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Guest bobsithoto1

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Guest bobsithoto1

I've never really written anything before, and I don't know if this is a good place for it. This story also starts in high school (age 16), so if that breaks some kind of age rule, just let me know I guess? The age of consent where I live is 16 🤷‍♂️

 

Pep

Her name is Pep, and it started in high school. 

She was the kind of girl that everyone liked for not being afraid to be a little bit crazy. She appeared to be selflessly kind at first, but later, as I began to see past through rose colored glasses, she simply wanted everyone to love her. I'm still not entirely sure this was from conscious effort on her part, but she would get guys in the palm of her hand, then kind of migrate away from them, leaving them cold in her wake. Who doesn't want to be loved? But she was a little different..wanting everyone to love her? I wouldn't describe it as real love, more like just attention seeking. But not JUST attention, she wanted to take something from people that was a little more potent than just attention. I'll come back to this when I have a better way to describe it.

She wasn't particularly flamboyant, but intrusively beautiful. Long reddish auburn hair; fair, glowing skin; deep brown eyes; lots of freckles; soft oval features, no sharp angles; but well defined, not buttery round; longer than average nose that did nothing to detract from her grace; pokey ears that snuck out from behind her shimmering, straight hair. Even in early high school, she had the hip flair foreshadowing a later ascent to powerful womanhood. Skinny, but not so much so that it detracted from her prominent breast and derriere curves coveted by women. Humble, passionate, articulate, smart. Needless to say, I found myself hopelessly infatuated more than I had ever been before. As a 16 year old, I thought it could only be love.

I can't pinpoint the exact time when she ensnared me. Now 23 years old, it feels as though I've been in her trap my entire life. Can I blame myself for my adolescent naivety? As it's said, you will always remember your first love. You can fall in love again, of course, but once the first woman takes hold, she's always there haunting you and there's no power that can remove her.

I was already deeply lost Sophomore year, but things only got worse. Halfway through the school year, she announced traveling abroad to Europe for the entirety of Junior year. This began magnifying my already irreversible longings. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," and I was beginning to feel its powerful effects months before Pep even left the states.

I loved the days I was able to sit across from her or next to her in Spanish class. Banter was a joy, her presence a treat. Maybe this is an odd detail, but her scent.. I don't know what soap or fragrance she used, but I've noticed it once or twice in these years apart from her. When I catch a whiff of that scent, my entire body reacts instantly. I get goosebumps, my heart beats faster, I feel a rush of adrenaline.. then it all comes crashing down in deep despair after my brain finally catches up to what just happened. Not pleasant experiences..

As I was saying, merely sitting across the same table as her drove me to a hopeless state of elation. Back in those days, my upbringing had driven me to almost believe all contact with girls was bad. But she introduced me to "footsie". I think she liked how embarrassed I was from the hidden contact under the table. I would retract my feet under my chair and she would slide down farther in her chair to reach me. In something as simple as this, it felt good to be "chased" by the one I wanted so much.

Eventually, I began initiating. I think at that point it became less fun for her because I wasn't as embarrassed. This led to less participation from her and only stronger longing from me.. This is really just one example in the grand scheme of things. She would initiate hugs, etc. Me being unable to comprehend the female form, especially hers, at that point in my life led to more of the same effects and feelings.


Toward the end of Sophomore year, she received my complete attention as changes in her sent me even further over the edge. She put on a little weight. In all the right places. Like I mentioned earlier, she was skinny but still had curves. I learned at some point that she had played volleyball in middle school and had a six pack during that time. However, ever since attending our science and math focused high school, she had led a mostly sedentary life. This basically set her body up with a good foundation of perkiness as her muscles slowly gave way to softer flesh. As she put on a little more weight, her boobs swelled, her butt got fuller. Her creamy thighs squished outward so perfectly when she sat down..

One day at lunch, she sat next to me, legs crossed, in her green school uniform cardigan and skin-tight navy blue khakis, absently eating her lunch bag lunch. One of her hands fell to her lap and her thighs noticeably bounced. I wasn't the only one that noticed. As our conversation continued, she began lightly patting her thighs, obviously as curious of her body's changes as myself. Being the eccentric that she was, she actually began patting more furiously and I could see her thigh waves circle all the way around to under her thighs. She still wasn't "thick" or anything, but there was some noticeable extra softness that shocked me to the core. As a horny teenager, my face reddened, my heart quickened, there was a rush of blood to my...Of course, I hoped she never noticed these things, but the way my pants fit, I'm sure she did at some point in the years through high school. This wasn't the first, and wouldn't be the last time, her existence aroused me in a public place..

I never considered myself attractive, but I had acquired the nickname of "surfer model" among my peers. I stood at 6'3" and weighed somewhere in the vicinity of 180lbs all throughout high school (I hit my growth spurt early). I played various sports throughout high school, so I was in decent shape. Looking back, I think I may have been one of the more attractive guys in the small school, but at the time I really didn't see myself that way. My self-esteem has always been low, and I truly believed most of the girls I had ever liked were so far out of my league that I would never have a chance. Pep was no exception, but I wanted her so badly that I really "tried my best" to bridge that gap, which manifested in me basically being a big idiot all the time.


