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Quick introduction. Hi there. I'm new. Never done this before. Just set up a deviant art page where I wrote and posted my first story. It was nice and quiet over there and I was having a lot of fun but wanted to share it around a couple other places to see what people thought. So yeah. Advice, critique more than welcome. Literally have never... ever... written anything at all about anything ever before.... sooo..... Special thanks to Flaming-Hades for "What does a Champion Feel Like", Woodsmont for the "Sculpting of Kate", and Enumerated_Bob for, well everything he ever posts. All three have been huge inspirations. The main reason I started writing was an inability to find enough stories that were up to the standard I felt was set by them and a very few others. http://avacadodo.deviantart.com/ So on to the story. I hope you like it, but don't spare your real feelings. Chapter 1. A Spring Homecoming Home. Vestiges of the season’s final crisp shower pattered a happy rhythm on the windshield of the moving van as it drove into the small rural town. It had been more than 4 years since Jim Butler had been here, but it was hard not to feel as if the town itself was happy to welcome him back. It was not just the nostalgia of old haunts and good times that made him smile, but a sense that something was coming that filled him with a breathless anticipation. The sun herself broke from behind cloud cover just as they pulled onto the drive of his new street, shining her exuberant round face upon the houses below. Her warm rays cut through the misty spring air like butter, dispersing the damp precipitation and promising a sweet summer to come. No one was out yet and in the stillness of the early summer sun it felt as if the whole world was holding its breath. By the time the movers had begun unloading, not a puddle was in sight. Only the flowers, planted in abundance at the Victorian house next door remembered the rainfall that had brushed their faces as the world came alive and rose to wakefulness. They reached for their round mistress in the sky with a yearning hunger, soaking up her vast munificence, as Jim and the movers heaved brown cardboard boxes full of his memories into the house. Jim was from here and though he had been gone pursuing his dreams for nearly a half decade now, he was happy to be back. Average of height and face with a rather rigid nose and mussed brown hair, he was of passable looks. Despite this, and the various dates, dinner parties, and acquaintances made in his time abroad, he was not romantically involved. After each failed date, he would tell the other person that he was just too busy for a relationship. Later, alone at home, he would find comfort in repeating the same thing to himself. The lack of romantic success however, was alleviated somewhat by a profound success in his profession. After helming a few successful projects at work, he had decided it was time to try something new and used his earnings to form his own company. It was a risky move, but the status quo was boring. Besides, the risk came with its own benefits. It had allowed him to move home and put a deposit down on a house of his own. He had picked out a simple little one story place with a lot of windows and a small yard situated in an upscale neighborhood. Humble, but sturdy and clean, the enclosed space and basement provided him with all the room he needed to work and live in. They were unpacking his van and moving things inside when he heard a feminine voice called out, “Jim? Jim Butler, is that you?” He stood up from the box he was bent over, eyebrows arched in surprise at hearing his name. “Yes?” he asked dumbly. And then he saw her, and the still anticipation of the world broke around him. “Jim, it’s Caroline.” And yes it was her. Caroline Goodwin, an old friend and sometimes crush from summers past. They’d worked the mall food court every summer during their college years. Though they had attended different universities entirely, they always somehow found themselves returning home to live rent free with the parents while working and talking about the future. They had made a pretty good pair. He was 5’6” and she was 5’ 4”, he an introverted thinker and she an extroverted gym addict but both dreamers with grandiose idea about the world that they enjoyed sharing with each other while they shared one another’s time and company. She had been a petite little thing; a dancer and it showed when she moved. She was always so graceful wherever she went, with a bounce to her step and an almost unconscious shimmy to and fro, even when she was standing still. Though, as a previously mentioned gym addict, she was also an unabashed foodie, taking full advantage of her job at the food court to sample any and everything. He vividly recalled her bare midriff from those summer days, tight and tan from dancing and sun. After the first summer working together they were inseparable when together. There was certainly a mutual attraction, but there was work and then college separated them and neither wanted to mess up what they had in the short amount of time they had together. Besides that, they both openly and animatedly discussed their individual dreams and plans for the future and those plans very clearly diverged once college was done and these summer jobs were finished. She had wanted to join a famous dance company like the New York Ballet and travel the world. He wanted to run off and join an engineering firm and build large amazing things. So they flirted, they teased, they held hands, but that was it. Their own fierce respect for the other’s friendship and knowledge that they couldn’t start a relationship without ruining the others dream or giving up their own stopped it from ever going beyond that. When he had received his job offer, she congratulated him, they had celebrated over some cheap champagne. A few weeks later he left town and that was that. He promised her he’d look her up on Broadway one day and she rolled her eyes and said she would be sure to send him tickets to the Ballet when she made it, since he obviously needed some schooling on the differences in the fine arts and would probably never find it himself if he couldn’t tell the difference between ballet and show dancing. It was a chapter in his life he thought was over. Yet here she was, leaning against the fence of the big Victorian next door holding a large watering can and sporting a huge crooked grin, apparently unaware of the rain that morning. Leaning over the fence between their yards, her face the same pixie fine features and blue eyes he remembered. She waved and called out again. “Jim, what are you doing here?” “Caroline!?” Jim hollered in joyful surprise. His face lit up as he recognized her, and he stepped over to talk. “Caroline! Wow, it’s great to see you. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me.” He motioned to the large house behind her with a questioning look in his eyes. “I live here.” She said with a shrug and a smile “I work for the owner and take care of things for her. It’s a big house and has its own dance studio. Besides, you know me, I love the old architecture.” She leaned back, holding onto the fence with one hand and shook her head in wonder. “But my question stands, what are you doing in this area Mr. Butler?” she raised a plucky eyebrow. “I thought you had moved on from your humble beginnings never to lay eye on suburbia again. When did you get back in town?” “Today actually.” Jim admitted. “Believe it or not, this is my new place.” He motioned to the smaller, more compact house to the left of hers. “I believe that makes us neighbors.” Caroline widened her eyes in earnest surprise. “Wow, really?” Her face relaxed into a bemused smirk as Jim scratched his head and offered a sheepish apologetic face.” “I swear I had no idea you lived here.” He said. Caroline laughed at that. “Well you can’t fight serendipity I guess.” She said, and looking over to his truck of things, carried on with “Well I can see you’ve got your hands full right now, and though I’d love to catch up I have to get to work myself. Want to come over for dinner and drinks tonight? You can return the favor once you’ve had time to get settled in.” “Yeah, sure. I’d love to.” He replied, nodding and scratching his head. “I’m sure I’ll need a break from unpacking by this evening.” Caroline turned to walk away and Jim did as well, but not before he noticed a few differences in his old friend’s figure as she moved out from the cover of the fence. Caroline had always been partial to crop tops, and for a moment he thought that’s what she was wearing. After a moment he realized it was not a crop top but a regular tee, and the cotton must have caught on the fence. The sheer size of her abdomen caused the shirt to catch most of the way up, revealing a monster pot belly exposed for all to see, where her old washboard abs used to be. Jim was lucky Caroline wasn’t looking his way anymore. Her attention on the flowers, still basking in the glow of the radiant sun, which prevented her from seeing his jaw drop at the revelation of the unexpected change in girth of his friend. Was she pregnant? No, it couldn’t be. Her belly bounced, jiggled, and danced just like her feet as she moved gracefully through the garden tending to the hungry plants. Pregnant bellies aren’t