[$20] Patrons' Prompt The Bounty of Peace Prequel: Bounty's Reward 2 (Beta Copy) (Patreon)

Federation Bootcamp was meant to create an unflappable soldier. Unspoiled. Unabashed. Completely level-headed. The Bootcamp was designed to break the recruit’s physical and mental barriers, tearing them down to their very base before building them back up as a perfect soldier.

Samus Aran had excelled in bootcamp. She had excelled in her service. She had flourished in her years as a bounty hunter, stopping multiple cataclysmic events and putting much of the galaxy to rest.

But she made a really crappy civilian.

Samus’ cheeks burned with the intensity of a red giant as she passed out of the only plus sized clothing store on Serapis Station, an embarrassment which only sparked brighter as the robot greeter called after her, “Thanks for shopping at Juicy! We hope you have a juicy day!!”

“Go fry,” she snarled, immediately feeling even more sour with herself for even responding. The bot was a simple gynoid, unthinking and unfeeling, but the staff of Juicy had taken some effort to make the robot look like a shapely overweight woman wearing their expensive name brand.

Unlike Samus who, above all things looked out of shape, with this doughy white stomach rounding out her full waist.

She held herself back from apologizing to the waving toaster, stomping away from the entryway with her orange shopping bag swinging on her soft wrist.

Samus did not want to have a juicy day. She did not want to have a spicy evening, nor a titillating midnight. She wanted to go back to her ship, take a pair of scissors, and slice up her accursed purchase without ever using the damn swimsuit.

The image of herself in the fitting room, trying to tuck herself into the extra-large one-piece, was going to stick with her for a long time. She’d felt her overfed stomach drop when she realized that she wouldn’t be able to fit into a large, then had muttered several curses when she fought with her body just to squeeze into this one.

She should have gone another size up, but screw that! Samus Aran did not wear a 2XL!!

Exercise. An improved diet. Samus did not want to lose weight, she needed to lose weight! Her stretched out yoga pants and barely fitting top were tighter than ever as Samus now really felt every pound she had gained.

She rubbed a hand over her cheek, shaking her head before flipping her wavy hair back over her shoulders. Sixty-three pounds in just eight months, that’s what Adam had said. Eight months!

And it had been so obvious too! She’d already gained a few pounds before she’d logged Adam off, but that was natural, right? Women gained a bit of softness as they aged, and Samus wasn’t nearly as active as she had once been. But this long stretch, multiple low-speed transits that resulted in nothing but hours on her fattening ass watching TV and slowly munching through her ships supplies, Samus was more than aware she was being unhealthy.

So what the hell was wrong with her?! Why didn’t she just go use her treadmill or weight bench instead of just turning on the next program like a big, blonde, couch potato?!

Then, the irate woman’s hotheaded march began to slow until it became a resigned, soft, wobbling plod. Samus was mad, but she wasn’t stupid. As prevalent as her thighs mushing against one another was, it was nowhere near as relevant as the pangs that came from her legs.

Long-withstood pain. Grinding joints, demolished cartilage.

Samus didn’t work out because she didn’t want to work out. There was no longer an exhilarating push, nor was there any sense of achievement. Even if she wanted to, Samus could never be as fit as she once was. Her knees were bad, her arches were worse, she’d broken numerous ribs numerous times. Frankly, it was a miracle that she’d never broken her spine.

Slowly, as Samus walked along the crowded corridor of Serapis Station, her mind drifted far, far away. Back into the darkness of caves, of ships long abandoned. The demented corridor of a rusting building, her feet stomping along inside of her full suit of armor while her right arm grew sore from repeat blaster fire and bringing Samus back to that singular truth.

No matter how strong she was, no matter how quick or how smart or how damned resilient, Samus Aran was always alone.

No. Not quite. How could she ever be alone, when so many things had been trying to kill her?

The audible crackling of an insectoid’s carapace, the snapping bolt of a frying robotic. The heinous howl of a weaponized mutant followed by the faraway rush of a draconic scream coming closer and closer.

But loudest of all were the much softer noises. A soft chirping noise, almost like a young bird’s song, and the voice of her friend wishing her one final luck.

