Afternoon Snack

Coming home after a long day at school, I was almost too exhausted to lock the door behind me.  I threw my bags onto the couch and slumped into the cushions next to them.  I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly, letting well deserved relaxation drain through my body.  I was barely sitting a minute, though, before I was disturbed by a gurgling rumble from my empty stomach.  I opened my eyes in, at first, vexation, but I soon sighed and laid a hand on the soft protrusion comfortingly.

Poor thing, I thought.  I never had a chance to stop and get something to eat today before coming home.  My stomach grumbled again, and I knew that I was not going to get any peace before I'd eaten.  I heaved myself upward and removed a strand of black hair from where it had fallen in front of my deep brown eyes.

"I hope there's something already made in the kitchen," I said to myself.  I was already tired, and I did not want to have to cook.  I plodded around the couch and started to go into the kitchen, but I stopped dead as soon as I could see into the dining room.

In the center of the table, right where just yesterday I had placed a vase of fresh flowers, was a round cake richly frosted in chocolate icing.  I puzzled over the unusual presence of the desert, observing it from the parlor at first but slowly inching closer to the table.  The cake was round with two layers, and at eight points around the edge and in the very center were large red roses made of frosting, spaced so as to indicate the boundaries of where to cut what amounted to eight rather large slices.  The cake itself was of medium size; the proper dimensions to feed a small group of people.  My dad had never had an inclination toward baking, but I could not understand why he would have bought a party cake just for the two of us.

I leaned over the cake from the edge of the table, inspecting it critically as if looking at it through one eye would make me feel any better about eating it.  My first instinct was, "Better not."  Perhaps Dad had bought it for his office; it was about the right size to share with his coworkers.

However…

It was uncovered.  If it had been for work, there would have been no reason to take it out of the packaging.  Plus, it was right out in the open.  If Dad had wanted it for a special occasion, he should have known better than to leave it out on the dining room table in this oh-so-tempting, "Danielle, eat me!" sort of way.

Most of those thoughts ran through my head as I was already retrieving a plate and fork from the kitchen.  Still, my knife hand hovered over the cake at the last moment, quivering with guilty second guessing.  At last, a sly smile spread over my lips, and with a final gurgle of reminder, my empty stomach made the decision for me.  The little hillock of frosted decadence looked simply too good to pass up.  I cut out a sizeable piece, making sure that I included one of the lovely frosting roses; though I had no doubt that the cake had more than enough chocolate frosting already.  I cut into the tip of my slice with my fork, and the utensil breezed through as if it were chocolate mousse instead of cake.  Slowly, I raised the first bite to my mouth, savoring the aroma as it wafted onto my moistened tongue before I wrapped my eager lips over the fluffy morsel.

I licked the fork clean after swallowing, and my tongue danced with joy over the taste of such smooth, velvety chocolate that filled the bite all the way through.  My eyes flew open, and I almost fell over backwards.  It was so delicious!  My tongue curled up in my mouth, wringing itself with pleasure.  I had never tasted anything like it!  I had no idea that cake—let alone food of any kind—could be so good!

It was so wonderful, and I knew I needed to savor it, but I just couldn't stop myself from eating bite after bite.  The rich, creamy icing coated my tongue; the moist, fluffy cake felt smooth and warm going down my throat.  In no time at all, I was already slowly licking the last traces of icing from my lips with hardly a crumb remaining on my plate.

What a rush!  I was floored by the incredible flavor—I was even a little out of breath.  I touched my face and looked around guiltily, flustered but exhilarated.  I looked at the plate in my hand—literally licked clean—and I looked at the remaining cake on the table.  Giving it a second glance, that piece really had not been as big as I had thought; it certainly did not look big compared to the rest of the cake.  The cake had been sooo delicious…another piece wouldn't hurt a thing.  Cakes are meant to be enjoyed, after all.

I sat down at the head of the table, and my stomach grumbled hungrily.  I was hardly surprised; it had only been a very little piece of cake!  I cut myself a second slice—a little bigger this time—and licked frosting from the top of my first bite.  It was so rich and creamy, so thick and smooth that it melted on my tongue like a block of pure chocolate.  I put the whole bite in my mouth and rolled it around my tongue before chewing, reveling in the flavor.  Chewing was more of a formality anyway.  The moist, heavy cake softened in my mouth on its own, and when I swallowed, it slid down my throat with a warm trickle like a mouthful of hot fudge.

