The sight of any visitor was a shock. We lived out in the country on a plot of land my husband had inherited keeping on the most part to ourselves. Bradley occasionally went out to town to socialise and buy supplies – sometimes bringing back some unsavouries from the gambling dens that would tan his hide – but she didn’t look like no gambler.

It was difficult to tell just how big she was as she traipsed up the shallow hill towards the house, but the woman was huge. And not just in height, she carried on her frame a gut of more than generous proportions, propped up between wide hips and wobbling with the stroke of each fatty thigh. A pair of round glasses sat on a similarly lunar face, and a crooked smile aimed itself at me through the kitchen window.

I froze, at first. I'm not really sure why. Maybe the way she walked, that effortless sway in spite of her size, gave me some inkling to what she really was, the same way spiders give you the heebies just for looking at you.

But I shook myself clean of it and smiled back, tugging my hands out of the marigolds and splashing myself in the process. “Bradley,” I yelled, drying myself, “if this is one of your floozies you'd better get your ass down here and see her off!”

He were already upstairs, probably yanking himself or some such, and appeared at the top fastening his belt as I went to the door. “I’m not expecting no one,” he said. “Who is she?”

I clocked him with this exasperated look he should be well used to, but still hasn’t figured for himself. “I don’t know, she’s still outside.” I wiped my hands on my dress once more for good measure – in case I had to shake the woman’s hand – and opened it with a smile. “Well hi, what brings you all the way out here?”

And for all her intimidating aura, she was delightfully friendly. Disarmingly. “You alright sugar? I’m coming inside, if that’s alright.”

I blinked, but before I could so much as pluck a word out the air, she was pushing past me, hand gently on my shoulder, needing to duck even to get through the doorway. I could smell the sweat on her – not awful, mouldy, animal smell, but something clean and fragrant. The walk, wherever she’d come from, had left her ripe.

“Oh do- do you want a drink? Coffee?”

“Coffee would go down nicely,” the woman said, following me through to our little kitchen. Little by her standards, I mean, and it was the first thing she commented on, eye wandering as if she owned the place. “All of this’ll have to go,” I heard her muttering, hand squeezing her belly outta boredom.

“Excuse me?” I said laughing, though only on the outside. She took up about a quarter of the room end to end, kinda like having invited a bear to brunch, and even just the sight of Bradley inching past her to sit down put me on edge. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name; or what you wanted, for that matter.”

“It’s my bad really,” the woman said, her eye lingering unpleasantly on my man. “Name’s Delilah. I been so busy setting up shop I never knew this place was here. But…” She sighed, taking my coffee as I gave it to her, and taking a long sip I knew probably should have burned her. “Bottom line is you’re on my land. This building ain’t fit for purpose and… I don’t know. Maybe I could gut it and have some of the hands lodge here.”

Bradley laughed. He was worse at hiding when he was nervous. And he was. “Sorry miss, you’re in the wrong place. We’ve been here for years, belonged to my-”

“Uhp up up.” Delilah cut him off with a raised hand. She downed the contents of the tiny mug and placed it on the counter – a simple movement, but the click of porcelain on our marble made me jump. “I ain’t here to argue,” she said, giggling. “I’m here to give you a head start.”

My smile widened, manic and scared. “H-head start? Wh-wh-what d’you mean?”

Her hand, a pudgy thing big as a spade, fell to her belt, where she unfastened a long circle of rope. “I moonlight as a huntress, see, and… well I like to keep my talents honed. You got until the count of twenty,” she said, grinning. She nodded at the back door that led out into the cornfields, and adjusted her glasses. “Go on. Nineteen.”

I shook my head. “Bradley,”

“Eighteen.”

“Bradley you tell her. You tell her she needs-”

“Seventeen.”

“-to get the ever loving Jesus out of our house before-” But I looked at him, and her counting struck the fear of God into him. Something natural and raw, like hearing the tick of a bomb you’re strapped to.

“Mabel,” he said weakly.

“Sixteen, come on, this girl needs a workout!”

