The Baker's Dozen

by Dimbulb

Cathy sat at her dining room table, her mind swirling in a fog bank of confusion. Had she gone to work today? She couldn't remember, though she was dressed, and the clock on the microwave read 4:30. Maybe it was Saturday.

Whatever day it was, Cathy was hot. She picked at the front of her pink sweat-soaked t-shirt and glanced in the direction of the thermostat. She must have forgotten to turn on the air conditioning, and now she was burning up. She was about to stand up and get a drink from the fridge when she saw a box of doughnuts from Winchell's sitting in front of her.

She didn't know where the box came from, but she knew what would be inside. She opened it slowly and saw a dozen powdered sugar doughnuts, the kind that had been her weak spot since she was a little girl. Cathy pulled one out, considering it, and took a small bite. The cake crumbled and dissolved in her mouth, and a shiver of delight ran down her spine. Winchell's either changed their recipe, she thought, or I've been dying of hunger.

After three more bites, the doughnut was gone, and Cathy felt worse for it. It wasn't the air conditioning that was on the fritz, but her. A fever, the worst she could recall, and it seemed to be rising. The powdered sugar from her treat, however, had felt cool on her tongue. She stared at the box, and figured another couldn't hurt. If she was sick, why not treat herself?

She took a bite, idly wondering why she forgot what had happened earlier in the day. She seemed unconcerned about the missing time, as if she had simply misplaced a set of keys. Wherever she had been and whatever she had done, she was thankful for the doughnuts.

When she went to take another bite, she saw her second one had somehow disappeared. Curious.

As she reached for the third one, her stomach gurgled, and Cathy felt another tingle of pleasure run through her body. Illness be damned, these doughnuts were good. She brought it up to her mouth and took a nibble this time, determined to savor it.

Had she done any other shopping that day? If it was Saturday (and she had become fairly convinced that it was), she should have gone to the mall for some new clothes. Spring sale started this weekend at the department stores, and she needed some new jeans, maybe a few new tops for warmer weather. And, as much as she hated to admit it, a few larger sizes, as well. She had been putting on weight recently, and even now the casual outfit she was wearing felt snug. She had never been a big girl, and her friends told her that she always put on weight in the right places, but it still made Cathy uncomfortable. Her tits started growing just before high school, and now, even after college, they still seemed to get bigger every season. Her hips and thighs moved with a life of their own at times, sashaying to and fro whenever she walked, and her choice of clothes often sought to minimize her assets.

The doughnuts weren't helping that, of course, but she allowed herself the indulgence every once in awhile. Besides, it's not like she was eating the whole box or anything---

She caught herself shoving half of one into her mouth, then opted to take a smaller bite instead.

But God, her clothes were killing her today. Did people retain water when they were sick? She felt bloated, and the straps of her bra dug into her shoulders. Her jeans had pulled tight across her backside. She finished her doughnut and grabbed the next one without pausing.

Spring and summer were bittersweet for Cathy, whose thoughts still lingered on the beach-going seasons of past years. Shaun had always insisted that she wear a bikini, and she always consented for his sake. She always felt a little self-conscious about it, though. Her pale complexion caused her to burn, not brown, and she always felt weird showing off so much skin. Men hooted at her, and women eyed her with scorn. She spend most of her time out of the water and under an umbrella, coated from head to toe in sunscreen, afraid that the water would blow off her barely-existent bathing suit.

But bikinis couldn't keep him coming back, could they? she thought. He had spent a week in New York that previous fall, no big deal at the time. But when he came back, things were different between them. He fessed up to it immediately when she asked him about the strange phone calls taken in hushed conversation. Kristen or Kirsten, Cathy couldn't remember. Cathy and Shaun stayed together through the holidays, at least, but not to Valentine's Day. These things happen, she told herself. Happened.

She agonized over it for weeks afterward. Her friends, Shaun's friends---hell, even Shaun himself---tried to console her. It wasn't her fault, they said, but Cathy had trouble accepting it. She scrutinized every flaw, every defect she could find, and the results weren't good. Although she never met Kristen/Kirsten, never even saw a picture, her mind had conjured up one hell of a woman: tall, thin, tan, blonde. A woman who had stolen what was rightfully hers.

Finally, after seriously contemplating plastic surgery and a plane ticket to New York for the umpteenth time, she conceded that Shaun was a lost cause. She would eventually (though not right now) move on to bigger and better things.