pliable like that at all. He’d seen enough to know what they looked like. It was definitely not a baby in there, it was just an astonishing amount of concentrated lard. Jim couldn’t move for the next 30 seconds as he took in the foreign sight before him. It was strange. She was completely as he remembered her; thin, delicate, and pixie like in every way except now, beneath her breasts a big fat bouncing belly was hanging over the waistband of her pink yoga pants. She didn’t seem to realize that it was completely exposed now as she went on about her morning chores, and he stood frozen in place watching what felt entirely too much like a confused fever dream. Suddenly recalling the earlier spring shower, Jim jolted back to reality and moved a step back towards the fence and raised his voice, “Oh, Caroline, if you weren’t aware, there was quite a bit of rain this morning. You probably don’t need to water them all that much. I imagine the soil’s pretty wet under the top lair.” Hearing this, she glanced back smiling. “Well thanks for letting me know but its fine. There’s no such thing as too much of what’s good for you, right?” she asked and slapped the side of her clearly overfed gut, proof of the philosophy’s application in her own life. “R-Right.” Jim said, a slight stutter interfering with his speech. His eyes stuck pointed downward to that thunderous slap against bare skin, drawing inexorable attention to the changes in the once self-proclaimed gym rat. If he hadn’t already been red with exertion he would probably be flushed with embarrassment right now. Hearing the crack of the slap much louder than it should have sounded, feeling the unexpected skin on skin contact, and coming to the dawning realization that her t-shirt was not covering her bulging gut nearly as well as she had presumed, Caroline’s own cheeks went bright pink. “On second thought, I’m sure the rain did its job just fine and the flowers are fine. Everything is just fine and,” she trailed off. “Well uh, I had better get inside.” She squeaked finally, abandoning the watering can and beating a hasty retreat indoors. Jim could do nothing but stare in consternation at her exposed pot belly as it jiggled madly during the scramble back into the safety of her house. What had he just seen? Shaking his head to clear it, Jim got back to work. Her shimmying belly bounced and jiggled on repeat in his head the rest of the day. Chapter 2 First Summer’s Night With a last languorous blink across the town, the sun slipped beyond the edge of the horizon allowing evening to flex her waiting arms and embrace the land like a lover. As she departed the sun breathed a parting kiss upon the west wind. The effect was small but profound as the last of spring’s briskness evaporated into memory, melted by the sun-kissed wind as it rustled quietly through the streets. Summer was here in full and you could practically feel the whole world humming in hungry anticipation with the changing of the guard. The moon was full and the memory of day was strong even in the night. The summer breeze carried the memory of the sun in through the window and caressed “Oh wow, what time is it? I was supposed to meet Caroline for dinner.” Jim exclaimed patting his pockets down feeling around for his phone frantically. He had become cognizant of the time for the first time since the movers had left, only just as the light winked away for the last time through the window. Deprived of reason to keep working, his brain cued up the recent memory of this morning’s close encounter of the chubby kind, while he hunted for his time piece. The vision of the mad jiggling mass he had witnessed bouncing above the belt around his neighbor’s waistline continued to dance through his head much longer than it had in reality. After a long moment of vivid memory playback, he shook himself from his reverie and pulled his phone from his pocket. “8:30!?” He shouted, in shock. Swearing under his breath, Jim collapsed onto the sole clutter free chair in the house. He ran his hand through his hair as he considered his rather limited options. He could probably order pizza since Caroline had almost definitely eaten without him by this late hour. “She probably thinks I stood her up on purpose after this morning.” He mourned. That was really unfortunate, as he was really looking forward to catching up with her again. Massive weight gain notwithstanding, he had been thrilled to see her and if they were going to be neighbors he had better at least try to recall their friendship. Did he want to go? That was the real question. He thought of her grossly jiggling bulging stomach and winced. Then he thought of laying in fields three years in a row, watching fire works together and talking about future aspirations. Moments shared, that were precious to him. Especially now after all these years. What had happened to that girl? She must have gained 50 pounds and on her tiny frame and it really showed, especially considering it apparently wasn’t going anywhere but to hide her formerly perfectly toned abs. Whether it made him uncomfortable or not, he couldn’t stand her up or make excuses. She knew him too well for that and whatever was going on, she was still his friend, even if they hadn’t spoken in more than 4 years. Decision made, he stood up and walked next door. The night was cool but comfortable as summer’s first warm breeze drifted lazily through the air. The flowers outside the Victorian house were still. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. He stood staring up at the house for a few more minutes, then walked up to the door and knocked. At first he thought she might not be home, but finally he heard the sound of feet running towards the front of the house, and the door opened. It was Caroline. This time she was wearing something far less revealing than the too-small t-shirt from this morning. He noted it was a black hopelessly tried to accent her boobs in a more traditional fashion. It was unsuccessful. The black was not slimming and that pot belly was just too vast to disguise. “Jim!” she gushed. “I was afraid you weren’t going to be able to make it after.” She didn’t finish the sentence but the memory of a hand slapping an exposed fat belly went through both their minds at the same time. “Well, I thought you might be too busy.” She finished lamely. “I’m so happy you came though!” she said, bouncing back with a smile before giving a sheepish grin and in an apologetic tone said “I’m afraid I got started without you.” It was dark but even in the dim light, it was easy to see her cheeks were flushed from alcohol. “Ah, yeah it’s been more work than I realized getting moved in.” he laughed “I haven’t even gotten much unpacked yet, and I completely lost track of time. I hope you saved me some dinner though. I’m famished after all the work!” “Yes, of course. Come in! I didn’t have much appetite tonight so there’s still half of the lasagna left. Let me show you to the kitchen. I have a table set up in there.” Jim’s eyebrows climbed as she widened the door to admit him. Did that comment mean she had eaten half a lasagna as a light dinner? The thought fled his head before he could consider it in too much detail though, as he panicked, realizing he was not going to be able to avoid contact with her protruding stomach as he stepped into the house. If Caroline’s cheeks had been flushed from alcohol before, this second infraction from her intruding jelly belly set her face aflame. The two jerked apart and stood awkwardly looking away from each other fumbling for words for several seconds. Caroline violently smoothed her black camisole down, trying to hide the plump underbelly that had shown for a moment as the fabric had caught. She was praying that he hadn’t noticed. He had. Caroline finally broke the silence with a mumble under her breath of “Sorry it, uh, gets in the way sometimes.” “I’m not disturbing the owner by being here so late am I?” Jim interrupted desperately. Like a drowning man being thrown a life preserver, Caroline grabbed onto the question and began reassuring her friend profusely as she broke their awkward silence and she began to usher him through the house. “No, no! Not a chance, I promise. None at all.” She took a deep breath and smiled again. She was beautiful when she smiled. “Mrs. Taylor likes her privacy and sleeps up on the third floor. She won’t be able to hear anything from us once we’re in the kitchen. You couldn’t bother her if you tried. I promise” She turned and led the way towards a large kitchen at the back of the house. Following, Jim tried to compose himself. He had thought it would be easy to act normal, like old times, but he seemed to be hyper aware of her added thickness for some reason and the fact that it kept inserting itself in the middle of their social interactions made it even more difficult to ignore. Coming into the kitchen itself, Caroline motioned to an old thick dark wood table, indicating he should sit down. “Let me go ahead and pull out some food for us. I’ll have to warm up the oven to reheat the food but there’s beer in the fridge you can help yourself to.” He grabbed a beer and then a second and a third as she fired back up the stove and practically made a new meal, chattering happily at him about the wonderfully inconsequential happenings of the town and him responding by speaking about the challenges