~BBW; Romance, Imagery, Stuffing, Feeding, Eating,~MWG - a
[Author's Note]: My first story here. I write slow-building stories, so the gratification may come later; feel free to comment and add suggestions. I really do welcome constructive criticism.
Background: Cynthia is pursuing her Masters in mathematics while tutoring Will, who is struggling to hold on to his grades. But Will is about to teach Cynthia about something she only dreamed about...
Chapter 1
Cynthia was not happy when she woke.
She felt the heat rising in her dark cheeks, and frowned slightly that her underwear betrayed her true feelings of ecstasy over the shame. She hated these dreams, and they were happening more often lately. She let a small puff of air loose in frustration. Well, she needed to be honest. She really hated them because she was so turned on by them.
Cynthia remembered her dreams starting when she was 18 years old in high school.
In one of them - one of the recurring ones - she was in a pastry factory, and people were offering small tastes of everything and she couldn't say no. But she couldn't get enough of the calorie laden cakes and gooey pies and sticky donuts, and she accepted everything they gave her, even as the portions continually grew bigger. All the food tasted sinfully good, and after each bite she would rub her stomach as if in ecstasy.
She would see herself stuffing her face, barely giving herself time to chew or moan in delight as new treats were thrust in her face; she crammed as much as she could in her mouth, all the time begging for more (she looked like a chipmunk, at one point). But each chew added a new ounce to her slowly thickening flesh, then her clothes began tightening and tightening, and buttons would slowly pop as her clothes stretched and groaned around her...but funny enough, before the clothes completely fell away, a new shirt or dress would suddenly drape her bigger frame.
Cynthia heard herself squeal when she could no longer see her feet, and as her arms lifted to make room for her fattening thighs and belly. She actually heard herself say, "oh my" between cake-stuffed cheeks when two new buttons popped at once, which set her into vapid, gleeful giggles from her many-chinned throat. Her bottom had bubbled up like a pair of bean bag chairs, forcing her to plop to the floor because her legs were too weak to hold the ballooning form.
The dream always continued until she was literally the center of the room. Her legs would be spread apart to make room for her gigantic belly that was now slapping the floor and still expanding. Near the end she'd be surrounded by tables of piled-high food while grabbing and stuffing and moaning for more.
In her dream estimation she was more than 500 pounds, maybe closer to a half-ton...but this was the problem: Whenever Cynthia woke from it she realized she was wet. Ecstatic. Lustful. Turned on by all the food. Turned on by getting fatter and fatter, until she became immobile. And she'd loved every second of it.
And that's what shamed Cynthia. Especially when she caught herself smacking her lips and rubbing her belly seductively upon waking.
But she was twenty-three years old now, and she had no idea why those dreams were accelerating while she was getting her Masters. Maybe it was the crazy diet she'd been on a few weeks ago; she stopped being faithful to it, because she was literally hungry all the time so forget that.
She hadn't recovered from the binging brought on post-diet, either. She found it was easier just to grab a packet of cookies or a pint of ice cream along with her regular groceries, and it ended up that she'd finish the box or the container of ice cream before the end of the evening. Or worse, she'd go out to a different store and get another box of cookies or pint of ice cream, and finish it before bed.
In the end not only had she gained back what she'd lost, but she'd also gained a few more pounds with it. Two weeks ago the scale read 175, but she had a feeling she'd gained some since then, since her pants had begun painfully digging into her stomach, and her jeans had slowly slunk further south on her thighs to make way for her paunch.
Her muffin top was turning into a full cake top.
Cynthia let a small expletive escape her lips as she crawled out of bed. She had to get up anyway; Will was supposed to call in the morning to confirm their study session on topology. Cynthia had had no problem with the class and passed it two terms ago, but Will had received a "C" on his last two tests, and he couldn't afford to get another bad grade because he would be in danger of losing his funding.
The last time they saw one another was over a month ago and she'd offered to help as she was one of the TAs in the math lab, but Will had also asked for some personal, one-on-one help. They'd gone back and forth via email on it, and finally after a few telephone calls and schedule coordinating they were able to make it work this Saturday. Cynthia didn't normally make it a habit to tutor outside of a normal class day but Will sounded so desperate that she hadn't had the heart to turn him down.