In fact, she decided as she snacked away, she'd forget him and his cheating ass anyway. She never had a problem getting dates before he came along, and she wouldn't afterward, either. She saw the way men stared at her breasts, their eyes following her as she left the room. And her friends were right: no matter how much she ate, she never packed on the pounds around her waist like other girls did. Her thighs stayed smooth and tight, her breasts perky. She was a brunette bombshell, and she'd be damned if anyone would deny her that.

A stinging snap cracked across her chest and brought her out of her reverie. She glanced down in time to see her breasts dance around, jostled by what was, unmistakably, her bra straps breaking. The cups covered her nipples, but her dark areolae formed shadows at their edges. Her t-shirt's thin fabric outlined every seam in the bra, and she saw her flesh bulging around it, fighting for room.

"What the fuck!?" Cathy shouted, her mouth spraying crumbs across the table. Subconsciously, she ate the rest of the doughnut in a single motion, then looked at her fingers, mortified. The box was already half-empty, and her tits had grown into monsters. She stood up suddenly, and her head swam with vertigo. The whole kitchen seemed smaller, and it dawned on her that her top was not the only thing to have gotten bigger. Her shirt had climbed up her abs, revealing a few inches of midriff, and her jeans were too tight to move comfortably in. Her sneakers pinched her toes.

Cathy stared at the doughnuts, struggling to comprehend what was happening. Was it possible? She ran her hand up her shirt and grabbed onto the ruined bra. A slight tug, and the hooks in the back pulled apart. She pulled it out and saw the distressed seams everywhere. Every stitch had been stretched. She examined the label:

34D

Impossible. She had never owned a 34D bra, let alone busted out of one. True, she had been considering buying one, since the cups on her 34C bra had become a little constricting, but she hadn't actually bought one yet.

Or those doughnuts.

But that was beside the point, since this was clearly not a 34D bra. She held the cups up over her shirt, and saw how little it actually covered. No wonder it had broken. Even ignoring the cup size, she doubted it would have fit properly around her chest. Unless she was going crazy, this bra had clearly been mislabeled. She looked at her long fingers, the tips on one hand covered in powder, and thought again.

She dropped the new bra into the garbage and waddle-walked to her bedroom wardrobe, her jeans and shoes hobbling her. She took out her favorite bra, a blue lacy one she bought when she and Shaun first started dating, but without even measuring it, her heart skipped a beat. It looked even smaller than the other one. She paused to look in the mirror, and did a double-take.

If she hadn't realized she was staring at her own reflection, she would have laughed. Her tits were turning the shirt into a sports bra. The button on her jeans strained to hold together, and it cut in so tight she swore she could see an outline of her labia. Her nipples stood at full attention, engorged. She looked like a coke junkie, her mouth and the upper part of her shirt covered in sugar. She was more frightened than amused, however, as she saw that her head no longer fit fully in the frame of her reflection. It stopped at her eyes, and as she watched, they, too, moved upward.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Not only did her breasts grow, but she had grown, and was still getting bigger. She concentrated, focusing on the sounds and sensations, until she felt it: the creeping pinch of her clothes, the warm buzz filling her up. Every heartbeat, she felt like she was swelling. Her jeans had become high-waters, her toes trying to punch through the front of her shoes. What was happening to her, and why?

She was sick, some type of new illness. Her fever had grown worse, no doubt about that, and she still couldn't remember what had happened earlier in the day. She could still make it to the hospital, but maybe an ambulance would be better. Of course, it could all just be in her head, or some type of general swelling. She could always try taking a nap first, then going to see a doctor if it all stayed so . . . freaky. Admittedly, she was feeling pretty well exhausted.

And hungry.

Yes, okay, the doughnuts might be part of it, but she had eaten Winchell's powdered doughnuts before, and she had never shot up a half a foot in a few minutes. Though, she'd never eaten six of them in a sitting before, either.

And didn't they taste good to you? Unusually good?

Well, yeah, they had. She had only eaten so many because they were so tasty. And the way they melted away in her mouth, it was like they were barely there until they were gone.

In fact, don't you want to have one right now?

Another one couldn't hurt, could it? A small voice of reason sounded an alarm in her head, but she pushed it away. True, if it was the source of her problem it would be bad, but it deserved an experiment. She drifted back down the hall to the kitchen, plunking herself down into the chair. Its oak legs creaked. Her waistband cut into her sides, and so she undid the top button of her jeans to ease the pressure. The zipper crept down on its own.