of moving with her. It was getting late by the time everything was ready but the smell was amazing and the conversation excellent, so he didn’t mind that much. As they dug in, an amiable silence drifted over them and they smiled goofily at one another over mouths busy with consuming food. She had served him a large plate of thick cheesy lasagna surrounded by heaping mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy, along with another beer. More than enough to satisfy the appetite he had worked up over the last seven or so hours since lunch, moving boxes, he noticed she had served herself an equally large plate despite her comment about eating while waiting for him. It was accompanied by a bottle of wine, which she had been working on since before his arrival from the looks of it. Silent chewing went on for some time, interspersed with the occasional small burp or groan of satisfaction. Jim couldn’t get over what a good cook Caroline had become. From the way she acted, neither could Caroline. When at last they were done eating, Jim stretched back in his chair and moaned his appreciation. “I’m stuffed! Where did you learn to cook like that Caroline? I don’t think I’ve ever had a lasagna that good. And the mashed potatoes, next time just give me the potatoes in the gravy boat.” Caroline blushed at the compliments and buried her face in her wine glass after murmuring an embarrassed thank you. Taking the opportunity while she was distracted, Jim’s eyes drifted covertly down to catalogue the changes, or rather singular large change, in his former co-worker. In the wake of the meal, her pot belly was even more defined on her petite little body than before. The thing pooled up and lay thickly across Caroline’s lap. It didn’t just stick out a little but rolled over her waist band to cover a surprising amount of her legs. He noticed that though while she was standing the pot formed one large protruding curve, when she sat it rolled over itself to form an indentation around her belly button. Jim’s imagination involuntarily began to picture just how low her belly might hang between her legs if she were to spread them. Realizing the last thing he wanted to be caught doing was staring at the literal elephant in the room, Jim yanked his gaze away before it could linger too long. There was something inexplicably captivating about the sheer size of her belly when compared to the rest of her pixie like form and he couldn’t yet tell if it was revulsion or attraction that fascinated him so. “To unexpected reunions.” He said, raising his beer for a toast. “And memories of a rather fantastic friendship.” She smiled and raised her glass to the toast as well, tossing back the last of her bottle and leaning back in her chair. He couldn’t help but return the easy smile sprawled on her rouge lips, but at the same time he became keenly aware that her movements had shifted the black shirt she was wearing and it was no longer fully covering her very large and very full tummy, revealing a milky white slice of perfectly shaped blubber. As she placed her glass back down on the table, he realized he had better leave and digest not only the delicious food she had served him but his confusing feelings on the new Caroline too. He opened his mouth to say as much but she spoke first. “You look really good Jim,” she said. Was that a note of wistfulness in her voice? He couldn’t help but notice the tone, even distracted as he was by her stomach sticking out of her over stressed shirt. “Well thanks, I’ve kept up with the workout routine you helped me develop. You might not believe it but I’m actually sporting a six pack these days.” Distracted as he was, he had just responded on auto pilot. His six pack was actually a fairly recent development and he was still very proud of the accomplishment and liked to brag about it when he could. Calling any attention to the abdomen at this point however, was a mistake. He realized this as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Looking down at her own momentous middle, Caroline gave a self-deprecating laugh and said, “Well good for you. I’ve developed the opposite of a six pack. You can probably tell but I’ve replaced the gym habit with a crippling donut habit while you were away.” She looked quite glum as she proceeded to poke a finger into the side of her pot belly as she spoke. Jim had always found Caroline attractive but his general taste in women had never extended past the traditional Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover model. As her finger disappeared up past the second knuckle, however, he felt a jolt and this time stared fascinated for a few seconds too long before jerking himself back to the present. “I need something else to drink.” Caroline stated abruptly. By this point, the alcohol was sinking in and as she stood up to fetch a bottle of rum, her belly shifted too, bouncing out to its former shape. Recalling his plans to leave futilely, as his attention was caught by the new movement of her unconventional curves, this time he simply couldn’t look away. Caroline moved around the room, fetching a few bottles of pop to serve with the rum before sitting down and pouring them both mixed drinks. “Yes Jim, I got fat.” She sighed. “How are you doing? I know fitness was always such a big deal for you.” He said, demeanor changing from lighthearted to one of concern. “I’m doing fine,’ she responded, sipping her rum and coke. “It’s hard to explain. My plans for joining a dance company didn’t work out. I got a job at a bakery. It didn’t do any favors to my figure. It’s fine.” She didn’t sound fine. She sounded resigned. “Caroline, you were an inspiration to me. I am not exaggerating when I say you taught me everything I know about staying in shape, and I know how passionate you were about dance. Surely you haven’t given up on that dream.” “I was also passionate about food, if you remember.” She smirked at him ironically “It just caught up with me. And no, I didn’t give up dancing, but I couldn’t make the professional cut like I always talked about so I had to find something else to do. I make a good living at the Bakery and make up the rest by taking care of Mrs. Robin here. She even has a dance studio here on the second floor and I don’t pay rent. I thought feeding people was a good way to make a living but I ended up doing a lot of feeding myself along the way. My figure just didn’t seem as important and I was so busy that I dropped my gym habit but I didn’t drop my food habit. In fact it got worse.” Her long tousled brown hair hung curled in ringlets around her face as she looked down into her glass, the idea of tears dancing behind her eyes. Jim’s eyes alit once more, unbidden upon her soft globular gut. Caroline’s shirt had ridden up again on one side and a slice of fair creamy skin showed, like a thickly portioned wedge of fluffy white birthday cake. He tore his gaze away, unsure of his own feelings. This was not the girl he had once known. Life had pulled this wonderful girl down from the aspiring dance professional she had envisioned with him on lazy summer nights like this half a decade ago. Confusing feelings about her unlikely curves aside, he had a responsibility to help here if he could. “Well look, I definitely need some friends again now that I’m back in town. Why don’t we hang out more like this? You could join me at the gym just like I used to with you. You’ll be back in shape in no time.” Caroline looked up, appreciation apparent in her gaze, any threat of tears retreating before his kindness. “Ah but it’s more serious than you think. It’s not just the lack of an exercise buddy that’s made me go to pot,” she wrinkled her nose and leaned forward conspiratorially, mood moving from sad to silly. Jim couldn’t help but notice the way her belly rolls bunched up over themselves as she drew closer, alcohol heavy breath hot on his face as he leaned forward to meet her halfway. “I have a confession to make Jim, but you have to promise not to tell.” Her face became faux serious as she looked him in the eye. A capricious wink gave the act away though. “Your secret’s safe with me. Cross my heart and hope to die.” he swore, smiling and winking back as he made the appropriate cross over his heart. Again she shifted, this time leaning in even closer. Jim caught an eyeful of cleavage as he moved in with her. Internally he remarked to himself in relief that her belly wasn’t the only thing to have softened. It wasn’t much, but she must have gone up at least one cup size in the breasts. It was just so disproportionate from her middle that you couldn’t tell at a glance. He was gibbering to himself. He needed to stop obsessing over her new curves and pay attention to what she was going to say. Her voice was husky and her breath danced hot across his cheek as she whispered in his ear, “Jim, I just love to eat.” Laughing, she leaned back all drunk silliness again as she moaned. “Even if we exercised every day, I’m not sure I could stop eating. You would not believe the amount of donuts I can put away. Really, it’s my own fault I’m so fat. I just can’t say no to a cupcake or a pastry and I’m surrounded by them all day.” She lamented. What was wrong with him? He knew nothing good could come from challenging her but he felt helpless, caught up in an intoxicating whirlwind of alcohol and pent up attraction to not only