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Milf Avenue

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20 minutes ago, Batman76 said:

I need a corset bust

But Rebeca's corselet is reinforced with steel! 

She'd have to be the most disgracefully monumental glutton in the whole of California to bust that... 🤔

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Great story, Cool, best story since Kim( the stuck up high school girl) ,thinking when the Girdled spanxed  hefty hotties are at the event ,the hot 🥵 tv Cameras & Lights cause uncomfortable & erogenous feelings and wardrobe malfunctions,Maybe a stuck up news anchor who is isn’t as hot as we think and a maybe a cat fight too😉

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Right then... Rebeca Moore, the vain ex-fittie, finishes her second blowout of the day.

 

Chapter 4: Corselets and Carbohydrates (part 2)

 

“Urrrp! Uhn! So gassy! Urrrrrrrrr.” Panted Rebeca Moore as she staggered downstairs. En route, she managed to tug her exquisite black dress over her head and toss it onto the bannister.

“BURP! Oh! I’m so bloated! Doesn’t that fucker know sex is very uncomfortable for a girl right after such a big meal?” The tall trophy wife moaned about her husband.

Rebeca could have added that sex – even in cowgirl, as she had just discovered – was even more uncomfortable for a woman’s tummy when the meal she’d just eaten was not simply big, but so enormous that it had inflicted upon her a second major case of constipation in one day.

“Ooo! Urrrr!”

All the casserole in the huge dish hadn’t been enough to defeat the steel cording of her corselet’s waistband! Despite Rebeca’s repeated protestations that she felt too full to take another bite, and that her stomach – pushed right up under her massive, round breasts – was indeed bulging outwards despite the stiff underwear, her fucking hubby had not relented. In his infuriatingly demanding manner, Dr Moore had taken it into his head that his Puerto-Rican trophy wife needed to “learn some moderation” – by the very specific method of eating until her waist reached a modest 31 inches before stopping and going upstairs for sex. This had become a major problem for Rebeca, because it turned out the steel cord of her corselet’s 29 inch waistband had virtually no stretchiness at all! All the relentless servings of casserole – and then trifle, followed by an entire German chocolate cake with plenty of cream – had done was to cram ever more stuffing into her poor middle. Since the crushing underwear had no give, that meant Rebeca had been forced to eat until she could scarce breathe, and her boobies had all but popped out of the top.

“And I can barely breathe!”

Having to pant and hyperventilate wasn’t  Rebeca’s only problem, either. With no room to expand to the size made possible by her recent binge-eating habits, Rebeca’s stuffed stomach had been squeezed so hard that all her buttered bread rolls and sushi, and cheesy broccoli soup, along with much meaty casserole, had been shoved down into her lower belly undigested as she shovelled down trifle and chocolate cake on top. Given that Mrs Moore’s guts already felt a bit delicate due to the day’s overindulgence, she hadn’t been surprised by the quick onset of painful bloatedness, gas, and burping that accompanied her bouts with constipation!

Rebeca’s silk dress might have come off, but there was no way her black, far too-tight corselet was moving anywhere, no matter how hard she tugged at it. Still, she could remove the crushing corselet later with scissors – what the former Miss Bikini, South California needed right now was something to relieve her bloatedness!

“Where are my fucking laxatives?” Rebeca burped, before adding, “Oh, fuck!” as she realised she’d already found the pack empty earlier in the day.

“A little more olive oil then!” Rebeca groaned, as she farted repeatedly without getting any relief.

“Ugh!” Rebeca exclaimed, after a small swig from a new bottle. “Yuk! This isn’t real olive oil!”

The caramel-skinned trophy wife’s lips curled in horror as she read the label on the quart-bottle of oil she’d swiped from the overhead cupboard, and realised why it tasted so disgusting! Instead of the floral-scented, organic, extra-virgin olive oil from the Hollywood healthfood boutique, the maid had somehow topped up the cupboard with a cheaper brand. It wasn’t organic, and it wasn’t even extra-virgin! Hell, it even contained a blend of ordinary vegetable oils! It was undrinkable! She would have to lubricate her guts some other way.

A hunt through the shelves presented Rebeca with two possibilities. (1) A tin of concentrated prune juice, with added natural sugar, and (2) a couple of blocks of soft organic butter – which the ex-model imagined were close-enough in composition to olive oil that they might work. Rebeca resolved to try both, and set to work gorging her way through them.

It was heavy going. Rebeca sweated, mopped her brow with butter-stained fingers, panted, and burped. Her earlier ten minutes of sex with her hubby had left her out of breath, and the corselet was far too tight. That surely explained why, despite her natural athleticism, she wasn’t recovering her breath very quickly. Fortunately, after swallowing the last of the butter, Rebeca had the bright idea of hefting her big boobs out of her underwear entirely. Phew! That provided a welcome relief for her confined tummy and lungs!

“Phew!” Rebeca sighed.

“Hmm.” With her boobs flopping over the front of her black girdle, perhaps there was room for a teeny bit more trifle… Just while she waited for the butter and prune juice to relieve her bloated tummy!

“Yum!” Rebeca licked her lips as she heaved the half-full trifle dish from the pudding refrigerator back onto the kitchen table.

The ex-fittie dug in to the trifle, eating it directly from the big silver serving spoon. One big serving. And a second. And a third… And a fourth! And a fifth! “Mmm!” She enthused, before shifting in her seat. “Perhaps a little more cream!” Rebeca heaved herself up to go to the refrigerator.

“URRP! Oh!”

Rebeca doubled over and clutched her tummy.  

“Tummy ache!”

Loosing her hefty boobies from her corselet had allowed Rebeca’s stomach to shift… But the gluttonous trophy wife had overestimated how much extra room she had freed up for extra trifle. And now she’d stuffed her poor belly to the point of very painful overload! Again!

“Need relief!” Rebeca moaned. She must have eaten a bit too much! She should have gotten out of her corselet prior to her post-sex snack!

“Come on!”

Rebeca tugged at the top of her shapewear, but it just wasn’t going anywhere! The stiff fabric was a size eight, with a steel-stayed waistband, and it had taken a Mars-bar fuelled effort to squeeze Rebeca’s more generously proportioned body into the thing before dinner… And now, after a massive meal, she couldn’t shift it a millimetre no matter how she tugged.

Rebeca felt breathless and dizzy.

“Hiccup!”

“Okay, Rebeca. Time to get out of this damn thing!” Rebeca hiccupped.

There was only one thing for it! The deluxe kitchen scissors – which Rebecca normally used for opening cartons of luxury Hollywood health food – would have no problem cutting open the strong fabric of her corsage! It would be a shame to have to replace the costly undergarment… But, on the other hand, Rebeca confidently expected to be back in trim before her hubby returned from next week’s business trip. So there was no need to worry about that!