His cute smile and pleading baby blues hadn't hurt, either.
She'd just jumped out of the shower when the phone started ringing. She quickly wrapped a towel about her waist (and noted, with a frown, that the towel couldn't quite cover all of her. But she shouldn't have been shy - she lived by herself, after all, except for her cat, Luce - but she couldn't stop feeling as if the person on the other line could see her in all her chunky glory.
"Hello?"
"Hey, uh, Cynthia, it's Will Parker. Um, did I catch you at a bad time? You sound out of breath--"
"No, no," Cynthia said. She took a deep breath to steady herself. It didn't help, though; she still sounded winded. "I, ah, was just running to catch the phone before it went to voice mail. So, you ready to tackle some theorems today, or what?"
Will chuckled, and Cynthia couldn't help smiling in response. She liked his deep laugh, too.
"Not on an empty stomach," he admitted. "I haven't had breakfast yet, have you?"
"No, but I really don't need..."
"No worries, I got paid yesterday, I owe you for helping me with this math class, and I won't take 'no' for an answer. Let's go to Cafe Peru - they have a few study tables in the back, and we can get there before the partyers wake up for their noonday feeding."
Cynthia hesitated, more due to her dream and her binging track record but in the end her stomach's gurgle answered for her.
"I guess so." If nothing else, she could drink coffee. Cafe Peru had the best coffee in the world as far as she was concerned, and it was both fair trade and organic. "Meet you in thirty minutes?"
"Works for me."
"Good - and don't forget your textbook this time." Which was what happened the last time he met her at the math lab.
"I won't," Will said, sounding a bit chastised.
When he hung up the phone, Cynthia had another small panic attack as she realized one crucial fact: She had nothing to wear. She'd planned on going clothes shopping at one of the cheaper clothes places in town or a thrift store, but it was too late now. Everything in her closet hurt to wear and Cynthia was tired of fighting with her clothes - and there was no way she wanted Will to see how fat she'd gotten in the past month by wearing ill-fitting clothes. Crap...the last time he'd seen her she'd been in the upper 160s...
Cautiously, Cynthia went back into the bathroom and kicked the scale into the center of the tiled floor. She really didn't want to read it, but she had to. She had to find out how much weight she'd gained in the month. She stepped on the old fashioned needle scale and closed her eyes. She must've stood there for over a minute with her eyes closed, not wanting to see the damage.
"Come on, snap out of it," she muttered to herself. "It can't be that bad. It can't."
She let out her breath and opened her eyes.
The gasp she let out could've been heard in the next apartment complex. "Dammit!"
183 pounds.
Cynthia nervously rubbed the back of her neck and positioned the scale in a few other places in the bathroom, hoping for a better response over some loose tiles. But no; if nothing else, some areas on the floor made the numbers worse.
No wonder she couldn't fit in her clothes.
***
Eventually Cynthia pulled herself together enough to make it to Cafe Peru, ten minutes later than their scheduled time. She honestly hated to be late, but it took her twenty additional minutes to find something she could try putting on while still looking decent. She'd opted for a rather forgiving knee-length pencil skirt and a giving (if not forgiving) button-down Oxford shirt with a hint of stretch in it.
It was the only shirt that she'd dare wear with a dressy pencil skirt, and even now she regretted wearing it. She realized while driving that shirt kept riding up over her stomach and gaping in the worst spots. The pencil skirt wasn't much better; when it didn't ride to mid-thigh, the material stretched taut and showed definite front-waves indicating that it couldn't stretch across any further without either tearing or splitting somewhere. But what choice did she have? Certainly none at this late date.
Feeling her cheeks get hot, Cynthia parked her mini and double checked the rest of her in the mirror. She fluffed out her thick, kinked hair in all its ringlet glory, and checked to make sure she was wearing a flattering lipstick on her full lips. In the face, she didn't see herself differently from any other "ethnically diverse" females...although she did note the start of a double chin that wasn't too pleasing. But from there, the differences started becoming apparent. Her underarms had widened into the beginning of a distinct flab-jiggle and her big ol' bosoms didn't help the shirt gappage.