I followed the first bite with a second, more slowly than before, but holding myself back to eat the cake slowly was almost as difficult as it was rewarding.  About halfway through the piece, I began to feel a peculiar tingle all over my skin.  It started at the base of my spine and slowly—agonizingly slowly—spread through my sensitive inner thighs and up the front of my body.  I swallowed and succumbed to an involuntary urge to writhe a little in my seat.  It felt…good.  The feeling crept up my spine, feeling its way across my chest like a cool set of hands.  The tingling terminated at my lips; I licked them with my chocolate coated tongue, playing with the increased sensitivity.  I felt each bite settle in my stomach with a pleasant filling sensation, but something about the filling feeling made me increasingly eager to satisfy it, and despite continued eating I became even hungrier.  Another bite followed, then another, and another…and once again I was left holding an empty plate with the strong urge to lick it clean.

I placed my hands over my soft stomach, and I felt it rumble under my hands immediately.  It was no wonder I was still hungry; I had hardly touched the cake at all, and it was just so good!
I knew that two pieces was probably more than enough, but, even so, I eyed the cake with lusty envy.  There it was, gleaming in the light, just waiting to be enjoyed.  Did it look a little bigger than before?  It seemed that a larger area of the table top was dominated by the chocolate confection than I remembered.

I shook my head and gave my complaining stomach a soothing pat.  No, that could not possibly be it; the cake only looked bigger compared to the dinky little pieces I had cut.  I stared into the yawning chocolate gulf from which I had already carved two servings of pure pleasure, and I knew that I had to have more.

Not quite sure of how much I was going to need, I abandoned my plate and simply pulled the bulk of the cake to the edge of the table so I could eat it directly.  No longer stopping to consider the notions of "slices" or what fraction of the cake remained, I swallowed forkful after forkful of the decadent, fudgy masterpiece.  Soon, the front of my shirt felt a little tight, and I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that it was my stomach slowly expanding from the fattening cake I was inhaling.  I ignored the slight discomfort; I was easily distracted by the unadulterated pleasure streaming into my mouth with each passing second.  I ate and ate, dropping some crumbs now and then but paying them less mind because of the large, promising hunk of cake still hovering below me; at the same time, I began to feel the waistband of my pants dig into the soft roll below my bellybutton as my skin started to mushroom out of my shirt.  My pants felt tight, squeezing my stomach from the outside so that each subsequent bite gave me a sense of triumph over the growing pressure, but I still did not feel full.  To the contrary, the more I ate and the tighter my belly pushed against my clothing, the more I wanted to cram into my mouth to increase the pressure.  I just knew that I only needed a little more, just a little tighter, to feel filled-up and satisfied.

At last, I gasped for breath and pushed away from the table.  My stomach was stuffed with what felt like pounds upon pounds of the heavy cake, but when I put my hand against it my belly felt just as soft and jiggly as ever.  At the same time, I noticed that since I had stopped eating, my poor tummy felt empty and slack despite the button-bursting pressure it exerted against my pants and stretched-out shirt.  In spite of the curiously enjoyable sensation of my tight pants, I didn't want to ruin them just because I had eaten too much, so to alleviate the pressure I wedged my hands below the waistband and pulled out my belly.  It felt heavier.  It already even looked a little bigger than usual, and when I removed my hands it flopped onto my upper thighs with a weighty plop.  Freeing my belly might have saved my pants, but now my stomach felt emptier than before I had even started eating the cake, and so it was with dismay that I thought there must be almost no cake left after my frantic binge moments before.

To my sheer delight, however, it seemed that I really had made a major miscalculation about the cake's original size.  In fact, it seemed that I had only succeeded in eating the top layer—the smallest layer—of what was really a three-tiered monstrosity of a cake, the bottom layer of which was easily the size of a large serving platter!

At that moment, nothing in the world could have been more appetizing.  I dove into the newly exposed tier of chocolate delight, carving out huge chunks of cake with my fork and swallowing them as quickly as I could.  My whole mouth was constantly flooded with the rich flavor as, gulp after gulp, I desperately tried to fill the bottomless chasm in my expanding stomach.  I quickly worked my way through the second tier and then, astoundingly, well into the third, and I swear I could feel the fat start to pile onto my tingling body.  My thighs, already wider than the wooden dining chair to begin with, grew steadily wider.  They pushed outward further and further, billowing into thin air more than twice the width of the chair.  My pants were taxed well beyond what they were made to withstand, and, as my thighs inflated and my butt squished between the slats in the back of the chair, an unavoidable tear slit the seams running down the sides of my thighs, exposing my olive flesh through a mesh of snapping threads.

