically swung inward to accompany them, revealing a long, eloquently decorated hallway that delved into the very heart of The Nightingale.

"So what were your favorite activities today, Your Majesty?" Raymond asked as he began pushing the bed down the hall.

"Oh, they were all wonderful," she swooned, stretching lethargically. "The sauna, the mudbath, the massage…Oh, and the lunch and dinner buffets were absolutely exquisite."

"I'm glad to hear that. Our cooks work very hard."

"And it definitely shows…" Patricia moaned, running her hand over the large bulge in her gown that was her huge belly, still swollen from her earlier over-indulgence. "Although, I thought you weren't supposed to eat before going into surgery?"

"That is true, Your Majesty. But our weight-loss procedure isn't technically surgery. We just use the term 'surgery team' because 'procedure team' just doesn't the right ring to it."

"Oh yes, this mysterious 'procedure' you're so famous for…Care to share what it is, now that I'm so close to going through it?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, ma'am," Raymond said, his tone suddenly much more solemn.

"What?! Why not?"

"Clinic policy, Your Majesty. Our procedure is absolutely top secret, and we cannot risk any outside companies learning the its details."

"What if I promise not to tell anybody?"

"I would still have to say no."

Patricia pouted, kicking her leg weakly like a spoiled child. "Isn't there anything you could tell me?"

"Nothing, Your Majesty. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I must insist on the matter."

Patricia slumped back in her seat, defeated. "Ugh, you're so boring, Mr. Williams. What's the point of being a queen if I can't even make you answer my question?"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. But I can assure you, it will all be worth it."

Patricia didn't speak for the rest of the trip, allowing the sound of Raymond's dress shoes clacking against the tile floor to overtake them. She crossed her arms and stared sulkily at the ceiling, watching the overhead lights pass by as Raymond continued to push her further down the hallway.

Soon, they reached another set of double doors, ones that seemed much more suited to a hospital than an Elizabethan manor. They were grey, undecorated, and had small, square windows on each door.

"Well here we are, Your Majesty," Raymond said as they neared the doors. "Time for you to meet the surgery team."

Raymond took one final step; the doors swung inward…

***

And they drank.

And drank. And drank. And drank.

Well into the night, the two bloated bar patrons continued to down drink after drink, steadily increasing their blood-alcohol levels while simultaneously lowering their inhibitions. Slowly, Raymond began to open up to this woman, transforming from a quiet and awkward man into a loud, facetious drunk. He began making jokes, reciprocating Elizabeth's flirts, and even initiating flirts himself. He was a far cry from his usual suave demeanor.

But somehow, Elizabeth still seemed interested in him. As he sipped and slurred his way through all his words, she continued to eye him and his colossal belly in a very alluring way. It almost seemed like the alcohol wasn't affecting her the same way it was affecting him: she remained completely coherent throughout their talks, she never lost the unnatural grace in her movements, and her eyes were just as sharp as they were when the two first met.

"S'you don't sheem too affected by your drrrinksssss," Raymond slurred at one point.

"I guess I handle my liquor well," Elizabeth commented nonchalantly, taking another sip of what must have been her fourth Bloody Mary.

Had Raymond been in the right state of mind, he might have questioned her further. But, through the fog that clouded his mind, he saw no problems.

So he continued his drunken revelry for the next half an hour or so, all the while oblivious to the intensity with which Elizabeth was staring at him.

Eventually, after he was good and smashed, she finally made her move.

"Let me be honest with you, Raymond," she said, interrupting the fat man mid-slur. "I want you. All this," she laid her hand on his huge stomach and began rubbing it in circular motions, causing his already-reddened cheeks to blush even further, "turns me on. And from what I can tell, you want me too. All this," she took her hand and placed it on her own belly, trapped within the confines of her shiny black top, and began stroking it erotically, "turns you on. So, since we both want each other, how about you and me head back to your place?"

After taking a moment to process her request, Raymond, mouth agape and eyes drunkenly unfocused, nodded eagerly.

"Alright then, Mr. Williams," Elizabeth cooed, motioning one last time for the bartender. "Let me get one last thing taken care of and we'll be on our way."

Raymond happily teetered quietly in his seat as he waited for Elizabeth's word. To think, a mere two hours ago, he was close to leaving the bar, alone. He continued to smile dumbly as he stared off into the middle distance, contemplating his immense turn of luck.

Just then, he turned to face Elizabeth, only to find that she was suddenly holding a huge red bag in her hand.