The box was still there, opened and haloed with crumbs. She took a doughnut from it. It looked normal, smelled fine. Better than fine, since it was still fresh, and its fragrance brought back memories of county fairs and carnivals. Her stomach growled. She bit off a tiny edge, just enough to taste it, and focused on the signs of growth she was expecting.

The pastry tasted wonderful, as she could have predicted. Had she eaten anything other than doughnuts today? It didn't feel like it. Beyond that, however, she felt nothing. No stretching of cloth, no busting of undergarments. Which meant that whatever caused this sudden transformation, Winchell's wasn't to blame.

Transformation was the right word. It might have been the lighting, or just the mood of the whole situation, but Cathy had been suprised by her reflection in the mirror. She had always been cute, even hot by most standards, but she looked downright gorgeous. She gave one of her tits a squeeze, judging its heft, and smirked with excitement. She had always had big breasts, but she hadn't seen a set like these on a girl her size. Her ass felt bigger, all right, but it also felt tight and strong, like she'd been working it out instead of just bulking it up. If everything came back okay from a doctor's visit, perhaps she could give dating another go. The way her nipples stood out like that, she looked like she was ready for action, too.

And she could certainly use some action. Sex had been a big part of her relationship with Shaun, and neither of them hid the fact well. They didn't share a whole lot of interests, and it was probably part of the reason why he left in the first place. But the sex had been great. Shaun practically worshiped her body, and she loved the way he would fondle and caress her, sucking on her tits until her nipples grew dark and hard. What would she do to him now, she wondered. She fantasized about it, seeing in her mind's eye her hips shaking and bucking, rocking the bed, her breasts dancing back and forth . . .

A hand snaked down the front of her jeans, down into the cavern of moist flesh which eagerly awaited Cathy's touch. She devoured the doughnut in her other hand and instinctively reached for another.

. . . and what if he saw the new her, the improved her? She looked like a model now, especially with her longer legs. She imagined Shaun, standing there speechless, looking into her eyes. Or even up at her. She'd give him a kiss, mash her boobs into his chest, grind her hips against his cock, make him come. Then he'd forget all about Kristen or Kirsten or whoever she was . . .

Her toes tore through the canvas of her sneakers as she started getting bigger. She flexed them in and out, in time with her caresses to her sex. Her shirt had now bunched up under the shelf of her breasts, and her nipples stood hard and erect. The chair she sat in crackled as her ass packed tighter into the straining jeans and her head stretched toward the ceiling. Her butt crack peeked out over the back of her waistband. She reached for another doughnut.

. . . but she didn't need him, not anymore. Hell, not even then, really. She could find someone who would appreciate her, not just treat her like a piece of---

In an instant, Cathy swelled a couple of inches in every direction. Her jeans opened along the sides in gaping holes, and the tearing sound jolted her out of her mental rant. She looked down to see her top overfilled with her two massive tits, begging to be released, and the sleeves of her shirt were separating due to her broadening shoulders. Her thunderous thighs had overpowered their confines, and now threatened to destroy her chair, as well.

Holy shit, she thought. It happened again, just from sitting here. What the fuck?

Then she saw the fresh white coat of powder on her fingertips, the two remaining doughnuts left. She could still taste the last one lingering on her tongue.

Cathy felt panic bubble up inside her again, an other-worldly sense of being trapped in some bizarre dream. Was she going crazy? There was no doubting that she had grown now, as her kitchen looked more like a playhouse's than a real one. She felt around her pillow-like ass, trying to convince herself that she had fit into her pants not half an hour before. Her ruined shoes still hugged what parts of her feet they could, but left her toes free to move about. Her tits, proud and perky, were wider than she was.

She would call Winchell's. Yes, it all made perfect sense now. She had gone to get doughnuts, and they had put something in them that caused her to hallucinate and suffer memory loss. That's why she couldn't remember buying the doughnuts in the first place, or even eating as many as she must have.

But what about the bra, that misprinted one you couldn't remember buying?

She stood up, her head almost touching the ceiling, and looked in the trash can. Yes, the mystery bra was still in there, where she had left it. But something else was in there, too: a paper bag, stained with grease, just like the kind one would get at a doughnut shop. But this one didn't say Winchell's on it. It had no markings whatsoever, in fact. Had she visited two shops that day? Cathy turned to examine the doughnut box when she noticed its top, the one which had displayed the familiar Winchell's logo, was now utterly blank.