his old crush’s abrupt new curves but also to Caroline’s casually wanton attitude towards her own gluttony. He felt himself slide over some invisible cliff and into uncharted waters as he responded to her boast, egging her on. “Come now, you exaggerate. You have to have some self-control left.” Jim said. “There’s no way you could eat even a single donut after that dinner.” As if she had been waiting for the challenge, Caroline’s eyes flared in response. “I am not even remotely joking. I’m fat because I can pack it away in here. I can easily drop a dozen of those little cakes a day. Believe me, the calories add up and I am addicted.” She said and stuck out her ridiculously disproportionate jelly belly and slapped it on the side, initiating a wave of jiggles that lasted for some time. Jim neither moved nor spoke until the waves she had caused stopped. This was getting decidedly out of hand, he thought. He knew she was a competitive spirit. Was he really going to push this? “Caroline,” he scoffed. “No offense, but you are tiny. I know you like to eat but I couldn’t eat that many after a good workout and there’s no way you could do that on the daily.” The old competitive glare shone in her eyes as she forgot her woes in light of this new challenge to her eating prowess. “Care to put your money where your mouth is, Mr. Big Shot?” She stood up, a little unsteady as her balance was now very off center and she wasn’t exactly sober, but her graceful feet carried her easily across the kitchen to her cabinets. “I happen to have some pastries from work right here and I think you deserve to see just how serious a problem I have before you make any promises about working out at the gym with me Mr. Butler. So lay your bets.” She turned around and gave him smoldering eyes. Looking into those challenging blue sapphire eyes, Jim realized how much he had missed her and how much he had missed times like this. Abort! Abort! He thought frantically. “No way, you’ve already had a huge meal. It wouldn’t be fair.” He asserted, but it was too late. She wasn’t about to let this go. “I see that look,” Caroline crooned in false sweetness, “but you started this and you are not getting out of it. I’m going to give you an up close view of exactly what this belly can do.” He met her challenging look and narrowing his eyes replied “Okay, I bet you can’t finish the dozen and if I win you have to go on a date with me.” She looked taken aback and then suspicious, “A date? Jim, I… God I wish you’d asked before I blew up like this.” He bit his lip, wondering if he had overstepped his welcome, not daring to mention the fact that he found her over abundant curves rather intriguing. She had pulled out a dozen glazed donuts from her pantry. They looked to still be rather fresh and she stared at them thoughtfully. “We bake these in the morning and they never sell out by nightfall. The fact that I have an unending supply of free fluffy pastries is reflected in the fact that I am now so fluffy myself. If you want a date, Jim you had better witness the real me here tonight.” She said it with a steely determination he had not expected after his confession. “If I win, she said, you still get that date, but instead of the gym you take me out to eat every day, and I get to order as much as I want. Deal?” His eyes widened at the prospect, but he nodded. What was she playing at here with that bet? Did she really not care about regaining her old body? Did she want to get fatter or something? But then he didn’t have time to wonder as he was taken in by her beginning to eat. It was quite the display. She set into them as soon as soon as he nodded his agreement to the terms, eating the thick icing frosted donuts like they were air. None of it went to waste as she bit, licked, and sucked down every single piece of pastry. She wasn’t kidding, he realized. She could really pack it away. Before he knew it all 12 were in her and she sat there licking her candy coated fingers and looking a little exhausted. He was astonished. “Want to make it double or nothing?” Caroline asked, devilishly as she wiped white glaze frosting from the edges of her full mouth. “What? No 2 dozen? That’s not humanly possible.” Jim said automatically. He was enamored by the sight in front of him. There she was, his old dancing crush plush and round beyond his wildest imagination, engorged on donuts and lasagna and like a playful kitten asking for more cream, insinuating that she could handle even more. “Let me be the judge of that.” She said, pulling another box onto the table and grunting quietly as she sat back down. Her poor petite feet struggled to remain graceful under the weight of the dough-filled belly it was trying to support. “What are we betting this time? He asked, stunned beyond any further words. She held up two fingers in response. Around a mouthful of sugared dough she explained, “Two restaurants a day if I win. If I lose, we’ll work all this off at the gym your way. Either way it’s a date.” “Done.” Jim said. Caroline smiled, fox like. She said nothing more as she continued to eat, steadily but at a slower pace now. Jim had nothing left to say either. He could just wait to see how their future was going to turn out. She was on her 18th donut and Jim just sat there stunned and drunk. He could hardly believe this was happening. The night’s events had him incredibly turned on and he couldn’t for the life of himself figure out why. He just went with it. “See,”she said pausing between bites. “There’s a reason I’m so fat. Rethinking your proposal to help me work this off yet?” Jim stood up at the prompting and pulled the box of pastries away from her. “Stop it Caroline. Damnit, you don’t have to do this to yourself. I’m serious about the gym, I can help you through this. You don’t have to eat anymore to prove your point. I understand you have a problem but you’re hurting yourself!” Her eyes hardened as she looked up into his eyes, her taut domed belly, stuck out like a pregnant woman’s, the shirt ridden up leaving it half exposed to the warm night air. Her eyes flashed a challenge at hearing his remarks and she jerked the box of calories back towards herself, grabbing another one defiantly from the tray. Her breathing was becoming labored as she stuffed it into her mouth and wolfed it down. She grabbed another one. “You don’t get it Jim, I’m a fat girl now. I’m obese. I’m huge. I’m a fucking beached whale that just can’t stop eating. I’m a fat girl that can eat 2 dozen donuts in a sitting. No one normal does that. People think I’m pregnant when I go out in public. I have to shop on the maternity isle. My gut has gotten so disproportionately big that I can’t even go to try outs for lower level dance companies anymore, without making a fool of myself.” She turned away from Jim’s steady gaze, and looked back at the remaining donuts, a mad gleam in her eyes. “And I can’t stop eating. I’m not the girl you used to know.” Finishing her rant she proceeded to angrily stuff the last half dozen in her face to prove her point, choking them down in record time. Jim let her finish as they stood, holding one another while she completed her gluttonous ritual. Finally swallowing the last bite, she collapsed her weight into him, panting and flushed. She paused for a moment, before looking up into his face, looking for disgust or pity and ready to deflect that with anger. He was looking at her. “There I won.” She said, completely out of breath. “You see what a pig I’ve become, and I’m not going to stop Jim. Do you still want that date? Do you still want me?” He looked at her tumbling brown hair and delicate cheeks. He took in her rosy cheeks and full pouting lips, dusted with sweet frosted donut glaze. They were standing so close that she couldn’t help but lean her over abundant softness into his lean muscle. He was still holding her up. Her little unchanged pixie face looking up at him defiantly, expecting him to leave, shout, or turn away. She was a disgusting mess. A pig of a woman. But he looked down at her and saw the same girl he had always known. The passionate and adventurous dancer. The friend who loved to listen to his own silly dreams. His dates had never lasted while he was away at school because he had already fallen in love and just hadn’t known it. Here was his love, and what were a couple of pounds? Okay several dozen, and in an odd place, and she sure had an odd fixation here but damn if he didn’t love this woman and he couldn’t ignore that any longer. “I’ve missed you.” He said. And swept her up in his arms and kissed her sugary lips. It was midnight, the dawn of summer. Their kiss seemed to last forever, each hungry with 8 years of unfulfilled appetites. Softness and strength touching and feeling the other, lust shimmering in their sweat and skin. Finally they came up for air. “Yes, I’ll take that date.” Jim breathed out, his breathing ragged. "I can't promise I won't get bigger." Caroline said, slim fingers from one hand running across Jim’s firm abs while the other hand tentatively groped his crotch, confirming a stiff erection through his pants. A smile dawned across her face as she felt him up. "Just so we're crystal clear." "I guess I'll just have to get used to it, then." Jim said, returning her smile and hefting as much of her massive stuffed gut in one hand as he could manage. It was going to be an interesting summer.