He grabbed me by the hand, nearly pulling me off my feet as we flew across the kitchen, and out onto the farm we once owned. It wasn’t late, but as we tore into a tan forest of unharvested grain the low angle of the sun cast deep shadows between the thickets. My heart beat like train tracks.

“Who is she?” I gasped, “what does she want with us?”

Bradley shushed me, something that would’ve earned him a smack were I not gulping air like a fish. I’m not desperately unfit, but some joint pain I earned over the years had stopped me running since I were a girl. I had to stop him, and we hunkered down in the dirt together.

“You’re an idiot,” I said. “Fleeing like a child- people talk. What about that woman’s got you so afraid?”

He just shook his head, pale and pallid as his daddy last we saw of him. “Times’re changing, Mabel.” Behind us, Delilah declared the end of her count; heard the crunch of her boots as she hastened, ripping through the plants like a wild animal. “Do whatever you can to survive, okay?” And crouching on his hackles, he reached over to pull me into the second to last kiss we’d ever share.

And then he ran.

My gut instinct was to follow, to scream after him, but the way he sank into the grasses there was no way I could chase. Not on my legs. Delilah laughed, streaming after him like a dog chasing a rabbit, and he screamed like one when her rope found his neck. I know it did, because I heard him choking and thrashing as she suspended him in the air and threw him kicking over her shoulder.

I’d lost all sense of direction. I didn’t know which way would lead to the house and which way would sink me into her arms. I’m not proud, but I was overwhelmed. Holding back sobs, breath ragged and parched I ran like I’d never ran before, blind for the tears, and not seeing two feet in front of me anyway for the crop. Took me totally off-guard when a crack to my jaw threw me to the ground. I howled against the stars. Something had been dislocated. She hogtied me as I faded in and out, smelling her stench and listening to Bradley’s yelling.

I didn’t wanna be there, wriggling on the back of her wagon as her and her horse pulled off down the road. She made Bradley help, if you can believe it, chained up behind her animal with a bit in his mouth and forced to pull. I know horses; they let their guts drop on the go and there’s no way you wanna be at the back end of one when that happens. I had it just as bad though. Delilah’s crack, inches from my face, puttered constantly with rank gas churned up by the motion of the cart.

I blacked out. Or dissociated, whatever you wanna call it. I tried not to be there very often when we arrived back at her farm proper. A lot of it were just old buildings repurposed or redesigned. The stables she dragged us through were built for horses – but there weren’t a single horse in there. The sad eyes that watched us drag our feet through the mud and the shit were human. In a manner of speaking.

Stripped with a knife, cut out of my dress, the chill autumn air swirling between my thighs made me shiver, made my nipples hard as stone. I collapsed to my knees with a firm boot on my back, face against the cold ground before searing pain hissed against my backside. I cried ugly tears as I smelled my own cooking flesh before she did the same to Bradley. He was gifted an additional little treat, a small bell pierced through his sack that I’d hear chiming whenever he walked. We looked at each other but I don’t know if he saw me, exhausted and buried under the agony.

And then off he went. “Farm work,” she told me, though slavery was what it was. There were a lot of them, rutting about in the fields, scooping up the muck left by the animals – and the women, actually. Delilah wasn’t just big, she were a different breed, of huge fatted animals with generous stomachs and no shame. We used to watch them, her and I, throwing around their weight and commanding the little folk. Sometimes, if they got hungry, they’d pluck some sorry worker up by the collar and just…

And some of that muck? Fertiliser? They’d drop their jeans and fall into a squat, curling out some long sausage of whoever it was that’d been gobbled up. Their bones flashed powder white in the sun, and I knew it was bones, because people like Bradley collected it all up for me.

I don’t know whether Delilah liked me, or liked tormenting me, but I had a better idea all the things that went on on that farm seemingly than anyone else. She brought me my dinner personally as I stood there idle in the barn, watching out over the fields. First she’d grab me by the face – stop me from struggling – before sticking me in the neck with a drug. She never told me what it was, but it wasn’t hard for me to figure out what it were doing. She checked my breasts daily, for firmness and size. They were getting heavy, swelling round, skin rosing as it stretched. I asked for a bra. She didn’t give me one. As time went by I fell into a constant stoop, having to lean on the rails just to keep myself upright.