My upper arms began to grow, too, stretching out the sleeves and shoulders of my shirt until they were forced out of the holes like pressurized dough.  My little belly, being constantly filled and overfilled with half-chewed cake, grew even faster.  As I ate, the front of my shirt rode up and completely off the rolling mound of belly flab to lodge itself under my breasts.  My bellybutton was quickly lost in a massive fold as my belly morphed into a gut that flopped onto my thighs.  My stomach grew by fractions with each bite, pushing outward further and further, growing heavier and thicker with fat until it was too big for my shredded pants, even with the button lost underneath my gargantuan lower roll.  At last, after I crammed a frosting rose the size of my fist into my mouth, my pants button exploded under the table with a climactic pop, and my gut flooded over my lap.

Around the same time, it became difficult to eat around my bunched up shirt and humongous breasts.  Forcing myself away from the cake for the greater good, I excavated the hem of my shirt and lifted the stretched out top off of what little part of my fattened upper body it still covered and tossed it aside.  The fat on my upper arms popped out of their constrictive holes and jiggled with relief, and my melon-sized breasts flopped onto the naked upper half of my swollen gut.  Each of my boobs had mushroomed so far out of my bra that there was practically nothing left of them in the cups, but the straps were buried so deeply in my newly acquired back rolls that it just seemed easier to keep going until my boobs either fell out or the bra snapped off on its own.

The prospect seemed likely enough as I swept my disheveled hair aside so I could get a full view of my handiwork.  The cake—a seven tiered, wedding cake sized work of art that looked big enough to feed dozens of people—was half gone on one side, but I still had a long way to go.  I licked my lips with relish and rubbed my flabby stomach eagerly.  It gurgled in my hands, insanely hungry for more, and I was all too eager to appease it.

Where had my fork gone?  I shrugged my plush shoulders and did not bother to look for it.  I was well beyond the need for utensils now, so I sunk my hands into the gooey layers, scooping out huge chunks that were too big for me to fit in my mouth.  I didn't care.  I crammed as much inside as I could, stuffing in chocolaty gobs until I could barely close my mouth to swallow, letting whatever would not fit splutter all over my naked belly or tumble to the floor.  Soon it no longer felt like I was swallowing at all; it was more like I was just shoving hunks of food straight down my throat into my swelling stomach, and with each handful I could feel my gut swelling, bigger and bigger, growing flabbier and heavier with each lick of icing.  After the button had exploded, my pants had found a little extra room to contain my growing girth, but with one particularly weighty gulp I felt a long rip split them vertically from the waistband to halfway down my ass, and I knew their minutes were numbered.  In a flash, the rips down the sides of my thighs split open completely, and the only thing holding my shredded pants onto my body at all was pressure from the collision of my inner thighs.

My belly had completely overtaken everything else by then, anyway.  My love handles dwarfed my thighs, bubbling over them like rising bread, slowly sagging past the edge of the chair where my butt cheeks had already been hanging unsupported for some time.  As more and more of me outgrew it, the chair felt increasingly unstable beneath my colossal rear.  All the time, I felt like the cake was growing, too, because even though I was eating it like a machine, each handful seemed even meatier than the last.  I continued to grab at the cake in a frantic bid to deplete it, throwing my flabby arms back and forth in a rocking rhythm that shook my bean bag belly side to side.  Below me I felt a little wobbling instability, and a shuddering creak suddenly traveled through my body.  With a final enthusiastic grab, I put too much weight onto a single leg of the chair, and its wooden frame shattered beneath me.  I slipped sideways with a surprised yelp and dropped two feet to the ground in a house-shaking thud.  My body erupted on impact into a fit of jiggling that had my breasts practically slapping me in the face and my ass quacking with double digit magnitude.

Before I even had time to feel shocked the table cracked loudly, and from my new vantage I was able to see the wooden cross beams sagging dangerously under the tremendous weight of the cake.  Not an instant passed before the table let out a shuddering groan, and the whole table top snapped, dropping the massive cake to the floor with an even larger impact.  Only now could I fully appreciate its true scale.  When the astonishment had worn off, I was left sitting cross-legged with my gut covering everything but my knees while I stared at eye level at third highest layer of a cake that easily weighed hundreds of pounds.

I lunged at it, tearing bites out of the sides directly with my mouth while scooping armloads of frosting all over my stomach in the effort to corral a pile of food closer to my sugar smeared lips.  I gobbled from the side of the cake, depleting the impossibly thick layers at a breakneck pace.  I found myself being gradually forced away from the cake as each stomach-expanding swallow put more belly between me and mon amour.  I overcame the cumbersome size of my gut by leaning further onto the cake until I was partially crushing it beneath my thigh-sized rolls of fat.  I ate and ate, shoveling in as much as my stomach could bear until, finally, I felt like I might burst.  Instead of quitting, though, I rolled back onto my haunches and lifted what was left of the top layer completely off the cake and began to slowly, gulp by chocolaty gulp, shove the whole thing down into my gut.

