Thread: Chiara
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Old 03-06-2018, 09:33 AM   #9
Join Date: Aug 2008
Location: Germany
Posts: 61
Borghen has said some nice things

The ball was rolling. Never was a figure of speech more appropriate. During the following days, my plan began to unfold: Chiara would wake up, have a strenuous workout, eat a fattening three-course meal and go back to sleep; in the evening she would work on increasing her capacity with a lighter but more filling meal, then she would painfully carry her bloated figure to bed, leaving me deeply amazed.

After a couple of weeks the effects of this regimen began to show. Chiara was sporting rounder cheeks, broader shoulders, bigger breasts and thicker thighs. Then, of course, there was her impressive belly. What had started as a tiny, soft tummy was now becoming a real potbelly. It would ceaselessly amaze me how its shape changed during the day: soft and flabby early in the morning, warm and sweaty after her workout, swollen and tender after lunch, tight and taut after dinner. More than once I had a chance to pat or stroke it; Chiara did not seem to mind. After an especially heavy meal I was even allowed to perform a quick rub to help her stomach relax and ease some of the pressure.

Chiara’s muscle were growing, too. Neither her arms or legs showed the barest hint of definition, but they were brawny enough to handle heavier workouts and I was soon forced to upgrade her dumbbells to twenty-five pounds. Her increased muscle mass gave her an increased appetite, which led her to consume even bigger meals. It was a downward spiral, or an upward one, depending on the point of view. My roommate was slowly turning into a buxom amazon and I was enjoying every minute of it.

Truth be told, she did not seem too displeased, either. More than once I caught her admiring her own reflection in the mirror after a big meal and it was not unusual to see her stroking her distended midsection while waiting for the next course. I once stole a glimpse of her giggling and fingering her deepened navel after unbuckling her belt for the umpteenth time. Chiara was also fond of her newly acquired muscles, as she would often strike a double biceps pose after our workouts. At first she had a mocking smile but, as the days passed, she looked even proud of her massive upper torso.

Two months into our training regimen she skipped her first workout. I was waiting for her in the living room, ready to guide her in her daily routine, but she failed to show up. I was disappointed and even a little worried. I paced back and forth for a while, then tiptoed along the corridor towards her room. I stood in front of the door and listened; groans and grunts were coming from inside. I took a deep breath, then knelt and peered through the keyhole.

I gasped. Chiara was standing in front of the mirror, her back turned to the door and she was only wearing her workout shorts; only then I realized how tight they had become in the past thirty days: the fabric clung to her tree trunk thighs like a second skin (I could not help but thinking about juicy sausages) and the small roll of fat around the waist had become a good sized muffin top. The back of her legs was covered by a layer of cellulite and the top of her butt crack was visible, as the garment couldn’t cover all of her fattened backside.

Chiara grabbed the hem of her trousers and jumped a couple of times, trying to pull them up. The floor shook with every leap and I was almost knocked off balance, but she only succeeded in shaking the layers of fat on her upper torso. She paused, panted and took a deep breath. Then it happened: she took a step backwards and turned to the side to inspect her reflection. My jaw nearly hit the floor. Her belly, free of any constraint, hung freely pushing the waistband down. But my attention was, for once, captured by her breasts.

She had never been petite for a start, but now she had truly grown: her C cup had blossomed in a D cup, which had in turn blown into a DD. Her huge tits sat heavily on her broad chest, like two overripe melons; tan skin pulled taut by the weight and darker nipples defiantly pointing upwards: Chiara looked like a primitive fertility goddess. She snorted, sucked in her gut and hefted her boobs, cupping each one in a hand; a few second later she exhaled and her belly expanded to its original size. She massaged her swollen jugs for a few seconds, moaning in pleasure, then moved out of my sight.

Only when I raised myself did I realize that I was drenched in sweat. I didn’t even care about my painful erection, as in the last few days I had gotten used to conceal my perpetual arousal, and I made my way back to the living room, taking deep breaths all along. Chiara joined me a couple of minutes later, announced by the rubbing of her thighs. She had managed to squeeze her boobs in her tank top, but it was clear that the garment was about to burst at the seams, stretched thin by the massive mammary mass.

“You’re late.” It took me all of my willpower to look at her face.

Chiara scowled. “Wardrobe malfunction.” She pulled the hem of her top lower, barely reaching under her sternum. “I can’t breathe.”

“I see.” Those globes of flesh were mesmerizing.

“I see that you see!” She snapped her fingers beneath my nose. “So, what are we gonna do?”

“Well, we can fix it after your workout.”

“Ok, fair enough.” She lumbered towards the dumbbells.

The session was intense as usual, but I decided on a smaller range of exercises, pointedly avoiding every kind of position or movement which might have led to a critical wardrobe malfunction. Chiara was now able to handle arm curls and Arnold presses without even being winded, even though her sweating was always heavy.

“Ok, enough for today,” I decided, as she dropped the dumbbells. “Now go get a shower, then we’ll go clothes shopping.”

Chiara got up from the bench, dripping with perspiration. “Sounds great!” She clapped her hands, sending her melons into a jiggling frenzy.

“Hurry up!”
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