My meals came often, from a bucket she emptied out into a trough stinking of baked sewage. “Dig around the bones,” she said the first time as she unfastened her shorts and flopped out a cock as long as my torso. “Unless you fancy the calcium. You can digest them just fine.”

She’d command one of her farmhands to run over with a big rubber condom in front of me. Delilah unsheathed that fucking weapon she hid in her panties and wrapped herself up in it before shoving her length all the way down his gullet. The men weren’t huge. Malnourished, probably, so I could see her head tickling all the way down to his belly as she fucked herself with him.

And we’d chat as she pleasured her rod. Not about much, and always one sided. I think honestly it got her hot, talking at me about what she’d done to my kin, to my husband, making idle comments about- “Maybe I’ll have this boy for lunch. What do you say?” He didn’t look as though he’d be hugely put out. “And maybe after I’m done you can get a taste.”

She’d cum a couple times, the rubber swelling in her toy’s stomach until he looked nine months pregnant with triplets. Eventually, when she was satisfied, she’d pull it free, him gagging, and pat him on the ass as she sent him on his way. Emptying out that thick, creamy soup into my food, she’d mix it all up and force my head in. Maybe it was the drugs, I don’t know, but swallowing it down became easier and easier, even knowing what it were made of. Some people I recognised from life before the farm would vanish, and I knew I were eating them up, getting fat on them. I did start breaking up the bones too. My guts liked them.

I mean, I knew how much weight I was putting on just judging from how many of those recycled workers ended up on my proverbial plate. My tits grew into these unbearable boulders that just hung off me, sloshing with fat and fluids I was just left to reabsorb. My stomach inflated and all over I massed this helping of lard like a thick snowfall. With how little I was moving too, I never had a chance to burn them off.

But as winter wrapped around, Delilah did me a kindness of sorts. She unshackled me mid-feed and stuffed me through this machine she brought with her. For about thirty seconds, my world was black. Suffocating rubber clung to my skin, across my face, holding in all my curves. With no explanation, no nothing, I thought I was gonna die, but with a clean razor blade she sliced holes for my eyes and my mouth. She did one for my back end too, leaving my cunny and my little pucker open to the elements.

I couldn’t move properly in that latex prison, stewing in my own sweat. My forearms were bunched up against my biceps, same with my calves versus my thighs, So if I wanted to move, I had to crawl around on all fours like an animal. Maybe that was the intention, because I’m sure she wrapped a little bell around my throat.

So I was warm at least, and she stopped with those awful injections. I guess I was done. My breasts ached as she heaved me up onto this platform, picked apart my suit at the teats and started milking me like a cow. The grin on her face sickened me, but I’d been carrying that load inside me so long the relief became all I cared about. She got some on her fingers and licked it clean, before patting me on the ass and calling, “Come and get it!”

I really don’t know what’s real and what’s a nightmare. Where did those tiny men come from? Hairless, and small enough to me as I was to Delilah. I could eat them up. I did, one time, two of them suckling on my titties while another one lapped at my clit from behind. I was hungry, and whatever she bred them for they smelled good. Better than the slop I was usually fed. So while this one waited his turn on my teat, I launched forward best I could and just glomphed him down.

God, the way he struggled. His brothers didn’t seem too fussed, and… well, I guess that set some sick precedent. Delilah monitored my offerings a little more closely while he digested, and near enough on the day he came back out my shitter, Delilah dragged Bradley kicking and screaming through the muck of my stable, before shoving him through that same machine.

At least he’ll be warm, I thought. Very warm, turned out.

As he were pushed through this ring, wrapped in skintight latex, she fired up this generator hooked up to a nozzle. I don’t know if she penetrated him or not, but she shoved it in after my poor Bradley and the whole barn filled with the smell of oversweet strawberries. She just laughed as his suit inflated. I don’t know what with – yoghurt, syrup or something more organic – but the smell of it did make my mouth water.

She bagged him up, sloshing and doughy with fluid, and cut him only a mouth hole before stringing him up in front of me. All I could do was watch him squirm on the rack on the far wall, while the little pygmies fed their bellies on my milk and I… Well, I got used to eating them. Probably too much.