I made one last, tremendous swallow, spread my arms, and then collapsed backward, landing with a squish on my fat, sweat misted back.  My breasts flopped after me and heaved along with my heavy breathing, and my hugely swollen stomach settled on top of me.  Sloshing like a twin-sized water bed, it spread across the floor more than a foot to either side.  My mouth lolled open, and I stared at the ceiling, thoroughly out of breath.  That was when I noticed a shadow leaning over me.

"Vince?"

"Vince…mmm…come here, baby…"

Danielle waved me closer with a clumsy flail of her fat arm.  She spoke slowly through long breaths in a husky, wet voice.

"I need you….  My tummy is…sooooo tight!" she moaned.  She slapped both hands onto the sides of her swollen belly and squished it, causing it to swell upward between her widely spaced palms.

"It's so huge now…I can't reach," she said, shifting its heavy bulk from side to side.  "I need you to help me massage it."

There was no second guessing.  I straddled her thighs and slowly teased her hands away from her belly so I could have it all to myself.  At first, I just rested my palms on the warm, jiggling mass, rubbing it gently but without pushing at all.  I trilled my fingertips up and down her sides, feeling the surface of her angelic skin deform like a cloud beneath my light touch while the thick layer of fat below made the surface of her belly ripple all over.  I felt Danielle's thighs shudder under my legs, and she voiced a little gasp to let me know I was doing well.  Gradually, I increased the pressure, escalating quickly from a gentle squeeze to really squishing into her fat belly and love handles.  I began pushing the bulk of her belly from both sides so that it swelled in the middle, then I let it drop suddenly in a jiggle heap.

"Mmmm…mmm…." Danielle cooed, clenching her fingers and toes in sheer delight.

I gripped what I could reach of her flabby sides and squeezed with all my might, eliciting a gasp from Danielle and a smile from me.  Still gripping her thick rolls, I lifted her belly up and wedged my arms beneath the lowest roll.  I pushed it back as far as I could, squishing her blubbery gut into her breasts and forcing them all they way up to her chin; I held the bulk of her belly there while I inched a little further over her lap.  When I had scooted as high up her thighs as I could get, I released her heavy belly and let it flow against my lower body like the tide rushing in.

There was still a mound of cake and frosting smeared over Danielle's mostly naked body, so I scooped up a handful of the gooey mess from between the rolls hiding her belly button and brought it to her mouth.  She lifted her head and slowly licked the frosting from my fingers.  With each little swallow, I felt her gut swell just a little more.

"So good…" she whispered, rubbing her belly with her chocolate stained hands.

She licked her lips with relish, signaling me that she definitely wanted to fill her mouth with more.  I leaned backward reaching for the huge remaining heaps of cake, but I was suddenly toppled on my side by Danielle's thighs twisting beneath me.  She rolled onto her side, her belly spilling all over the floor, and I rolled onto my back.  I made an attempt to sit up, but Danielle gave me a "don't move" look with her eyes; I obeyed.

With a grunt and obvious effort, Danielle rolled teeteringly from her side onto her stomach.  The over filled blubber gushed out on all sides, and she rocked briefly atop its shifting contents before finding her balance.  She heaved herself onto her hands and knees, but even so her flabby rolls sagged to the carpet, brushing the floor while swaying slowly beneath her.

"Thank you so much, Vince," she said and began to crawl toward me.  Her hair had fallen over part of her face as she spoke.  She crept closer slowly, shifting her sizeable bulk from one knee to the other, thrusting one titanic butt cheek in the air then bouncing to the other in a positively hypnotic rhythm.  Her humongous, fat-filled breasts were squeezed between her arms, and they swayed and jiggled with each crawling advance.

She reached my legs and began to drag herself on top of me, and I could feel the heavy warmth of her belly spreading all over my thighs.  "I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel," she said, lowering herself onto my chest, which was completely smothered by her soft breasts.

I wrapped my arms around her squishy sides, losing my forearms in her rolls of flab, and squeezed her back as she lay on top of me.  Danielle cupped my face in her hands tenderly and pressed her lips to mine; I squeezed her more tightly as I kissed her plump, pink lips.

Gasping for breath, I sprang bolt-upright in bed.  Covered in sweat and tingling from head to foot—and even though I was extremely disappointed—I grinned between heavy breaths.  I had not had a dream that exciting in quite some time.  I checked my alarm clock and found that even with as much adrenalin as was pumping through my system it was still far too early to get out of bed.  Rather, I took a deep breath and lowered my head back into my pillows and closed my eyes.  There was still plenty of night for dreaming, and a full day of real life had yet to begin.  Already drifting off once more, I fell asleep happily wondering whether—these days—there was much of a difference.