End: There Are No Losers At Fat Camp. Only Gainers.

Lois Lane barely felt the hand at the back of her neck. Then the lights went out.

When she awoke, it was naked, on a soft bed. Thick leather straps across the reporter's chest, hips, thighs, and ankles held her securely to the bed. That wasn't the worst part. No, what worried Lois was the hose that ran up one nostril and down through her esophagus. That was how they ****-fed people in hospital, when they were in a coma or ****. Above her, a television had been bolted to the ceiling.

Porn played silently; the camera lingered on the massive flesh of big beautiful women as they kneaded huge, soft floppy tits, pulled their guts aside to show their wet, pink pussies. Jowls shook and the little piggy eyes leered at the camera as they rubbed themselves with oil.

That's what Valeria had told her. That the losers of the eating contests were strapped down and ****-fed for days. Nothing to do but sit lay there and gain weight. Like pigs being fattened up for a feast.

"Getting the picture, sweetmeat?" a woman's voice broke in.

The naked reporter craned her head away from the porn. The figure that smiled down at her skin like fresh blood on parchment. Dark horns curled up from a broad brow, dark, oily locks fell down past her shoulders. Almost inhumanly thin and svelte, the small breasts barely hidden by a kind of orange strap that covered each nipple, slip up around her neck, and fell down to her crotch, where a belt of leering demonic faces hung. The eyes were what held Lois though. Pure white, without pupil or iris. Like two holes cut in space.

"Mistress Blaze, I presume?" Lois said.

The devil nodded.

"Some ladies get with the program," Blaze said. "Others, don't. For those who indulge in sins of lust and gluttony, I provide all they want. For those whose pride is too much..."

One red finger booped the tip of the reporter's nose.

"Well, you'll fill out anyway. And in the end, you will be mine."

"You won't get away with this!" Lois said, as she struggled against the straps. "Superman will notice I'm gone! He'll come rescue me!"

"I'm sure he will. In time. How many pounds do you think we can pack on, before that happens?" Blaze reached down and touched the reporter's hips. The crimson fingers pinched flesh together. There wasn't much. Lois knew that would soon change. Unable to move, fed constantly...the fat would pack on quickly.

The reporter let loose with a torrent of verbal ****. Blaze ignored her and reached over to a nearby table.

The slice of chocolate cake on the plate Blaze held was a diet-killer. The frosting glistened. There were layers of dark cream, of strawberry filling. Sprinkles. A dusting of cocoa powder. Calories on calories with a side of calories. The demon laid it on the reporter's chest, and then brought the fork down. So Lois could watch the silvery metal cut through the thick, fudgy goodness.

"Now, your choice. Open wide, and eat this whole cake, one bite at a time...or sit, here, watch porn, and I'll pump a stick of butter into your stomach every half an hour until these straps break."

The reporter's mouth cinched into a hard line. Sweat beaded her forehead. the fork deftly scooped the first bite and brought it to her lips...

"Open up...here comes the airplane..."

Lois Lane was damned if she did and damned if she didn't. She raised her eyes to heaven...and saw a fat sow of a woman, trying to inhale two cocks at once, her double chin a-drop with sperm. The reporter shuddered all the way to her soul.

Someone would rescue her, she was sure. Someone had to. She couldn't imagine her night out ending like this...

...and yet it did. When Lois Lane did get out of fat camp, she would no longer be the svelte, petite, fit woman she was when she fell into Blaze's clutches. Yet that is another story.