“Hiccup!”

Rebeca strained to get a good viewing angle towards the top of the corselet, down the canyon between her well-developed breasts, and burped copiously in the process. Soon, she triumphed!

Slice!

“Phew!”

Rebeca exhaled deeply as she cut a neat vertical line down the front of her corselet, and released the uppermost six inches of her long torso from its crushing grasp – the taut fabric instantly pinging apart apart under tension. It wasn’t the only place that strain was released! As Rebeca breathed deeply of the mansion’s cool, conditioned air, she noticed with alarm just how far outwards her swollen stomach surged! Her upper tummy bulged out in a taut dome, as if two gallons of blended milkshake had been pumped into a water balloon – and the ex-bikini model studiously ignored that fact that this was not far from a true description of what she’d shovelled into her tummy during her evening so far!

“Ooooh! That’s better! BUURRP!”

There was just one little problem left for Rebeca: the steel-cord in the waistband! It was too strong, and the deluxe kitchen scissors which had skimmed so cleanly through the costly silk and nylon blend of the upper panel barely seemed to nick it. And it was still causing the Puerto Rican beauty a lot of uncomfort!

“Oh! Come on!” Rebeca panted, before her beautiful eyes widened in shock at an alarming sound.

The stairs! Was that the sound of her hubby stomping sleepily down to the mansion’s kitchen?

“Uh oh!”

Dr Moore would be furious if he saw that Rebeca – far from having regained her trim, sub-size 8 figure – had been cheating with shapewear. And the sight of his wife standing barefoot in the wreckage of said shapewear – because she’d gorged herself too fat to take it off properly – was likely to incense him further!

Rebeca took the deepest breath she’d taken in months, and sucked in for all she was worth as she saw the door to the kitchen swing open, but it was in vain! Her broad, bloated belly bulged six inches ahead of her, and didn’t alter its shape even a little bit in at all in response to her straining! However, something else did alter, and more than a little bit!

As Dr Rob Moore dropped his water glass and gaped in shock at his fattened-up trophy wife, Rebeca realised that her struggle with the scissors might indeed have nicked and weakened the steel cord of her corselet waistband! 

Snick!

Snap!

Rip!

“Ooof! That’s better!” Exclaimed the fattened ex-fittie, as her lower belly surged out of her burst shapewear, protruding out at least as much as the six inches of her stuffed stomach – and displaying a heavy padding of flab in the process!

Dr Moore stood speechlessly. His jaw worked, but no sound came out.

“Urp!” Rebeca hiccupped. Her tummy felt a lot better after that release! She probably wouldn’t need the laxatives after all – and that was good, because the prune juice and butter didn’t seem to be doing much except digesting peacefully and adding to her flab.

Rebeca’s hubby, the grey-haired and self-important Dr Rob Moore, finally found words to express his shock at his wife’s bloated and fattened-up state.

“In all my years, Rebeca – even though I work in a fertility clinic, and I’ve seen many, many actresses affected by the potent appetite stimulants which help them put on enough weight to conceive – I have never seen another woman with such an outrageously bloated belly! I can’t believe it! Why, I swear you are the most wantonly gluttonous woman in California! And as for the consequences? Well, you obviously don’t care that all the world can see you’re letting yourself get very fat! But I most certainly do, Rebeca! As your husband, I will not stand for this disgrace! As of right now, I’m cancelling your credit cards, and having the maid put you on a very strict diet!”

Rebeca Moore pouted chubbily. She didn’t like the tone of her husband’s diatribe. However, she was pretty sure she’d come up with an ingenious – and possibly true – plan to shut him up.

“But, darling!” Rebeca trilled.

“It’s good news!” She continued, patting her gravid, gurgling tummy… “I think I’m starting to experience a few little pregnancy food-cravings!”

 

* * *

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Awesome,So 🥵 hot,There is so much of this in real life,Fatty Phonies who go to any length to look 👀 hot,Ooh,sooooTiiiiiggghht,Riding up ,More of these hefty hotties harnessed to perfection Bravo👍

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Chapter 5: Pastries and Plumpers (part 1)

 

Three days later.

 

“A couple more for the road, Rebeca?” Inquired the buxom matron of Mill Avenue, Mrs Sophie Smithe.

The Ladies' Club brunch at Sophie's mansion had been rather thinly attended today, and so a hefty haul of the middle-aged blonde's exquisite but exceedingly fattening pastries still half-filled the side-tables of her lounge. This was despite the heroic onslaught which her friends, Rebeca Moore and Penelope Plum, had launched upon the mountain range of cream and calories that Sophie had spread out for her neighbours to enjoy. Penelope Plum herself – a well-to-do and well-endowed former porn actress, who had retired at the age of “ahem, 31” after her prosperous lifestyle had made her too overweight to squeeze into the barbarian queen outfit and other fantasy wear with which she had earned herself a tidy fortune – was snoring on the sofa in a sugar-fuelled doze.

Rebeca Moore, the gorgeous and delightful new young wife of wealthy but pompous Dr Moore, was still going strong. And thank goodness for that!

Normally, Sophie Smithe would be unperturbed by the prospect of over ten thousand calories of leftovers after a brunch meeting. The buxom blonde was proud of her richly ample humps, which bespoke her prosperity, and she never balked at the opportunity to indulge her sweet tooth. That said, however, Sophie was a little concerned about the sheer amount of calories that she would have available to graze upon if she didn't pack a few more pounds of pastry into the young and increasingly well-rounded Mrs Moore. This was because Sophie had recently discovered, after a visit to her friendly neighbourhood doctor to seek advice about an occasional ache in her knee, that she had gained three-and-a-half stone of weight since the end of this year's January detox diet! Despite her protests of being in excellent shape – as attested by her vigorous sex life with her hubby – Sophie had been prescribed a bagful of diet pills and told to cut back on pastry! And therefore she'd limited herself to just a baker's dozen of her deliciously decadent brunchtime treats. In fact, Sophie had felt a little impolite, due to not keeping Rebeca and Penelope company during the younger women's heavy session of eating, but there was no alternative: the diet pills had an unpleasant laxative effect when combined with processed sugar in much quantity, and until the month's supply of medicine was used up she just couldn't enjoy a proper feed!

Mrs Rebeca Moore smiled delightedly as she lifted another eclair, a couple of cream puffs, another slab of layered Russian honey cake and a big, artisinal Oreo donut onto her empty plate... Then her hand hovered over the platter of Sophie's home-made lemon tart.

Do help yourself to tart, Rebeca! There's more than plenty!” Sophie exclaimed.

Sophie thought for a moment, and then took an enormous wedge of tart. Sophie smiled broadly as the pretty Puerto-Rican drenched the tart with heavy cream from the big jug.

Good girl!” Sophie enthused.