A week passed before Delilah returned. My husband had marinated long enough in her fluids, I guess, and unceremoniously she split open the bag with her razor and let him spill, gasping, onto the frosted floor. His skin steamed with body heat and I smelled him and-

God forgive me. My stomach growled.

She heard it. She just gave me a knowing smile, picked him up by the ankles and dragged him like a sack of potatoes over to my stall. A couple of the little ones she had to kick out the way. Apparently my milk was delicious.

“How’s that jaw, girl?” she asked me. I hadn’t spoken in months – not since she suckerpunched me – and most of the time I let my jaw hang limp. Maybe she had broken it, or maybe it were just more magic sewn by whatever chemicals she pumped into me, but when she stuffed her thumb into my mouth and stretched me out I knew exactly what she had planned – and that I was fully capable.

“P-p-p-pl-ea-ease,” I choked, throat dry as the skin around my lips. “No.”

But Delilah adored dramatics. She hefted Bradley up to my level and I looked at him, blinking and blind, with my mouth watering. She brought him to my lips as recollection dawned on his face. I’d changed a lot since he last saw me. He reached up to cup my cheeks, fatted on so many awful nutrients, and we kissed again long and beautiful – as long as she would allow.

“I’m sorry, Mabel,” he said. “I will always lo-” But my gullet opened and accepted that strawberry-sweet flesh much too easy, with Delilah feeding him down into my belly. He didn’t struggle – I’d be amazed if he had any fight left in him – but as he passed fully between my teeth tears ran down my cheeks like rivers.

And her. She looked so happy with herself as I belched like an animal, adoring the second dose of flavour and feeling my guts churn my man down like a smooth butter. That’s what he’d be like coming out my backside, I knew, and maybe he’d be fed to the little shiteaters I sometimes snacked on.

He didn’t die quickly, and all through the night I howled and I sobbed between my own gas, hating the feeling of fullness, of my body plumping up as he softened, and as the tightness of latex around my tummy evened out across my ass and around my thighs. He made me fatter than anyone else. I think maybe that was deliberate; whatever shit she’d fed me on, my body just swelled on him, breasts in particular growing like ticks on a fat man’s blood.

But after a few days, when my Bradley was long dead and strung through my intestine like ground beef, Delilah returned with a bucket and plopped herself down in front of my rack. “How’s my number one bitch doing today?” she asked, words slimy on her tongue.

I hated when she touched my tits. They were sore as all hell with how much of my man had ended up inside them, but the relief was always worth it. This time, though, she lifted it up to her lips, packed like overfilled bin liners, and drank in greedy spurts she kept flowing with a small massage. Yes it made me wet. I could see one of the pygmies scenting the air – smelling my arousal, and it snuck around my back for a taste, dirty thing.

Well I’ll give him a drink, I thought, letting him settle his mouth against my labia before gushing a heavy flow of urine into his cunt mouth. But what the hell. I let myself relax fully, while Delilah supped at my breast and my bladder emptied, I let my bowel drop too. Thick plaps down on top of the little fucker, burying him in cow pats. Because that’s all I was. An animal bred for milking and fattening up.

I hadn’t thought of myself as a woman for a long time. Not really. Eating Bradley confirmed in my head that I was totally changed, because as much as I hated the thought I adored breaking him down, soaking up his meat for my curves and shitting out what I didn’t need. The last I heard of my husband was a wet fart, and the tinkle of a small bell as it fell on top of the pile with a warm, wet splat.

Delilah brushed my cheek, belching a gutful of air tasting of my milk in my face before getting to her feet. “I’ll be honest with you, girl; you’re my favourite,” she said, nodding to herself. “Reckon I’ll keep you through to spring, summer maybe? And you’ll be about ready for a dairy farm to snap you up. Wanna get you nice and fat in the meantime, though.” She kicked me with her boot heel and sweet Jesus did I wobble in my latex. “Tell you what; I’ll bring a couple of the boys in here and you can choose your next big meal. What do you say, Mable?”

And against every humane instinct I had left in my brain, I licked my lips.