So... dunno how far my rep preceded from that other site, if at all. Somehow I doubt it did. Anyway, I used to post on the-art-site-that-shall-remain-nameless (under the same user name) between February of 2018 and May of 2020. At which point a particularly vindictive site administrator decided I was a "waste of talent" and a "spammer" and permanently banned me. And blocked my email addresses so I couldn't appeal the ban. Anyway, I'm here now. (I will ignore the chorus of "...So who are you, again?") I'll be re-posting some of my stories here, starting with this one. With a bit of editing. - - - - - - - - - - The Foodbaby Fiasco Chapter One: Christmas Celebration - - - - - - - - - - “It’s the most stress-ful time of the yeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaar…” Naomi mumbled as the blizzard raged outside. The dining room’s dark wainscoting and gold-patterned walls creaked from the wind. Tinsel and colored bulbs glimmered in the candlelight. The house hadn’t had electricity for over two hours, and there wasn’t any sign of it being restored anytime soon. None of that stopped Great-Aunt Helen from cooking. Whisking and chopping noises echoed from the kitchen, joined by the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg and sugar. The old lady wouldn’t let bad weather (and the fact that most of the invitees couldn’t make it) stop her Christmas party. Digitized clicks pulled Naomi’s attention from the snowfall, and she turned and saw her sister snapping pictures of the room. She facepalmed and sighed. “You are not photographing an empty table.” “Oh hello stranger of the past, I’m from the 21st century! We share everything with our Facebook and Twitter overlords!” Andrea replied with a chuckle. “Besides, it’s a statement about time. Silverware and plates from the eighteen-hundreds, house from the fifties, decorations from the seventies, lit by candles and photographed on a smartphone. So whaddya think?” “That people like you are why no-one takes postmodernists seriously.” “Ouch.” Andrea shrugged. “Okay, so, also? I’m really, really bored.” “Play some games on that damn thing,” Naomi replied and gestured to her sister’s pink-flower-cased phone. “Like this POS has storage for any more than songs and a few pics.” Naomi shrugged. “You could use it as a hockey puck.” “True, but then I’d be out fifty bucks.” Andrea giggled, and clicked a few more pictures one-handed. “Hey, we haven’t done this one for a while!” “Done wha-” Naomi began, cut short as Andrea tugged her into a halfhearted hug and clicked a selfie of them before Naomi could protest. The younger woman let go and immediately typed something on the phone. “Duckface… Pic… with… Evil… Twin… Miss… Grumpypants… at… Auntie’s,” Andrea muttered as she keyed in a description, and smirked. “How am I the evil one?” Naomi asked. “Because I said so.” “Dang.” Naomi and Andrea weren’t really twins, though an observer might’ve easily mistaken them for being so. They were both pale-skinned redheads of average height, though Naomi’s locks were short and coppery while Andrea’s hair was a deeper auburn and long. They had similar physiques, being pear-shaped and bottom-heavy, although by no means anywhere near overweight. On the other hand, Naomi was older by two years. She was also more health-conscious, and sported a trimmer, toned build in contrast to her wider and softer sister. Andrea wasn’t chubby, but she often had a slight potbelly during the holidays. They even dressed differently: Naomi preferred layers, starting with a thin turtleneck, then a striped shirt over it, and a long-sleeved buttoned top, her legs clad in blue jeans. Andrea wore a deliberately absurd ugly Christmas sweater and gym pants. “Hey, look on the bright side. Being the evil one means you’ll get a bigger fanbase. And cooler outfits. And better theme music.” “…The heck are you talking about?” “You know, if we had a web show or something-” “You are insane.” Andrea snorted. “Well, that’s what makes me awe~some.” Naomi rolled her eyes. “Careful, sis. At this rate you’ll turn into the anthropomorphic personification of an imageboard.” “But I don’t even own pruning shears or a chainmail bikini!” “…I’m not going to ask what train of thought lead to that remark.” Andrea snickered. “Aw, but learning is half the fun!” The whisking in the kitchen kicked up, and Naomi saw her Great-Aunt working on yet another an entirely new bowl of food, and leaned in to whisper with her sister. “How on Earth can she still be cooking?” “Wow, and you thought I was out-of-touch? See, there’s these things called wood-fired stoves, and Big Auntie’s an old-school badass like that.” Naomi let out an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. “Ah, shaddup. You know what I mean. There’s not that many of us here, the fridge doesn’t work right now, and we’re not going to be able to eat all that.” “Doggyyyyyyy baaaaaaa~aaaaaag,” Andrea replied, singsong. “No. I have no room in my dorm’s fridge as it is.” “Oh well,” Andrea said as she stretched. “Betcha we do eat most of it anyway. Big Auntie’s damn good at cooking.” Naomi couldn’t deny that. “Yeah, but my clothes would be too tight for weeks on end.” “Whine, whine, body-shame, boo-effing-hoo.” Andrea laughed. “I don’t care, skinny missy. Knowing you, you’ll burn it off in a day tops. You know what, do hold back. All that much more for me! I’ll eat and eat and eat until I get so bloated that my shirt doesn’t cover my belly button!” “There is something deeply wrong with you.” Andrea winked. “You know it!” “How much coffee did you drink this morning?” “Eh, none. I think this is a sugar high.” Naomi pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Now I’m afraid of what you’ll be like after dessert.” “Oh don’t worry, I’ll be too ballooned-up to move. Probably.” “True.” “Hey!” “What?” Naomi asked, noting that her sibling seemed more bemused than her suddenly-irked tone suggested. “You weren’t supposed to agree, meanie-butt!” “Too bad. And wow, just wow, ‘meanie-butt’? I haven’t heard that one since middle school. Is all that candy triggering a mental regression?” Andrea was about to retort when the saloon-style door to the kitchen swung open. Great-Aunt Helen shuffled into the dining room with an utterly gigantic foil-covered serving bowl of mashed potatoes in her oven-mitt-clad hands. Helen didn’t bear that much familial resemblance to her grand-nieces, mostly due to age. Her silver hair was well past shoulder length, yet wispy enough to expose much of her scalp. Liver spots dotted her wrinkled skin, and she hunched when she walked. She looked older than she actually was, and regardless of her emotional state tended to wear a stern expression and a perpetually crazy-eyed glare. Naomi immediately offered to take the bowl the rest of the way, but Helen shook her head. “Thanks dearie, but I got it. You can get the yams outta the oven if you like,” she said. Andrea promptly jogged to the kitchen before Naomi even moved, and barely avoided slamming right into their mother. That would’ve been bad, seeing as Mom had the Christmas Turkey in hand, and their father followed with the roast ham platter in his arms. Mom set the