Thread: Chiara
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Old 02-21-2018, 01:06 AM   #6
Join Date: Aug 2008
Location: Germany
Posts: 61
Borghen has said some nice things

Chiara woke up several hours later, when it was already past dinner time. She lumbered to the kitchen with groggy eyes and a gurgling stomach, still clad in the ill-fitting clothes she had been wearing at lunch. I had restocked the pantry and was ready to serve her but, following an inspiration, decided to play it differently: I only gave her a small plate of pasta, with a glass full of beer.

“Is it that all there is?”

“Eat up.” I licked my lips.

She devoured the pasta in no time and chugged the cold beer as quickly. I waited for a while, making idle chat, then I served her some tuna salad, with one more beer. Again she ate and drank everything quickly; I let a few minutes pass, before repeating the trick: a small helping of tasty food and a big glass of beer. Towards the end of the meal, Chiara was bloated with liquid and visibly lightheaded.

“I feel funny,” she slurred, leaning back. She patted her sloshy tummy. “The beer is so gassy.” She belched.

“Good,” I approved. “It will help expand your capacity.” I placed a plate of dry cookies in front of her. “And here is your dessert.”

Chiara mechanically grabbed one of the cookies and stuffed it in her mouth. They were freshly baked with chocolate chips, both filling and fattening. I let her eat a good part of the plate, before taking a milk cartoon out of the fridge and filling a tall glass. I held it nonchalantly out of her reach, and only gave it to her when the cookies were finished.

“Thanks,” she said. “My mouth was dry.”

She grabbed the glass and chugged it like there was no tomorrow (which could have been truer than we thought at the rate she was eating). The milk had just disappeared down her throat when what I was expecting happened: the crumbs stuffed at the top of her overfull belly began to expand, soaked with the milk. It began with a slow rumble, then Chiara’s belly surged noticeably forward. Her shirt rolled up once again and her groan of distress became a loud belch.

“What… What is this?” She held her own gut in both hands, trying to prevent it from expanding further. She did not look to be successful.

I shrugged. “Your tummy. What else?”

Chiara blinked. “But what just happened?”

“A simple matter of physics.” I grabbed the hem of her shirt to pull it down, but it was stuck under her boobs and the top of her stomach.

“I hate you,” she moaned, then she belched again.

It took more time than the previous night to carry Chiara to bed. Not only was she bloated and gassy, but also nearly drunk. After a lot of staggering and cursing (she stomped on my foot a couple of times), we eventually made it to her room, where she spun and landed with her back on the bed. The fall was enough to provoke another rumble from her tummy, followed by a barrage of belches. I retreated to the safety of my own room.
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