When school was finished that semester, I tried to keep in touch with her through texting and facebook, but she lived pretty far away and tended toward being a bit of a hermit when school didn't bring her into town (she had around a 40 minute commute). As the summer flew by and her departure encroached, she would mention that all she'd being doing all summer was gaining weight. When she posted a new profile picture, her sitting in front of her computer with her arms straight up, adrenaline hit me like a truck. I'd been tortured all summer without her, and the first glance of her after all this time made the weight changes abundantly clear.

Her face had rounded some more, adding to the already soft and creamy skin. Her arms.. I completely forgot to mention her arms earlier. I wouldn't say I have an arm fetish, or anything like that, but her arms.. Maybe it's just her skin. Creamy, smooth, pale, lightly freckled, warmed with a hint of pink.. Her upper arms were so gushy. They had always been a place where she was softer than normal, but the extra weight in her beautiful arms really stuck out. I'd love giving her hand massages. I'd grab her forearm and, god, was it soft.

Shortly after, I was invited to her farewell party. She would be gone an entire year, and I really wanted to see her summer progress. Needless to say, it felt like I had already been away from her for decades.
 

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I remember the shock of going to high school for the first time and getting a first ever glimpse of tight jeans (I grew up in the woods). Somehow, this fed into the wg fetish I didn’t even realize I had until years later. Very relatable story! I bet we all had that one crush from way back when we realized a new yearning for the first time 🙂

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  • 3 weeks later...
Guest bobsithoto1

Thanks for the feedback everyone.  Especially swahilimonkfish and >_< 0_0I love the stuff you guys write! 

It seems like continuing is ridiculously more difficult than that first little bit. I also feel like my writing quality decayed quite a bit. Describing anything is an enormous struggle haha. Anyway, here's the going away party bit.

 

2

When I arrived, it was hard to tell how much she had changed. Clothed in a black, band t-shirt and short jean shorts, her pale skin on display, shining in the sun. Although awareness of it didn’t strike me immediately, as the afternoon progressed it became more apparent that her shorts were looking tight. I stole glances at the slight flair of soft thigh flesh poking out around the end of her shorts. The noticeable, but modest, impression of her breasts from within her t-shirt kept me guessing as to whether their recent surge was from weight gain or maturation. The slight tent of her large shirt occasionally being interrupted mid-journey from her breasts to her waist by a shy dent, beckoning one such as myself for a closer inspection.

Paying far too much attention to her every movement, there's no way I would miss her frequent trips into the house to grab another snack. In addition to school friends, many of her family had been invited. I never ventured inside, but it seemed that there were a handful of desserts brought by some of the guests. When she would emerge to rejoin the party of her friends, she'd be chewing on something with the remainder of it in her hand. A brownie, an oatmeal bar of some form, a cookie.

They lived near a creek, so a couple of us went swimming for a bit (Pep didn't, unfortunately). There was a trampoline on which some of us spent a fleeting moment. They also had a separate studio building that we played some early stage of whatever the dancing video game series is called.

And that's when I really got a chance to really look at her. A bright red tint of color made its way to her face as she flailed about to the music. Her fair complexion made it all too easy to notice the rush of blood to her face as her heart rate quickened. This paired with the freckles invited by the summer sun, along with the ever so slightly more prominent bump at her middle, needless to say, left me dazed. "I can't help it, it's so beautiful," the mosquito in A Bug's Life said as it flew to its death.

She excused herself several times during the dancing, always returning absently chewing away at whatever calorie laden goodness she had found in the dessert room. As she sat cross legged on the floor awaiting her next turn, there was so much flesh squished between her calves and thighs that it was a wonder she could bend her legs so far.

I've mentioned previously that one of the places excess fat liked to plant itself on her body was her arms. Well, the same is also true of her calves. When walking behind a beautiful woman, it goes without saying that having the ability to keep your eyes off her butt is a miracle of supernatural magnitude. When walking behind Pep, however, my eyes couldn't help but be glued to her calves. Like arms, I wouldn't consider myself having any particular fondness for calves, and I really haven't found myself drawn in by any other woman's calves since. Although her arms and calves did contain extra jiggly mass, they didn't sag. In fact, she appeared firm in most areas. When she'd move, however, a symphony of additional motion ensued.