Rebeca savoured a few bites from her latest plateful of calories, before setting down the plate and taking a slurp of iced milk.

“Oh! It's fabulous, Sophie!” Rebeca replied. “... But, but, but...” The young woman patted her belly for emphasis...

Rebeca Moore was wearing a beautiful, diaphanous Empire-line dress. It showcased her fabulously large bosom... The dress also, despite its forgiving floatiness, did not hide the swell of the beauty queen's bulging belly – at least, not now that it was stuffed with mountains of fattening tarts, cakes, and creams! She certainly seemed to be smuggling a football! And Sophie had not failed to notice the rapidly growing girth of her friend's rear – now quite a match in breadth and fullness for her buxom breasts! Sophie had a suspicion there might be a marriage-related reason for her neighbour's weight gain and appetite, and was itching to find out if she was right.

“A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, eh Rebeca?” Sophie chirped.

A look of confusion briefly crossed Rebeca's pretty face.

“Oh, no! Nothing like that! I just have to save a little room, Sophie.” Rebeca explained with a coy smile, as she patted her large tummy. “I'm anticipating a very big lunch today!”

Sophie suppressed a look of surprise. A big lunch! Surely that was a physical impossibility! After packing away all those pounds of pasty and pie, Sophie had felt certain that Rebeca must be close to glutted! After all, the tall beauty had gorged her way through such a weight of sugary delicacies and fattening fillings that poor Penelope Plum – herself a big eater whose considerable appetite and large eating capacity had resulted in too much weight gain for her to keep her career as a mainstream pornographic actress – had been unable to keep up and had instead slumped into a food coma.

“Really! Oh! Well, if you're sure, Rebeca.” Sophie replied. “But do tell me where you're going for lunch!”

Rebeca trilled happily as she explained her lunch plans. After listening, Sophie was delighted by the confirmation that her neighbour was responding so level-headedly to the discovery of her hubby's recent marital straying.

“Well.” Rebeca explained. “Thanks to all the good advice you and Lara have given me about my hubby's recent, shocking marital indiscretion with his skinny nurse, I've decided to make matters even again while he's away on his business trip!”

“Good for you!” Sophie clapped her hands together as she exclaimed.

A little lunchtime affair was exactly the right way for Rebeca to get her own back on her cheating hubby – and a richly-deserved chance for the married fitness model to enjoy a tumble with a man who possessed enough stamina to satisfy her!

“Well thank you for the suggestion!” Rebeca trilled. “And so, I have invited myself around for lunch with our very handsome newest neighbour!”

“Oh, good choice!” Sophie exclaimed. “That Eris is quite a well-muscled, beefy dish, isn't he? I'd take a him for a little tumble myself if I were still your age!”

Rebeca blushed. Of course, Sophie was much too old – and, frankly, far too fat – to get into the shorts of such a cute and lightly muscled young man as their rich new neighbour... Or at least, Rebeca had thought as much, until she'd reflected on what she'd learned about Eris and how she might seduce him. And she'd been so pleased with herself for working it out that she couldn't help but explicate her plans to her best friend on the Avenue.

“”He is, Sophie! And do you know what I've learned about him?”

“Oh! Do tell!” Sophie leaned in conspiratorially as Penelope snored and began to drool a little bit of chocolate sauce from her excessively-fillered lips.”

“Well, Sophie! Have you noticed how bloated and, frankly, overweight Lara has been looking lately – in fact, ever since she started slipping into his mansion on an almost daily basis?”

Sophie mused.

“Hmm. Now you mention it, Rebeca, I had noticed Lara seems to have been packing away a few more puddings than she's been burning off at the gym lately! In fact, I was starting to worry she might need to slim down her tum a bit if she's going to maintain Mill Avenue's winning streak in the neighbourhood's annual late-summer bikini contest this year! Not that I'm criticising her, of course... But you're saying you think she's plumped up because she's been dating our new neighbour, and he's a chubby chaser! What a splendid tidbit of gossip, Rebeca!” Sophie said with a glint of glee.

“Yes! But don't tell anyone, Sophie! It'll be our little secret insight for now!”

“Oh, you can always count on my discretion, Rebeca!”

“Thank you, Sophie. In fact, perhaps after I've given him a little fling, and I've found out if he really is into ladies who are – ahem – big eaters... Perhaps you'd like to consider squeezing yourself into a stretchy little dress that shows off your curves, and giving him a go yourself?”

Sophie Smithe salivated at the prospect. She popped a sweet orange tart into her mouth before remembering she was on diet pills – and then winced as her tummy rumbled urgently for the loo.

“What a good idea, Rebeca!” Said Sophie.

“You're very welcome! Oh! And that reminds me! Don't worry about Lara for the neighbourhood bikini contest! Remember, I'm a professional bikini model. I've got the contest in the bag for Mill Avenue for the next twenty years or so!”

So saying, Rebeca stood up and patted her ample breasts, giving plenty of emphasis on how well they would fill any bikini top ever made. Then she swished around and departed with a wiggle that showed off – far more than she realised – that the caramel-bronze trophy wife had far more bottom and belly to show off than the last time she'd won a bikini contest.

* *

 

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On 8/6/2020 at 12:19 AM, >_< 0_0 said:

It’s like Pride and Prejudice, except in Beverly Hills, and all the girls are getting fat 🍑 

My favourite setting!

 

Chapter 5: Pastries and Plumpers (part 2)

 

“Knock, knock.” Rebeca trilled happily as she operated the shiny gargoyle knocker newly-installed on the front door of Number 12, Mill Avenue. “Guess who?”

Soon, to Rebeca's delight, the door was answered by the gorgeously lean, muscular young blond man who had just recently become her newest neighbour. Eris wore an open raw linen shirt that displayed his ripped abs. Phwoar! Rebeca's brain thought on her behalf. He's almost as beautiful as I am!

“Hello, Rebeca. How nice of you to come over! Won't you come in?” Eris greeted her.

Rebeca's mouth went dry. Heavens, her neighbour was a hottie! She could already feel an enormous appetite for sex building up within her – and she hadn't even yet run a caressing hand over his lean, delectable flesh! Phew! Rebeca felt a hot flush coming on.

Shortly, Rebeca stood in the dining area of a huge, open-plan kitchen, struggling to think clearly enough to say something sexy. She settled for explaining why she was carrying two hefty cake tins, while setting them down on the bespoke pinewood dining table.

“Brownies.” Rebeca explained.

The ex fitness model's heart skipped a beat as Eris smiled in pleasure at her gift.

Why, thank you, Rebeca! I certainly hope you brought a huge appetite, if you've brought two big tins of brownies along with you. Because, I can assure you, I'm a great cook, and I haven't skimped on lunch for you today!”

Rebeca gave a happy, greedy smile, and blushed a little.

