The Cinch

Ashley Armstrong smiled to herself as the Royal Mail delivery van pulled away from the front of her house. She knew exactly what was inside the parcel.

She’d found it on the internet five days ago. She’d trawled through the plethora of websites promising everything from legal Marijuana substitutes to wholesale Viagra rip-offs.
Finally she’d found it, www.Cinch.com.
The site was tricky to navigate, almost as if it didn’t really want to sell its miraculous weight loss product.
Ashley ran a hand over her flabby midsection as she recalled the Cinch Guarantee; ‘Cut your waist size by at least 50%!!!’
Even at half its current size, Ashley knew that skinny bitch Samantha Leaming might still be slimmer.

Samantha was that girl. Every one in the office loved her.

Isn’t Sam beautiful?

Isn’t Sam funny?

I don’t know how she looks as good all of the time…she could be a super model.

Ashley hated Sam! Not just her though, she hated all of the skinny bitches. She saw the snide looks they gave, whispering about her, about how she looked.

Ashley kept a size ten dress in her wardrobe, even though she wore four sizes up. Ten was her target size.
And now she was one big step closer to wearing it.

The computer screen blinked into life as the DVD drive whirred. The information presented on the disc promised to make using the Cinch as easy as A, B, C.
Ashley knelt on the floor as the presenter gave a dazzling white smile.

It was the same handsome face as on the website. “Hi, my name’s Pim Stansa, founder of Cinch Industries.”
For the next ten minutes the smooth talking Stansa explained in a west coast American accent, how all other diets and health kicks were now obsolete due to the miraculous development of the Cinch.
He finished with the declaration that within a few minutes of trying the Cinch, all thoughts of weight loss would be the farthest thing from your mind.

Ashley studied the cinch that lay across her knees as the infomercial spouted potted wisdom and told just how great her new life would be.

The cinch itself resembled an extra wide belt. A simple adjustable buckle system allowed the belt to be made a perfect fit.
The inside of the belt was decorated by a string of strange glyphs.

Chinese? No.

Maybe rune symbols?

She didn’t know, or care, as long as it worked.

But the real innovation with the cinch was the thousands of tiny magnetically charged crystals embedded within the pliable fabric.
She’d heard of magnetic therapy before but it was usually used to alleviate aches and pains or symptoms of arthritis.
With the cinch, it was claimed that the crystals magnetised the fat molecules in your body working in conjunction with the normal healthy levels of iron in your blood. The magnetism promised to bind particles of fat together in pea sized clumps and allow the body to pass them in a natural and painless way.

Ashley could only hope it worked. She’d tried everything else apart from gastric surgery; no way would she ever afford that anyway.

On the screen, Pim Stansa was encouraging the viewer to go ahead and try on the cinch.

Like most products, you could buy accessories and Ashley had decided to buy the whole range.
Her set comprised of the Cinch belt, two arm bands to be worn on the biceps, two leg bands for the upper thighs and a soft neck cowl, all presented in a coordinated eye-catching design of course.
The material looked like leather but felt more like neoprene as used in wet suits.

She stripped down to her underwear.
She was a direct contrast to the dusty skinned model that was posturing confidently on the screen. She looked like a professional fitness instructor; the lycra suit and the Cinch accessories enhancing her form to perfection.

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