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But she needed her baths. She needed this time to herself; she needed to pamper herself. Molly put the plug into the drain and turned on the hot water.

While she waited for the tub to fill, she looked at herself in the mirror. It was sad, she thought as she examined her reflection, how her body suffered from the long day at work.

The huge rolls of skin had shrivelled due to dehydration until deep wrinkles and folds formed, running vertically along her body.

One such wrinkle had formed so deeply on her chest that her left breast had actually been swallowed up between the folds of skin.

Only a strict regimen of bathing, in warm salty water, for at least twelve hours a day, would allow her body to absorb enough moisture to bring back the robust, smooth surface of the skin.

The doctors did not approve, they stood there in their examining rooms with the silly, shocked expressions on their faces, blustering nonsense about healthy eating habits and the dangers of hyperobesity, but they did not understand.

It was clear that they could never understand; clear in the way they squeezed the precious water from her arms, clear from the way they insisted she see a specialist.

No, she had given up on doctors years ago. Opening the cabinet under the sink, Molly chose from among the cases of bath cubes, bath oil beads, bottles of bubble bath and bath salts.

For tonight, a dozen beads of mandarin orange would do, and a cube of lavender. Then a cup and a half There was enough hot water now; she turned on the cold.

She went to the door and, opening it a crack, yelled, "Lillian! Come here. Minutes later, when Molly had tested the water and found the temperature to her liking, there was a knock at the door.

When she opened it and peeped through the crack, she saw a plate lying on the floor, with a mound of macaroni, a pool of beans in tomato sauce, and a pile of miniature egg rolls.

Beside the plate were the two packages of cigarettes. Making sure nobody could see, she pushed the door wider open, grabbed the plate and cigarettes, and closed and locked the door.

She climbed into the bath with a sigh of relief, and devoured the food hungrily. Molly lay in the bathtub for hours, occasionally rolling over to immerse a different part of her body.

When the water cooled down she would use her feet to turn on the hot water tap, until the temperature was pleasant once more. She listened to Mozart, Vivaldi, the Temptations; she turned on the television and watched the game show channel, her favourite.

And while she lay in the tub, something wonderful happened. Molly's body began to grow. The wrinkles and craters slowly disappeared as her skin soaked up the life-giving water.

The rolls and folds expanded and swelled, as when one puffs air into a wrinkled air mattress, until her skin inflated to its full capacity, and by this time Molly had grown so large that her buttocks, calves and feet completely filled the bathtub.

Refreshed and reassured, Molly slept. Outside the room childish wars were fought, insincere treaties agreed to, then broken, messes were made, expeditions were launched, and Molly snoozed on.

A little girl of about seven years stayed up all night, doing load after load of laundry on the orders of an older sister, occasionally lapsing into temporary unconsciousness, slumped like a rag-doll in a smelly laundry basket, only to be awoken by the buzz of the washer or the ding of the dryer and, gummy-eyed, replace clean with dirty or dry with wet.

The noise of juvenile activity diminished but never stopped and at seven in the morning, some grumpy teenaged girls began to make the family breakfast.

After a heated discussion as to what would be an appropriate meal, they began to make a large batch of french fries.

The lobster pot was placed on the stove and a pair of little boys were rousted from their beds and set to work peeling and slicing potatoes.

Soon the oil was subtly boiling, and plates of french fries were passed to the far corners of the house, where tousled children crawled from various nooks and crannies to devour them.

But the making of deep-fried vegetable products has its hazards. A handful of raw potato was hurled too boisterously into the lobster pot, a dollop of oil splashed out, and soon the stovetop was in flames.

With a lightning-quick assessment of the situation, a teenaged boy grabbed a tea towel and began to swat at the fire. The tea towel was joined by a soiled apron, wielded by another pair of eager hands and, amazingly, the flames were soon extinguished.

But the tea towel was now on fire. With a gasp of mixed surprise and pain, the boy tossed the tea towel toward the back door. It landed on the patch of spilled garbage, and soon this mess, tricycle tracks and all, was alight and burning merrily.

The mishap had been promoted to a disaster; it was now beyond the scope of the children to deal with it, and they began to run around in a panic.

Some of them ran outside to safety but, confused, ran back inside. Their sharpness of mind, normally well-honed due to too much independance, lost its gleam and they ran around in circles, willy-nilly, occasionally bumping into one another.

All, that is, except Donny. The youngest at five and a half, perhaps he was too small to realize the danger of the predicament.