plate down. “What’s wrong with Andi?” “Oh, I think she’s just so excited…” Great-Aunt Helen replied. “Or she’s really f… freaking hungry,” Naomi chimed in. Helen eyed her. “You were gonna say a naughty word, weren’t you?” “No,” Naomi replied. “Are you lying?” “Yes.” “Thought so. Don’t wanna have to add soap to your spices, do you?” “Well, that would ruin the flavor…” Naomi said as she took a seat next to her parents, careful to move one of the candles aside. Helen nodded. “Well then, get the dirty words outta your mouth.” “And now I have a mental image of me pulling a scarf with four-letter words written all over it out of my mouth.” Naomi paused as her mother snorted. “And that would be inappropriate.” At that, Andrea returned with the other guests in tow: cousin ‘Little’ James, his wife Sarah, and their son James Junior (JJ for short), all of whom quickly took their seats. And that was it: the seven of them were the only ones – out of a list of dozens of invitees – that’d braved the storm. Which, admittedly, wasn’t so bad. At least this time Naomi figured she’d be able to hear what people were actually saying, rather than trying to work it out from the ambient buzz of twenty people talking at once. It felt a bit odd having this few of them at the candlelit table, though. On every previous holiday, guests occupied every seat, and they’d have an additional table set up to handle the latecomers. Despite the storm, this time felt quiet. Awkwardly so. Apparently Andrea thought so as well, and raised her phone. “So how about a bit of classic Russian Christmas music?” Naomi glowered. “Stop.” “What?” “You’re gonna play the Trololo Man song, aren’t you?” Andrea whistled innocently. “…Noooooooo…?” “Yes you were. Don’t.” Naturally, Big Auntie cut in. “What’s… Tro-low-low?” she asked. Naomi balked. “Oh please don’t-” “Glad you asked!” Andrea interrupted, and pressed play. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah Yah-yah-yah, yah-yah yah, yah, nah-nah Oh ho-ho-ho-ho-ho, la-la-la… - - - - - - - - - - As usual, Helen served up more food than could have ever been needed. Before Naomi knew what’d happened, her plate held a massive pile of the overly-rich sustenance. A mound of mashed potatoes, a heaping helping of spiced carrots, sweet yams that looked more like a dessert than a side dish, several generous slices of the Christmas turkey, and a fist-sized pile of mixed beans lay before her – and that was less than half of the types of food her great-aunt had cooked up. “Yep. I think they’ll have to roll me out of the house,” Andrea said, and Naomi halfheartedly nodded in agreement. “I mean, like, this is a literal mountain of food.” “No,” Naomi replied. “Whaddya mean ‘no’? It’s-” “A figurative mountain. Not literal. If that were a literal mountain of food it’d take up much more space and-” Andrea cut her off. “Bo~ring. You’re boring me.” JJ let out a shrill giggle, as if it were the funniest thing in the world, and pounded his fist on the table. “Boo-Rang! Boo-Rang!” he mimicked. Then he tried to spear his carrots with a spoon, and inadvertently catapulted one over the table and onto the windowsill. He then gleefully squealed and did it again, on purpose this time. Neither Little James nor Sarah did anything to stop him, and Naomi sent her parents a sidelong are-you-kidding-me look. Mother rolled her eyes in a way that Andrea had inherited. Father and Naomi sighed in tandem, and both sent a do-your-damn-job glare at the child’s parents. Sarah caught on when a fourth carrot flew by – and quietly told JJ to behave if he wanted extra sweets after dinner. As he’d get dessert either way and was just smart enough to know that, it did little to dissuade him. Naomi mouthed a silent you-must-be-kidding to Andrea. Her sister rolled her eyes, and wolfed down a forkful that looked too large to fit in her mouth. Big Auntie completely ignored the child’s antics and glanced at them instead. “Don’t tell me that your diet’s just smelling the food, Naomi. You haven’t taken a bite yet.” “Well, I was-” She’d have said ‘was about to’ but by raw chance one of JJ’s flying carrots landed in her mouth. Uproarious laughter followed as everyone saw that yes, that just happened. It was one of those little things that happened at their family dinners, and after a few remarks – none of them actually funny – Naomi finally dug in. Helen did one hell of a job this time. Soft, buttery mashed potatoes with exactly the right balance of salt and pepper flooded Naomi’s taste buds. She gulped down several huge mouthfuls in short order, and then one so big that she had to puff up her cheeks. “Are you trying to do a chipmunk impression, Naomi?” her father asked. “Be careful not to choke.” Andrea snickered between bites. She’d done exactly the same thing, but it was so normal for her that nobody said anything. Naomi shook her head, enjoying the fluffy flavor and tuning out droll conversations about her parents’ recent Santa Cruz trip. She ate so quickly that it took her quite by surprise when her fork clinked against the plate. “Huh,” she mumbled, and piled up another heap of potatoes. Then she tried the carrots. They’d been soaked in more butter and dusted with a plentiful amount of brown sugar and cinnamon, then cooked to the point of practically melting in her mouth. The flavor danced on her tongue, and she felt like she’d already reached the meal’s dessert. She speared three or four of them onto her silverware at a time. “–have to ask Naomi. Whaddya think?” her mother asked, glancing her way. “Do you think it works that way?” “Huh?” She glanced from her plate, her mouth filled with a spoonful of the mixed beans, enjoying the cold side’s mix of oils and vinegar tastes. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Mother twirled a lock of mildly-grayed auburn hair. “James said-” Little James cut her off. “Wind farms cause climate change.” Naomi blinked. “…What.” “See, because of all the wind farms, the air’s being turned around and pulled down and so the planet heats up. It makes more sense than this greenhouse effect bullsh-” (Little James cut himself off at Big Auntie’s glare) “…bull-poop. I mean, there’s nothing solid to hold the heat in!” You’re a moron, Naomi thought. She didn’t dare say it out aloud, but Little James’s obstinate refusal to understand high-school thermodynamics or how a greenhouse functioned got on her nerves. “Ah… I’ll have to check my notes, but I think it only causes weird ground-level currents.” “Which cause global warming,” he said, as if she’d proven his point. That how he worked; he pretended getting the last word was a victory. She knew damn well that he was trying to bait her into a no-win scenario; if she gave him the intellectual beatdown he so desperately needed, everyone would treat her like the villain for making him look bad in front of his wife and kid. If she handled him with the kid gloves, she’d be labeled a condescending elitist. If she started and backed down for fear of escalation, he’d claim victory and act like he was the more intelligent one. Of course, if she handled it perfectly and beat him fair and square, he’d say her data was all fake and claim their argument