Oh, I certainly have, Eris! But, I have to admit, I'm not a very good cook, and only one of these tins is my brownies... I made more, but they didn't all bake right. No, the other one is full of pastries from my friend, Sophie. She's the best cook ever, and she had leftovers she absolutely insisted I could bring with me!”

“Hmm. I like the sound of this Sophie!” Said Eris. “But I'm surprised, having such a friend, that you've managed to keep such a slim figure! Tell me: how do you stay so beautiful, Rebeca?”

Mmm!” Rebeca approved. Now this was a real man! Not like like her weak, skinny-chaser of a husband. She replied, while patting her tummy and imagining it to be almost empty of food and three or four dress sizes smaller than it really was. “Well, Eris, I do take care to eat only wholesome, organic food in moderation! One does have a figure to maintain, after all, so one can't afford to be careless with one's diet, or to skimp on aerobic sessions at the gymnasium!”

Quite so, Rebeca. And I do admire the results! That Empire-line dress of yours shows off just how wonderful your figure is! But...” Eris paused.

Rebeca salivated as her neighbour continued to flatter her – and hoped she wouldn't be wearing the Empire-line dress for the whole afternoon, or even for most of it...

“Yes, Eris?”

After all the work you clearly put into your figure, Rebeca, I think you deserve a hearty lunch. And so I hope you don't mind that most of the dishes I've prepared for you are... A little bit fattening!”

Oh!” Exclaimed Rebeca, as she felt herself losing control of her appetite at the first hint of a sinfully-vast meal – as well as because of the many delicious aromas emanating from the kitchen area. “I don't mind at all! After all,” Rebeca patted her lower tummy, heedless of its bulging flab within her generously cut dress. “One must enjoy an occasional little treat!”

 

* *

 

“Oh!” Groaned Mrs Rebeca Moore, expressing a mixture of being painfully overfull as well as most pleasurably overindulged in a single, drawn out syllable.

“Oooh!” She repeated, in a more strained voice, as she leaned back and her painfully overfull tummy expanded a little more.

Rebeca reclined as far as she could in the padded kitchen chair. “Sooo. Stuffed! Oooh!”

Lunch with Eris had been everything the gluttonous, overweight trophy wife could have hoped for – thrice over! It was as if she'd been stuffed to bursting point, and then taken out for a 17 course tasting menu at her favourite restaurant! Her middle felt as overloaded as it had during the recent corselet-busting double-blowout with her husband the other night – except this time she wasn't wedged into any shapewear, and hence she'd been able to indulge so much more before reaching the point of utter, saturated bloatedness.

“Oh! So delicious!”

“I'm happy you approve of my tarragon and meatball stew just as much as you loved the other four main courses, Rebeca!” Said Eris.

“Oh, I most certainly do, Eris! But I'm soo stuffed, now! I hope you didn't prepare dessert, too!”

The lean young man patted Rebeca's swollen belly, eliciting a grateful, prolonged burp. He affected a disappointed tone in reply to her comment.

“Rebeca! A woman with your fitness level and height needs to eat plenty to keep her strength up! So I certainly hope you don't think I would have overlooked the preparation of several desserts for you! There are five – one for each main course – and they aren't small! Then there are those brownies and your friend's pastries, and I don't expect you to just nibble on them like you did my stew!”

Eris gestured at the vast, empty bowl of delicious, red herbal stew. The bowl had initially held over a quart and – after a very welcome and rather intimate belly rub from her sexy neighbour – Rebeca had asked for a second helping, and then practically licked the bowl clean but for a teaspoonful at the bottom... But she was starting to regret it.

“Urp!” Rebeca groaned hazily. “I ate too much already!”

Eris gave Rebeca a stern look, which she didn't notice due to the fact she was leaning back as far as possible and staring at the smoke-stained oak ceiling beams.

“Rebeca! If you're too full for pudding I'll be very disappointed! You shouldn't have eaten four olivebread rolls to begin with if you weren't sure you'd have room to finish!”

“Urp! I didn't know you were going to feed me ten starters! And those mains were huge! And I had seconds of three of them, because you're such a good cook!” Rebeca moaned.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Rebeca! Now lean back to ease your tummy, open wide, and I'll spoonfeed you the gelato. It's the lightest dessert course, and I'm sure a woman like you always has room for gelato!”

“Oh! I do want gelato!” Rebeca moaned. “But I'll burst if I eat another morsel! Please, Eris. A little break! I beg you!”

Eris covered his mouth with his hand, and grinned covertly. Gelato? On top of the fourteen pounds of heavy food – bread rolls, canapes, sushi, oily salads, biscuits, pie, stuffed duck, pasta, spicy Caribbean chicken with rice, the stew, et cetera – and sweetened fruitjuice cordials she'd already knocked back? This milf's gluttony is bottomless! She's perfect!

“Hmm. Perhaps we could take a few minutes break and I could give you another tummy rub?”

“Oh! Your tummy rubs are so good, Eris! But I need a bigger break now! Perhaps... Perhaps we could go to your big, four-poster bed for an hour or two? I can promise I'll be hungry again after that! I always am!”

Rebeca batted her eyelashes seductively, but to no avail. Her sexy neighbour remained implacably stern.

“Rebeca!” Eris admonished her. “I'll have you know I have a very strict policy of never sleeping with a woman who isn't able to finish her entire meal! And, for you, that means all five desserts, and at least half of your brownies and pastries.”

“Urp!”

Rebeca felt sick. There was no way she could eat that much! She was stuffed from ass to tit, and her engorged stomach was as full and heavy as she could remember! She couldn't cram in any more! Well, not much more, anyway.

“But...” Eris continued.

“But?” Rebeca burped hopefully. He must be teasing me! There's no way Lara could eat this much, and I'm certain he's been fucking her!

“I do have a little something that might help you get your appetite back. It's an old recipe for spiced fruit juice I found in a notebook I acquired in my antiquarian book business. And most women find it very invigorating!...”

Rebeca's mouth watered at her sexy neighbour's seductive voice. Fruit juice was, of course, fattening, and she did have an upcoming local bikini contest to win, so she'd have to exercise it off tomorrow... But the thought of declining Eris' suggestion never entered her mind.

“I'll try it!”

“Good girl!”

“But, Eris, if it does work and can manage a bit of dessert, I mustn't eat too many calories today! There's an upcoming local bikini contest, and I do need to maintain my figure if I'm to win. I'm entering on behalf of Mill Avenue, and I wouldn't want to disappoint Sophie and the girls!”

As Eris was leaning into the refrigerator to collect the giant bowl of gelato, a speciality carrot cake, and a mound of mixed fruits and chocolate, a look of irritation crossed his face. He reached inside his open shirt and retrieved a gold pentacle of weird geometry, which sparkled dimly in response to a whispered phrase.

