Blooming

[chrissy]

I was working at the graduate bar on campus just a few weeks when I’d noticed a girl walk in one February evening who looked vaguely familiar. She looked super confident: long, meticulously wavy hair, a sharp visage with a well-defined yet cute nose, and elegant hands whose fingers clutched a small notebook case with matronly éclat. She was almost my own height - 5’10”. Had to be an English major. Sure enough.

“Jameson, straight.” She was pointed. Joycean, even. Yes.

“It’s not Bloomsday, is it?” I contended playfully, glancing sideways out into the frigid air.

“‘ ’Tis in me mind, sare.” She imitated an Irish accent in decency and smiled, acquiescing our shared deference to the canon. The back wall had a large mirror, which clued me in to the name etched in LED on the upper right of her notebook computer. It also gave me a preview of her behind, which covered her seat surprisingly well. She kept her jacket on, but I couldn’t help but wonder at that point what lay beneath it.

“Here we are, Sarah.” I presented the drink. Her eyes drew in faint surprise at the sound of her name.

“Sorry, do I know you?”

“The powers of deduction, my dear.” It seemed witty, but in hindsight it was uncouth.

“Or the powers of refraction,” she clued in, game for my cheesy gab. We talked some more about some favourite authors. Her eyes were what drew me in, and her visage made me stay. She was the portrait of beauty as a young lady, you could say. Her cheeks were fairly full and often dimpled from her entertainment. Her default position was leaned in, as if ready for something, anything. And I divulged her in any such thing, albeit mostly literary, as the evening wore on.

“You know, I was here to work, but you’re just too fun,” she said, closing the notebook and tucking it into her satchel.

“Well, I don’t mean to be a distraction.”

“Yeah, it’s hard. I know I should be working at home, but I’m a night owl, and I just feel so cloistered where I am. So I go out... and I know that’s not going to work out, but I thought I would try it anyway. Do you work every Monday then?” Hmm.

“Yeah, actually. Monday, Tues, Friday, Saturday nights. But it’s pretty busy on the weekend obviously.”

“Well maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I’d look forward to it.”

As she walked out, I was eviscerated by her ample posterior.

So we visited once a week, and I learned she was a mix of Irish and Scottish ancestry, and that her thesis on Joyce - excuse me if I can’t recall the minutiae - was “the natural thing.” But the writing, she confessed, was slow. So I made her a deal, which was not technically under my jurisdiction, but I had a whole world with Sarah and I decided I could do what I wanted to. A Guinness for every page. I’d even proofread them for her, I offered.

Most Mondays Sarah would come in with about three pages done, and she’d drink casually while I went through her work. As her thesis grew, to my delight, so did she. A sedentary, academic lifestyle coupled with the propensity to drink bore its consequences. Her claddagh ring was a bit tighter, her face rounder still, her arms full and soft. As April rolled around the changes became dramatically pronounced. She usually came in with a shirt that showed off a smooth opening of C-cup cleavage, a thick band of fat encircled her middle as she sat, and the gap between her thighs had closed completely upon standing. Still, she was as graceful as ever in her movements, and as such, all the more alluring.

One Monday in May, she came bounding in. Her rack shook heavily with each step, and I found it immensely difficult to take my eyes of that spectacle... but I managed. We hugged, and I took the opportunity to sink into her a bit. She was so plush.

“I’m a master of arts! And I owe so much of it to you.”

“Congratulations. I presume you haven’t brought any pages, but this calls for a Guinness anyway.” We laughed.

“I’m having a pool party next Saturday. Could you come?” She was much more lax now that the pressure was off. But a different kind of pressure made itself known to me upon hearing that. A pool party?

- - -

I came in through the front door at her parents’ house. Her folks were out for the day, presumably to just let the party do its thing. I came around back.

I was floored.

Sarah was standing next to a few now-former school mates, with Guinness of course. But this wasn’t Sarah I knew. This was the Sarah I’d been dreaming of.

She was wearing a dark red bikini. Her breasts looked to be on a verge of popping out, evidenced by her constant fidding with the top. Her ass and thighs were huge, with her 2nd piece gripping her bottom at a good two sizes smaller than they probably should have been. The places were they tied, into little bows, sunk into her sides and back. She had a belly clearly well served by the months of Guiness (and some alternatives interspersed), and it hung a good two inches over the crease of her bikini bottom. And her friends were rather similar. I introduced myself as quickly as I could without giving the impression of haste, trying desperately not to conjure a bulge in my trunks. But Sarah did me in. There wasn’t a choice. I excused myself to the washroom.

As I was there, I found a scale on the floor with multiple markings. 160. 168. 172. 175. 180. 188... It kept creeping upwards.

Suddenly, a knock.

“Hey? It’s Sarah. I need to use the washroom. It’s urgent, and the others are being used. I’ll let you back in after.” I opened the door, and Sarah gently pushed me in and locked the door.

“I see you found the scale. You like it?” She asked, pushing me against the wall. Her tits, her stomach, even her thighs all pushed into me. She ran her wet fingers across my nipples, straight down my body.

“Because I do. Well, I love Guinness. And I love to write. And I love that you’re so good with helping me on both fronts. Now I want you to help yourself to my front.” She grabbed her stomach.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me... And it makes me feel... amazing. Now explore me. Before people start to wonder where we are.”

I started by placing my hands on her breasts. Then downwards, over the steep, almost parabolic curves of her sides own to her deep bellybutton, which was a little valley all its own. All the while, she had her fingers - those delecate, immaculate fingers - stroking my cock with the gentleness I has observed since the day I met her. It was as if my member had always known those fingers, and was just waiting for them to arrive.