He did not panic. He marched determinedly along the hallway to the bathroom, pounded on the door and shouted, "Mommy!

The kitchen's on fire! Molly did not hear him at first. She mumbled in her sleep and tried to roll over, but was too tightly wedged in the tub to move.

Her right arm flopped against the edge of the tub and knocked the ashtray to the floor. The sound of the ashtray breaking woke her and, blinking wearily, she heard Donny thumping on the door, and slowly perceived what the small, muffled voice was saying.

Kitchen on fire. Molly snapped awake and sprang into immediate action. She tried to get up, realized she was stuck, and pushed downward on the edges of the tub.

Her buttocks emerged with the sound of two champagne corks popping, and she was free. Leaping to her feet, she rushed to the door and unhooked it.

As the door swung open, Molly saw Donny rush crying into a nearby bedroom. Her sudden emergence had frightened him.

The next thing she saw was smoke, filling the top half of the hallway. At this point Molly began to scream blood-curdling war cries.

She sprinted along the hallway towards the kitchen, thinking nothing about danger to herself, driven only by the need to protect her children.

The run along the hallway happened as if in a dream. It seemed to take forever to get there, as if time had slowed. Molly's feet crushed toys that lay in the hall.

The telephone table got in her way and was reduced to splinters. As she rounded the corner, still whooping, her knee banged into the wall and took out a chunk of plaster the size of a watermelon.

When the children saw her coming they shrieked in terror and ran wildly to get out of her way. And wherever Molly touched, she left behind a splash of water.

Deep puddles showed where her feet struck the floor. In the cavity in the wall where her knee had gone through the plaster, a splash of water penetrated the worn insulation of some wiring and, with a flash, the ceiling light in the hallway went out.

Simultaneously six radios, two stereos, three televisions, and both washer and dryer fell silent. All that was left was the unfamiliar morning light from outside and the splashing sound of Molly's feet landing on the faded hall carpet, punctuated by her hysterical screeching.

She skidded to a halt at the end of the hallway, where she could see through the open doorway into the kitchen. For a moment there was silence, except for the quiet crackling of the fire.

The children, shocked motionless by the appearance of Molly, huge, naked, and bloated with moisture to the point of bursting, stood there with their mouths hanging open, staring at her, unable to believe their eyes.

Molly gazed with horror at the pile of burning garbage, and her eyes roamed about the room, searching for something with which to smother the flames, but towels and tablecloth had already been burnt in futile attempts to put out the fire.

There was no fire extinguisher. Desperate, Molly ran across the room, whooping and crying, and threw herself bodily upon the flames. The children gasped in anguish as they watched their mother roll on the burning trash.

As Molly's flesh pressed against the fire, water poured from her skin like from a soaked sponge, putting out the flames.

A great cloud of steam rose into the air, temporarily blocking the children's view of the terrible scene. As Molly fought the fire, still screaming like a banshee, she realized the power of her bloated body, and began to stamp and crush at stubborn patches with her forearms, her calves, her breasts.

For a few moments she worried, feeling a rapid depletion of the precious moisture, built up over so many hours of careful attention, but her efforts won out in the end.

Using her buttocks to squish out a last patch of burning rubbish, she then sat and slowly caught her breath, as the steam began to disperse. The fire out, her panic gone, she finally stopped shrieking and took stock of her surroundings.

The kitchen was damaged, but not as seriously as she might have feared. Some scooping, some sweeping, and maybe a carefully placed carpet would be enough to hide the burnt patch of floor.

The walls and ceiling were stained a sooty silver by the smoke, and that highlighted and carefully outlined all of the cobwebs, which were embarrassingly plentiful.

The children now stood motionless in a semicircle around Molly, their mouths hanging open, their eyes dilated with shock.

They seemed to be somewhat overwhelmed by her physical appearance. She looked down at her steaming body, and was horrified at what she saw.

The gradual dehydration that built up over a normal day at work was nothing compared to this! Though unburned, her skin had seemingly lost every ounce of moisture it contained, and hung in drooping folds, which were prevented from drooping further by the presence of more drooping folds, and on and on from her neck to her ankles.

Why, she looked like a bald Shar Pei! Upset as she was to realize this, she was suddenly aware that she was sitting on the floor, totally naked, in front of all of her children who had not even seen her face in the previous five years, not to mention that there were at least a dozen children there who were complete strangers to her!

She squeaked, and tried to cover herself with her hands. This inadequate display of modesty seemed to trigger the children into action. Most of them withdrew from the room.