“Did you say something, darling?” Rebeca inquired with a hiccup.

“Yes, Rebeca. I was just saying you should forget about entering this bikini contest! Find some dumb blonde to stand in for you instead – this is California, so I'm sure I won't be hard to find one! You, on the other hand, Rebeca, must concentrate on indulging yourself in the way you deserve!”

Rebeca's eyes defocussed momentarily, while her brain processed the extreme reasonableness of her sexy neighbour's suggestion.

“You know, Eris, I think you're right!” Said the former fitness model.

Eris grinned and wiped a bead of sweat from his sexy brow.

“Good! Now dig in, Rebeca! These are the first three puddings, and there's more where they came from. Oh, wait, I nearly forgot...”

Eris retrieved another item from a cabinet in the kitchen area. A small bottle of aromatic orange liquid, of which he poured a considered amount into a fresh glass of peach juice for Rebeca.

“This will help your tummy feel hungry again, Darling!”

Rebeca sniffed the fruit juice speculatively.

“Mmm. Spicy!” She said, mouth watering a little. “What's in the orange stuff?”

“Oh, it's my speciality! I make it from pumpkin seeds that I grow in my own vegetable garden. It's completely organic and plant-based, Honey!”

“Oh, good!” Said Rebeca, after finishing the big quaff she'd begun before learning of the deliciously aromatic drink's provenance. “Mmm!”

The fruit tonic was just as cool, invigorating, and delicious as Eris had promised. Rebeca licked her lips and greedily regarded the thousands of calories of puddings her host had set on the table, choosing which one she would start with.

“Hmm, decisions, decisions.” Rebeca said.

“Are you deciding which you'd like to start with, Rebeca? Perhaps the carrot cake?”

“Oh, no, Eris. I was just thinking, I could go for a little more of the pie before we move onto pudding... And perhaps a – no, two – more servings of your wonderful spaghetti and cheese sauce. But only two! After all...”

Rebeca patted her belly. It bulged through the Empire-line dress, and there was clearly a heavy cladding of flab around her lower belly and hips. And her food bump and heavy breasts gave the impression she was five months pregnant.

“I do have five big puddings to get through as well, not to mention the tin of Sophie's pastries and a brownie or two – with cream, if you have a little to spare, please – and I wouldn't want to risk getting... fat!”


 

* *


 

A few hours later.


 

Eris stumbled down the dark wood stairs, making a note to have the threadbare patterned carpet replaced in due course.

“Oh. My. Gods!” He panted.

Mrs Rebeca Moore was magnificent! The former fitness model and beauty queen had to be the most gluttonous woman he'd ever met! On top of that, she was an enthusiastic fuck, and clearly well practiced! Of course, it had taken another draught of the pumpkin tonic to get her ready for the bedroom after her meal: she'd gorged herself practically comatose, until every single one of the massive desserts Eris had set out were gone, and both her own cake tins were down to their last crumbs! She'd glutted herself until she'd looked nine months pregnant in her sexy, Empire-line dress, and her curvaceous body was revealed as even fatter once the dress was rolled off! Then she'd fucked so long and so hard, in every position Eris could think of that was viable for a grossly overstuffed woman – and some that weren't. Eris had needed to use the last dribble of energy stored in his gold pendant to restore his stamina and keep up with her! It was lucky it had cost so little energy to wear down her mental resistance over the bikini contest earlier – it was the sort of trivia, in Eris' expert assessment, that could wear down an enchantment of seduction if not nipped in the bud.

“Incredible!” Eris gasped.

Mill Avenue's newest mansion owner froze in astonishment. He'd crossed the circular carpet which was one of the renovations he had made to the old, brick-walled dining area of his kitchen. Then he'd drawn aside a heavy green velvet curtain that hung in a shadowy inner corner, and seen through the brick arch into the next room.

The inner room of the mansion was a mid-sized square study. Windowless, the room had a big oval skylight, which had been replaced with grimy perspex at some point in the mansion's history. No matter. The room's location was why Eris had paid list-price for the dilapidated mansion. The original owner must have been an amateur occultist, for the room sat atop the confluence of the most potent ley lines on the entire west coast! That said, the original owner was an amateur only – the carved circle Eris had found in the stone floor under an old carpet was entirely non-functional, and it had taken considerable effort for the new owner to adjust it for a real purpose: namely, connecting a skilled practitioner of the occult such as himself with the raw natural power that bubbled out of the ground at this great source! And once that was achieved... Well, the cheerleaders who's laughed at Eris and called him a nerd would be sorry! They'd soon be joining a line of beauty queens and fashion models, all gorging themselves into obesity for the privilege of joining his harem! Of course, nothing was ever that easy.

Drawing great magical power from the ground required... well, moderate magical power. And since Eris had obtained his own arts by study of antiquarian books – i.e. he was not a witch with inborn powers, of which none were thought to still exist – obtaining and storing magical power was a ballache. Well, more precisely, it was a tummy ache – literally, for the women whose gluttonous excesses he converted into useful energy using an magic circle underneath the dining table and an appropriately-constructed storage receptacle. And it was this storage receptacle – a glass orb the size of a fancy globe, secured inside another protective circle in the inner study, and filled with green liquid to a level proportional to how much gluttonous energy it was holding, at which Eris stared with shock.

“The Orb of Gluttony!” Eris exclaimed. “How can she have filled it so much!”

Mrs Rebeca Moore's lunch had been extraordinarily gluttonous in its excessive size – true! But Eris had not expected the level of energy in the orb to rise by a whole pint! For that to happen, Mrs Moore would have to have not only eaten the grossly excessive amount that she had, but also to have utterly savoured each bite, far beyond the level of pleasure that any normal woman could take in such overindulgence. Most women – or even the unusually self-indulgent local Beverly Hills milfs or beauties such as Lara Lys – would become sated or even sick after eating a fraction of Rebeca's meal, but apparently the Puerto Rican trophy wife had remained greedy the whole way through!

Anyway, Eris tapped his gold pendant to the orb – causing the fill-level of green, “liquefied gluttony” as he thought of the stuff – to drop a little as the stored energy was transferred. But the transfer out was nowhere near the amount of energy which Rebeca had supplied via her gluttonous gorging in Eris's kitchen. Truly, with such a glorious appetite, he would have to make her his queen once he came to control the unstoppable magical powers of the LA Source. Until then, he'd just have to be careful she didn't burst!

* *


 

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2 hours ago, Batman76 said:

Damn, what a nice villain motivation. I'm wondering how big Rebecca will be by the end

Thanks! I just considered, while writing this chapter, that quite possibly Eris will not be considered a clear-cut villain by the good people of this forum - at least, his motivation is essentially comedic, so he might be an anti-hero. 