“God you’re nice and thick,” she said, with a simplicity that combined with her divine body almost sent me into a shock. “Ooh, I forgot to tell you the best part. I’ve accepted admission to the phd program. Will you be able to help... me?”

She licked her lips, pursed them and gave me an intense stare of lust and admiration, her hand furiously stroking with a pace that belied her stern, sex-filled gaze.

“It would be... my... pleasure.”

[chrissy]

“Hey.” It was Sunday night and a new girl sidled up to the bar. A new school year had started, and my cohort had generally begun the phds (those of us staying, anyway).  As I approached, rubbing a glass, I gave her a do-over. She was breathtaking. Something like Olivia Munn - slightly asiatic, medium length, dark hair, and eyes that could disarm anyone and anything. At least she did to me. I nearly dropped my glass.

“Oh! Sorry, are you ok?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I’m just sleeping on the job.” Laughter. Her name was Emily.

We talked. It turns out she came to this part of town last year to start her MA in English, and this year it was crunch time for her thesis. I had to go bewtween her and a few other patrons, but I learned she was a heavy vodka and tequila drinker. Or at least, tonight she was.

“Hey... soo... umm... I heard you can help with my thesis, maybe?”

My eyebrows, turned away from her, perked. Did Sarah say something?

“Well I can tell you’re a pretty smart guy, and I’d like to be working on this thing even while I’m out, you know? To be able to have a bit of social life but still get it done.”

“Well, yeah, I actually have tutored before.”

“But for free. I mean, for me. You’re not that busy on Sundays, are you?” She put it on. The face. And my imagination began to take hold. I’d seen what I had done to Sarah, and the thought of a plumper Emily was quite hot...

“Well you hold a tough bargain. I’ll give you some incentive. Every page, a drink. And I’ll edit while you wait.”

“What, really? That’s pretty awesome.”

“I know.” It was on.

- - -

Emily was a petite girl, and it didn’t take long at all for the booze to work on her figure. Her lower back was the first area of noticeable change, as when she sat her thickening sides were making themselves quite apparent. The pants were the first to go, as they were already rather tight in the first place. But their replacments didn’t fare much better. I didn’t say anything about it, as difficult as it would have been to keep it innocuous. She didn’t change her top wardrobe for quite some time, however. It was easy to track progress of her bosom, amassing a little more heft to them each passing week. She wore a tight, thin cardigan sweater that didn’t leave so much to the imagination.

Maybe the most alluring thing was the she seemed to take on the brunt of the gain around her waist and lower tummy. A casual onlooker would think it were the natural way her cardigan fell, but I knew better. Before long, her belly would squish up into a few small rolls whenever she sat down. While it took a superhuman amount of restraint not to stare, I kept on well enough.

On the last Sunday before Christmas break, she finally broke silence on the situation. I think. It seemed rather provocative.

“One more for the road?” I offered, somewhat anxiously. I could feel some tension in the air.

“Oh, no... I shouldn’t, really shouldn’t,”

“I have to insist.”

“God knows I would love it,” she hesistated for a split second, “ - but thank you.”

“It’s actually kind of hot in here. Thanks for helping me out...” She started to unbutton her cardigan. Slowly. She unveiled an undershirt that rode up quite a bit, and possibly the sexiest starter gut I had ever seen. It rested slightly on top her her jeans, and juicy lovehandles flanked her sides. 

She then turned around, leaned over to grab her things and I received a maginificant view of her ass, filling her size 12s to the brink. She turned around and walked up to me, her belly jiggling slightly from her swift movement.

“I’m looking forward to finishing with you next Spring....”

She leaned in, pecked my cheek, and left for the break.

I knew I was flirting with danger.

I would be seeing Sarah tomorrow, who I was on and off with. It was a thrilling time in my academic career, to be sure...

[chrissy]

Shortly before I was due to see Emily again in January, I got an email.

“Hey

Sorry, I’m not able to see you at the bar anymore, because I just picked up a job and I’m working nights. But I hope we can still do this by email, if it’s not too much trouble. I’ve attached the next chapter.

xo Emily”

I wondered immediately if it was really a new job keeping her away. A boyfriend? A better bar? I decided to drop it and keep on helping by email. I genuinely wanted to help. But it was certainly a nice bonus to see such a beautiful girl succumb to my prowess at the bar. I knew we might bump into eachother eventually, since the campus was small.

Little did I know how serendipitous the next encounter would be.

It was late February, and I was walking down the athletics hall after a small workout. I decided to look into the pool room to see if I could get some recreational swimming in without much disturbance. Unfortunately, is was pretty busy. But then, I spotted her.

Emily. In a bikini. She looked similar to when I last saw her, except her stomach, which was much bigger. It was a small spare tire which rested right around her front. Her sides were creased twice over from her surplus fat. And her bottom was more than ample. It began to affect her walk a bit. Was she hiding her gain?

I decided to wait until she finished and try to run into her “accidentally.” I managed to pull it off, glancing sideways at the opportune moment.

“Oh! .... uh, hi, how’s it going?” She reddened a little bit. Her navel was clearly visibly against her cardigan, which needed to be replaced several sizes ago. Denial.

“Good as ever. Your last chapter looked great -  you look great!” I put her on.

“Oh, um, you think so?” She put her hands in front of her belly and crossed her legs on point.

“Yeah, I miss hanging out with you. Makes the time go by a bit better.”

She loosened up a bit.

“I think going over track changes can be better in person sometimes - I mean - would be open to meeting off work at some point?” I tried my hardest to seem innocuous.

“Um, yeah, I guess we could do that.”

