drblackjack - Plus Size Extra - Taira Twins

Fan art courtesy of @Dilios999. Thanks so much for this fine piece!

(Taking place after chapter 2 but before chapter 3)

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They used to be interchangeable.

Same face, same voice, same size-four whites. Hirako would take a scolding in the morning before sulking off while Hirumi would smile through the afternoon wearing the same badge. Doctors never caught them on their prolonged breaks, each one stating it was the other who had gone before. Patients swore one nurse had been in two rooms at once as they doubled their efficiency for extra overtime.

They had kept this up for a time, up until they had met Dr Miharu Endo.

The months after took some adjustment, but they were far too synchronized to let a few hundred pounds separate their behaviour now.

The posters in the lobby still say BEFORE and AFTER, a job they had taken from Takumi as the weight loss campaign models without the need for any of her photoshop skills.

Hirumi was the ‘before’. All six hundred and eighty pounds of her, and climbing. Her new uniform was more or less a white tent that struggles to contain her. The zipper at her spine gave up a few months after. Side panels split and were taped and stapled, a trick she had picked up out of necessity. The hem rode her thighs when she sat because there was simply nowhere else for fabric to go. Her breasts had become heavy, wide, and warm, each one a handful-and-a-half that rested on the upper slope of her belly when she stood still for too long. That belly of course was the main event: a thick, living dome that started under her sternum and poured into her lap, soft enough to dent with a finger, yet firm enough to slosh when she laughed. Her ass filled a chair and overflowed it much to her sister’s amazement. When she walked, the floor was bound to feel it and when she turned, her hips announced it all about two seconds after the fact.

Hirako had been the After. One hundred and eighteen pounds. The same face on a body that still fits through a half-closed door. She likes standing next to her sister. The contrast did half the work on messing with people’s perceptions.

They stopped swapping identities purely for their own benefit and instead learned that it was far more entertaining to swap the scales.

A patient who mouthed off to slim Hirako at nine a.m. got Hirumi at ten. She filled the doorway until the light goes. She did not quietly squeeze past the bed, she simply ‘arrived’ with a thundering boom as she dropped her mass down on top of it. The mattress lifted when she sat on the edge. Her thigh—hot, huge, nylon whispering—presses the length of the patient’s hip. She sets a pudding cup on the shelf of her own stomach like a table and peels the lid.

“My sister said you needed a special consult,” she says, in Hirako’s voice. “I’m the follow-up. Look at me. This is what happens when you don’t listen.”

She fed herself while she talked. A spoonful, swallow, a little hum of satisfaction as she adjusted her weight further to elevate the patient to eye level. Another spoonful and then another. The pudding disappeared into a mouth as she moaned a little, allowing patients just close enough to smell it on her breath before she pushed them down with a well manicured nail. Crumbs fell into her cleavage and stayed there for the rest of the shift. She does not bother to fish them out. She lets the patient watch them sit in the warm crease and melt.

If he stares too long she takes his wrist and plants the palm on her belly.

“Looks like your pulse is a bit high. Could you perhaps, be running a bit of a fever? I’ll be back with a RECTAL thermometer just to make sure”

Hirako watches from the hall sometimes, arms folded, smiling with no kindness in it. When the patient looks at her instead, she lifts her own flat shirt an inch.

“I’d have crushed him for his insolence,” she says. “Dear sister is FAR too kind.”

They miss whole shifts this way.

If a task was particularly unappealing, Hirumi called in every so often for “restricted mobility.” This was not technically a lie as doorframes were a bit more of a negotiation now. She turned sideways, gathers her belly in both hands, and bumps her ass through with a grunt that is half effort and half show. Once she is in the comparatively tiny nursing station, she almost fully occupies it. Two chairs were barely enough. The bed had to be heavy duty if she put her whole weight on it. The very air around her seemed almost…thicker. She “observes” patients from whichever perch can sustain her, all which almost completely vanish under her, as she unwrapped a second breakfast, then a third, licking cream off her thumb while she asks regular patients if they thinks she has gotten bigger since yesterday.

In most cases, they would be right. The scale in the staff room often said so. Hirako makes her step on it every morning, then writes the number on a sticky note and puts it on Hirumi’s left breast, over the nipple, under the straining bra.

+4 kg today.+7 kg again.+2, and btw, your ass crunched the chair.

Hirako clocks them both in. If anyone asks where Nurse Coordinator Tiara is, she points down the hall.

“You’ll hear her when she comes.”

At night they take the on-call room because no one else can fit the two nurses and one extra body in it. Hirako would then attend to the task of peeling her sister out of the ruined whites. The bra marks formed deep red trenches across the undersides of those breasts. Her new belly spilled into her hands, heavy, damp, faintly sweet. Hirako would sink her fingers into the underhang and lifts, just to feel the weight.

“You’re going to break another bed if you keep this up,” she murmured.

Hirumi pulls her down until Hirako’s slim thigh is trapped between two much larger ones. Heat. Softness. The slow grind of a woman who has learned what her new mass is for.

“Then you can break it with me,” Hirumi says. “Call us both sick tomorrow. Tell them I’m too big to work and you’re too busy holding me together.”

Hirako would always oblige.