was moot. So she disengaged. “I’ll check my notes later.” To cut herself short, she gulped down a glass of soda, taking long enough that Little James got bored and started yammering about something else. She then finally chomped away at her turkey. Hints of spices and salts brought out the flavor. It was far too good to be left to cool and used later on as sandwich meat, as the family too often did with leftovers. She gave Big Auntie a quick compliment, and then went back to eating. It’d be tough for Little James to stir up an argument if she kept her mouth shut. Or full. And so Naomi filled up her plate again. This time was for the other half of the dishes, starting with the ham. She added big scoops of the odd diced tomato, herbs, onion, and grilled pineapple medley that Helen was so proud of as well. She took heaps of the marshmallow-topped yams, and massive slices of cornbread too. At this rate I’ll get fat, she mused. The meal alone was enough to distract her from the averted argument, and she mused on how the ham contrasted the turkey. While the latter was savory, salted, slightly dry and light on the tongue, the former tasted sweet, rich, and heavy. Honey glaze with a hint of apple gave it an amazing flavor, and she took her time with each bite. If the first part of the meal had been balanced, this half was sheer sugar. Nonetheless she gulped it down in large mouthfuls, and redoubled her efforts when Little James tried to steer the topic back toward his anti-science conspiracy theories. Another piece of ham here, a heap of tangy fruit-and-veggies mix there, and more kept her busy. She dug into the yams, and noticed a distinct hint of nutmeg among the soft texture. The side dish could have easily served as the filling for a gourmet pie. Even the otherwise fairly normal-looking cornbread tasted cake-like; moist, heavy, and sweet. It didn’t crumble like she’d expected, and she felt like she should’ve eaten it with her fork rather than her fingers. When she finished it off, she picked away at the crumbs. More remained. She grabbed a ladle and poured herself a bowl of the stew, and tried the less-appetizing foods as well; the coleslaw, the relatively bland-looking Italian salad, and the bread-and-walnut dressing. Despite Big Auntie’s usual standards, only the first was any good; a hearty stew in broth, full of sliced carrots, red potatoes, rice, celery, and more. Naomi slurped it down, saw Little James turn his head her way, and immediately heaped up seconds of the ham, potatoes, turkey, and bread. Andrea did likewise, and chuckled. “My food baby’s coming along. I think my belly button’s gonna pop soon.” Father laughed. “Just remember we’re not staying the night – you’ll need to fit through the door.” Naomi glanced to the window as the blizzard kicked up again. She didn’t know what her parents thought, but no way would she drive her car in that mess. Especially in the dark. - - - - - - - - - - Silverware clinked against plates, and the guests waited for serving platters to make their rounds once more. Despite everything they’d eaten, more remained. Naomi ‘accidentally’ took too big of a scoop of potatoes. “Whoops. Just made tater mountain,” she said. Andrea smirked. “A figurative mountain, or an actual one?” “Ah, shut up Andi.” Helen butted in. “Naomi! Don’t be rude! Say you’re sorry!” Naomi shrugged. “Uh… no?” Her great-aunt sighed. “Kids these days… in my day, people knew how to respect the rules.” Naomi grinned. “Auntie, I do recall your stories about how you used to sneak out and smoke joints with some Fonzie-looking biker guy…” “That was different,” the old lady said. “How?” “For starters, I got away with it.” JJ looked baffled. “Wassa join-tes?” he asked, shrill as always. Sarah cut them off. “It’s a nasty, filthy habit that Big Auntie used to have, and you shouldn’t ask.” She then gave Naomi a stern glare. Naomi capitulated, and turned her attention to her food. Thankfully, Little James grew bored of trying to provoke her, and she was left to eat in peace. Bite after bite went away, and it struck her that she didn’t know if it was her third or fourth plateful. She’d stopped paying attention, and instead just enjoyed the tastes and textures. Then she had one bite too many, and her jeans burst open. She paused, fork halfway to her mouth as she realized what happened. She tried to fix it one-handed, without success. She took her next forkful anyway, and re-buttoned her pants – which immediately popped open. She fixed them again and again, and the button refused to stay closed. Flustered, she sucked in her stomach and tightened them one last time. “Everything okay, Naomi?” her father asked. “Yeah,” she lied. “Dropped something on my lap, that’s all.” He accepted that explanation without question, and went back to his meal. Naomi played it cool, relaxed… and felt her pants pop again. Give me a break, these were loose when I sat down! Did I eat that much? She didn’t want to look down. She stared at her still-mostly-full plate (which she decided must’ve been her fifth) and tuned out that chatter around her. The meal taunted her, as if saying ‘eat me’ and she imagined herself as Alice in Wonderland – but instead of the food and drink changing her size, it’d make her bloat up. She tried not to count calories. On the other hand, Christmas was a once-a-year thing. Maybe a bit of extra food wasn’t so bad. She resumed eating, and soon enough the plate was empty once more. Out of curiosity, she finally glanced down, but in the dim candlelight she couldn’t see much. As stuffed as she was, she didn’t yet feel full; she felt like she could eat an elephant. She piled up another small plate, leaned back, and held in a burp. Enough, she thought. After this you’ve had enough. Enough is en- An argument cut into her thoughts. “You need to eat your carrots, sweetie. Get the runway ready for the airplane-” Sarah said to her child. “NO!!! DON WANNA!!! CAR-TOTS IS YUCKY!!!” JJ screamed. He slammed his fists on the table. “YUCKY!!! YUCKY!!! YUUUUUCKYYYY!!! CAR-TOTS!!! IS!!! YUUUUUUCKYYYY!!” He then paused and took a deep breath. “YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!” Naomi’s ears rang. She wanted to tell JJ to go to the guest room, but that was allegedly his parents’ call. Even if they sent him away, he’d scream and cry all night. Or play video games. So she waited. “YUCKY!!! YUUUUUUCKYYYYY!!!” (Perhaps JJ loved screaming.) “I WANNA PIE!!! GIMME PIE!!! GIMME!!! GIMME NOW!!!” She looked over to Andrea, who’d busied herself with the meal. Their parents exchanged glances, and mother looked about ready to say something. Father pushed his glasses up to his receding hairline and pinched the bridge of his nose, and JJ’s shrieks drowned out his exasperated sigh. Her great-aunt hid a quiver, on the verge of tears from the child’s insults. “Hey fine, you don’t want ‘em I’ll take ‘em,” Naomi said, and swiped the carrots from JJ’s plate. The boy sniffled. “Take yuckies.” He tossed one toward her, and it splattered on the table instead. It was almost funny. “Thanks.” As soon as JJ looked away, Naomi winked at Sarah. “So, I know that kids who don’t eat their veggies don’t get their