—

And a week later, there I was, in Emily’s room. a giant mosaic of photographs covered one wall. I spotted a few of her dated two years ago. Thin as a stick. She was still quite thin on her upper half, but her bottom half was quite a different story these days. I noticed there weren’t any photos of her from the past six months. Well, there were a few, but they were all face shots. Lots of clubbing. I knew she had a roudy side. She just needed some coaxing.

We edited for a few hours, but eventually distractions made themselves impossible to ignore.

“God I need a drink,” Emily opined. “But...”

“But what?”

“I uh... well look, I need to watch my figure. Isn’t it kind of obvious?”

“No, not really.” I lied.

“Really? Look,” she lifted her shirt and let her stomach out, “at this.” She gave it a smack. I just about lost it. She looked confused for a moment, and then it clicked.

“Oh.... I didn’t know you were kind of kinky. I was afraid you wouldn’t like what a little porker I was turning into.” She moved in, knowing I was helpless.

“I guess that means I don’t have to worry about my drinking so much, huh? I guess you like these big juicy lovehandles too. I didn’t like them, but if you do, I guess I could get used to them...” She kneaded her hips a bit, showing off how thick they really were.

“Yup, I drink so much, and it all just goes down there. Guess I’m lucky to have handles and someone to hold me. Want to?” Of course I gave in. My hands were all over her thighs, hips, and substantial lower back.

“I guess it’s not so bad having some curves huh,” she said, slightly breathless.

“Feed me your kisses.” In the throes of this, she worked at taking off her shirt and pants.

“So what else? Want to know how much I weigh?” She was grinning, probably not exactly comfortable with her recent gain, but willing to play the game.

“Come in here and I’ll tell you.” I licked her, crescending from timid to salacious. She rested her chubby middle directly over my face, pushing it into me.

“Holy shit you’re good... okay... I was 122 when I met you... and now I’m pushing 150.” The sexual tension racketed up a notch or three.

“And you love your drinks, don’t you.” I was rash now.

“Mmmmm..... yes...” She sounded close. Her belly, sucked in a bit before, was now completely pushed forward and free of reservedness.

“And you’ll get bigger, won’t you,” my pace quickened, and I used one hand to grip her thick side, and the other, glistening with saliva, to gently rub her left nipple.

“mmm... yes.... Ohhh!”

She came.

[Mr.Lover of fat ladies]

Great story!!!

[stauber]

Chrissy your stories are awesome, but this one is my favorite so far. My only complaint is that there is not more of the story to read! Could you please convert this to a novel with about 8 more girls? Thanks... 8) Seriously though, great writing and good imagery. You certainly know your audience.

[chrissy]

I think that hardest part of being the bartender was Saturday night - but it’s not what you would think. I can mix a martini with my eyes closed.

Maybe it was that very fact that saved me. See, the problem was my coworker, Trish.

She was the closing server on Saturday nights. Working with her was torture, but only because she was untouchable. Don’t dip the pen in company ink, etc. I valued my job. There was simply too much risk. The problem was, there was also too much risqué involved.

When Trish started about six months ago, she was cute, fairly young and small. I could probably encircle one of her wrists with a finger and thumb. She was quick and adept, and her hair often got in her eyes in a way that few can pull off, but she did with aplomb. She managed not to manage. The blessing and the curse for me was that Trish was also a drinker. A fish. I routinely wondered how she got through the trio of pints (sometimes four, to round it off) before setting home.

The beers found their way to her chest first, and she was, even I thought, a little overly eager to put them on display. But she got the tips. It was borderline salacious, but I could attest that Trish knew the id of the clientele, and it was especially true when wringing that last refill. Indeed, it was something she herself took to heart at the end of the day.

The point at which I began having a hard time is indelibly etched in my memory. It was just couple of months ago. Whenever Trish left with an order (our kitchen was right behind the bar), I would get a view of her behind, where ample flesh poked out from beneath her uniform. Her black dress pants were reaching their limit, and the faint outline of her panties was easily discovered. It wasn’t something one had to look for – it must have been intentional. Or, she just didn’t care, which was an appealing proposition. It proved its veracity was time went on.

When the shift was done, her serving apron was off but the shirt was untucked, which hid her stomach from view a little too well. She even buttoned up her shirt a little more up top, as the job was done and it was unnecessary. And I could be a little less distracted, and much more of a friend.

So it went. And every few weeks, I’d estimate that Trish was sizably bigger. And bigger still. I was helpless. I had to do something.

One night, I decided to say something about it about three drinks in.

“You don’t have to be so coy after work, you know,”  I offerd, intentially ambiguous. But she knew exactly what.

“Is that right?” An eyebrow raised. We looked at each other for a moment. Understanding.

“Can I ask you kind of a.... weird favour?” She stammered, highly unusually.

“What is it?”

She was right up to me. Up to my ear.

“I want you to gently caress me.... um, here.” She gestured to her love handles. I held her, reassuringly.

“It’s been damn hard keeping on with this gig, selling shit, selling the body a bit... I just want somebody who really knows me. But I don’t have the time. This sounds pretty tacky, but you’ve been the one constant in my schedule. The online shit doesn’t count. I want... to be there. To feel.” She turned around. My heart was racing.

“Are the doors locked?”

I nodded.

Wasting no time at all, she ripped open all the snap on buttons of her shirt at once. Before my sight was a previously unfathomable image. Trish’s breasts rocked up and down, escaping from her shirt. Her belly was gorgeous. She had a deliciously thick gut that belied her dimunitive frame entirely, and she made zero effort to hide it. Her confidence was the sexiest part about her, by far. She knew I was weak in the knees, and she was ready to pounce.

She nearly launched herself at me; I fondled her sides like a climber. She was a passionate kisser, erupting the months of lust shared between us.

“You love my big tits, don’t you.” She pinned me down gracefully. Server’s arms.