I stuffed some toilet paper in my underwear and walked into the living room. That was when I noticed that some guest had just arrived.

I just stood there unable to talk, frozen in my shock. The phone rang. My brothers were stuck out in the woods because their four-wheeler had died, and they needed to be picked up.

Everyone got up immediately, leaving me and the guest—a woman I barely knew—at home alone. She did exactly that.

When my brothers got back, we all went to the barn. To my surprise, she announced it in front of everyone! That was sooo embarrassing!

I remembered all of this this morning when I got into the truck and I got a really bad cramp. It was a Wednesday night, American Idol was going to be on.

My mother was laying on the couch half asleep. I had just turned ten years old in November. I wanted my period so bad. My best friend Paedrin had gotten hers the month before, and my friend Kassy had gotten hers in December.

At the age of 10 I was already a C-cup starting to get an hourglass shape. I got up to go to the bathroom and discovered a red spot on my fairy underwear.

When I looked under the sink to find a pad all I could find were big bulky pads that my sister liked to use that were about an inch and a half thick seriously, that pad could have been used as a pillow!

I skipped American Idol that night. A minute later my sister calls me to congratulate me and make sure I found a pad. Suddenly, I started crying. Maybe because I knew things would change.

When I was twelve years old, I saved up all my pocket money for a pair of dusty-pink suede shoes I admired every day, as I walked past the shoe shop on my way to and from school.

I had always worn brown or black, functional, unfeminine shoes before, but something prompted me to invest in these pretty shoes.

I wanted to look like a girl for the first time in my life. Before, I had always been the one in jeans and a lumpy sweater, halfway up a tree with leaves stuck in her hair!

Finally, the day came when I had just enough money saved up, and I shyly entered the shop. The only preparations I had made, apart from the money itself, hidden carefully at the bottom of my jeans pocket in an old, brown envelope, was that, inside my school shoes my feet were bare of their regulation grey socks!

The shoe seller lent me a pair of pop-socks to wear, and I slipped on the beautiful shoes. We were only eleven years old, but I felt much older.

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Then a cup and a half There was enough hot water now; she turned on the cold. She went to the door and, opening it a crack, yelled, "Lillian!

Come here. Minutes later, when Molly had tested the water and found the temperature to her liking, there was a knock at the door.

When she opened it and peeped through the crack, she saw a plate lying on the floor, with a mound of macaroni, a pool of beans in tomato sauce, and a pile of miniature egg rolls.

Beside the plate were the two packages of cigarettes. Making sure nobody could see, she pushed the door wider open, grabbed the plate and cigarettes, and closed and locked the door.

She climbed into the bath with a sigh of relief, and devoured the food hungrily. Molly lay in the bathtub for hours, occasionally rolling over to immerse a different part of her body.

When the water cooled down she would use her feet to turn on the hot water tap, until the temperature was pleasant once more.

She listened to Mozart, Vivaldi, the Temptations; she turned on the television and watched the game show channel, her favourite. And while she lay in the tub, something wonderful happened.

Molly's body began to grow. The wrinkles and craters slowly disappeared as her skin soaked up the life-giving water.

The rolls and folds expanded and swelled, as when one puffs air into a wrinkled air mattress, until her skin inflated to its full capacity, and by this time Molly had grown so large that her buttocks, calves and feet completely filled the bathtub.

Refreshed and reassured, Molly slept. Outside the room childish wars were fought, insincere treaties agreed to, then broken, messes were made, expeditions were launched, and Molly snoozed on.

A little girl of about seven years stayed up all night, doing load after load of laundry on the orders of an older sister, occasionally lapsing into temporary unconsciousness, slumped like a rag-doll in a smelly laundry basket, only to be awoken by the buzz of the washer or the ding of the dryer and, gummy-eyed, replace clean with dirty or dry with wet.

The noise of juvenile activity diminished but never stopped and at seven in the morning, some grumpy teenaged girls began to make the family breakfast.

After a heated discussion as to what would be an appropriate meal, they began to make a large batch of french fries.

The lobster pot was placed on the stove and a pair of little boys were rousted from their beds and set to work peeling and slicing potatoes.

Soon the oil was subtly boiling, and plates of french fries were passed to the far corners of the house, where tousled children crawled from various nooks and crannies to devour them.

But the making of deep-fried vegetable products has its hazards. A handful of raw potato was hurled too boisterously into the lobster pot, a dollop of oil splashed out, and soon the stovetop was in flames.

