Aaaggghh!” She fell to the ground as Tom’s hand hit the side of her face.“Don’t make excuses slut,” he said coldly. She got back to her feet, tears running down her face as juices ran down her thighs. She realized suddenly that her shorts felt tight. She looked down and immediately saw why. Her flat stomach was bloated, pressing painfully against the jeans. As she watched in horror, the top button popped, allowing her belly more room.“Daddy, what did you do?”“Well look at that. That perfect body of yours isn’t so perfect anymore, is it? Looks like you’re growing quite the belly there, slut.”“No! Please, Daddy!” as Susan screamed, her stomach continued to bloat, swelling as it grew rounder, pushing the zipper of her shorts down as it pushed out over her jean shorts. Susan was about to scream again, when she lost her breath for a moment. It became harder to breathe. It was like her chest was in a vice. Feeling through her shirt, she could feel her training bra stretched incredibly. Once again I felt hypocritical making platitudes and half-truths while Francine confessed intimate details about her love life with past boyfriends and her husband. Freed of the guilt she had internalized, she stood and moved around her large, imposing desk. No male could have ever mistaken her intent. We adjourned to a locked conference room. Things progressed rapidly from that point, making lunch pass more swiftly than I would have wished.I spent the afternoon in Brantwell's office in the bunker writing reports and arranging the lab to make things look like nothing had been removed. Volumes of reports Brantwell had derided in his diaries as false leads were catalogued and readied for shipment to the surface. As I left work that evening, I dropped my reports into George's box.George stepped out of his office and asked me to come in and sit down. George complimented me on all the good work I'd done recently. I was immediately on guard. George only took the time to compliment people.
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