“And your tummy.”

She grinned, joyfully.

We took the next possible cab to her place.

[chrissy]

Unfortunately, my tryst with Trish was a chance occurence, but I still had Emily.

Emily was caught up in a – I would say virtuous – cycle over the next few months, where every Sunday she would come, we’d get work done, but every time there was a look in her eye. A developing hunger, a lust that I woke up from inside her for the guy that rewarded her gluttony. After close, more often than not we would venture to her place and I would slowly introduce some pastry to her doting lips, all while pleasuring her other lips erstwhile. It was a deep-seated psychological experiment gone wonderfully right, the rewards quite mutual.

She usually wore skirts, almost exclusively, to facilitate the inevitable. But I wondered if it was the other way around: that her evergrowingly ample posterior necessitated the doing away of denim. A virtuous cycle.

Every few weeks I indulged myself with an oral scale check in. Emily was putting on roughly a pound a week. The milestones were most wonderful: graduating to a D-cup, the revelation of a tiny double chin, the full envelope of a finger’s joint into her bellybutton continually renewed the zeal of our relationship. And Emily was probably never happier, freed from denying herself of any natural craving, real or imagined.

I lay in bed with Emily (now 176 pounds and looking every inch of it) after a session one evening in July, and looked at my intently. Although she propped herself with an elbow, her breasts reached down to the sheets, undulating slightly. She smiled slightly.

“Why can’t more guys be like you? No bullshit, knows what a woman wants... knows what he wants.” I smiled back. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Going somewhere?”

“I got a job. A position up state. Editing.”

“Hm.” A silence. Letting it settle in. All things must pass, I conceded.

“Congratulations.” It was sincere.

“But, I was thinking... a friend of mine, I think she would use your... tutelage.”

“Is that right?”

“Well, you seem to be good as what you do. I know what you did with Sarah and everything.” Her knowing eyes. I put on a poker face, nodded. Emily knew me better than I knew myself.

“So she’ll be over next week. In summer school.”

“... What’s her name?”

“I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun for you... Thanks for everything.”

She kissed me with a certain discreteness that foreshadowed the coming denouement of our adventure.

Then, suddenly, she pinned me down with her now-huge thighs and aggressively love-tackled me. I grabbed her by her rich arms, allowing myself to be succumbed by her boobs and belly, which tantalizingly brushed my body despite hovering a fair distance overhead.

I explored every inch of Emily with a full counter to her vivacious demeanor, inspired by the possibility that it would be our last encounter, closing my eyes, losing myself in her plush, supple body.

[Guest inowhenitsnotbutter]

the guy in this story just has the most awesome life

[lolhax123]

Freaking awesome

[chrissy]

The following summer wasn’t terribly eventful, at least until one evening in mid-August. I swore I could feel her eyes on my back as I put away the high ball glasses.

“Um, hi.” I swerved, trying not to look hasty. Right away I knew this was Emily’s reference. She stuck out her hand.

“Jenna.” I shook her hand. Soft. She was maybe 5’6”, with a sizable bosom on display. Noticeable, but only if one looks for it.

“Hey, uh... are doing business? Have a seat,” I opined. She was stunning, a dirty blonde inverted bob framing her angular visage, cute pert lips, admonishing smile.

“I heard you have an eye for detail and a quick wit.” She jumped in. “There are ten kinds of people in the world –“

“Those who know binary and those who don’t?” Cute, I thought.

“– I was going to say those who can extrapolate from incomplete data. But that works too.”

“I take it you’re a programmer?”

“Kind of. I’m in charge of the documentation and technical writing for a startup. I can’t actually disclose details at this time. I guess you might inadvertently glean a few details going foward... but this is going to have to be  our little secret.”

I won’t lie, I knew the context was very different, but my heart skipped as she said those words. You see, Jenna was more than stunning in my mind. She was smart and funny. We hit it off.

Jenna was mostly thin, but she had a little extra on her middle that her shirt probably wasn’t used to containing. She caught on to me quickly, almost as if looking for a reason to talk about it.

“Yeah, since I started at the company it’s been a ton of sitting around. Apparently I should get a standing desk... yeah, can’t wait.” She laughed carelessly.

“Um, no, you look great.”

“Mmhmm.” Sardonic. “I need a beer.”

“Cheers.” We talked on into the evening. We had a lot of fun dancing around the topic of just who her startup was. I had some knowledge of my city’s scene, but on the other hand, it could have been any company.

“Yeah, I heard Emily said you’d actually give beers and just help out with the work. So obviously I’m curious. What’s the catch there?”

“Well I just like to help out. It makes this job a little more meaningful.” It wasn’t false.

“And actually, I haven’t seen Emily for a while, how is she?”

“How long’s it been?” I said cooly.

“Oh, well I would guess at least a year. Things happen, you know?”

“Hmm, yeah, I know...”

“Okay, well I’ll see you next week. Not bright and early... dark and late?” She humoured me.

“Dark and late.”

She left, a sliver of her taut shirt riding up her back and small, budding love handles on display.

[chrissy]

I went about dutifully helping Jenna each week. She has printed documents which programmatically omitted the sensitive information – think madlibs, but more sober and covert, I suppose. That being said, what sobriety there was in the documents was routinely overshadowed by Jenna’s drinking.

I quite simply had never seen a woman of Jenna’s physique drink so much on every visit, and yet she as so surreptitiously casual about it I wouldn’t realize the fact until it the night was wound down and I had a moment to consider it. I would have to estimate Jenna went through four, sometimes five pints, without fail. Every Sunday and Wednesday was a whirlwind of editing and on-the-fly research.

