Dimensions Forums  
Home Register Premium Membership Health Issues Market Place Big Fashion

Go Back   Dimensions Forums > Library > Special Interests Archive



Reply
 
Thread Tools
Old 10-09-2014, 05:53 PM   #1
Amaranthine
Adamant Anti-Nihilist
 
Amaranthine's Avatar
 
Join Date: Aug 2010
Location: New York
Posts: 1,438
Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!
Default Decadence and Dismay - Lecter/Clarice Fan-fic (~BHM, ~BBW, Stuffing, Explicit)

~BHM, ~BBW, ~~WG, stuffing, explicit, romance, thriller, fan-fic

[Author's Note: Even though fan-fic is generally not thought of as favorably here, I thought I'd give it a shot. Perhaps appropriate for the Halloween season, this is genuinely a thriller. Or tries to be. There are some notes of non-consent and the plot-line generally matches what might expect of the genre. It won't be a lot of people's cup of tea, but I figure I can't be the only FFA into Lecter.]

Decadence and Dismay
By Amaranthine

Chapter 1:

Clarice’s eyes flashed open, her dilated pupils melted into the darkness surrounding her. Morning hadn’t yet come; the light of her alarm clock glowed a hot 4:37am. Her cheeks were flushed with a cold sweat, the chill gradually permeating the rest of her body. The room lingered untouched, silent, saturated with a sense of stillness. There was a time she had thought that sleep was her sanctuary, but now peace eluded her unconsciousness as well. Pulling the blankets closer around her, Clarice evaluated her current headspace.

She had dreamt about him again. Two years later and he was still in her head. Isn’t that exactly what Crawford had warned her about? But he certainly didn’t mean it like this, now did he? (Of course not.) Her memories of their meetings were still clear in her mind, though considering their daily regurgitation that should come as no surprise. Typically, a handful of thoughts would get snagged as they ran through her mind. Solitary glimpses of the experience. His unfaltering gaze, suspiciously stolid composure, the stone cold sharpness of his words which had calculated her to the core.

Although he never had the chance to touch her – always restrained, restricted – she felt completely penetrated by him. Her defenses tattered like tissue paper in his presence, as if his mere existence made the continuation of time caustic. She found it almost impossible to resist. At least by daylight she had the control to commandeer her thoughts through a labyrinthine facsimile of past reality. But during sleep, her mind dove into dreams that betrayed the deviations of her imagination.

Finding no comfort within her tight cocoon of covers, Clarice scooted to the side of the bed and clicked on her bedside lamp. Her eyes drank in the mundane surroundings, which somehow appeared even more ordinary in the artificial light. Gradually, the hot breath gushing through her lips slowed. This scene wasn’t terribly uncommon at this point, though familiarity bred no peace of mind. The wanderings of her unguarded mind continually caught her off guard and she felt nearly as defenseless as she had under his brief surveillance.

More than anything, her fascination baffled her. Even ignoring his sociopathic status (as much as anyone could, anyway,) she had no business being attracted to him. She had a type; he was not it. Oddly, it was satisfying to harbor something so significant that he hadn’t had access to. Then, why should he have? Things like that had no place in their interactions. The spark she perceived existed only in her mind, surely having entangled itself somewhere within the chain of reiterations produced by her over-analytical mind.

Having regrouped sufficiently, Clarice flicked off the light and returned to the full shelter of her bed sheets. She took solace in her now-assured solitude, yet knew this feeling would be as ephemeral as her waning consciousness. Soon her mind slithered into scenes of the two of them together, alone. This time they both sat at a table, an array of decadent dishes filling the space between them. His taste for fine things had been unmistakable; the detailed opulence of his drawings along with the nuance contained within his memory proved every note of his echoed legacy true. She now stared dumbfounded, almost mesmerized by the glistening of butter on lobster, the sweet bouquet of fresh baked bread, the ambrosiac decadence of pasta bathed in wine, oil, and herbs.

Hannibal ripped off a piece of warm baguette, letting it cool gently in his hand before meticulously swirling it in oil. His gaze met hers as he tucked the bread into his mouth and savored momentarily.

“Are you not hungry, Clarice?”

Her name stuck to his lips, steaming off slowly as his voice dissipated into the air.

Though doubting her competence at speech, she knew it would be unspeakably rude to not answer.