I can't remember the exact footwear she donned that day, but her typical style was usually sockless slippers of darker colors. While standing, you could see the whole line of her calves starting from the Achilles tendon. At her ankle, she appeared as skinny as in her volleyball days. As you follow up her calf, however, her flesh begins to slowly taper outward. While standing, her calves would almost look fit, perhaps just a fair amount wider than someone physically active. They would look firm too. Where they would start to mess with your mind was how smooth and without definition they were. Looking at them from behind her, they were a perfect uniform shape, starting just above the Achilles, all the way to her knee height. Appearing firm, but suspiciously without any muscle lines you would to expect to see on a calf of this size. If looking at them from the side, you'd also be able to notice that they extend further back than you would assume.

Upon taking a step, landing on the heel, the illusion would be entirely shattered, if only for an instant. The perfect shape would become contained disorder. An upstream waterfall of rapids, starting at the heel, abruptly crashing its way up through the calf, then from stormy waters back to windless night just as quickly as it had arrived. Walking behind this woman was truly one of the most engrossing guilty pleasures I have ever experienced.

Her arms behaved in much the same way as her calves. If she would fully extend her arm to point at something, it would seem as though the rest of her arm was trying to catch up and jiggle around her arm's circumference until it quickly found equilibrium. Her forearms didn't look large, but grabbing it once left me speechless. My hand didn't even make it half way around, and the extra give beneath the surface surprised me beyond belief.

The part that made this all the more thrilling was just how odd this looked on her. She had been in great shape just a year or two ago, and her body still seemed to think in that manner. Unless truly looking for it, which I most certainly was, it would have been difficult to even tell she had an extra layer of fat. The truth just below the surface, however, foretold of a future I couldn't live without being part of.

Truly, the event must have lasted all of 10 seconds. It was time to say goodbye. After the most pleasant hug of my life, I said my farewell, got in my car, and slowly pulled away from the wooded drive. It was late July, and I wouldn't see her again until an unexpected visit in January. Until then, the only thing I had was Facebook messenger, the rare terrible connection Skype call, her monthly blog, and occasional Facebook photos.

She is pretty light on social media activity, so for the most part, my contact with her was Facebook messenger. With the time zone difference and how busy she was, this pretty much meant one couple paragraph message a day. Every chance I got, I would direct the conversation to what she was enjoying or eating. Over the first few weeks, she kept commenting on how good food is and how she just keeps eating.

It seems that she hit her max around November. She posted an album on Facebook and she was looking bloated all over. Apparently, she wore a sweater to a friend’s house, but it was too hot with all the cooking they were doing. She tried to borrow a shirt from one of her friends, but it couldn’t handle her new girth. She ended up borrowing a shirt from her friend’s brother (which was also pretty tight). 

One of the images was her smiling at the camera holding a large piece of pumpkin pie. Her arms were slightly constrained in the t-shirt’s sleeves such that her bicep area bulged outward slightly at the edge of the sleeves. 

Another of the images was a selfie of her and her friend sitting down. The bright blue t-shirt followed every curve of her torso, straining against her breasts and curving outward in a small dome down her abdomen. She was sitting, so it was probably slightly exaggerated, and the image was cropped just above the belly button, but it was clear that she had gained some significant weight.

Her face had also gotten rounder and less angular. Her checks looked like they always had some food in them, but it was difficult to tell if that was actually from food or if that’s the way the new fat sat on her face. 

Her skin had remained pristine fair white with a peppering of freckles. Her bangs had been cut short and framed her face while the rest of the shiny auburn-brown hair extended just past her shoulders.

The next thing I knew, she had started participating in some sports and eating healthier. To my despair, it appeared that not all the weight would stay. 

In late January, however, she told me she needed to make a surprise visit back home for a few weeks. She had been quiet about her weight for a couple months, but I knew she couldn’t have shed it all so quickly.
 

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Guest bobsithoto1

I should have just posted these together, but I didn't think this part would be ready today lol.

 

3

She pranced across the parking lot toward me with a smirk, her head tilted forward and down, forcing her to point her eyes upward toward me.

I soak in the sight of her. Her breasts strain the new blue tank top making it clear that her claims of going up more than a cup size were no exaggeration. Her thighs rub together. While perhaps not that much of a milestone for many women, Pep had appeared slightly bow legged 25 pounds ago, so the fact that she’d gained enough weight and her thighs now had enough girth to reach each other really meant something. Her much wider hips appeared to sway as she moved closer to me, not of her own volition, but because of the excess breadth displayed in her lower half.

She rams into me with surprising force, her arms stretched wide. “It’s so good to see you,” we breathe in unison. She nestles her head against my chest, and I’m in heaven with her body against mine. Although not apparent during her sashay across the lot, her “speculoos belly,” as she once called it, spread against my firm stomach in a lovely manner. As my arms wrapped around her, it was overwhelmingly clear that even her back is somewhat softer to the touch.

During the embrace of companions too long separated, I gaze down past her auburn-reddish hair at the shelf extending behind her. Her champion of a pair of jeans is really earning its keep. The small mounds behind her desperately trying to escape, her small but noticeable abdominal adipose, and the exploding 32C cup cleavage all together just about do me in. Luckily, we separate before I get unprofessional.