Needless to say, that shirt she met me in was gone in a month, conveniently brushed away with the Autumn wardrobe swap. In fact, having since replaced it with decidedly more conservative attire, I’ve kept the mental image of the last time I saw her in it. While she switched to tops that hugged her bosom and flowed outward, I appreciated her staunch refusal to outlay jeans. I relished the faint outline of her lovehandles and growing lower back, imagining what it might look like from behind when she sat down at the bar. Maybe the biggest tease of all with Jenna was the way she would make an occaisional reference to her burgeoning gain, her mellifluous voice supplanted only by her beautiful visage which refused to show any signs of her latent curvage. “Trust me, I can definitely pinch an inch now. Or two,” she would say, laughing between sips and a gently heaving chest.

And then there was that fateful January evening. Jenna had decided to show off some cleavage – a first of many – and I, naturally, had some difficulty focusing on the work. I knew she was testing me. I could see the look in her eyes. The tension hung in the air right to the end of the evening, when I knew for sure something was up.

“So um, there’s some other stuff that I need an opinion on, but it’s absolutely confidential. Can you stop by?” She gave me a card with her name and address.

“Possibly. When?”

“Like, tonight?”

In what seemed like moments later, I was standing outside the door to Jenna’s apartment. As soon as we got in, she pivoted and held me up against the wall.

“Like I said, absolutely confidential,” she smirked and leaned in to plant her lips on mine, her hands pushed up against my chest. As our tongues began to dance, my instincts took over, and my fingers began to gently feel for those hips I had been wondering about for months. Her jeans must have been at least two sizes small at that point.

Moments later, she leaned into my ear. “Go ahead, the shirt is rippable.” I took my hands between the seams of the buttons and it came flying off, and her beer belly came quivering into view, underneath her large breasts.

“Go ahead, play with me.”

I couldn’t help but gape, and she reciprocated, partly in jest but surely also in lust. She knew I loved it. I kneaded her lush, warm tummy into doughy fistfuls, decadently soft from Jenna’s sedentary lifestyle. It was hard to believe just how much had accumulated onto her figure, belied by her smallish hands and angular jawline. I moved up to her nipples, still covered by her brassiere, and plied the material away to get in.

“Oh fuck yes, get me,” she cried, loosening her composure still further. I undid her jeans and she took them off on the spot, kicking them near the door. Her belly hung an inch or two over her panties, her thighs just barely beginning to touch.

“Told you I could pinch an inch,” she smiled. “... I think you’re into it.”

“I am.”

“Good, because I don’t think there’s any stopping me at this point.”

[Guest inowhenitsnotbutter]

this was, put simply, incredible! thanks.

[Guest temporary]

aww yiss. Please more!

[Guest moreb92]

fantastic bit of writing!  very entertaining of course!  what a life that bartender leads!

[chrissy]

Things were going great with Jenna. We ended up hanging out a lot together, as much for talk as the anything else. That is, until I received The Call.

"Hey." It was Emily, sounding less upbeat than usual.

"Hey. How's the gig?"

"Fine. Editing eeeverything. Finding out sometimes the word is mightier than the pen," she sighed. "Look, I miss you. Get your butt up here."

"What?"

"Forget about Jenna for a minute and see me."

"Well, I –"

"Think about it later. Check your mailbox."

I ran over to the front door and there was a return trip, non-refundable.

"Alright. Guess I'll clear the schedule."

***

I sauntered off the bus, and found her within about a minute. She was instantly recognizable and unfamiliar all at once. As we embraced, I noticedevery part of her has gotten more substantial since our last encounter. Her jeans sat at waist level, and was overlapped by a large shirt which exposed her upper arms, which were now dimpled at the elbows. Her boobs were now, I suspected, E cups, with the kind of deep cleavage that was simply impossible to ignore.

"Well hey, you. It's evening. How about we go to the bar first? It'd be nice to see you on the other side," Emily opined. I obliged.

We sat and talked about the books Emily was editing over IPAs. A few For Dummies entries. Nothing high-profile yet. "Guess they want to make sure I'm not a dummy." Laughter. Then a sudden turn in the conversation.

"So... how big is too big?" She said, a bit quietly and honestly.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on." She looked down at her admittedly huge bosom. "When I came here, it was for the job of course, but I also thought maybe my weight was getting a little out of hand. So I tried a few different approaches, and obviously I guess they all backfired." She laughed. "So how big is too big?" She said again, mischeivously.

"I think you'll know when you get there."

Emily leaned in to my  ear. "Maybe you don't realize how big I am," she whispered, grabbing my arm and motioning me off the stool.

***

"Well I think it's up to you."

"Yeah, but I think I need a second opinion." We were sitting on the couch in Emily's new apartment, admittedly much like the old one. There were more pictures of Emily clubbing, looking a bit more like I last saw her – chubby. Now she was uncontestedly fat.

She stood up and lifted her shirt off; half of her torso was covered by her jeans. Then her jeans, taut at her midriff, came off, and the state of affairs became abundantly clear. Emily's belly sat pendulously over her panties, sighting for attention with her already-huge boobs; her lovehandles jutted out a few inches along nearly the perimeter of her panties, with an expanse of fat encircling her deep bellybutton. It was extremely hard to believe this was the same girl who walked into my bar just over a year ago. I stood up and lightly embraced her glorious sides.

"So you like it? ... Is it too much?" She closed her eyes. I went in and gave her a kiss befitting of her figure, tightening my hold on her surplus sides.

[anti spock]

very well-done sir. good read.

[chrissy]

I lay down beside Emily later that evening, high from the release of months of tension as I wondered how she was doing from time to time. The situation was familiar – the parameters amplified a little.

"So how are you?" I asked, as if the past hour hadn't happened. Emily smiled and laughed, facing the ceiling in her skivvies.