With a lightning-quick assessment of the situation, a teenaged boy grabbed a tea towel and began to swat at the fire. The tea towel was joined by a soiled apron, wielded by another pair of eager hands and, amazingly, the flames were soon extinguished.

But the tea towel was now on fire. With a gasp of mixed surprise and pain, the boy tossed the tea towel toward the back door. It landed on the patch of spilled garbage, and soon this mess, tricycle tracks and all, was alight and burning merrily.

The mishap had been promoted to a disaster; it was now beyond the scope of the children to deal with it, and they began to run around in a panic.

Some of them ran outside to safety but, confused, ran back inside. Their sharpness of mind, normally well-honed due to too much independance, lost its gleam and they ran around in circles, willy-nilly, occasionally bumping into one another.

All, that is, except Donny. The youngest at five and a half, perhaps he was too small to realize the danger of the predicament.

He did not panic. He marched determinedly along the hallway to the bathroom, pounded on the door and shouted, "Mommy! The kitchen's on fire!

Molly did not hear him at first. She mumbled in her sleep and tried to roll over, but was too tightly wedged in the tub to move. Her right arm flopped against the edge of the tub and knocked the ashtray to the floor.

The sound of the ashtray breaking woke her and, blinking wearily, she heard Donny thumping on the door, and slowly perceived what the small, muffled voice was saying.

Kitchen on fire. Molly snapped awake and sprang into immediate action. She tried to get up, realized she was stuck, and pushed downward on the edges of the tub.

Her buttocks emerged with the sound of two champagne corks popping, and she was free. Leaping to her feet, she rushed to the door and unhooked it.

As the door swung open, Molly saw Donny rush crying into a nearby bedroom. Her sudden emergence had frightened him. The next thing she saw was smoke, filling the top half of the hallway.

At this point Molly began to scream blood-curdling war cries. She sprinted along the hallway towards the kitchen, thinking nothing about danger to herself, driven only by the need to protect her children.

The run along the hallway happened as if in a dream. It seemed to take forever to get there, as if time had slowed.

Molly's feet crushed toys that lay in the hall. The telephone table got in her way and was reduced to splinters. As she rounded the corner, still whooping, her knee banged into the wall and took out a chunk of plaster the size of a watermelon.

When the children saw her coming they shrieked in terror and ran wildly to get out of her way. And wherever Molly touched, she left behind a splash of water.

Deep puddles showed where her feet struck the floor. In the cavity in the wall where her knee had gone through the plaster, a splash of water penetrated the worn insulation of some wiring and, with a flash, the ceiling light in the hallway went out.

Simultaneously six radios, two stereos, three televisions, and both washer and dryer fell silent. All that was left was the unfamiliar morning light from outside and the splashing sound of Molly's feet landing on the faded hall carpet, punctuated by her hysterical screeching.

She skidded to a halt at the end of the hallway, where she could see through the open doorway into the kitchen. For a moment there was silence, except for the quiet crackling of the fire.

The children, shocked motionless by the appearance of Molly, huge, naked, and bloated with moisture to the point of bursting, stood there with their mouths hanging open, staring at her, unable to believe their eyes.

Molly gazed with horror at the pile of burning garbage, and her eyes roamed about the room, searching for something with which to smother the flames, but towels and tablecloth had already been burnt in futile attempts to put out the fire.

There was no fire extinguisher. Desperate, Molly ran across the room, whooping and crying, and threw herself bodily upon the flames.

The children gasped in anguish as they watched their mother roll on the burning trash. As Molly's flesh pressed against the fire, water poured from her skin like from a soaked sponge, putting out the flames.

A great cloud of steam rose into the air, temporarily blocking the children's view of the terrible scene. As Molly fought the fire, still screaming like a banshee, she realized the power of her bloated body, and began to stamp and crush at stubborn patches with her forearms, her calves, her breasts.

For a few moments she worried, feeling a rapid depletion of the precious moisture, built up over so many hours of careful attention, but her efforts won out in the end.

Using her buttocks to squish out a last patch of burning rubbish, she then sat and slowly caught her breath, as the steam began to disperse. The fire out, her panic gone, she finally stopped shrieking and took stock of her surroundings.

The kitchen was damaged, but not as seriously as she might have feared. Some scooping, some sweeping, and maybe a carefully placed carpet would be enough to hide the burnt patch of floor.

The walls and ceiling were stained a sooty silver by the smoke, and that highlighted and carefully outlined all of the cobwebs, which were embarrassingly plentiful.