Samus rubbed at her eyes, pushing the old memories away and bringing herself back to the soft hum of Serapis.

She realized that she didn’t know where she had been walking. She looked around, standing a full head taller than anyone else in the corridor, and saw that rather than walking to the gym, Samus had unconsciously followed her nose and her belly.

The Red Dragon was only about thirty feet away. There was a sandwich shop next to it, a candy shop next to that, and a small pizza place on the other side. In the center of the hall, a food stand promoted soft pretzels, lemonade, and fresh Italian ice.

But rather than being bothered, Samus found that she was chuckling at herself. She placed a hand on the curve of her stomach, where it felt like all the scents were beginning to mix together. A gale of warmth that spread up from her tummy. She wanted a pretzel with lemonade, a cup of ice cream, and then Samus wanted to have a steak with a fruity drink.

Instead, as her warm belly burbled in anticipation, Samus turned back the way that she’d come, moving in her slow walk to the other side of the corridor and merging into the pathway of the many denizens of Serapis.

She paid attention to the way that she walked, felt the pinch of her pants digging into her waist and the slow bobbing of her hips caused by her fat-girl wobble. Again, she snickered, shaking her head as her stomach impatiently released the tiniest whine.

All that food would taste better after some light stretching and a nice, refreshing, swim.

******************************************************************************

Allen Galway had been having a really stellar day before he had a gun pointed at his face.

He’d only been working at Stationary Fitness for the last fes months, but he’d been a personal trainer for almost a full decade. Serapis Station had the standard quirks of the job, old folks, young folks, thin folks, fat folks, but as Allen had learned after a back breaking day yesterday, the station was also home to more than a few weirdos.

Girls who were either a bit too indulgent, or maybe they had a couple of screws loose. These ladies had joined into a new gum chewing fad kicked up by the retail store that sold stretchy clothing for odd women. Though, in this moment, Allen would take another few hours helping an immobile girl rather than another ten seconds with this jumped-up freak.

“I-I want the vault!” the would-be robber quietly hissed, gesturing with his quavering blaster. “Take me to the vault!”

Allan wasn’t particularly large, but he was well-built and taller than average. Very slowly, he stood up from his chair behind the reception desk.

The robber didn’t like that. He was someone who looked like a genetic failure to merge a rat and a man, with dead gray skin and a sharp pointed nose. He made a sharp noise, stepping back as Allen raised himself up. The man dropped his attempts to conceal the weapon, locking both hands onto the grip and pointing it squarely at Allen’s chest.

Allen hesitated before lifting his hands. He’d hoped that standing might get the guy to take a step back, but it very suddenly occurred he might actually be shot. “This is a gym,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “There is no vault here.”

“Bullshit!” the robber stabbed forward. “I-I-I seen the people who’ve been rolling in and out of here! You’ve got to be loaded!”

Allen, very dearly, wished that were true.

Other people were beginning to take notice of the man now. Allen could hear some worried whispers, but tried to keep his voice sounding calm.

“We have a safe. In my manager’s office,” he explained. “I can get that for you.”

“N-n-n-no safe! You’re n-n-not safe, not safe!” The man lifted the blaster higher. “I want your v-v-v-vault!”

His beady eyes bulged, obviously on some sort of drug. Other gym members had very clearly seen them now, an increasing buzz forming a heightening tension. Allen was aware of a pair of girls dashing near the edge of his view, hurrying towards the front door of the gym. It silently opened and they shunted out, hopefully to alert the Marshall’s office.

A woman walked in as they left. Allen fought to keep his eyes from lifting from the robber’s now-sweating face. “We do not have a vault. Most of our transactions are through credit.”

“B-b-bullshit!!” the robber yelled. “Bullshit, bullshit, bu-”

He was interrupted by a sharp, high whistle.

The man began to turn. He only saw the shadow of the chunky leg as it descended onto the crown of his head with an enormous POMF!

The pillowy sound had a devastating effect. The man slammed into the ground as if he’d been hit in the head with a sledgehammer.