"Ha. Good... interviewing lots of artists. I couldn't ask for more, really. Feeling comfortable."

"Sexy comfortable," I added. She grinned, knowingly.

"That's right... I never ever thought I'd be pushing 200.... And thinking it feels incredible. How's my girl, Jenna?" Emily suddenly turned over to her side, emphasizing her expanse of cleavage.

"Well taken care of."

"Yeah?" She smiled. I nodded.

"... I always thought she had a nice tummy." Emily admitted, with unusual sheepishness.

"You've known each other for a while?"

"Oh yeah. Since high school."

"You'd love her now." I suggested, grazing Emily's thigh.

"I would, would I?" Emily opined, coyly.

"Oh yes. All those beers did her in, eventually." My hand continued down the path, and her legs relaxed a little.

"How much did they?"

"More than you'd think."

"Yeah, she still looks kind of thin over Skype..."

"But she wears those loose blouses for a reason, you know."

"Oh?"

"Jenna... She's... actually gotten a bit huge, Emily." She was clearly turned on at this point, fidgeting a little. I felt Emily's moist sex, surveying the landscape with my left thumb.

"Really? Tell me m-more."

"Her love handles are large a kissable.... her tummy sits a couple of inches beyond her waistband... her arms are like big hot pogos."

"Haha!"

"Okay, maybe not that last one. And when you undo her brassiere, they fall down like two large, soft cantaloups you can just push your face into." Emily moaned.

"Oh God." Emily smiled. "I think I need to see her. I need to see this for myself.  An interview for her business. Yes. Perfect."

"You tell no one, obviously." She shot her infamous look at me. "And neither will I."

I nodded.

"Okay, boy. And there is someone else I need you to help out. Will you?" Her mischeivous smile pierced my eyes.

___________

[Maximus420]

Great theme

[chrissy]

"So I have some disappointing news," Jenna started as she sat down. It was a quiet Wednesday, a few weeks after my trip, and we were just closing.

"Oh?"

"Well, sort of. Ok, look." She stared at me, out of will. "I'm taking a position up north. The company hasn't done so well and I think it's time to jump ship."

"Hey, well I'm really happy for you. Really."

"You'll miss me." Jenna cocked her head to the side, with just a hint of unsureness. Her cheeks had become slightly more pronounced. A tight dress shirt was the order of the day, and if Jenna leaned a bit too far this way or that, an expanse of supple skin was exposed. Whether she did that to me intentionally, or there weren't any larger shirts, didn't matter.

"Of course."

"You might know the person who got me the in?"

"Uh, maybe?"

"Emily?"

"Oh, yeah. Of course. She –" I stopped.

"She what?"

"Uh, nevermind. This is going to be hard, Jenna. But you've got a keen eye. I know you're ready to tackle this, and I'll be here for you."

"Oh yeah? How hard." Jenna giggled, getting up and walking over to me, with stately purpose. I continued to clean the last of the dishes, half-pretending not to hear what I did.

"What's that?"

"I said," Jenna unbuttoned her shirt nonchalantly, leaving it hanging and her sizable breasts on display inside dark red cups, straps digging into her arms. Her jeans, new jeans I noted, were stretched right up to her navel, presumably to make the tops more feasible. It was simply intoxicating to see the extent to which Jenna's body pushed her wardrobe to the limit.

"How hard." She confidently placed her hand on my member. "You'll wait for me?" Her head hung a little, getting a few strands of hair over one eye. It was like a movie, but one where women of an average size – or maybe in Jenna's case, more – seized the leading role.

"Yes."

"Good." She unbuttoned her jeans, and her tummy practically poured out for the confine. Jenna had so much more to her than anyone would rightly expect at a glance – in her demeanor, her wit, her charm, her smarts, and yes of course, the amazing curves of her physique.

"You make me feel so comfortable about this," Jenna purred as I massaged her stomach and gently brought a hand down between her soft thighs.

"I like... not having to worry. I like being encouraged," she sighed. "I'll have fun with this. It's not forever. I'll write soon."

I handed her a Bailey's and decaf, quintessential in the deep night of December.

"Cheers."

[chrissy]

Jenna has been working alongside Emily for about two months when I had finally met Emily new protege, Amy. Amy was actually a fairly lithe girl, partway through her masters, though I could tell right away she was in the midst of that slump of disappointment, between the thesis she thought she had and the thesis she was being driven towards by the academic zeitgeist of her professors and colleagues – thought not quite ready to accept the fact of this preconception of what is supposed to be the individual's work.

Anyway, she greeted me with a wry smile and sat with real poise and grace, wearing a light sleeveless blouse and  some slightly loose jeans. And a giant stack of papers.

"Hi, you're Emily's friend?"

"Yeah! Amy. So nice to meet you," she cooed, emphasizing meet – she was a girl who could get to you with simply her florid, mellifluous voice, high yet thick, belying her body.

"Are you sure about this? Seems like a lot of time. You're so nice to be doing this!"

"Let's see... oh no, well I enjoy it, trust me..." I peered over the footnotes. Art History. Reubens, no less. I peered up.

"Yeah, I'm a fan of Reubens." I could swear she blushed a little.

"Well there's a lot to pour over here, so I don't I pour over this too –" I gestured to the glass.

"Haha, you're too sweet." She smiled and took a sip, shoulder-length locks drifting side to side langourously. "Hey, how did you know I'm a Creemore girl?"

"Dumb luck, I suppose."

It was on. Amy had a habit of wearing hoodies after a couple of months – but what was I to say? Her cheeks became a bit puffier, and the best I could gauge was whenever she left the barstool, which was admittedly pretty rare. In mid-March, I offered to host her five times a week, courageously – I asked partly out of a bit of frustration, as I so badly wanted to see her out of a hoodie. Was it ever going to happen?