“Let’s go inside,” I suggest, turning around toward the self serve soft serve shop we had used to frequent before her exchange program. “It really is so refreshing to see you again,” I repeat as we both stare at each other both with grins ear-to-ear.

“I missed you too,” she said in her low sultry voice. She has one of those slightly deeper than average womanly voices. Not the manly testosterone kind of deeper voice, but one of those smooth and alluring kind of deeper voices. Not really sure what else to say about it, but it’s enough to give me gooseflesh. 

We enter the shop and she immediately grabs one of the large serving bowls and begins filling it with an assortment of flavors. These serving bowls were the kind that trick you into buying more ice cream than you could ever want. Their diameter is what makes it confusing. It seems nearly empty, but just covering the bottom of the bowl would be a normal dessert for most people. I’m not even sure I would been able to handle the sugar rush from an entire bowl.

In her haste, she filled her entire bowl, with even more ice cream stacked up in the middle, the top littered with various sugary toppings. Before seeing what she collected, I had filled my bowl a third of the way and thought I had too much.. We quickly paid and Pep parked herself on one of the couches in the lounge with a flourish and a plop. I scoot up next to her. Some quick catching up ensues, with a small discussion of her family affairs. Apparently, things aren’t going too well and she actually hadn’t eaten all day from the stress of suddenly “getting fat” and dealing with her family. Of course, it looks like the morning’s fasting is going to backfire with the massive mountain of ice cream she poured for herself.

At some point, I take notice of the fact that she’s been lounging back in an almost flat position. My guess is that, being over cognisant of her new small abdominal adipose, she’s attempting to use gravity to her advantage. When lying down, small additions like hers seem to flatten out. Tragically, this means I don’t get to inspect her new middle; however, it did make her scrunch her neck forward which added a double chin to her profile. You win some you lose some.

“All I do is eeeeat,” she groaned while delivering another large spoonful of the froyo to her compliant mouth.

In an attempt to be political, I retort, “No you don’t. You just told me you spent the whole morning without eating. You can’t just not eat, Pep.”

“Today’s an outlier. Especially compared to in Europe. I’m so fat now.”

“False. It’s not nice to lie to people.”

Rolling her eyes and lifting one of her thighs, “I’m fat. See for yourself.” She moved her right thigh to lay on top of my left thigh, hers spreading as she stopped supporting its heft. This changed our dynamic from side by side to her being half on top of me. My face heated from the sexual rush I felt from her new soft flesh being in contact with me.

“Not really sure what this is supposed to prove, it’s just your thigh,” I offer, hoping my continued denial will entice her to further prove herself.

She swallows and sighs, looking at her empty ice cream bowl, slowly setting it aside, putting one hand on her stomach as if testing the impact of her small feast. Before thinking to stop myself, I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I still have some left, and I thought I was eating too quickly. She had more than three times my ice cream and was already finished.

Unfortunately, noticing and misinterpreting my surprise, she moved her thigh back to its original place, whining, “See? You think I’m fat. You can’t believe how much ice cream I can eat. And I’m still starving.” As if orchestrated, her stomach growled audibly.

“No no no, you have it all wrong. I just freaked out because my ice cream is going to be milk before I even finish. I should be done by now, but I’ve just been talking too much. Do you want to go get some real food if you’re hungry?”

“I just ate a massive quantity of froyo, I can’t eat anything else today,” she said with what seemed like forced resolve. I decided to pay more attention to the longing expression on her face instead of her words.

“I feel like I’m playing the role of your mother, but you need some real food. You can’t live off ice cream. Weren’t you saying you miss mexican food? Let’s go grab some tacos.”

The distress in her face nearly put me to tears. It was clear that she wanted to say yes but was trying with every fiber of her willpower to say no. Her stomach spoke for her with another deep growl.

“That’s good enough for me,” I stood up and pulled her to her feet, holding her hand and lightly pulling her toward the exit.
 

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You write really well. You linger on the descriptions and work hard to get the image across. Nothing is rushed, you savour every billow and bulge. You do Pep right.

And don't worry about having more insecurity over your work, than after your first chapter. That's just you holding yourself to higher standards now, because you realise that you're quite good.

Oh, and thanks for the compliment!

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If the story is fictional then I think it's ok but now I'm super curious. What is the age of consent laws on the internet? 🤔

For apparently not writing anything like this before, I am beyond surprised. This is an amazing story and you have wonderful descriptive texts. I cannot wait until the next chapter. This is one of my favorite running stories as of now. Well done!

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  • 3 weeks later...
Guest bobsithoto1

4
 

The waitress led us to our seats, and I lagged behind Pep because of chivalry. Ladies first and all that. Just kidding, I needed to examine, from behind, the way her new body moves. I can make out the slight indentation of her bra in her softer back. The outline of her back slowly curves outward down to her promise of love handles just above her low waisted jeans. The curves continue out even farther at her hips. Her hip flair is even more wild than I had anticipated for her still meager weight, and her whole lower half shifts with each step. Instead of each gluteus moving independently of each other, they have to fight for space as one shifts down past the other. Seriously, her jeans deserve a medal.