The memories, now just fragments, came barreling back to her. The first one, that morning, the little pastry shop she had never visited before. She stopped in on her way to work. Did she make it to work after that? No, she couldn't have, because she went to the mall, for a new bra---more than that, a new outfit. The shoes, the jeans, even the top, they were all new. And bigger, too, bigger than she had ever worn, bigger than she needed at the time. But not, apparently, as big as she would ever need.

Then what? The pastry shop again, obviously, and then home. But why hadn't she remembered? And why did she go and buy a dozen, knowing what would happen?

Maybe you didn't have a choice in the matter, she thought. Maybe you still don't.

She eyed the box again, two sinister doughnuts sitting inside. The thought was ridiculous, of course. Drugs might be addictive, might even cause her to do something she would regret or not remember, but one that could somehow control her actions? Such a thing didn't exist. And yet . . .

Cathy looked down at the wide, flat box, she felt her stomach rumble and her mouth water. Her pants finally rent entirely, and strips of denim fluttered to the ground. Her feet grew through the canvas of her shoes even more, and her head bumped into the ceiling, forming cracks in the plaster. A sharp cramp pierced her side, and her stomach growled again with urgency. She turned toward the fridge, but felt a wave of nausea wash over her and reached out for balance, grasping both edges of the table and bending down over the box until she felt steady. A small sigh escaped her lips as she inhaled the scent of the sugar-dusted treasures. The fog in her mind began to descend again, and unsteady hands beyond her control lifted up the box's lid, revealing the doughnuts once more.

The smell was so intense that Cathy moaned again, this time in near-orgasm. She felt herself expand again, her boobs so large they kissed the surface of the table she was bent over. Even the thought of eating one of the little rings had become a primal urge, a lustful act. She would not simply devour it, but make love to it.

It was true that the doughnut she considered was not so large, in comparison to her. Besides, she had eaten ten already, had become eight feet tall, at least. Would sating her hunger really hurt that much?

Another stab from the stitch in her side was all it took, and she delicately grabbed one from the box, leaving just the one in the corner. It was hot and fresh from the fryer, as she knew it would be. Her enormous fingers elegantly brought it to her eager mouth, and half of the doughnut disappeared. Still chewing, her body convulsed with climax, and she popped the other half of it into her maw. Her round, jiggling body wracked with pleasure, and wetness trickled down her thigh. Her panties, long since lost in the folds of her body, snapped away, and she felt compelled to caress her bare sweetness. Every morsel and atom of the pastry propelled her to new heights of intoxicating bliss. The taste was wonderful, of course, but the feeling of her body filling up, of her need being fed, was indescribable. Each shock of ecstasy added on pounds and inches, her titanic body crowding the kitchen as it continued its expansion.

Still growing, she spied the last pastry through half-lidded eyes, and a strange fear arose. She wasn't worried about it being her last one (because there were always more), but because she felt that something bad would happen if she ate it. She didn't know what, exactly, but it had something to do with a still-hidden memory from earlier, something that told her, on no uncertain terms, that eating the last one in the box would have severe consequences. Worse than growing three feet? Yes.

Worse than starving to death?

Even now, the taste of the last one faded away, and she knew how badly she wanted it. She would eat a dozen, a hundred more, if they were there. As it was, she had but one left, and she felt the tug of its gravity, drawing her in. There were others, yes, probably more at that same bakery, and they could (would) be hers, too. But this one, could she really just leave it behind?

Beads of sweat blossomed over Cathy's skin, and she watched as her hand, still caked with traces of the rest of the doughnuts, pulled the last one from its box. It felt hot, not simply warm, as if it were still cooking as she held it. Feelings of dread pounded at her temples, and she made as if to put down the pastry, but found her fingers holding fast, her arm still rising to her mouth. Panic spread as she acknowledged her lack of control, her inability to do anything but eat. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, but her head would not turn away, and her jaw ached as she fought to keep her mouth closed. Wider and wider the muscles stretched, as if she were taking a deep yawn. A moan escaped, and as a thin string of drool dripped out onto the table, the edge of the doughnut pushed its way between her lips, crumbling on her teeth and softening on her tongue. It was no longer about it tasting good, she realized: it had become a shot of morphine in a sea of pain.

The simultaneous burst of relief and terror coupled with a familiar rising sensation. She drew deep breaths, trying to slow the process down and give herself time to think. Her stomach grumbled violently, and as she gasped in pain her traitorous fingers planted the pastry on her tongue, her lips sealing shut. Cathy clenched her throat, but as her tongue and teeth gnashed and kneaded, she knew it was only a matter of time; the doughnut was expanding in her mouth, filling it like a thick foam. Unable to scream, she simply whimpered as she felt it slide slickly down her.