Her rear widened a bit, but not by much – though I could tell the pants she met me in were long gone. Soon enough it was turning around to April, and it was time to hand it in.

It was closing time. Amy got up, hoodie and all, and paced around a bit as I cleaned.

"Thanks – you know, I'm pretty sure I couldn't have done this without you. It's a real work of art." I turned and faced her.

"It's my pleasure."

"Is it your pleasure? A work of art that's your pleasure?" Amy started fiddling with the zipper of her hoodie. I swear my heart skipped.

Amy walked up to me, slowly. "So have you ever studied a Reubens in the flesh?" She grabbed my hand.

"Unzip it." I began, tentatively.

"Stop." I saw a preponderance of cleavage, where there has been none. I instinctively went in, feeling for her nipple while at the same time offering a deep, passionate kiss. My other hand unzipped the remainder of her hoodies, and she wiggled out of it. In the throes of kissing, my hand explored all of the new, voluptuous territory. Amy, once-lithe Amy, had grown large love handles, chubby arms and rich, delicious belly fat before my very eyes, sticking out competitively with her C-cup breasts.

"Thanks for helping me," she whispered in my ear. "I always wanted this..." She explored her own curves as if for the first time, her small hand exploring the tiny amount of space left after unzipping her taut jeans... her voice cried out like a song, at once unreal and unfathomably intimate.

"Ooooh my God yes, I'm getting soooo fat on that beer. I can feel my lovely tummy and sides spilling out when I'm sitting there, secretly hoping someone would just get in there and gently graze my lower back with a finger or two, gently exploring my thick, juicy love handles. Oh my God, and I can't stop it either... I want more and more, don't I?" She stared straight into my eyes, mouth gaping open, her plump lips reaching for mine – I gently licked the nape of her neck, venturing to her ear, and I placed my hand firmly on her lower back, tracing my fingers along the rupture of adiposity all along her engorged middle.

"Yes baby, you love it when I give you all of that beer... slowly getting bigger and bigger, unnoticeable at first, and then you hide it... but you can't hide it much longer, can you? But you can't stop... you'll just have to find a new pair of jeans and grow into those too, huh? And maybe outgrow those too –" just then, she cooed in a mixture of absolutely joy and pleasure such that I had never known. We held eachother, knowingly, at last satisfied for now.

[lolhax123]

I love this story so much. Jenna's been my favourite so far.

[chrissy]

I had been in touch with Jenna on a regular basis. We discussed ongoing work, big things, small things – TV, sometimes politics, the future. What I was curious about, that was kept at the back of my mind, though, was how Jenna was faring in his new office environment with Emily. Of course I chose not to explicitly bring it up, as it seemed taboo, but one day in May (about five months in) I decided to work around the subject.

"So, five months in... you find your coworkers alright? Have things developed the way you wanted it to?"

"Oh, development in terms of code is just fine. Incremental releases." Jenna notably paused. "My coworkers are still great. Emily's fantastic.... she's got my back, you know? Hey listen, we've been going nonstop for the past few months, but we've got a week off here next week. Would you be interested in coming up?"

"Yeah, let me check my calendar... I can make it work."

"Great! I'm sorry that I can't go down there myself, we just need to be around in case something happens."

So it was my turn to bus up. I arrived in early evening  – about 7pm – and promptly found directions for the restauraunt where were were to meet.

I scanned the room. It didn't take long to find Jenna, waving me over.

My God, she had gained.

Acting inconscpicuous about it was out of the question, but for some reason having to do with human nature, I tried.

"How are you?" That same admonishing smile, amplified by rather soft cheeks. A radient blue dress was the order of the day, informal, the material not plying but expert hints of seductive flesh were on display or suggested. Jenna's sleeveless arms were perfect, the culmination of years of attending to by the viscerality of beer and office life. Full and responsive to subtle movement, I wished I could have had an excuse to hold her right there. And of course, the arms were the perfect frame for Jenna's bosom, now filling two F cups, having to guess. Jenna's cleavage was a canyon of sensuousness that eyes could not help but at least glance upon every minute. Her thighs, slightly exposed and completing enveloping her chair, similarly broached newfound territory, surpassing even Emily's heights of adiposity. And, of course, Jenna's belly sat comfortably, and I could only imagine exactly how large and beautiful her stomach had grown, enveloping her waist by several inches. And yet, despite threatening to lose shape from all of this fat, Jenna maintained her ravishing visage, the eloquence of her form and the poise of her speech. It was the extreme between a headshot that would suggest perhaps even thinness, with the reality of her extremely alluring figure that managed to catch me off guard, despite knowing Jenna for a while.

"You look amazing."

"I know." Jenna was blunt, another characteristic I appreciated. "What can I say? I have an awesome  workplace. Emily gets it. She's got my back."

We worked through a couple of beers and pasta. I couldn't help but get stiffer at the night progressed – even seeing the way Jenna's lips and fingers handled her glass belief a certain expertise beyond the current social situation.

She entered her apartment, and as soon as I followed I decided to reverse the situation from last time. I put her up against the wall, kissing her neck. She giggled.

"Easy tiger... it's been too long, hasn't it? I want you to take this slow. Hands around me."

I placed my hands around her arms, slowing rubbing my palms back and forth on the expanse of Jenna's flesh, slightly squeezing and feeling the give and pull of her delightful body.

"Hmm, yeah, that feels nice. How about my ass?"

My hands dove down into the recesses of Jenna's backside, lifting underndeath the dress slightly. I felther incredibly tight panties, and her ass erupting around the structure. I felt the inner sides of her now-huge thighs, and firmed grabbed her left cheek as if I were about to lift her (thought to be honest, I wasn't sure if it were possible anymore).