Cynthia looked down and sighed when she realized one of the shirt buttons had strained out of the buttonhole, revealing her too-small lacy black bra. Making a face she grabbed her zippered sweatshirt from the back seat. A sweater would've been a much more feminine choice, of course, but all of her sweater tops were buttoned cardigans. And all of them were too tight to button.
Her zippered sweatshirt was her final option, despite the tackiness of it and despite how it enhanced her belly's bowed outline. But it was either that, or she'd be showing off her hefty jugs, which apparently were bursting through her shirt like Sigourney Weaver's Alien.
After a brief struggle getting out of her car (when did it get so hard to get out of her own damn car?) and making sure she looked at least human, if not presentable, Cynthia made her way into Cafe Peru. She felt embarrassed by the way she was dressed but she shouldn't have worried; Will was at the door waiting for her and he didn't even give her high-school-student-in-a-closet look a second glance. He blinked once, perhaps taken aback by her larger form, but at least he didn't sneer or make a face.
"Hey! I was hoping I didn't miss you," he said. His smile was gentle, and seemed genuine. "I wasn't sure if you were coming in the front or the back."
"No, I just got here," Cynthia said. She stole a glance at him and couldn't help but have a bit of a crush. He was a bit older than her, maybe 27, and a little on the thin side but Cynthia didn't like men like "the Rock" anyway. Will was just cute in a geeky kind of way and he reminded her of a tall Edward Norton. She chuckled when she noticed he wasn't holding anything. "And after I told you to remember your books, you still forgot?"
"What--? Oh, no no - they're at our table," he said. He pointed in the direction and ducked his head in a slightly self-depreciating way. "After you?"
"Thanks," Cynthia said, and felt her cheeks get hot again. There was no way he could avoid staring at her massive rear now. Or, she thought, wincing, no way he could avoid the annoying "zip-zop" sound as her thighs both rubbed against the fabric and against each together. She was lucky she didn't set her skirt on fire.
She ignored her brain's image of a fiery skirt after she noticed Will's books spread across the heavy, antiqued wood table. Then he came around and pulled out her chair, surprising her.
"Here, let me," he said. "What good am I if I can't act like a gentleman every once in a while?"
"Well, thanks," she said with a shy smile. She sat, and felt just how stretched the fabric was against her thighs. Oh, yeah. Coffee and only coffee was what she needed. Of course, the waitress took that to be her cue to ramble over. The waitress, like most of the others who worked at Cafe Peru, was a struggling college student and Cynthia always thought to treat them well, and to tip them well. After all, it hadn't been quite so long since she'd been the one waiting tables.
"Here's some menus for you both," she - Mandy, according to her tag - said, and she left them to decide.
"Cynthia, what are you in the mood for? Seriously, I'm fine with whatever you get. They have great prices, since the students are penniless on a good day."
Cynthia swallowed; not one thing on the menu seemed even close to diet food. "I'm really not very hungry. I may just have coffee."
Will raised an eyebrow and gave her the mock evil eye, then sat back in his chair as if mildly insulted. "Seriously. Have you tried the breakfast relleno special? One whiff of that, and you'll want seconds after the first bite."
That's what I'm afraid of, she thought.
"No, really. I'm in a coffee mood, that's all."
Will kept staring at her with a raised eyebrow and didn't say a word. At that moment her stomach growled like a banshee.
"Uh, huh," Will said, trying to keep a straight face.
"Okay, okay. So I'm a little hungry. I just..." Cynthia sighed deep as the confession tumbled out, unbidden. "I've been eating too much junk lately."
"Hey, eggs are healthy. You know, that incredible, edible egg and all that? So's toast. So have eggs and toast. That won't hurt. You can get it a la carte."
"Hmm...okay, you're right." She nodded and placed the menu back on the table. It did make sense, and Will had a good point.
"Good. Then I won't feel guilty getting the breakfast relleno special," he said, grinning. "Ms. Cynthia Moore, you'll make an honest man of me yet."
Cynthia wasn't quite sure how to take his statement, especially since he winked at her as he said it. A warm feeling spread over her. Will wasn't married, she knew that. But she wasn't sure if he was flirting with her or not. Even if he was, it was probably just a harmless thing. Not only were they racially different (not that she minded, but he might), but he was a rail and she...definitely wasn't. So, probably not in the cards.
Even if he was cute.