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On 8/10/2020 at 6:22 AM, >_< 0_0 said:

On 8/10/2020 at 6:22 AM, >_< 0_0 said:

Ooh, this is WAY better than Pride and Prejudice

That's excessively generous of you! 

 

Here is the whole of chapter six, in which I've endeavoured to make my own modest little homage to Jane Austen's prose structure - at least in parts. I didn't manage to use the word "felicity" as often as I ought, possibly because I'm uncertain what it means. 

By the way, a very basic outline knowledge of my earlier story, Best Served Wet, might be helpful for this chapter of Milf Avenue and hereafter. 

 

Chapter 6: @Chloecakes 

Two weeks later...


 

The Smithe's end-of-summer pool party was one of the most popular informal fixtures in the Mill Avenue social calendar, and a large attendance from every part of the prosperous neighbourhood was assured. The ambiance was relaxed, and the copious quantities of food and drink were famously excellent – so excellent that a little bulging of the attending trophy wives' and mistresses' tummies was excused for the day as the natural consequence of their politely enjoying Sophie Smithe's generous hospitality. Of course, this permission did not apply to those guests who were competitors in the party's traditional bikini contest, who were known to consume little but watered fruit juice for days in the hope of securing for their street the coveted accolade of “Miss Mill Avenue.” But there was only one competitor per street, so most of the guests were solidly gorging themselves on luxurious canapes, pastries, pies, and gelato by the early afternoon.

“Phew!” Gasped Sophie Smithe, glancing at her watch as she took a little break from seeing to the needs of her guests. “Where is that darned gel of Rebeca's?”

Until a few weeks ago, Sophie had been worried that a fight for the honour of representing Mill Avenue in the bikini contest might cause a heated argument – and perhaps a social rift – between two of her good friends, Lara Lys and Rebeca Moore. Lara was the reigning Miss Mill Avenue, whereas Rebeca was a super-hot fitness model, successful beauty competitor, and ten years Lara's junior. Ordinarily, either of them would have been certain to defeat Mill Avenue's nearest competitor: a professional aerobics instructor and trophy wife named Miss Tabitha Trimwell, who had placed seventh in Miss California five years ago, and who was the designated champion of Bellevue Crescent.

Felicitously, the events of recent weeks had conspired to ensure neither Lara Lys nor Rebeca Moore were eager to compete in the bikini contest at Sophie's pool party. For both the hot socialite and the sexy trophy wife had piled on quite a lot of weight! In Rebeca's case, the thickening thighs, hips, and tummy were the result of months of heavy overindulgence on her honeymoon and thereafter. For Lara, they were simply the consequence of a steamy relationship with their new neighbour, who had tempted the raven-haired socialite into the hedonistic pleasure of excessive over-eating with the promise of mind-blowing sex if she finished all the heavily-laden platters he set out for her lunch.

Eventually, Lara Lys had grown alarmed at the severe damage caused to her figure by her feeding sessions at Number 12, Mill Avenue. But she'd been unable to deny herself the pleasure of Eris's baking until, by good fortune, her sexy neighbour Rebeca had diverted most of his attention. Mrs Rebeca Moore had begun her own steamy affair with Eris in revenge for her husband's infidelity. More recently, Rebeca's acquisition of an incriminating video of her husband fucking his nurse during a business trip – obtained due to the older man's poor understanding of smartphone backups and passwords – had provided her with free reign to ignore the constraints on her diet that had previously resulted from marriage to an admirer of very slim beauty queens. The last few weeks had therefore been even more fattening for Rebeca than her honeymoon, and she now cut a noticeably fattened-up figure as she reclined on a sun lounger with a cream cocktail in one hand and a plate of pastries balanced on her bulging tummy. Her thick thighs bulged through her once-loose harem pants, and her one-piece swimsuit did nothing to conceal her fat hips, broad bottom, and the engorged bulge of her sizeable belly.

The sudden unavailability of both of Mill Avenue's first-rate bikini contest champions would normally be a major concern for Mrs Sophie Smithe – after all, she shared by association in the successes of her immediate neighbourhood's outstanding beauties, and it would be humiliating for the prize to go to Bellevue Crescent! However, a stroke of good fortune had reassured Sophie that, notwithstanding Lara and Rebeca's recent fattenation, this year's contest was still in the bag! For Rebeca Moore had secured an exquisitely beautiful stand-in, at the last minute. The gorgeous young blonde replacement was a professional college swimmer, who had secured a sports scholarship at a noted sporting institution in Florida – partly thanks to her early training at a prestigious LA institute where Rebeca had been her instructor – but who was this week visiting her family in LA prior to the start of her sophomore year. Rebeca had assured Sophie that the blonde, whom she had only named to Sophie via something called an “Instagram handle” as “@Chloecakes,” combined Olympian physique with a level of natural beauty in excess of the amount needed to win Miss Universe. This level of praise, coming from Rebeca Moore who was not normally so complimentary about other young ladies' degree of beauty, had struck Sophie as more that satisfactory.

Rebeca had contrived to invite the blonde college athlete to attend the pool party and stay for the night at her Mill Avenue mansion. This, given the non-existent formal rules on eligibility to enter the Mill Avenue bikini contest organised mainly by Sophie, would be sufficient to have @Chloecakes humiliate Tabitha Trimwell, for the glory of Mill Avenue.

One teeny detail continued to prey on Sophie's nerves, which had already been pulled taut by the strains of hosting a major pool party. Namely, the fact that @Chloecakes was running late – and only the additional fact that Tabitha Trimwell was equally tardy in arrival was preventing @Chloecakes from falling behind in showing off her impressive assets to the scrupulously-appointed judges who were already mingling among Sophie's guests.

BRRRR!

The doorbell!

Sophie Smithe grabbed a tropical fruit tartlet from a hunky passing waiter, and popped it in her mouth as she hustled to her front door. It was at least her tenth fattening pastry of the party. In fact, she'd deliberately skipped her diet pills for the last few days so that she would be able to indulge in plenty of sugary snacks without laxative consequences – after all, as the hostess of a prestigious party, Sophie needed to keep up her strength, as well as keep her fraying nerves well-soothed.

Through the rippled glass panel of her door, Sophie could see that her latest arrival was tall, dressed in white shorts and a skimpy pink crop top, and very busty. With any luck, it would be @Chloecakes, and Sophie could set her mind at rest about the bikini contest.

“Hello!” Sophie oozed good-humoured welcome as she flung open the front door.

The sight of the well-endowed athletic beauty on Sophie's doorstep caused the buxom hostess's brain to freeze, and the rest of her to break out in a coughing fit as she swallowed a bit of partly-chewed tropical fruit tartlet the wrong way.

Well, there was one thing for certain: Mill Avenue would definitely win the bikini contest this year! Although, quite possibly, in the face of such opposition, no other street would be persuaded to enter the competition ever again.