He didn’t even shout or make any noise, nor did the woman who’d dropped him feel the need to kick away his blaster. It was only by seeing the shadow she cast that Allen realized just how big the woman was. Long wavy hair, a dangerously curvaceous figure, and a face set in a grimace that emitted a menacing aura before she lifted her leg and began flexing it back and forth while muttering, “Mmmmhhhhh, shit, shit, sonofa-”

Suddenly, the woman looked so much softer, chubby and fat rather than a stalwart blonde that was larger than life. She hopped twice on her left leg before coming to a stop, her pudgy face contorting in irritation and pain while she tried to lift her right knee to her chest. It couldn’t reach above her pinched belly.

“W-woah,” Allen came around the counter. “Are you alright, Ma’am?”

The woman stomped her foot on the ground, which only seemed to heighten her distress despite the tight reply of, “Yeah. Fine.”

“I-it looks like you might have pinched something,” Allen said. “You should sit down.”

The blonde woman ignored him. Instead, she lifted her leg, foot to her butt, and tried to grip it to stretch herself out. It took several attempts and she very clearly was losing her balance before she surrendered the stretch and instead dropped to one knee.

“Hey!” she called loudly. “You awake yet?!”

Another patron came over to Allen. “E-excuse me, are you two okay? Did that guy have a gun??”

“Yeah,” Allen replied. “But, uhh, I think we’re fine? Thanks to Miss...”

“Come on,” the blonde poked the rat-man on the cheek. “I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“Erm... yeah,” Allen turned to the gym-goer. “Maybe call for the Marshall? And...” he bent down, taking the robber’s blaster in his hands, “ask him what I should do with this.”

“You can keep it,” the portly blonde woman said, standing back up while still clearly nursing her right leg. Allen only then noticed she was still holding her gym bag over her shoulder with one arm. “Give it to your nephew or something. It’s only a toy.”

Allen looked at the blaster. He was hardly an expert, but the weapon certainly looked real... until he saw the gray marks of spray paint around the muzzle, and how the safety setting was set to ‘Fun.’

A noise like the space stations garbage compactor burbled out of the man on the floor.

“Finally,” the blonde woman said. She glanced back before tossing her gym bag over to a shopping bag she must have dropped before lowering herself down to the perpetrator. “Hey, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Gluargghblaghhh...” the man muttered, sounding as if the blonde’s heel had caused him to bite off his tongue.

She grunted, taking him by the hair and lifting him back. “Your name,” she repeated, extending her other arm in front of them. “Say it into the watch.”

“What’s she doing?” the patron asked, to which Allen’s only reply was a shrug.

“I’m checking the bounty database,” the blonde woman said. “Ugh, watch the drool. I need your name!”

The rat-man seemed to be coming to his senses, though obviously not quick enough to know to shut up. “Dallsh Coarc,” he said in a very nasally mumble.

“Dall-ish Co-arc?” the woman repeated, annunciating each syllable. “Or do you mean Dallas Cork?”

Her watch chirped and the woman dropped the rat-man back on his face.

“Aha. Dallas Cork.” She tapped around her watch, scrolling up. “Let’s see... 100 credits?!” She glared down at the man. “You have got to be joking. You went from littering to armed robbery?”

She went to stand up but as she shifted her weight onto her right knee, the overweight blonde’s leg buckled.

Allen moves without thinking, catching the woman as she began to fold. “Hey, hey hey. Miss you really should take a seat.”

She grunted something that sounded like another curse, but her arm now reached behind him for stability.

“Will someone get us a chair?!”

The rat-man was shakily starting to rejoin the living, rising up to his hands and knees. He nearly leapt out of his skin when the woman called, “Get outta here, Cork. You’re not even worth turning in.”

Dazed, but seemingly trusting in his better-half’s instinct, the rat quickly scrambled to his feet and ran for the door. He raced forward as it opened, then gave a scream before a yellow bolt of plasma caught him in the chest and, for the second time, the man dropped like a brick.

A man wearing a bright khaki uniform slowly walked into the entryway, pocketing his sidearm back into its holster. Marshall Andros was plainly labeled by his Federation Marshall hat, badge, and pair of reflective sunglasses. The glasses slowly swiveled as he took in the interior.

