Thread: Chiara
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Old 02-23-2018, 02:05 AM   #7
Join Date: Aug 2008
Location: Germany
Posts: 61
Borghen has said some nice things

Next day I got up early and went to our little gym, pondering what kind of workout I could get Chiara thorough. I heard the door to her room open, but her heavy steps went the opposite way, towards the bathroom. I tiptoed to the corridor and listened. She pissed for a good minute, surely full of beer since the previous night.

When she flushed the toilet, I went back to the den. She entered a moment leather, already clad in her workout gear. Her hair was still disheveled and her eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded. My gaze drifted downwards, past her squeezed cleavage, and came to rest on her midsection. It was still puffed up from the night before and there was a noticeable bulge below the navel.

“Good morning!” It took me an effort to look into her eyes. “How are you today?”

She made a face. “Hungover. Do we really have to go through with this?”

“Yes.” I stepped aside. “I have two dumbbells with your name on them.”

Chiara sat heavily on the bench and bent to pick up the weights. As she did so, the fat on her tummy bunched in two distinct rolls and her love handles poured over the waist of her short. She took a deep breath and lifted the dumbbells for the first set of repetitions. Her breasts bulged further and her tank top fought to restrain them, riding higher with every move. Chiara started sweating soon, still bloated from all the liquids ingested the night before.

“I’m exhausted,” she panted. The dumbbells clanged to the floor and I pretended not to notice a chipped floorboard. “Let me catch my breath.”

“Ok. We can change the exercise. Stand up and touch your toes.”

Chiara rose awkwardly and took a step forward. I maneuvered beside her. She tried to bend at the waist but her stomach was still too bloated to allow that and her hands only came to around knees. She grimaced, then spread her legs a little, but only succeeded in grabbing her ankles. I took a step behind her and admired her chunky hamstrings and rounded calves, as she struggled to reach further down.

“Ok, enough!”

She straightened herself with a grunt and staggered back, spreading her arms. “I feel dizzy,” she complained, leaning on the wall.

“Low pressure,” I smirked. “Let’s raise it.”

She sighed and went back to the dumbbells. After the initial struggles, she performed fairly well. Like the previous day I make her work her chest, arms and shoulders, before moving down to thighs, calves and buttocks. Her abs were intentionally neglected, as I wanted to provide her belly the maximum room to expand.

“We are finished,” I said, over an hour later. “Now go get a shower and prepare for lunch. Dress comfortably.”

Chiara was lying on the ground in a pool of her own sweat. “Yeah. Just gimme some time.” She stood slowly and ran a hand over her soft belly, soaked with perspiration. “Say, isn’t it too early for lunch?” Her stomach growled. “Not that I’m not hungry, but…”

“Yes, it is early, but we’re eating out.” This thing is gonna cost a ton. “My treat, of course.”

It was a mild late morning and we left the apartment at a leisurely pace. Chiara was wearing a loose blouse and a low rise pair of pants that only came down to her knee. Even though we weren’t walking very fast, she was somewhat winded when we arrived at the restaurant.

“What is this place?” She frowned, squinting to read the sign. “Sushi Wok?”

“It is all-you-can-eat,” I cheerfully explained. “Or, in your case: all-you-can-fit.” I patted her tummy bulge. “Just think of it as a training arena.”

Chiara shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. Let’s go!”

The place was still half empty, so a tiny Asian woman seated us right away. We ordered some water, then stood to approach the buffet. It was really massive: sushi, spring rolls, wantons, shrimp crackers, pork, beef, chicken and many other scrumptious kinds of food. Chiara’s belly emitted a loud gurgle and she started piling her plate.

The following ninety minutes were devoted to tasting and devouring each and every single plate available. By no means in a hurry, Chiara would load her plate, methodically demolish it and move onto the next one. Every time she stood, she took a few seconds to pull her shirt down and hike her trousers up, much to my delight.

The water was soon finished and I ordered a beer instead; she did not seem to mind. Once she’d gotten to the end of the buffet (it took almost an hour), Chiara smacked her lips and moved heavily to the grill. She filled her plates with every meat and fish available, handed them to the cook and plodded back to our table. She waited, sipping her beer and rubbing her rounded paunch. When the food arrived, she grunted, unbuttoned her pants and dug in.

It was almost two in the afternoon when she finished. She put the last morsel of sausage in her mouth, chewed slowly, swallowed and collapsed back in the chair, licking the grease off her fingers. I took a deep breath, having finished my own meal long before, and admired the breathtaking sight.

Chiara's eyelids fluttered, as she drifted in a food coma; she had been eating for an hour and a half and it showed: her blouse, once loose, was now pulled tight across her distended midsection, the fabric stretched thin and small slivers of tan flesh visible through the gaps between buttons. Her low rise jeans now rode even lower, as her massive food baby slowly made way to her lower abdomen. I took one last sip of water, fighting back my excitement.

I cleared my throat. “Chiara,” I called. She moaned. “Chiara!” No reaction.

I stood up and approached her. I looked around but no one in the restaurant was really paying attention to us: there were a few patrons lingering on their respective umpteenth plates and a small woman was cleaning the tables. I knelt beside Chiara and admired her magnificently stuffed belly. That close, I could hear it softly growl, trying to digest the massive feast. She looked like a boa constrictor digesting a goat, or an overfed bear ready to hibernate.