"Wuzzat?" Raymond asked.

"It's my purse, silly," Elizabeth waved off. "I had the bartender hold onto it."

"But whyzzit so big?"

"It's just the style nowadays, I suppose. Now come on, let's get out of here," she urged, hopping lightly off the barstool (or, as lightly as she could, given her astounding weight), sending her entire rotund body into a fit of jiggles.

Elizabeth began to saunter toward the exit while coaxing Raymond to follow her, and Raymond, after dismounting his own stool in a much more intoxicated, lumbering fashion, was happy to oblige. The pudgy pair left the bar and hailed a cab, and when one arrived, Raymond somehow remembered to hold the door open for Elizabeth's wide ass. The obese goth chuckled cutely at that.

Raymond trundled around to the other side of the cab and got in himself. He noticed that, when he sat down next to the hefty woman, their rear ends bumped against each other. Elizabeth must have noticed too, because when their flabby posteriors made contact, she glanced at him alluringly. Raymond was giving the driver his address when suddenly, he felt a fat hand grab his ass. He jumped up in surprise and looked over to the woman on his right; she had a mischievous glint in her eye and a smirk on her face.

She leaned into his ear, so close that her plump lips brushed against his tender skin, and whispered, "Let's get you home, big boy."

The rest of the night passed by in a whirlwind of blurred images and sounds, with only very few choice moments penetrating the haze: watching Elizabeth undress in his bedroom, admiring her immense, full-figured glory as her fat, bare belly flopped against her thighs; feeling their fat, bloated forms smack against each other as they wrestled on the mattress; Elizabeth's plump, sweaty body undulating on top of him; a great, screaming climax; an unbearable stinging pain in his shoulder, followed by the sensation of millions of fire ants crawling through his blood stream; the feeling of being lifted into the air by a giant meat hook; roaring in pain; the world going black.

He came to while the sun was up; he didn't know whether he had been out for only a few hours or more than a day.

He was lying on the floor; the world was blurry; his right arm felt numb. He tried to sit up, but couldn't muster the energy. There was no sign of Elizabeth.

He felt very detached from his own body; the only thing keeping him conscious was the searing pain that lingered in his shoulder. If he focused on that, he found that he could keep himself awake.

But, as he very slowly started to regain his senses, he did notice that he felt light…very light.

***

Immediately, the moment the door opened, Patricia was blinded by the light on the other side. She blinked and shielded her eyes, catching very few glimpses of the room beyond. It was certainly an operating theater, from what she could tell, with light grey walls, a huge overhead light, numerous unidentifiable pieces of surgical equipment, and a group of six masked surgeons standing ominously around an operating table.

She blinked rapidly for a few more seconds before she managed to keep her eyes fully open, and by then, Raymond had already wheeled her up next to the table.

"Gentlemen, on the count of three," Raymond said as he and three other surgeons grabbed separate corners of Patricia's sheets. "One…two…three!"

With a grunt, all four of the surgeons transferred the hefty woman onto the table. "Alright, let's get her hooked up to anesthesia." One surgeon walked over to a large contraption just behind Patricia's head and pulled out a clear mask connected to the machine via tube. The surgeon leaned over and strapped the mask onto her face, giving Patricia a chance to look into his eyes and realize that they seemed…oddly familiar.

"Alright, Your Majesty," Raymond piped up, distracting Patricia from the surgeon. "When we turn on the anesthetic, we will need you to breathe normally, remain calm, and count backwards from one hundred. You will slowly become tired until you eventually fall asleep. It will feel like you are only asleep for a few seconds, but when you wake up, it will be tomorrow morning. And when you do wake up, you will have the body you have always wanted. Do you feel ready, Your Majesty?"

At this point, Patricia's nerves were spiking; other than one or two dental procedures, she had never gone into surgery before. In fact, she had never been put fully under before, only partially numbed. But now, staring straight into the overhead lights, the full weight of her predicament was crashing into her: she wasn't in charge in the slightest. Raymond lied to her earlier; she didn't feel like a queen at all. She felt like a pawn.

But nonetheless, she nodded meekly, ready to just get this over with.

Raymond smiled reassuringly. "It'll all alright, Mrs. Turner," he whispered to her. "Trust me."

And she did. Somehow, despite herself, she trusted this man. She took a deep, unstable breath, calmed her nerves, and begin counting backwards…

'100…99…98…'

She remembered making it to about 84 before the world went black.