dessert. Does this mean I get his slice of pie?” Sarah caught on. “Oh, of course. It’s very nice of you to let Naomi have your dessert, JJ.” The child’s face contorted as he worked out what just happened, then twisted into the verge of an even worse tantrum. “Gimme back yuckies!” Naomi speared a carrot on her fork and ate it. “Whoops, too late.” JJ howled. “NO!!! DON TAKE IT!!! PIE MINE!!! MINE!!!” Sarah patted him on the back and put a small serving of carrots on his plate, and glared daggers at Naomi for provoking him. Naomi sent a you-must-be-kidding-me glance to Andrea, who tried not to snort. Tried. As Sarah and Little James reassured their toddler that he could still have his pie if he ate the veggies, Naomi heaped scoops of potatoes and turkey and cornbread onto her dish. She discreetly wolfed it down, and paid little mind to the small talk. She caught her parents whispering about how if she or Andi ever acted like that they’d have spent the rest of the night in their rooms – but somehow she doubted that. Naomi’s silverware clinked against empty porcelain again, and she put together yet another serving. She didn’t think much of it as she ate – until her shirt’s buttons strained. When she looked down, she saw her belly had ballooned out as far as her chest. Oh damn, she mused, and undid the fasteners before they burst. She felt grateful that she’d worn layers. Helen noticed. “Is it too warm in here, Naomi?” “Kinda. Must be the heat from the oven,” she lied, relieved that her bloated stomach went unnoticed in the candlelight. Despite her engorged state, the meal was so good that she snacked on small servings of side dishes. Her ‘small’ snacking quickly escalted to another full plate. - - - - - - - - - - Auntie helen lit another set of candles as the first burned out. Both of Naomi’s parents finally set their plates aside, her dad complaining that he felt fit to burst. Little James and JJ did likewise, which didn’t stop the child asking for pie every thirty seconds. Naomi added more to her remaining food from spite, and as did Andrea. Sarah finished off a tidbit more and finally pushed her plate away. As Little James and father chatted about an old police cruiser they planned to restore, Naomi gulped down the buttery mashed potatoes. Her clothes felt funny, and she supposed that her jeans zipper no longer closed. She couldn’t see it in the poor light, but kept eating regardless. Mother elbowed her in the side, and Naomi supposed JJ was about ready to pitch another fit from not getting his dessert. “He can wait,” she whispered. Mother nudged her again. “…What?” “If you’re going to get up, fix your shirt,” her mom muttered. “Hmm?” Naomi wasn’t sure how she’d made the cloth lift, but it was a simple fix. She reached down, felt a sliver of bared skin, and tugged her shirt over it. As she let go, it rode up again. Uh-oh. Naomi pulled it down again, and it rose as she released it. She tried again, but the third time was decidedly not the charm. She pulled it down so much that it left a bit of her back exposed, but a slight shift in position made her belly peek out again. She tried to tuck in the hem, but her unfastened jeans made it problematic. I’m that freaking bloated?! I thought that only happened in cartoons! She did her best to keep a straight face, then tasted a distinct flavor of spiced beans. On instinct she’d taken up another spoonful – and a mostly-full plate sat before her. She groaned. That wasn’t good for leftovers; Helen expected clean plates, and didn’t particularly like wasted food. One more helping had to go; she barely managed it, and her shirt rode up further. Naomi put down her silverware, sat back, patted her distended belly, and sighed. “Thanks, Big Auntie. That was great, I’m stuffed.” She eyed the considerable amount of food remaining. “Guess we’ll have left-” She burped. Loudly. Her hands flew to her mouth and she blushed as all the chatter stopped. For a moment every pair or eyes fell on her. Andrea broke the awkwardness as she reared back laughing, and everyone else followed suite. Naomi looked at her empty plate. “Leftovers,” she finished, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yes, I guess we will.” Helen stood up, her omnipresent crazy-eyes stare falling to Naomi. “So, who’s up for pie?” “ME!!! ME-ME-ME-ME-ME!!!” JJ shouted. “I think JJ speaks for everyone here,” Mother said. At this rate I’ll explode, Naomi thought – but said, “Yeah, sure.” Within moments, two warm pumpkin pies sat on the table. The scent demolished Naomi’s reservations over eating more. For a moment she felt like she’d be able to fit an entire pie into her stomach. Helen cut the first into generous sixths rather than her normal eighths; Father politely declined a piece, and Little James and Sarah split theirs. Naomi stared at the dessert before her. It smelled good; she wanted to gulp it down at once. Orange-brown, perfectly spiced, and topped with a fist-fized spiral of whipped cream, it looked like the sort of food that could instantly make a thin person quite fat. She waited until everyone had a piece and took her first mouthful. Sweet heaven flowed over her taste buds. Every hint of spice and sugar brought out the flavor and texture to its fullest, complemented by the crispy graham-cracker crust and the soft toppings. She savored the bites and drowned out the chatter around her, losing herself in the meal. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven mouthfuls… and then it was gone. Naomi sighed. At least that was over- Thunk. An entire quarter of the second pie landed on her plate. She looked up and saw Auntie Helen beam at her. “Um… thanks…? But that’s a bit much, so…” “Hey, you looked like you enjoyed it, and we don’t know when we’re getting the power back. Go ahead and eat up,” Helen said, and offered a big chunk to Andrea as well, who gladly accepted it. Well… New Year’s resolution, burn this all off by next Friday, Naomi told herself. She dug in. By the time she’d counted to thirty, she’d eaten the whole thing. She polished off the crumbs, licked her silverware, and sat back. Full. She was finally full. She suspected that if she ate another crumb, her family would get showered by bits of her dinner – because she’d puked or popped, whichever came first. She sat back and let out another belch, ignored the laughter, and reached down to fix her shirt. She couldn’t get it over her belly button.

https://www.deviantart.com/jackalentente/art/A-Night-at-the-Fair-848445976?ga_changes=1&ga_submit_new=10%3A1594521033&ga_type=edit

https://www.deviantart.com/jackalentente/art/Florida-Woman-818347995 Although pregnancy is the central fetish, there is a great deal of stuffing in this story. This is a collaboration between myself and the render artist Broadwell. Read the description for more details. Enjoy, perverts.

Hello... A while ago I started to write a little weight gain/breast expansion story. It's about two sisters going through the aforementioned changes on their bodies. If it sounds like something you'd be interested in, well here's a link to it. http://333blebleble333.deviantart.com/gallery/63024016/Kate-and-Jenny Let me know what you think about it.