(Continued in post 5 of this thread)
[Author's Note]: My first story here. I write slow-building stories, so the gratification may come later; feel free to comment and add suggestions. I really do welcome constructive criticism.
Background: Cynthia is pursuing her Masters in mathematics while tutoring Will, who is struggling to hold on to his grades. But Will is about to teach Cynthia about something she only dreamed about...
Two to the Power of Nine
by Mayla
by Mayla
Chapter 1
Cynthia was not happy when she woke.
She felt the heat rising in her dark cheeks, and frowned slightly that her underwear betrayed her true feelings of ecstasy over the shame. She hated these dreams, and they were happening more often lately. She let a small puff of air loose in frustration. Well, she needed to be honest. She really hated them because she was so turned on by them.
Cynthia remembered her dreams starting when she was 18 years old in high school.
In one of them - one of the recurring ones - she was in a pastry factory, and people were offering small tastes of everything and she couldn't say no. But she couldn't get enough of the calorie laden cakes and gooey pies and sticky donuts, and she accepted everything they gave her, even as the portions continually grew bigger. All the food tasted sinfully good, and after each bite she would rub her stomach as if in ecstasy.
She would see herself stuffing her face, barely giving herself time to chew or moan in delight as new treats were thrust in her face; she crammed as much as she could in her mouth, all the time begging for more (she looked like a chipmunk, at one point). But each chew added a new ounce to her slowly thickening flesh, then her clothes began tightening and tightening, and buttons would slowly pop as her clothes stretched and groaned around her...but funny enough, before the clothes completely fell away, a new shirt or dress would suddenly drape her bigger frame.
Cynthia heard herself squeal when she could no longer see her feet, and as her arms lifted to make room for her fattening thighs and belly. She actually heard herself say, "oh my" between cake-stuffed cheeks when two new buttons popped at once, which set her into vapid, gleeful giggles from her many-chinned throat. Her bottom had bubbled up like a pair of bean bag chairs, forcing her to plop to the floor because her legs were too weak to hold the ballooning form.
The dream always continued until she was literally the center of the room. Her legs would be spread apart to make room for her gigantic belly that was now slapping the floor and still expanding. Near the end she'd be surrounded by tables of piled-high food while grabbing and stuffing and moaning for more.
In her dream estimation she was more than 500 pounds, maybe closer to a half-ton...but this was the problem: Whenever Cynthia woke from it she realized she was wet. Ecstatic. Lustful. Turned on by all the food. Turned on by getting fatter and fatter, until she became immobile. And she'd loved every second of it.
And that's what shamed Cynthia. Especially when she caught herself smacking her lips and rubbing her belly seductively upon waking.
But she was twenty-three years old now, and she had no idea why those dreams were accelerating while she was getting her Masters. Maybe it was the crazy diet she'd been on a few weeks ago; she stopped being faithful to it, because she was literally hungry all the time so forget that.
She hadn't recovered from the binging brought on post-diet, either. She found it was easier just to grab a packet of cookies or a pint of ice cream along with her regular groceries, and it ended up that she'd finish the box or the container of ice cream before the end of the evening. Or worse, she'd go out to a different store and get another box of cookies or pint of ice cream, and finish it before bed.
In the end not only had she gained back what she'd lost, but she'd also gained a few more pounds with it. Two weeks ago the scale read 175, but she had a feeling she'd gained some since then, since her pants had begun painfully digging into her stomach, and her jeans had slowly slunk further south on her thighs to make way for her paunch.
Her muffin top was turning into a full cake top.
Cynthia let a small expletive escape her lips as she crawled out of bed. She had to get up anyway; Will was supposed to call in the morning to confirm their study session on topology. Cynthia had had no problem with the class and passed it two terms ago, but Will had received a "C" on his last two tests, and he couldn't afford to get another bad grade because he would be in danger of losing his funding.
The last time they saw one another was over a month ago and she'd offered to help as she was one of the TAs in the math lab, but Will had also asked for some personal, one-on-one help. They'd gone back and forth via email on it, and finally after a few telephone calls and schedule coordinating they were able to make it work this Saturday. Cynthia didn't normally make it a habit to tutor outside of a normal class day but Will sounded so desperate that she hadn't had the heart to turn him down.