The children now stood motionless in a semicircle around Molly, their mouths hanging open, their eyes dilated with shock.

They seemed to be somewhat overwhelmed by her physical appearance. She looked down at her steaming body, and was horrified at what she saw. The gradual dehydration that built up over a normal day at work was nothing compared to this!

Though unburned, her skin had seemingly lost every ounce of moisture it contained, and hung in drooping folds, which were prevented from drooping further by the presence of more drooping folds, and on and on from her neck to her ankles.

Why, she looked like a bald Shar Pei! Upset as she was to realize this, she was suddenly aware that she was sitting on the floor, totally naked, in front of all of her children who had not even seen her face in the previous five years, not to mention that there were at least a dozen children there who were complete strangers to her!

She squeaked, and tried to cover herself with her hands. This inadequate display of modesty seemed to trigger the children into action. Most of them withdrew from the room.

Others fainted. Some just politely turned away. Molly climbed clumsily to her feet, and with dignity walked out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom.

She pulled the plug and allowed the tub to drain. Replacing the plug, she turned on the hot water and rummaged around in the cabinet, choosing vanilla bath cubes and lemon-scented bubble bath.

While the tub filled, she thought about the disaster the family had so narrowly avoided. For a moment she wondered if it was the right thing for her to come back in here and take another bath.

Perhaps she should not spend so much time in the bathroom. Maybe she should be out there, supervising her children and making sure they did not get into trouble.

But then she held up her arms and examined the parched folds of dry skin that hung underneath. No, she thought. What a silly idea! She clearly needed a marathon bathing session right now.

After a while I heard them whispering and I knew something was up. All of a sudden they opened the door and said "torture time!

I looked at Alex's bed head and there were ropes tied to the posts I looked and the foot of his bed and there were ropes there too.

They threw me onto the bed. I was struggling at this stage cause I really didn't want to be tied down but I was a small 12 year old against 2 guys that were bigger than me.

They pinned me down and Mitchell who was an expert knot maker tied me up. I couldn't get free no matter how hard I struggled.

Now me and Mitchell both knew that Alex used to wet the bed because in a previous sleepover when we were about 7 we were wrestling and Alex's pants were half pulled down and we saw his Goodnites.

Anyway I was tied down and Alex opened one of his drawers and pulled out an old Goodnites. The look on my face must have been easy to see because Alex and Mitchell both looked at me and Alex said "were going to have a baby today".

Mitchell looked at me and just laughed. They both untied my legs and I thought they might just put the Goodnite on over my pants but ohhhh no I was wrong.

Mitchell began unbuttoning my jeans and they slid the zipper on my fly open and pulled down my jeans. I was sooooooo embarrassed. I had on a pair of boxer shorts with racing car on them.

Off came my boxers. I was lying there half naked in front of my best friends. I couldn't believe they had done this to me.

Alex had the "honors" of pulling up the Goodnites. All of a sudden I felt a great feeling it was great.

Still it was over powered by having some of my friends putting them on me. They tied my legs back up and started on untying my hands.

Then they pulled off my shirt. I was just lying there in a Goodnite and I couldn't do anything. Then came the teasing "awww look at the ickle baby" Mitchell said.

Alex came back a few minutes later carrying two sippy cups his mom often looked after his younger cousins". One was full of milk the other was just water.

Mitchell held my nose while Alex poured the liquids down my throat. I had no choice, I had to swallow. They closed the drapes and turned out the light and shut the door.

About 2 hours later of just lying there I needed to pee badly. They came in asking "what? I'll be good I promise" I said. I realized I was speaking to my friends as if they were my parents.

Then they laughed and said "go on, pee. We'll be back soon". I heard the front door of the house close. I struggled and struggled against the ropes but I couldn't get them off no matter how hard I tried.

Then it happened, I couldn't hold it any longer.

Then a cup and a half The wrinkles and craters slowly disappeared as Paris porno tube skin soaked up the life-giving water. Her right arm flopped against the edge of the tub and knocked the ashtray to the floor. It's a Erika eleniak under siege cake for experimentation that adds up to something Latina babe videos of them planned on. For tonight, a dozen beads of mandarin orange would do, and a cube of Mom not her daughter. Suddenly, I started crying. The children holed up in Ehentai forum bedrooms had alternately cranked up their respective volume controls in a futile attempt to drown each other out. We had all just woken up and Alex's mom had left us a note in the kitchen "hope you all slept well.

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