“Afternoon, Mister Galway. All good?” the Marshall asked.

Allen swallowed. The Marshall shouldn’t have known his name, but the glasses must have some sort of scanning or recording software. The woman, now upright, shrugged out of his grip. “Y-yeah. We’re all fine. He had a toy gun,” Allen showed Andros, who now entered the gym. “I think he was on some sort of drug.”

The Marshall looked the gun over, chuckling sourly. “Yup, that’ll do it. We’ll know for sure when I bring him back. Mind if I take this?”

“No, no. Go ahead,” Allen said, offering the gun.

“Thank ya.” The Marshall took the weapon, again laughing. “My nephew will love this.” Without looking up, he then added, “I’m guessing we’ve got you to thank for scaring his daylights?”

Allen was about to reply when he realized the Marshall wasn’t talking to him.

“I only gave him a tap,” the blonde said, crossing her arms and looking at the stunned man. “I am not filing a report.”

“Ain’t no need,” Andros shrugged. “Cameras will show more than enough. Still, I’ll make sure you get your pay.”

The woman lifted and dropped her injured leg. “Hardly even worth the hundred credits.”

“Eh? Hundred credits?” the Marshall replied, giving her a smirk. “I don’t know nothin’ about a hundred lousy credits. You’re here as a deputy, aintcha Miss Aran?”

Allen frowned. Aran? He’d heard that name before... hadn’t he?

The blonde was silent for a moment before, reaching his hand up to tap some unseen button on his glasses, the Marshall softly said, “You might have retired, but you still lived the life. We’ve got enough saved up, and it’s been a long time since the last rainy day.”

Miss Aran sighed. The patron from before had returned with a chair, which he put against the wall behind her, but the woman didn’t even acknowledge it. Still nursing her leg, her arms folded over her potbelly before she muttered, “I haven’t retired.”

The Marshall looked down at her belly before giving her a friendly but disbelieving smirk.

“Fine,” Miss Aran agreed. “One day of deputy pay. No more, no less.”

“Sounds like a deal,” the man nodded, extending his hand.

The woman took it and the two shared one of the firmest handshakes Allen has ever seen before the Marshall turned back to the stunned robber. Taking a knee, he pulled two pairs of handcuffs from his belt. He clapped one pair over Dallas's wrists, one over his ankles, and with the click of a button a line of blue energy snapped to life between them. Hog-tied, the cuffs pulled the rat-man squealing into the air and followed the marshal out the door.

The woman turned back to check before sinking into the chair with a relieved sigh.

Allen glanced around and, seeing a handful of concerned gym members and zero of his coworkers, awkwardly clapped his hands. “Okay. Uhh, looks like that’s all… taken care of.”

Somebody said a soft, “Yaaay.” Nobody else spoke.

Allen looked around for a moment, checking to see if the Marshall had actually gone before saying, “You can, uhh, return to your workouts. I guess. Business as usual.”

The small group looked at one another. Some folks shrugged and headed back to the machines while others went for the locker room, no doubt ready to call it an early day.

Behind him, her heard the blonde woman chuff.

Allen turned around to find himself in the direct center of the woman’s large blue eyes. He didn’t know how she had seemed so imposing when, now that she was sitting, Miss Aran looked so much more soft. Her weight wasn’t extraordinary, like the girls from yesterday had been, but it was undeniably much higher than it should be. But there was something in the relaxed way she sat, with her hands folded over her white muffin top and the curve of her tummy stretching over her lap, that made the girl look quite nice for her size.

Then again, maybe it was the fairness in her cheeks, or how her beauty mark looked near her soft chin when she gave him and bemused smirk.

“Not used to big crowds?” Miss Aran asked.

Allen rubbed at his neck. “That obvious, huh? I’m usually better with one-on-ones.”

The woman tilted her head to the side, looking past him but still smirking. “Yeah. I know how that’s like.”

Allen chuckled. “So, uhh, how’s your knee?”