 

*

 

“Hi! I'm Chloe!”

The towering blonde announced herself with the sort of energetic rush Sophie associated with a Labrador puppy. Apparently the gorgeous young woman was very sorry she was running late.

“I'm sorry I'm late! I'm Rebeca Moore's friend. Well, sort of. I'm a college swimmer and Rebeca Moore used to be my instructor before I went to college, and she follows me on Instagram and she said I could come to her pool party. I hope that's Okay, and I've found the right address!” Said @Chloecakes, while glancing easily over Sophie's head to confirm there really was a big pool party in the background. “Oh, and I brought you this! I hope it's Okay.”

Chloe held out a bottle of wine, which Mrs Sophie Smithe accepted gingerly while quietly resolving to place the sub-ten dollar bottle someplace that none of her guests might accidentally drink any. On the whole, it was probably a blessing that the college student hadn't proffered wine in a carton. The crappy wine wasn't important: what mattered was that @Chloecakes was, as advertised, as statuesque and perfectly built as an action video game heroine from the late nineties or early 2000's. True, the blonde likewise sported excessively-large, crop-top fraying breasts the size of floatation buoys, but they were so pneumatically buoyant that the extra curvage would in no way detract from her ability to win, say, Miss Universe, let alone a local bikini contest such as Miss Mill Avenue. Hell, giant melon-shaped boobs with such super-human buoyancy, bounce, and firmness would probably help in a bikini contest – at least with the male judges – not that the rest of @Chloecakes' well muscled and yet sleekly streamlined body needed any help. The gorgeous girl had perfect skin with zero blemishes; the lightest and most uniform of healthy bronze tans imaginable; tousled, wet, sunrise blonde hair to her shoulders; and, overall, every other bit of her that Sophie could see was suitable for a beauty goddess who had just enjoyed a good day at the spa.

Mrs Sophie Smithe patted her well-upholstered chest and recovered from her coughing fit. Mostly.

“Are you Miss At Chloecakes?” Sophie croaked.

“Yes!” The blonde agreed, before elaborating unnecessarily. “Well, actually I'm Chloe. @Chloecakes is my boyfriend's name for my – um, for my – for me, and its the name of my Instagram channel, and ---”

Sophie cut off the chattering blonde. There was no time to waste! As an experienced party hostess, Sophie knew it was vital to get Chloe into her competition bikini and out among the guests as soon as possible, in case her hair frizzed, or the guests grew too inebriated to appreciate what they were seeing, or some other disaster.

“Come right this way, Chloe!” Sophie manhandled the blonde into the hall and pushed her towards the stairs – although it was like trying to push a boulder until the blonde realised where she was being directed.

“You can get changed into your bikini upstairs, and refresh yourself! Take your time, but get down to the party as soon as you can: the contest is very informally assessed by a team of anonymised, mingling judges, so it's imperative you show off your stuff all around.”

“Oh, thank you.” Chloe said happily, before cheerfully adding a question that made Sophie pause for thought. “I brought a couple of bikinis and a swimsuit, because Rebeca didn't say what sort of party it was, and I wanted to make sure I have something appropriate. But... What contest? She didn't say anything about a contest. Is there a race?”

 

* *

 

Sophie Smithe had toasted the success of another year's pool party and victory for Mill Avenue in another bikini contest, with the assistance of a couple of large cognacs, by the time Chloe strode onto the poolside wearing a stars-and-stripes bikini and caused mild chaos to ensue. It was nothing serious. A waiter tripped over and spilled a tray of costly canapes, a couple of men fell in the pool after they forgot to stop walking while staring in Chloe's direction, and a wealthy older man induced his trophy wife to scream by spilling his port-wine on her white bikini. In short, it was the usual clumsy behaviour of boys at a swimming pool that Chloe had known to expect from them for years

Chloe mingled, as per the instructions of her hostess, Sophie. After a while, the blonde spotted Mrs Rebeca Moore dozing on a sun lounger and looking – um – prosperously married, and decided to say hello. And, also, to ask what contest Sophie had been talking about – if there was a race, Chloe would be very happy, but it would mean she would have to change into a proper swimsuit and that she couldn't drink a second glass of the very nice Champagne that was being sloshed about the Beverly Hills party like water.

“Heey, Rebeca! Thank you for inviting me to your friend's fancy Beverly Hills pool party...” Chloe began.

Mrs Rebeca Moore finished snoring with a grunt. “Chloe!” Exclaimed she. “My Gods! You've filled out an awful lot!

“Oh, thank you!” Chloe chirped. “I've been weight training a lot this last semester, and these have grown too which everyone loves, especially my boyfriend, which is awesome because he's super-cute, and I love them too, and---”

Chloe patted her buoys to clarify what it was that her boyfriend loved, as if it wasn't obvious.

“It wasn't a compliment, Miss Southern!” Snapped Mrs Moore. “I can see you've been letting yourself go! How many sit-ups did you do this morning?”

“Um.” Chloe wondered whether Rebeca had imbibed many more of the cream cocktails than the three which sat beside her on a wooden occasional table. For while Chloe had – intentionally – added some streamlined bodyfat this summer to balance out her hard muscle growth and stay curvy for her boyfriend, who liked her fluffy, Rebeca must have packed on at least sixty pounds of flab in the same season, and was hardly in a strong position to criticise.

“Well, Chloe?”

“Um, six hundred.” Said Chloe. She hated ab crunches, but she loved it when her boyfriend spoonfed her enormous amounts of peanut butter and Nutella after sex, so they had to be done.

“Really?” Rebeca queried cynically. “Well that's clearly not enough! You must be eating too many calories! You aren't as lean as I recall! You used to be shredded, but now, although I concede you still have a prominent sixpack, I can barely see your hip bones for all that fluffy girlfriend padding! I daresay you're being overindulged by your boyfriend. I've seen it all before, Chloe! As soon as an athletic young woman settles down with an eligible young man, she almost inevitably starts to overindulge and get fat!”

Chloe blinked. Her out-of-shape former fitness instructor was clearly being a massive hypocrite. If anyone had been stuffed with far more calories than her metabolism could handle it was Rebeca! Also, Chloe didn't like having her boyfriend criticised – well, it did happen to be true that Beck was turned on by feeding Chloe vast amounts of calories, and that she'd learned to love being spoonfed peanut butter and icecream until she was absolutely fucking stuffed, and that eating huge meals while he was watching made her horny... But Rebeca couldn't know that, because Chloe burned off six thousand calories a day in the pool and gym, and the bodyfat she'd packed on for Beck hadn't stopped her becoming Florida state champion in the pool this summer. Plus she could do 36 pull-ups without a break.

“I'm not fat!” Chloe protested, leaning into Rebeca's sunlight with her hands on her bare hips. “I'm slightly fluffy – at most! And my boyfriend loves me like this!”