But oh, the feeling! She saw the table shrink in front of her, felt the tickle of her skin expanding, her tits inflating to inhuman sizes. Had she ever known what food was before, what it was truly capable of? Power and pleasure pumped through her veins, and from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, she felt herself grow and grow. Frantically, she looked about, searching for something, anything to eat. Her eyes returned to the fridge with a renewed hunger. Kneeling down in front of it, she flung its door wide open and snatched the first thing she found on the shelf, a jug of milk. She snapped the cap off, the gallon jug barely a glass in proportion to her now, and downed it in one go. Her whole body surged in size, flesh and bone inflating and lengthening, and little bursts of orgasms pulsed through her, but still she longed for more. Hunger pains tore at her insides, and she craved something to fill her stomach up.

A carton of potato salad disappeared as she tore off the lid and shook it into her mouth. Her thighs swelled to tree trunks, her butt grew to a chair-crushing size, and still she wanted more. She tore a packet of lunchmeat apart with a frightening urgency, and the house shuddered as she gained another dozen pounds in an instant. The container of leftover Chinese food threw her into shivers of pleasure-pain.

At last, her kitchen was empty of food, and yet her hunger had seemingly grown worse. How big was she, exactly? Ten feet? Twelve? And still she felt empty inside, like she was wasting away. She made as if to turn, to check the pantry behind her, when she heard it through the kitchen window: a car pulling up outside.

Her body sensed it before she even comprehended what it was. It made sense in retrospect: she must have planned ahead. She shoved the tiny table out of the way, the chair bouncing against the wall as she crawled on her hands and knees to the front door. Every step shook the house, and her enormous hips tore a chunk out of the door jamb as she passed through it.

But really, for the pizza boy coming up the driveway, she would have knocked the wall down.

The doorbell rang, and Cathy swung the door open. The pizza boy, who couldn't have been a day over twenty, was preoccupied with opening the pizza carrier and failed to notice the arm of the naked giantess reaching through the doorway. The boy looked up at Cathy, and barely had time to utter a startled, "Oh!," before Cathy wrenched the pizzas out of his hands. He had no time to protest as Cathy opened the first box and lifted a slice, barely a morsel to her now, to her waiting mouth. She savored it, her eyes closed in rapture, as she chewed. The boy watched in amazement as her head, almost level with his own despite her being on all fours, lifted higher and higher. As she arched her back, her breasts plumped and ripened further, swaying with her motions. Blindly, she groped at the pizza again, and downed two slices, smearing cheese and sauce across her mouth. Her growth came in a spurt, inflating her taller and bigger in an instant. Her face crept out of the view of the boy in front of her. She belted out a deep, almost pleading moan as she took in the last of the first pizza.

Her tits grew from party balloons into beanbags. Though the chasm of her cleavage, the boy could see her legs stretch longer, her hips rise on column-like thighs. He smelled the faint, musky scent of the sweat breaking out across her body from the exertion of growing so much, so quickly. And still she continued to get bigger, a shapely form of swelling flesh flowing upward and outward.

The foundation of the house settled, and the faint creaks of support beams snapped the pizza boy out of his paralysis. Her hand, nearly twice as big as when he first saw it, tossed the empty box aside and opened the next one. He had to get out of there.

He ran to his car, knees wobbly from adrenaline, and took off down the street. As he dialed 911, he glanced back in his rear-view mirror and accidentally lost control of the car. It spun around until he was facing the wrong direction, looking back at a most surreal scene: a pile of hair, several feet across, was bursting through the roof of a house, creating in its wake a cloud of dust and debris. As it cleared, the dispatch operator answered his call. He spoke in partial, rambling sentences. This woman, thirty feet tall and rising, was smiling up at the sky. Silently, she mouthed for more. An ominous crash sounded as her breasts, thousands of pounds each, inflated bigger by the second, smashing through walls and crushing furniture. Their soft immensity squished against the windows, then blew them out completely, as her second floor rapidly filled with her curves. She cooed softly as they overwhelmed the exterior walls, sending a hailstorm of shingles and rubble to the ground below. Her arms broke through the ruins of her house, and she ran her hands up and down her body, delighted in its new-found glory. She took a step, then another, until she stood in the street. The asphalt cracked and spidered beneath her. Surveying her surroundings, she searched for something in the distance, when her eyes settled on something a few blocks away. She licked her lips.

The pizza boy, barely above a whisper, murmured, "She looks hungry."

THE END