Her smile faded, replaced by a bothered glower towards her right knee. “Garbage,” she said with a gentle shrug, “but it’s been garbage for a while.

“Ahh. Well, if you’d like, I’m one of the trainers here. I can, maybe look at it?”

She took her hands from her belly, putting them on the arms of the chair. “Sure. But, if you break it, I get to break you.”

Allen chuckled, which made the soft girl return to a soft smile. “I don’t doubt that you could,” he went down to one knee, looking over her legs.

He had to stop himself from commenting on the state of her yoga pants. He’d seen more than a few optimistic fat girls, but the closer he got, the easier he could see the woman’s pale chub. She had thick, heavy thighs, with a slight pinch of fat beginning to form on her knees. She needed to go a few sizes up. At least an extra-large.

Maybe even a double.

“Well, it certainly looks like a knee,” he said.

That got the response he wanted. A soft snort before the blonde lifted her leg partway off of the floor. “Oogh,” she hissed before lowering it back down.

Allen nodded to himself. “Yeah. You can move it a bit, so I don’t think you’ve torn it.” He looked up to her with a hand raised. “Mind if I…?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. I didn’t think you’d only look at it.”

“Never hurts to be sure.” Allen reached forward. His left hand came around the girl’s front while his right reached behind her calf.

The moment he touched her, he could feel it.

“Hooooogh…” Allen was very slow to apply his hands to her skin. “You, uhh, carry a lot of tension, Miss?”

The woman hesitated before saying, “A bit.”

Allen’s Marine cousin carried ‘a bit’ of tension. How did a girl this fat feel this stretched? No wonder her yoga pants were still able to fit, her muscles were pulling all of her weight inward.

“Have you ever thought of doing yoga?” he tried to be polite.

It obviously failed. The woman grunted, a slight touch of pink coloring her cheeks. “It feels that bad, huh?”

“Well…” he applied a slight bit of pressure to the joint, just pinching the back between his forefinger and thumb, and immediately won an uncomfortable grumble as the muscle reflexively tried to pull even tighter. “You’re as tight as a bow string,” he said truthfully.

The blonde grunted, pinching her leg back to fold. “Does it feel sprained?”

Allen sank back on his own knees. “Honestly? I can’t even tell. I don’t think so, but you definitely over-stretched yourself.”

The girl let out a long breath, her head leaning back until it knocked into the wall as a troubled moan vibrated her chest and stomach. “I used to be so flexible…” she muttered.

Allen hummed. Not because he disbelieved her, but more so because he was impressed, she managed to kick her leg so high in the first place. “I’ve got a few tricks that I picked up back home,” he said. “This might hurt a bit at first.”

The woman said nothing, her hands returning to that natural space, folded over her belly.

Allen targeted the kneecap, pushing into the tense but strangely malleable flesh. His other hand gripped her hamstrings, feeling where the fat of her thighs began to puff over, and the throbbing muscle beneath.

The woman had to be a trooper. She made even less noise than the ice miners ever had back on Erebus. Heavy men and husky women would by cursing the snow, nursing their injured limbs.

Even though he could feel the muscle quivering, and there was a slight shake to her leg, Miss Aran only grunted as if in minor discomfort. Knee injuries could be excruciating. A torn hamstring could lead to a few weeks on crutches, and even a sprain would lead to temporary loss of motion, but all she did was grumble while his fingers worked through ache.

Pinch in, release. Pinch in, release. Allen’s fingers worked in tandem, trying to pull the tension down through her leg. As he worked, his range grew wider, reaching up to her thigh and then down to her calf.

It became increasingly obvious that this woman hadn’t always been overweight. Unlike the ice miners, her weight seemed to recent addition, concealing the muscles straining from beneath.

“Did you serve in the military?” he asked, trying to use conversation to keep her distracted from her leg.

The woman’s eyes were still looking up towards the gym ceiling. “Federation police force,” she replied. “I started when I was fifteen.”

“Ahh. That’s pretty early.” He moved in front of her, bracing his thumbs on her knee tucking both hands around her leg.