As she slid into the booth in front of me, my reconnaissance really paid in dividends. Not only did I get to see her thighs squish into the hard bench and her breasts jiggle slightly from quick motion, but I received a sliver of a moment to bask in her torso’s side profile. Since she was forced to sit up straight at the booth bench, her stomach’s verisimilitude garnered no aid from gravity. I wasn’t shocked by any stretch, but my discovery did prove to be one of the more rewarding moments of the afternoon.

Her jeans were tight, and her blue tank hid nothing. There was no present restrictions, but the waist of her jeans did seem to cause her position to be a slightly uncomfortable squeeze against her middle. A slight shelf formed over her thighs due to the slight excess of her belly. She still seemed to have the shape of a taut stomach, the vertical lines of what used to be muscle still visible. However, it was clear that there was a new soft layer of perhaps a half inch starting from below her breasts down to her waist where it extended out slightly above her thighs. I was also able to spot the ever so slight indentation of what may be a deepening belly button. She really still had a balance of someone who might look fit but upon further inspection had much more than met the eye.

We’re seated, we order sweat teas, chips and salsa are dropped onto our table, and Pep doesn’t hesitate helping herself. As we’re flipping through the abnormally large menus, Pep keeps chomping, clearly even more famished than I had anticipated. When the salsa from the small serving bowl is gone, she absently begins delivering chips directly to her mouth from the basket.

“I can’t decide which tacos to get. I miss all of them,” the yearning in her voice nearly palpable.

“Just get one of each, they’re tiny. That’s probably barely a meal.” I really want to see what she can put away at this point, so I try to downplay how much that really is.

After a bit of hesitation she replies, “I *am* pretty hungry..”

I expected my initiation to be followed by some negotiation on her end, so I started by suggesting more than I would expect from her. If she were really serious about ordering one of each taco, this was already icing on the cake. “Are you sure that’s all you want?” I pushed, trying to truly maximize as much as possible.

“What do you mean?” she replied incredulously. “That’s a lot of food! I'm probably not actually going to order one of every taco.”

“Well if you say so,” I backed off, a little scared that pushing her more might backfire on me.

Luckily, I noticed one chip left in the basket and quickly snatched it. “Last chip,” I said while taking a bite. “Sorry, I kind of went crazy,” trying my best to keep her oblivious to her exploits.

"Yeah those went by pretty quick. Maybe we got a small basket." Seems like my antics worked!

The waitress stopped by with more chips and salsa, followed by flipping out her notepad and looking at us expectantly. I begin ordering for both of us, not taking any chances with Pep changing her mind at the last moment, "We'll take one of each taco, but make that two carne asada and two chorizo. Also, we'd like some of that fresh guacamole." I had already eaten lunch, but I got the additional two tacos for myself so Pep doesn't feel awkward eating alone.

Like I said, the menus were large. This was the kind of restaurant that had almost everything tex-mex and authentic. The selection of tacos was not excluded from this variety excess and included: al pastor, barbacoa, cabeza, chorizo, lengua, carne asada, carnitas, and pescado for a grand total of 8 types. These are the authentic smaller tacos, though, not quite the size of the americanized ground beef variety. Even with these smaller tacos, however, 8 is nothing to be scoffed at. Especially at the rate Pep had been going through this second batch of chips and salsa.

"Which tacos did you get for me?" Pep questioned cheerily as another dripping chip made its way into her open maw.

"One of each, just like you wanted," I supplied with as warming of a smile as I could muster.

She stopped chewing mid chip. "WHAT? I didn't actually want 8 tacos," she exclaimed, slightly exasperated.

Playing aloof and unknowing, "What do you mean? You said you missed them all. I already ate lunch, so I only got a couple. I know you love the guac, so we can share that too." I didn't intend to take more than a couple scoops for myself.

She sat up a little straighter and just stared at me. The waitress returned with the tray of guacamole, quickly placing it on the table then hurrying away to clean a table nearby. Only after a couple more seconds did Pep finally break eye contact and go for the guacamole, moaning quietly with her first bite. I knew she wouldn't be able to resist.

We talked about an assortment of things, but it was really all just autopilot. The majority of my mind was focused on her eating. Grab chip, dip in guac, hold chip above other, lean forward, chomp, lean back a little bit, repeat. Soon, the table was yet again empty of things to dip the chips into. This time, didn’t continue eating the plain chips by themselves.

“What’s some of the best food you had?” I asked, starting a new conversation after what we had been discussing got stale.