"Ugh yeah... that's size 16, baby..." I made a sound in approval, preoccupied in the our mutual discovery.

Finally, in a fit of passion, I proceeded to lift Jenna's dress over her head, and it was thrown to the ground. I visibly inhaled at the sight of Jenna's gorgeous, huge potbelly. Before she could say more, I kissed here more deeply than ever before, tongues rollicking in the sensuousness of my hands exploring, kneading, needing Jenna's engorged abdomen, complemented so well by everything. One had grabbed the back of Jenna's head, the hairs of her bob seeping through my fingers, and the other gently rubbed back and forth on her stomach.

"Mmmhmm, oh fuck yes you like my tummy, my cute tummy that I hide so well as work but I've been a bad girl, yes... fuck eating everything like that, then touching myself thinking about what a bad girl I've been, when I outgrow my jeans like that again and again.... ohhh!" My finger reached inside her panties, inside Jenna. We went quickly to her bed and continued.

"Do you love my curves? All two hundred and fucking ten pounds of my body wants you" Jenna exclaimed, her entire body jiggling in ecstatic pleasure. She lay on her side and proceeded to perform on me; soon after I could not longer control myself.

We sat, somewhat sweaty, fully in awe of what just happened.

Jenna turned to face me. "It does just get better and better, doesn't it? You should be here."

[darkstarwatcher]

Superb story writing.

[Guest forgetfuldoctor93]

When I see a new post in the story section, I always hope that it's this one that's been updated. You never fail to disappoint.

[chrissy]

As tempted as I was by Jenna's suggestion that I move, I had a life where I was.

Things were surprisingly quiet over the next few weeks at the bar. I had no new particularly special patrons, if you know what I mean – I suppose the word wasn't going out as it had.

I was tending a particularly slow Sunday evening in July – just me – when I spotted a large figure at the door. It was Emily.

She wore a slightly loose-fitting black blouse, tight around her bust (which I estimated to have grown to a size G), and tantalizingly low-rise jeans, now sporting absolutely zero room to spare between the thighs. I got up from behind the bar and greeted her cordially with a big hug.

"Emily! So great to see you," I offered, noting in close contact her newly-cropped shoulder length hair and subtle lipstick.

"Likewise. I had a meeting in town and thought I'd see if you were here," she gently ticked my ear with her words and smiled, her eyes closing sweetly. She still reminded me of Olivia Munn – at least from the neck up. It was quite a different story below, now.

"Excuse me, I have to use the washroom." She strutted off, and I couldn't help but admire her juicy hips breaking though the side cuts of her shirt.

"So, what can we do here?" Emily teased, feigning innocence.

"Well we can make like old times," I offered, pouring two pints.

"Thank you for Jenna," Emily said, somewhat bluntly. "I have to admit we may have a problem."

"What's that?" I was genuinely curious.

"Come on, haven't you noticed? We've been fucking ballooning up like whales!" She gave me an icy glare that was entirely new to me.

"Well, I think you look stunning," I said, honestly.

"I know, that's the problem. Or I guess it isn't. I don't know!" She seemed exasperated. "I'm always buying new shirts and pants," she whined... in a way I found pretty sexy.

***

We discussed everything, catching up. But it circled back to a certain perannial topic. "... Which part of me do you like the most?" Emily asked suddenly, into our third beers.

"Well I like your personality," I said, not lying.

"Oh yeah? I guess fat girls can be pretty cool."

"You're not fat. You're curvy."

"Yeah, ok," offered Emily. "You mean this is just curvy." She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt, laying bare her gently heaving chest with a surprising amount of cleavage.

"Jenna likes when I do that... oops" Emily gasped. "Shit. Shit!"

"I'm sorry?" I smiled.

"Haha, why do I even care, you knew I wanted her. And I wanted to thank you. Say hi, you know. That kind of thing." She got up from her chair.

"So what do you like, huh?" Emily paced languidly.  "Do you like it when girls get a little too chubby for their jeans and their lovehandles are poking out... like this?" She grabbed her side with intention.

"How about the belly? How about that moment a girl develops some side rolls? Or when her navel gets so, so deep, you can tell its indentation on her shirt?"

I grew stiffer by the second.

"Or a little girl like me just grows and grows and gets such a fat belly, you can just grab it anywhere and get lost in its voluptuousness and not even know where to begin?"

"Or when shakes that tummy and it just wobbles for a little while before finally settling down?"

"Or how about some hot, juicy arms like Jenna's? Or like mine? Mine are getting pretty good."

"And feeding a girl with delicious beers?"

"Never a bad idea," I finally said, taken aback.

"Well I'm sick of it!" Emily

I decided to be bold. And honest. "You love it."

Emily paused, visibly defeated, and sighed.

"You're right, I do."

***

"Well I have to tell you something else," Emily started. "We're probably going to be hiring a few recent interns from this university.  It's their last year, and we suggested they go to you for some help in properly getting ready for the job when they finish next year."

"Happy to help," I offered.

"Are you still wondering how big is too big?" I asked softly.

"I don't know. How big is too big?" she smiled knowingly, perhaps thinking of our last encounter.

"Well, let me check that for you..." she said, unbuttoning the remainder of her shirt, and tossed it aside.

Emily was glorious, with a massive, doughy stomach fighting for supremacy with her dark red G-cup bra. Her sides and front partly obscured the belt of her jeans while sitting down.

I went around the bar, stood Emily up, and gently tickled her fat sides with my palms firmly on them.

"Mmmm, damn that feels nice."

"Good to see you," I professed, and led her to the back room.