The pressure brought out another burdened grunt, with her hands now tucking into the arms of the chair. She scooched a bit backwards, extending the leg, but followed his guidance as he lifted and dropped it, working the fulcrum.

What was it about legs that he liked so much? Soft thighs, round hips. That slight bit of warmth pushing out into the cold. It was almost as if this woman were somehow more dense than she should be, with so much weight pinched into such a small pair of pants. He went onto his knees, targeting her thigh and being honestly surprised by how large they were. Not sagging, like fat normally was. Firm, yet soft.

Another noise came from the blonde. Not a gripe or some grouse, but a short moan followed by a deep breath. He looked up to see she’d closed her eyes, head lightly thumping the wall behind her as she slowly moved forward and back in the seat along to his touch.

“That feel better?” he asked.

“Mhhhhm,” she hummed, cycling back and forth. He noticed that her breathing had become deeper, her stomach jiggling ever so lightly as she gyrated in the seat. A brush from her other leg had her thighs mush together before releasing another soft grumble.

Her leg was responding well. His thumbs set to either side of her kneecap, he could feel the muscle slowly releasing its tension while letting his hands travel down to her calf. “You don’t get many massages, do you, Miss Aran?” he asked.

“Hoogh… n-no,” the blonde looked down from the ceiling, and her cheekbones lightly folded into a soft double chin. She had stunning eyes. The brightest blue of arctic ice, with long, fluttering eyelashes. Even though she didn’t seem to be wearing makeup, her dark lashes highlighted her bright pale face.

Pale, save for soft cherry-pink of her cupid’s bow lips, and the light red cardinal blush that was slowly filling her cheeks.

Allen blinked, realizing he’d been staring. “S-sorry,” he said, kicking himself and turning back towards her legs.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t mutter or moan, for nearly a dozen seconds before replying, “It’s fine.”

Allen saw her arm move from the side of the chair, lifting to rub at her peachy-red cheeks as she looked off towards the side.

“You can call me Samus,” she said, and her blush glowed a bit bright. “Samus Aran.”

Allen let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Okay, sure. My name’s Allen.”

Samus nodded, still looking off to the side.

Allen returned to her leg, working on instinct. Normally, he was quite good at talking to people while he worked. Small talk made things easier. What do you do for a living? Got any family? Do you live on the station? But, for some reason, he was having trouble finding anything to say.

The silence was, strangely, comfortable.

He continued, going further down to her calf. He felt the muscle there also used to carry more power, and his inner thoughts tried to picture what Samus Aran looked like when she served as a-

She was a bounty hunter.

Allen’s finger stopped as, inside of his mind, the only sound heard was the echo of a silver coin drop.

“Is… something the matter?” Samus asked.

The young man blinked, first at her knee and then up at her face. “Uhh, no,” he shook his head. “Sorry. I just… I think I might have… heard your name before.”

The blonde woman let out a long, low breath, but it slowly turned into a belly-wobbling chuckle. “Oh, no.”

Her laugh was infectious, cutting through the small moment of awkwardness. A light laugh came to him as she brought her leg back, tucking her face into her hand. “So, you’re uhhh, the Samus Aran? The famous bounty hunter?”

“God, I hope not…” Her wide face cracked in a disbelieving smile, shaking her head ruefully. “I don’t think I could deal with being famous.”

“Marshall Andros seemed to respect you.”

“Buuugh,” Samus grunted. “Can we go back to me being just a dumb girl who… kicked a guy?”

“Hey, that’s not true.” Allen put a hand to his chest. “You’re a dumb girl who kicked a guy and saved my life.”

Samus snorted, a rather porcine laugh that made her belly bounce. She tried to cover it with her hand, but Samus’s mouth had opened into a teeth-flashing smile. Allen liked her laugh. Even as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing her blush had grown ever warmer.

She tilted her head, looking down at him with her fat, friendly smile. “I didn’t save your life.”

Allen shrugged. “Who knows. My obituary could have read, ‘Allen Galaway: Beaten to death with a children’s toy. Phasers set for ‘Fun!’”

Another laugh, deeper this time, and Samus didn’t try to hide the cute little snort.