His cute smile and pleading baby blues hadn't hurt, either.
She'd just jumped out of the shower when the phone started ringing. She quickly wrapped a towel about her waist (and noted, with a frown, that the towel couldn't quite cover all of her. But she shouldn't have been shy - she lived by herself, after all, except for her cat, Luce - but she couldn't stop feeling as if the person on the other line could see her in all her chunky glory.
"Hello?"
"Hey, uh, Cynthia, it's Will Parker. Um, did I catch you at a bad time? You sound out of breath--"
"No, no," Cynthia said. She took a deep breath to steady herself. It didn't help, though; she still sounded winded. "I, ah, was just running to catch the phone before it went to voice mail. So, you ready to tackle some theorems today, or what?"
Will chuckled, and Cynthia couldn't help smiling in response. She liked his deep laugh, too.
"Not on an empty stomach," he admitted. "I haven't had breakfast yet, have you?"
"No, but I really don't need..."
"No worries, I got paid yesterday, I owe you for helping me with this math class, and I won't take 'no' for an answer. Let's go to Cafe Peru - they have a few study tables in the back, and we can get there before the partyers wake up for their noonday feeding."
Cynthia hesitated, more due to her dream and her binging track record but in the end her stomach's gurgle answered for her.
"I guess so." If nothing else, she could drink coffee. Cafe Peru had the best coffee in the world as far as she was concerned, and it was both fair trade and organic. "Meet you in thirty minutes?"
"Works for me."
"Good - and don't forget your textbook this time." Which was what happened the last time he met her at the math lab.
"I won't," Will said, sounding a bit chastised.
When he hung up the phone, Cynthia had another small panic attack as she realized one crucial fact: She had nothing to wear. She'd planned on going clothes shopping at one of the cheaper clothes places in town or a thrift store, but it was too late now. Everything in her closet hurt to wear and Cynthia was tired of fighting with her clothes - and there was no way she wanted Will to see how fat she'd gotten in the past month by wearing ill-fitting clothes. Crap...the last time he'd seen her she'd been in the upper 160s...
Cautiously, Cynthia went back into the bathroom and kicked the scale into the center of the tiled floor. She really didn't want to read it, but she had to. She had to find out how much weight she'd gained in the month. She stepped on the old fashioned needle scale and closed her eyes. She must've stood there for over a minute with her eyes closed, not wanting to see the damage.
"Come on, snap out of it," she muttered to herself. "It can't be that bad. It can't."
She let out her breath and opened her eyes.
The gasp she let out could've been heard in the next apartment complex. "Dammit!"
183 pounds.
Cynthia nervously rubbed the back of her neck and positioned the scale in a few other places in the bathroom, hoping for a better response over some loose tiles. But no; if nothing else, some areas on the floor made the numbers worse.
No wonder she couldn't fit in her clothes.
***
Eventually Cynthia pulled herself together enough to make it to Cafe Peru, ten minutes later than their scheduled time. She honestly hated to be late, but it took her twenty additional minutes to find something she could try putting on while still looking decent. She'd opted for a rather forgiving knee-length pencil skirt and a giving (if not forgiving) button-down Oxford shirt with a hint of stretch in it.
It was the only shirt that she'd dare wear with a dressy pencil skirt, and even now she regretted wearing it. She realized while driving that shirt kept riding up over her stomach and gaping in the worst spots. The pencil skirt wasn't much better; when it didn't ride to mid-thigh, the material stretched taut and showed definite front-waves indicating that it couldn't stretch across any further without either tearing or splitting somewhere. But what choice did she have? Certainly none at this late date.
Feeling her cheeks get hot, Cynthia parked her mini and double checked the rest of her in the mirror. She fluffed out her thick, kinked hair in all its ringlet glory, and checked to make sure she was wearing a flattering lipstick on her full lips. In the face, she didn't see herself differently from any other "ethnically diverse" females...although she did note the start of a double chin that wasn't too pleasing. But from there, the differences started becoming apparent. Her underarms had widened into the beginning of a distinct flab-jiggle and her big ol' bosoms didn't help the shirt gappage.