Too bad I cannot allow that! I had other plans for her. I laid a hand on the round surface and gently squeezed: Her stomach was hard rock, under a soft layer of lard. I frowned, slid my hand upward and found some give, right under her ribcage: so there was still room to be filled. I stroked her gut with slow, circular motions and her breathing intensified; her round face once again sported the smile I had already seen: she was enjoying that almost as much as I was. Her lips parted and she belched.

Her eyes shot open. “Sorry!” She blushed.

“Don’t worry.” I patted her tummy one last time. “Better out than in, that’s what I always say.”

Chiara blinked and stifled a second belch. “What…What time is it?”

“Past two. But this place closes at three.” I gestured towards the buffet. “You have plenty of time to grab some dessert!”

Chiara’s eyes bulged. “Dessert!?” She rested a hand on her gurgling belly. “I don’t think I can…”
“I think you can,” I interrupted her. “Let’s go!”

She shook her head and feebly kicked her legs. “I’m too full to stand.” Her belly let an ominous rumble. “Can you just get it for me?”

Bad idea, worst idea ever! “Sure, relax. Let me handle this.”

I did not wait for her answer and marched towards the buffet. Regretting that I only had two hands, I piled one plate with tiramisu and fortune cookies; then I filled two cups with ice-cream, making sure to put at least two scoops for each of the four flavors available. I carefully picked up my load of sugar-based calories, made my way back to the table and dumped everything in front of Chiara.

“Here you go. Enjoy!”

“How will I ever eat all this?” Her tone was one of complaint, but she was already reaching for her spoon.

“Like everything else: one bite a time. I suggest you start with the ice-cream, before it melts.”

Chiara heeded my advice and started spooning the sugary treat into her mouth. After she finished the ice cream, she moved onto the second plate, albeit at a slower pace. I watched her, entranced by such a display of gluttony. It was almost three in the afternoon when my friend swallowed the last fortune cookie and laid back in a stuffed stupor.

I got up and hurried to pay the check, before she could fall asleep again. The waitress gave me our ticket and motioned us to leave. I nodded and rushed back to Chiara. Getting her out of the seat was no easy task, as I had to stand behind her and haul her upright, kicking the chair to on side. Chiara almost lost her balance and staggered backwards, painfully squashing my erection with her stout butt. I prayed she wouldn’t notice.

I slid an arm around her thickened midsection and we made our way out of the restaurant walking side by side. Her swollen belly bumped against my hip at every step and I was having difficulties concealing my arousal. She in turn, was using her free hand to support the lower part of her abdomen, bulging in a wide gap between pants and shirt. We proceeded slowly along the sidewalk, but it was clear that Chiara had difficulties breathing. She pushed my arm away, took a step to the side and straightened with a grunt, pressing both hands on the small of her back.

“Blast it!” She clutched her belly with both hands and hefted it up. “If we keep on doing this, I’m gonna need a wheelbarrow to carry this thing around!”

“Do you think you can walk home?”

She leaned on a wall. “Barely. I think we should take the bus.”

“Yeah, better.” I do not want you to fall down and pop like a balloon. Or to burn precious calories, for that matter.

I led her to a nearby bus stop and we waited together. I was now holding her by the shoulders, appreciating their breadth and firmness, while she was busy massaging and petting her bloated belly with both hands. The bus arrived a little later and I helped her up, pushing from behind; the doors closed behind us and the vehicle departed.

Chiara grabbed a handle and steadied herself, one hand still pressed on her bare tummy. An old woman seated beside us grabbed her crutch and stood, wincing. I thought that she wanted to get off at the next stop, so I stepped away from the door. But the woman limped towards Chiara and gestured to the empty seat.

“Sit down, darling. I would not want to strain yourself in your condition.” She flashed her gums in a toothless smile. “I’ve had three children of my own and I know how painful it can be.”

Chiara blushed to the roots of her hair, whispered something and walked ponderously towards the seat. The bus braked right when she was about to sit herself and she fell into it. The sudden move was enough to pop the lowest button of her shirt. Chiara’s face went even redder and I could not hide a smirk. The rest of the trip was uneventful, with Chiara stroking her gut under the benign gaze of the old crone.

We reached our stop shortly after and I helped Chiara up, like the loving husband and soon-to-be father I was believed to be. Chiara maneuvered her full belly out of the bus and all the way up to the stairs to our apartment, where she collapsed on her bed without even taking off her shoes. I stood beside her and removed them for her. It was almost four o’ clock.

“Thanks,” she groaned.

“You’re welcome. Quite the friendly old lady, wasn’t she?”

Chiara rolled her eyes. “She thought I was pregnant.” She patted her billowing paunch for emphasis. “Pregnant!”

I leaned forward and planted a kiss on her tummy. “Yes, pregnant with a huge food baby. Seriously, you were amazing at that buffet. A good sign if you’re gonna try to win that prize.”

Chiara rested a hand on her belly and craned her neck upwards. “You took off my shoes, right? I can’t even see my feet.” She wiggled her toes. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

I closed the shutters at the window. “Sleep lightly.” Until I prepare a dinner.
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