Thread: Chiara
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Old 01-22-2018, 12:14 PM   #1
Join Date: Aug 2008
Location: Germany
Posts: 61
Borghen has said some nice things
Default Chiara

~BBW, ~~WG, stuffing, eating - Unemployed graduate trains to prepare herself for an eating competition.


by Borghen

editing by Agouderia and Marlow

(This story is loosely based on a real acquaintance. As I was born and raised in Italy it may have an "old worldly" flavor. If you find any mistakes, I am the one to blame; my editors must only be thanked for their help and patience.)

It was a lazy late Winter morning. I was sprawled on the couch reading a novel and stealing glances at my roommate Chiara, seated on the armchair intently browsing a cheap magazine. Chiara and I had been sharing a small flat for the past two months and I had grown fond of her. Her central Italy accent did not bother me anymore and her cheerful demeanor provided a foil to my more serious countenance.

Standing 5’6’’ with a weight fluctuating between 130 and 140 pounds, she was by no means fat, not even chunky, but the roundness of her cheeks and a small layer of pudge around her midsection teased a potential for growth. She was kind of top heavy, with round breasts and broad shoulders, but her calves were stout and powerful enough to give her figure a certain harmony.

I had always been into fat ladies. I know they want to be called curvy, zaftig, voluptuous, soft… It doesn’t matter to me: they all have what I need, which is a good amount of lard. My “ideal weight” is usually 20 pounds higher than a girl’s ideal one. Chiara had been considerably heavier as a foreign exchange student in Spain, but had lost most of the weight after coming back to Italy. Sure, I had seen a couple of pictures and she had looked hot then, but now, stuck with a meager allowance from her parents down in The Marches, she could not afford to indulge.
My train of thoughts was interrupted.

“Nothing, yet,” she mumbled. “Too bad…”

I peered above the pages of my book. “What are you looking for?”

“A job.” She absentmindedly scratched the roll of fat peaking over her jeans. “There’s nothing here.” She pouted, her full cheeks giving her a cute expression.

“Well,” I reasoned. “You have a degree in Literature, after all. What do you expect?”

Her frown deepened. “Hostess… Promoter… Lousy, stupid jobs!”

“I think you should lower your expectations.”

She was not paying attention. “Wait! What’s this?” She read an ad more carefully. “St. John’s Day eating competition?”

I waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah… It is on June 24th, over four months from now. People stuff their faces and…” My voice drifted away, realizing this could be my opportunity to fulfill a wet dream.

“The prize is 3.000 Euros,” Chiara kept on reading. “Whoever eats the most wins…”

The fattest pig gets the award, right. “Do you feel up to the task?”

Chiara stood. “I could always try, right?” She ran a hand over her soft tummy. “No harm in that and it could be fun.”

“What makes you so sure?” I shifted my weight on the sofa and raised my eyebrows. “It sounds kind of…” I bit my lip, suppressing a smirk. “Hard.”

“Nonsense. I've always had a big appetite, after all. You remember how big I got on that exchange trip?” She patted her pudgy stomach. “That prize is exactly what I need. I already feel richer.”

And fatter. “Ok, if you really want to.” Images of Chiara stuffing her face and ending up with a bloated belly flooded my mind. Something stiffened in my pants. “If you’re that serious about this, then you should probably train.” My erection was growing, making it impossible for me to stand. “You don’t know what kind of opponents you are facing.”

“That’ll be even funnier,” she beamed. “I could start right now! I remember packing away so much comfort food during exam weeks in school. Whole meals like it was nothing... You know, I've never really tried to see how much I can eat in one sitting. Maybe it'll be the secret talent I never knew I had. ”

“Well, I just went shopping.” I gestured towards the kitchen. “You know the way.”

Chiara trotted towards the food. My eyes lingered on her broad shoulders, drifting down to her thick thighs. Where would she grow first? My money was on boobs and belly, which had already a good head start, but genetics is unpredictable more often than not.

The cupboard door slammed in the kitchen. I shook my head, took a deep breath and got up. It took me a while to adjust my jeans over my outrageous erection. I briefly considered taking a shower, a very cold one, but I opted for a long walk, instead. The microwave buzzed cheerfully as I left the flat.
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