Cynthia looked down and sighed when she realized one of the shirt buttons had strained out of the buttonhole, revealing her too-small lacy black bra. Making a face she grabbed her zippered sweatshirt from the back seat. A sweater would've been a much more feminine choice, of course, but all of her sweater tops were buttoned cardigans. And all of them were too tight to button.
Her zippered sweatshirt was her final option, despite the tackiness of it and despite how it enhanced her belly's bowed outline. But it was either that, or she'd be showing off her hefty jugs, which apparently were bursting through her shirt like Sigourney Weaver's Alien.
After a brief struggle getting out of her car (when did it get so hard to get out of her own damn car?) and making sure she looked at least human, if not presentable, Cynthia made her way into Cafe Peru. She felt embarrassed by the way she was dressed but she shouldn't have worried; Will was at the door waiting for her and he didn't even give her high-school-student-in-a-closet look a second glance. He blinked once, perhaps taken aback by her larger form, but at least he didn't sneer or make a face.
"Hey! I was hoping I didn't miss you," he said. His smile was gentle, and seemed genuine. "I wasn't sure if you were coming in the front or the back."
"No, I just got here," Cynthia said. She stole a glance at him and couldn't help but have a bit of a crush. He was a bit older than her, maybe 27, and a little on the thin side but Cynthia didn't like men like "the Rock" anyway. Will was just cute in a geeky kind of way and he reminded her of a tall Edward Norton. She chuckled when she noticed he wasn't holding anything. "And after I told you to remember your books, you still forgot?"
"What--? Oh, no no - they're at our table," he said. He pointed in the direction and ducked his head in a slightly self-depreciating way. "After you?"
"Thanks," Cynthia said, and felt her cheeks get hot again. There was no way he could avoid staring at her massive rear now. Or, she thought, wincing, no way he could avoid the annoying "zip-zop" sound as her thighs both rubbed against the fabric and against each together. She was lucky she didn't set her skirt on fire.
She ignored her brain's image of a fiery skirt after she noticed Will's books spread across the heavy, antiqued wood table. Then he came around and pulled out her chair, surprising her.
"Here, let me," he said. "What good am I if I can't act like a gentleman every once in a while?"
"Well, thanks," she said with a shy smile. She sat, and felt just how stretched the fabric was against her thighs. Oh, yeah. Coffee and only coffee was what she needed. Of course, the waitress took that to be her cue to ramble over. The waitress, like most of the others who worked at Cafe Peru, was a struggling college student and Cynthia always thought to treat them well, and to tip them well. After all, it hadn't been quite so long since she'd been the one waiting tables.
"Here's some menus for you both," she - Mandy, according to her tag - said, and she left them to decide.
"Cynthia, what are you in the mood for? Seriously, I'm fine with whatever you get. They have great prices, since the students are penniless on a good day."
Cynthia swallowed; not one thing on the menu seemed even close to diet food. "I'm really not very hungry. I may just have coffee."
Will raised an eyebrow and gave her the mock evil eye, then sat back in his chair as if mildly insulted. "Seriously. Have you tried the breakfast relleno special? One whiff of that, and you'll want seconds after the first bite."
That's what I'm afraid of, she thought.
"No, really. I'm in a coffee mood, that's all."
Will kept staring at her with a raised eyebrow and didn't say a word. At that moment her stomach growled like a banshee.
"Uh, huh," Will said, trying to keep a straight face.
"Okay, okay. So I'm a little hungry. I just..." Cynthia sighed deep as the confession tumbled out, unbidden. "I've been eating too much junk lately."
"Hey, eggs are healthy. You know, that incredible, edible egg and all that? So's toast. So have eggs and toast. That won't hurt. You can get it a la carte."
"Hmm...okay, you're right." She nodded and placed the menu back on the table. It did make sense, and Will had a good point.
"Good. Then I won't feel guilty getting the breakfast relleno special," he said, grinning. "Ms. Cynthia Moore, you'll make an honest man of me yet."
Cynthia wasn't quite sure how to take his statement, especially since he winked at her as he said it. A warm feeling spread over her. Will wasn't married, she knew that. But she wasn't sure if he was flirting with her or not. Even if he was, it was probably just a harmless thing. Not only were they racially different (not that she minded, but he might), but he was a rail and she...definitely wasn't. So, probably not in the cards.
Even if he was cute.
(Continued in post 5 of this thread)