“Everything,” she briefly paused before elaborating, “Chocolate over there is soooo good. As a gift, one of my host families gave me a literal 4 pound bag of assorted chocolates. I weighed it. They must have noticed how enthusiastic I was their chocolate..” I wanted to ask if she ate it all, but I decided to just let her continue, “My host parents spoiled me. I would eat a pizza, albeit smaller than a pizza here, then my host parents would give me muffins, later followed by chocolate and pie. Sometimes during the week, my friends and I would skip P.E. to get waffles. All my money was spent on food.” 

Our food arrived before she was able to continue. The 10 tacos (one of each for her, then an additional chorizo and asada taco for me) and three plates of rice and beans. “Oh, we didn’t order rice and beans,” I said trying not to have to pay for even more than we’d ordered.

“It’s Wednesday, you get a free plate of rice and beans with 4 tacos,” rushing off before I could argue with her. Although kind of annoyed that she made no mention of that while we were ordering, I wasn’t going to argue. Worse case scenario, I could get Pep to eat even more.

“Well, I guess it’s up to you to you. Like I said, I already ate so I’m not very hungry,” I reiterated to Pep.

“I’m not eating 3 plates of rice and beans either,” she replied with a nervous chuckle. I really hoped she would change her mind.

Then she went to town. Maybe she was still somehow feeling the intense hunger from her morning fasting, but she was done with two tacos in the same speed that I finished one. Will her second taco still in her mouth, she experimentally ran a chip through the beans, picking up a little bit of rice as well. Her face lit right after closing her mouth around the morsel. “Wow, these are much better than I expected.” And that’s all she said until she was done.

All I could do was stare. She was finished with 4 tacos and a plate of rice and beans before I realized I had just been sitting there holding half of my first taco while entranced by her. I deftly replaced her empty plate of rice and beans with one of the others. Her hands were always in motion, dipping a chip, picking up another taco, squeezing a lime over her next, pulling her sweet tea closer.

I guess she really liked the rice and beans because as I finished, she only had a little bit of rice on one plate and a single taco left. While still in her trance, I motioned the waitress over and discretely ordered some flan, confident that Pep would probably just keep eating if I just put stuff in front of her.

She shoved the last bit of taco in her mouth and looked around at the table for something else to grab. When she found nothing, it’s as if a switch went off in her head. She abruptly stopped looking around then slowly straightened up against the back of the booth’s bench, swallowing. I could see the realization of what had just happened seep into her expression.

Pep opened her mouth to begin to speak but was interrupted by the decently sized flan being placed on the table by the seemingly spectral waitress. “Enjoy.”

Trying to keep Pep’s mind off what had just happened, “I wanted some flan. Have you had it here before? It’s delicious, you should definitely try some.”

She looked like she wanted to protest, but instead of facing reality, she chose to swipe the additional spoon from my offered hand and fall back into her previous state of reverie, possibly in an attempt to prolong acknowledging the mass of food she had already consumed. I honestly contemplated ordering another dessert, but I felt as though I had already been heavy handed. Not to mention, it would be far harder to explain away a second confection.

Much like the meal, I had only taken a couple bites before she was finishing up the excess caramel on the plate. I almost thought she was going to pick up the plate and lick it. She didn’t. She leaned back, both hands on her belly. Well, maybe they were in her lap, but I couldn’t be sure with the table between us blocking the view. The sugar rush seemed to be doing wonders for her mood, the previous worry on her face following the tacos replaced with pure bliss.

She gazed at me in her sugar stupor. “Je n'ai pas faim mais je veux manger parce que j'aime manger,” pausing a moment before giving me her translation. “I am not hungry, but I want to eat, because I love to eat. A phrase that I’ve become tragically intimate with,” she breathed. “I’ve learned a lot while overseas, one of which being I can eat more than I thought.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at her and she stared back as if evaluating my reaction.

We paid and got up to leave. She grunted as she stood out of the booth, and I zeroed in on her belly. Incredible. Her belly pushed against her not-so-stretchy blue tank, an impression in the middle of the expanded zone marking her apparently deep belly button. Being a slightly longer tank top, it still covered everything, but the bottom hem of the tank didn’t make contact with her straining jeans. There seemed to be an inch of tank top overhang. If i were to be on the floor, I would no doubt see some pale flesh hanging over her jeans through that slight window between her hem and jeans. From my angle, it at least helped to point out her exaggerated bulge

As she balanced her new heft, she placed one hand on her stomach while the other hand stifled a small round of muffled burps as the movement seemed to have released some of the air trapped in her abdomen. She wasn’t massive, but she seemed to be toting around enough mass to alter her gait into a shuffling motion.

Once in the car, she leaned her passenger seat back a few degrees and placed both her hands around her bulge, testing its girth.

“Seriously, all I do is eat,” she breathed, staring into the distance.

“But you just told me that you didn’t eat all morning. I’m glad we were able to fill you up with some real food. You can’t just go hungry all the time,” I replied.

“Who said I’ve been filled up?” she asked incredulously. Then murmuring softly, “Like I said, I can eat a lot more than I thought.”