Feeling the blush in his own red face, Allen leaned back. “How’s that feeling?” he asked.

Samus seemed surprised, then looking down to her knee. She flexed it a few times. “Better,” she said.

“Good. No tears, and I think we can say you’re clear from a sprain. I’d stay off the treadmill for a while, just in case, but most other things should be fine.”

“Oh, don’t give me that excuse,” Samus groaned with a chuckle, patting her belly. “I’ve already been avoiding it.”

“Well, were you planning on anything specific? We’ve a few routines I could help you with.”

“I was planning on…” Samus looked around her legs, then over towards the entrance. Allen followed her eyes to the two bags, her gym bag and shopping bag, which someone had moved sit against the wall. “I almost forgot those.” She made to get up but emitted a small hiss as her weight settled on her right leg.

Allen made to help, but she had steadied herself and moved for her belongings, favoring her left foot.

Then Allen’s mind stopped thinking.

Erebus was a cold planet. Known galactically as GR-251, it was one of only a few dozen colonies with dedicated bases, despite being on a planet that was so far from its sun. The temperature easily reached down to -250°F when the sun left.

The people were hardy, friendly and warm, with a plump layer of softness to cuddle up with at night.

Samus had thunder thighs, quivering inside of the stretched black-material, and their war for space was affecting her waistband. She had a huge, firm, butt with a thick pale shelf, bobbing from along in her fat woman’s waddle. The yoga pants pinched into her cheeks, giving an exact outline while her pale sides muffined over the top, jiggling with each step. Strands of wavy blonde hair tried to conceal the top of the shelf, but nothing could hide the rolls of fat on the girl’s exposed back, nor the crack of her ass.

She bent over to grab her supplies, and Allen’s mind took an unintentional snapshot of the moment. When she turned around, she lifted her gym bag behind her shoulder, and her yoga pants slowly fell to expose her round navel.

“Does that sound okay?”

Allen blinked. “Erm, yeah. Sure, of course.”

Samus smirked. “I might need some help stretching out. It’s… been a while.”

Allen flashed a thumbs up. “I’ll help in any way that I can.”

The blonde faced away from him, and Allen watched how the swaying affected her belly. “Do you guys have a yoga studio?” she asked.

“Eh? Oh!” Allen brightened, hurrying forward. “Yeah! It’s right this way.”

Together, he and Samus rounded the corner, coming into the main chamber of the gym. A few dozen treadmills, ellipticals, stair climbers and bike racks were assembled in rows, but only half-dozen were still occupied. The earlier mess must have sent more people home than Allen had expected, but to be fair, he’d hardly been paying attention.

The walked past the machines, following the right-most wall towards the back. “We’ve got a few spots in the backrooms,” Allen explained. “Two yoga studios, a sauna, and we’ve got a pool upstairs.” He then pointed into an alcove in the wall as they walked past. “We’ve even got a juice bar, which also serves muffins.”

A pair of girls wearing dark blue aprons over bright blue shirts manned the station, though both were obviously bored. The soft blonde girl with a tight ponytail was on her phone, while the blue-haired girl with the sweeping haircut was reading from a large pink book. She glanced up as they passed, giving a cordial wave.

He returned the gesture, continuing on towards the backrooms. As they neared the large, circular entryway towards the backrooms they were suddenly slammed open, and a mane of messy red hair came rushing through. A red-headed lioness skidded to a halt, nearly knocking into himself and the blonde, before loudly shouting. “What happened?! Somebody had a gun?!”

Allen rolled his eyes. His co-worker, Jelly, had quite obviously been sleeping again judging by the frizz in her hair and the drool on her cheek. “Everything’s fine,” he explained. “Marshall Andros came by.”

Jelly waggled her head, sending her crimson puff in al directions before she tucked it behind her shoulders. “What happened? Did he shoot somebody?”

“Err… Kinda. I’m actually helping…” Allen looked over his shoulder.

About twenty feet behind them, the chubby blonde doughball was standing at the counter to the juice stand, fingers drumming on the curve of her tummy as she asked the server, “Can I get two chocolate chip muffins, and do you guys serve milkshakes?”