Hah! That is exactly the kind of gluttonous thinking which is responsible for your weight gain, Chloe! I have to say I'd expected better of you! I've always liked you, and I'd hoped you would learn from my example, and not let yourself get out of shape at the first opportunity!” Retorted Rebeca, before the exertion of her forceful reply induced the flabby former fitness trainer to to conclude her remark with a deafening “BURP!”

“Um!” Chloe began, before realising it would be horrible to say, “Look who's fucking talking,” to the friend who had invited her to such a nice pool party, and who, in fact, had always been nice to her in the past.

“So, Rebeca.” Chloe asked instead. “How is marriage? You must really be loving this whole Beverly Hills thing?”

It was a pretty fair bet that Mrs Rebeca Moore was enjoying her Beverly Hills lifestyle – to the tune of over four stone of fat gained in the last four months, no less. It was, however, a question that Rebeca was happy to answer at length.

“Beverly Hills is absolutely wonderful, Chloe! I'll tell you all about it! I do have to admit, that life married to an older man was a little challenging at first, but I have my husband well in hand now! And I've made plenty of friends in the new neighbourhood! Sophie for example, is delightful... Although she does have one flaw: she tends to over-cater, and her food is so good that some of the girls here find it a bit fattening! Fortunately, as a fitness model, I just find it filling – but even I have to be careful!” Rebeca patted her tummy, which wobbled in response for some time. “All this food from today's party will take a good couple of days in the gym to work off!”

Chloe gasped at her former fitness trainer's weak grasp on calorie arithmetic – it was the one mathematical subject on which Chloe had necessarily become an expert, thanks to her weird Freshman year at Gainesburg College. And Rebeca Moore's estimation of how long it would take her in the gym to regain her once-washboard tummy was out by a factor of about fifty.

“Um – so Sophie's that good a cook, huh? Awesome! I can't wait to try her food!”

Rebeca's eyes opened wide in alarm, and she almost rose from her sun lounger.

“Don't you dare, Chloe Southern! You're not to eat a thing until after the bikini contest has been judged. That'll be at least another two hours – as we have to wait for your main competitor, Tabitha Trimwell, to arrive. You aren't to eat a single thing until after she does, understand? You can have a sip of water, but nothing else, in case it makes you bloat – Oh My Gods, is that a flute of Champagne you're drinking Chloe? Give it to me at once! Alcohol is notoriously fattening, and you mustn't have any! Certainly not before the end of the contest!”

“Yeah, about this contest!” Chloe inquired.

“The Mill Avenue bikini contest, Chloe! I've entered you on behalf of Mill Avenue, and we simply must maintain our winning streak, and so you're to suck in and maintain as perfect figure as possible until after the party. You can help yourself to leftover snacks then, if you must – although, looking at those sleek thighs of yours, I think you should stick to salad. Without any dressing. Maybe a lemon.”

Chloe's heart sank as she realised she was surrounded by tables piled high with some of the most exquisite delicacies she'd ever seen, but, contrary to the high hopes she had entertained after her first glance at the pool party, she hadn't been invited with the intention of being allowed to gorge herself for hours on end. Her tummy rumbled in protest at the infelicity.

“But I'm hungry!” Chloe complained.

“Stop thinking with your stomach, Southern! And, while you're up and about, could you bring me a plate with a couple of slices of cheesecake – don't eat any yourself, though – I need something to tide me through until dinner! I'm banqueting with a few friends at the mansion of our very handsome and very rich newest neighbour – and he likes girls with a big appetite so I mustn't spoil mine with more than a couple of bits of cheesecake. ”

“Oh, a mansion banquet? That sounds great! Can I come?” Chloe asked without much optimism that there would be any food in it for her.

“No! Now go and mingle! And don't forget the cheesecake! Oh – also, could you also get me a glass of peach juice? I have to have some with this little appetite-stimulating tonic in preparation for tonight's banquet...”

Chloe was about to buzz off as instructed, when her jaw dropped as she caught sight of the small orange vial Rebeca withdrew from her handbag while concluding her instructions.

Shit! Chloe thought. And subvocalised “Tceted Cigam.”

“Shit!” Chloe exclaimed, as the orange liquid glittered in Rebeca's grip.

“What's the matter now, Southern? The peach juice jugs are over there. Get moving!”

“Um! Leg cramp!” Chloe improvised. “Just need to stretch!” She leaned in for a closer look at the vial. She was a hundred percent certain she'd seen it's like before, but she hadn't expected to see it again.

“Well don't do it inelegantly! You have a contest to win!” Rebeca grumbled.

“Sure. While I'm doing that, um... Where did you get that vial? And, is is made of pumpkin?”

“Yes, Southern, it is made of pumpkin. Though I don't know how you know that, and I don't much care. And as for where I got it, it is from my splendid new neightbour, Eris. A drop or two before meals really peps up the appetite and aids digestion – so it's the very last thing you should have any of, if you want to keep what's left of your figure!”

“Um. I know.” Chloe replied.

The blonde athlete finished stretching.

“Better now?”

“Yes, thanks! So, Rebeca, I'm staying over at your place tonight, and you're just popping down the street for a banquet, right? Is that the plan.”

“Yes, Southern. There's plenty in the fridge if that's what you're thinking. But don't overeat!”

“Okay, Mom! So, I'm gonna go mingle!” Chloe said, trying and failing to keep a look of curiosity and surprise off her pretty face, and hoping that the failure just made her look like a dumb blonde.

“Yes, you do that! And don't forget to suck in!”

 

* *

 

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its a big appetite booster.

 

I'm looking forwards to how this goes. Rebecca being deluded over just how fat she's gotten and mocking Chloe for being just lean while she's eating herself out of her clothes is great. Chloe showing up with some extra meat is great, I'm hoping she embraces her obese family genetics and spends at least part of this story properly big.

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7 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said:

Ok I know Chloe, but what is the pumpkin vial again?

 

4 hours ago, Batman76 said:

its a big appetite booster.

Yes, precisely this! The Pumpkin Spice was the compound which gave so many of the fitties in Gainesburg such ravenous appetites for fattening foods. It was the active ingredient in the Pep Potion, with which Tina spiked Chloe's drinks in order to fatten her up, and, later, Joshua Whale Jr put it in Tina and Francesca's drinks in order to make them eat a vastly excessive amount of lunch and burst their dresses. Technically, I think Chloe only ever used Detect Magic to observe the more concentrated version of the Pumpkin Spice that was added to the Fittie Snax energy drinks , but she recognises it as the same stuff. 

I suppose the other thing I should mention for anyone who hasn't read Best Served Wet, is that Chloe inherited a magic book from her distant ancestor, and is a sorceress.

 

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