Feigning ignorance at the sheer quantity resting in her stomach, I placated, “You should have said something if you were still hungry. We could have gotten more food.”

“Mark,” - did I ever mention my name? - “I’m a black hole. We would be in there forever if we were trying to satisfy me, it simply cannot be done. I’m a monster.” I could hear the slight sob edging its way into her voice matched with the beginnings of watery eyes. 

“Heyyy, heyy,” I pleaded softly, “I’m coming over.” I awkwardly crawled across the middle console of the car to sit on her lap. Pep is a haptic communication kind of creature, although I it sounds strange to sit on her lap after crawling across the car. I was also forced to lean forward a little because of my head hitting the ceiling; however, I knew it was my best chance at comforting her. I tried my best to not put any pressure on her glorious stomach bulge, putting one of my arms around her shoulders in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. She seemed somewhat greatful from what I could tell, her beginnings of tears receding, and her hands absently inching across her middle. 

“I’m so glad I’m getting a little chance to see you. You’re just getting more beautiful all the time.”

“You mean fat,” she replied.

“No, I mean you’re really turning into an incredible woman.” I leaned in for closer hug, still ensuring to avoid pressure to her stomach at all costs.

After a brief moment of embracing, she finally gave in, “Thank you.” The two words carrying more weight than I thought possible for 8 little letters.

Before overstaying my welcome, I retreated back to the driver’s sitting, pointedly noting in the back of my mind how utterly pleasant sitting on the soft cushion of her upper thighs had been.

The moment I clicked my seat belt, she whispered, pouting slightly, “I want pizza.”
 

 

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Guest bobsithoto1

5

As if any sudden movement or utterance would alert the tranquil food vacuum, Pep, to her predicament, I silently turned on the car and rushed a few blocks up the street to the nearest pizza buffet. We walk in and grab a booth in the back corner, a quiet stillness between us. We make brief eye contact, then she’s off to the races.

Still unsure of what might set off Pep, I stay in the booth, trying my best to not glance in the buffet’s direction to see what Pep’s gathering for herself. She returns, dropping a plate heavily on the table. She has 5 big pieces of thick pan crust pizza stacked on top of each other. She slides into the booth with surprisingly alluring grace. Without acknowledging me and without ceremony, she lifts the first piece to her mouth and gingerly takes a modest bite. Mouth and eyes closed, she slowly chews through the bite over the next few stretched seconds. Then she swallows, her eyes darting open, glued to the piece of supreme pizza in her hands.

There’s a fire in her eyes, pairing so beautifully with her fair complexion and collection of freckles wrapping from cheek to cheek over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes shine in concert with the shimmery auburn red hair that’s framing her face and trailing across her shoulders. And after a pause lasting both an eternity and the barest of moments, she strikes furiously, quickly destroying the piece of pizza before I know what’s happening.

The other pieces soon follow suit, honorably sacrificing themselves to the maw of the burning warrior across the table from me. As she retrieves the final piece from the plate, in a low voice barely above a whisper, I hear the word, “More,” escape from her mouth. Without a shred of uncertainty, I understand and take on my role in this adventure, rising from the table and rushing to the buffet before that final slice in her hand falls.

As if planned, I return with two plates at the same moment she swallows the last bite of her original plate. On one of the new plates lies another stack of 5 pieces of similar pizza. On the other, a small mound of cinnamon bread sticks with a generous pool of warm icing glaze. Again, without a glance in my direction, she gets to work.

Moments later, there’s a single cinnamon stick left on her plate, her hands and lips smeared with grease, her eyes glossed over. Her speed had gradually slowed over the course of these final 2 plates, and she seems to be eating now out of some kind of spite instead of ravenous abandon. She bites into the stick, chewing at a similar speed to her test bite of the first piece of pizza, slowly, methodically. Another bite, halfway done. She dunks the remaining half of the stick into the small puddle of remaining glaze, rolling the stick around to ensure maximum coverage.

Opening her mouth wide and closing her eyes, she shoves the rest of the stick in her mouth, which proves to be a difficult quantity of food to handle in a single bite as some glaze dribbles down toward her chin momentarily until it’s lapped up by her greedy tongue. She swallows heavily with her palms resting on the table, then slowly leans back into the black cushions of the booth.

Her eyes open and focus on my own, calling desperately into my soul for something.. I can’t quite pinpoint what it is, though. It’s as if she’s on the verge of tears, yet completely satisfied and happy at the same time. Her eyes pull me in and all I want to do is tell her how beautiful and perfect she is. She clearly hates that she can’t stop eating, but part of her was also trying to fill some kind of void, perhaps both literal and symbolic. I nearly tear up along with her, getting lost in the emotion of her gaze.

Her hands slide off the table and down to her middle, hidden by the table between us, her eyes still fixed on mine. Emboldened by lust and her all-too-apparent need for comfort and reassurance in her time of indulgence, I climb out of my side of the booth and slide in next to her, doing everything I can to keep from blanching at what I saw.

I wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and the other around her front in an awkward hug, brushing past her abdominal protrusion, eliciting a small gasp from her in the process. No matter the length of her tank top, it’s no match for such a formidable foe. A band of pale, taut flesh pokes out of the front of her shirt, slowly inching the shirt up further as she runs her hands in circles around her belly. She attempted to pull down the shirt a bit more, but all that accomplished was slightly exposing her straining bra, a noticeable but subtle bit of breast flesh bulging over the lip of the undergarment.

She visibly relaxed her posture and closed her eyes after I had wrapped my arms around her, accepting my gesture of assurance that I didn’t believe her to be insane. It was difficult to not just stare straight down into her slowly rising and falling cleavage as her breathing came in short and straining heaves, often mixed in with light moans (either from pain or pleasure, I really couldn’t tell). 

Remembering a second dessert that I didn’t grab on my first trip, I released Pep, stating, “I’ll be right back,” followed by quickly jolting to my feet and beelining straight to the buffet.

I returned to a truly stuffed Pep, setting a plate of several slices of cherry dessert pizza on the table and sliding into the booth right next to her, my thigh pressing into her squishy one. Having been away for a few moments, I took in the stuffed angel in a new light. Her boobs really had gone up a couple sizes, now more visible from the dwindling shirt realestate covering her expanding body. The dome of her stomach started right under those swollen breasts and ended on top of her thighs, disappearing into unbuttoned jeans - wait, when did that happen? The dome strained against her tank top. Regardless of the state of tautness in which she found her stomach, her hiccups would still send a gentle waves across the surface like a radar.

Her eyes bolted open when she heard the ugly, green, ceramic plate dink on shiny, fake-wood table. Slowly widening her eyes as she took in the additional morsel, she moved her gaze to me, her hands still making little circles on the sides of her stomach. I met her stare for a moment before picking up one of the decadent slices and moving it to her mouth - the restaurant was almost empty at this point of the mid afternoon, otherwise I’m not sure I would have had the confidence to do something like this in such a public place.

She looked at the piece as I slowly moved it toward her mouth, and she dutifully opened without leaning forward or making any other accommodations. She would simply open and close her mouth, making me pull on the slice in order to break it off into her mouth. Her eyes would close, and she would chew slowly, almost sensually, until I would see her swallow the contents, pushing them down with some difficulty. And her mouth would open again. And again. After the first slice, her mouth continued to open. 

After taking down 4 of these dessert slices, the difficulty of her breathing increased dramatically, her freckled face flushed red, and her skin had started to glisten around her face with the beginnings of sweat. When I offered the 5th slice, she was slow in opening her mouth. I held it there in front of her face for a solid 5 seconds before she finally opened her mouth, and we continued until the whole thing was in her glorious dome.

“Are you satisfied?” I ventured nervously.

After a few heaving breaths and opening her eyes she replied, “I...I don’t know.” I found her gaze fixed on the final piece on the plate in front of her.

At this point, I couldn’t believe she was even considering anything else. I wasn’t sure what the best course of action would be, so I tried to play it off like she hadn’t just eaten enough food to feed an army. “We could go back to the car to help you get comfortable and pick up some ice cream or something.”

This seemed to wake her up from something and she looked down at herself, attempting to tug on her tank to cover the band of flesh around her waist. Again, all this did was further reveal her overflowing breasts. Her face turned a deep red. It was January, but it had been uncharacteristically warm the past few weeks, I was only wearing a light jacket. I knew it probably wouldn’t help cover much, but I took it off and offered it to her.

“Thanks, I’m ready,” she said, her embarrassment easing up minutely. She followed me out of the booth, zipping up the jacket as she stood. While it did hide the glimpses of bare flesh bursting from her tank top, it didn’t really do much to hide her glutenous evening, hugging her curves tightly. I paid at the counter and walk Pep to the car, one of my arms around her shoulders for stability, one of her hands leading hers in front of her. At a glance, it would probably look like a man leading a heavily pregnant angel.

Once we’re both inside, she leaned her chair back 45 degrees, then slowly unzipped the jacket, her body expanding through the opening, helping the zipper undo itself.

Then, things got sloppy. 

-----------

 

I actually wrote this shortly after the previous chapter and decided it was overly gratuitous and not too realistic. In short, I feel I got a little carried away and decided I would scrap it and take the story in a different direction. However, at this point, I don't think I'll ever revisit this story, it has run its course. As such, I thought I'd just put it out there. No reason to keep it locked away 🤷‍♂️ 

Hope you enjoyed it, sorry for cutting it just when it got interesting haha. 

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Glad you shared it. It's wonderfully written, and you work hard to make sure this is romantic first and kinky second. The emphasis on their eyes remaining connected, the details in the descriptions keep it above the water of gratuitous and into something more affectionate. Really enjoyed this and your writing in general

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