“Not at the current moment, Dr. Lecter.” He eyed her curiously, perhaps even slightly amused.

“I was…” She faltered slightly, immediately regretting her reluctance knowing full well he would notice it. The remnants of her West Virginian accent rang unpleasantly in her ear.

“Hoping for the pleasure of watching you for a bit, actually.”

“Oh, is that so?” Locking eyes with him, Clarice held her ground. She refused to appear vulnerable to him, to let him detect the doubt that surged beneath her cool countenance. If now wasn’t the time to be bold, then when would?

“Very much so,” ever so lightly flourishing the statement with a smirk.

“Well, I suppose that isn’t too much trouble, now is it Clarice?”

Her name once again burned upon his mouth, quickly to be quashed by another piece of bread. While he finished chewing, a mouthful of linguine twirled around his fork, gleaming in the candlelight before disappearing into his mouth. He inhaled sharply, clearly impressed by the sophistication of the sauce. The citric aroma of the pinot mingled with the garlic infused oil perfectly. What else? A hint of black pepper and sea salt, a spritz of fresh lemon, and he thought perhaps a spicy sweet note of thyme gracing the end. Oh, how divine.

Before long, more than half the meal had disappeared. The doctor now appeared significantly more sedated, languidly indulging himself with periodic forkfuls. A bottle of wine had quickly evaporated between the two of them, lulling him deeper into an imminent food coma.

“Why Clarice, if you continue to abstain I may have to take offense. Does the meal not suit you?” He watched her intently as he continued.

“I myself am quite fond of it.”

Hannibal observed as her eyes subtly flit between the symphony of empty planes adorning the table and his near overly full stomach. After a slight stretch, he nestled his hands against his taut sides.

“But I suppose that detail did not escape you…” he trailed off, rubbing his stomach lightly.

Wordlessly, Clarice picked up her own fork and speared a bite of lobster for herself. As the rich flavor melted over her taste buds, she pondered just how many calories he’d just consumed. She felt her nipples harden against her dress.

“Is that a blush I see, Clarice? Why ever might that be?”

Not quite ready to reveal the truth, she concocted a quick lie. But really, she had no desire to speak the truth to him whatsoever. After all, what kind of brilliant psychiatrist couldn’t dissect this little quirk?

“I’ve just had a little too much wine, Dr. Lecter. Maybe you ought to finish off the second bottle.”

“Maybe,” he smiled at her knowingly.

“Definitely,” she whispered as she poured him another glass.

Suddenly, a sharp sound shattered the situation she had become so invested in. This time, her eyes opened to daylight and she fumbled around her nightstand until the alarm shut off. Ignoring the hot stickiness of her inner thighs, Clarice crawled out of bed and prepared herself for another morning in the FBI. Crawford hinted that a new case would be waiting for her. With any luck, it would be something a bit more high profile than the drivel she’d been dealing with for the past couple years. But then, what wouldn’t pale in comparison to her first case? She stepped into the shower, hoping for something consuming enough to eclipse the mark that Lecter had left.
__________________
"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved."
Amaranthine is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 10-09-2014, 05:54 PM   #2
Amaranthine
Adamant Anti-Nihilist
 
Amaranthine's Avatar
 
Join Date: Aug 2010
Location: New York
Posts: 1,438
Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!
Default

Chapter 2:

Glances still gravitated towards Clarice as she walked through the halls of the bureau. Seemingly, people still did not know what to think of her. Some admired her for her daring role in the Buffalo Bill saga. For others, she was inextricably linked to Lecter. But mostly, they fixated on her slender physique and seductively serious expression. Getting her into bed had become a departmental challenge, though no one had succeeded. At this point, most just assumed that she and Ardelia were covert companions.

Speaking of, Clarice saw her friend walking towards her in hurried strides, likely off to research a case of her own.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you all morning.”

“Just got in a few minutes ago. I was supposed to have today off until I got an email from Crawford last night. Any idea what that’s about?”

“Oh yeah. Big new case, though I don’t have any details for you. They’re keeping real hush hush about it. So get in there, I can’t wait forever to get in on this!”

“I’ll fill you in later, girl,” said Clarice, as she passed with a smile. Finally, a little something to keep her thoughts occupied.

A few steps later, Crawford’s office was finally within her sight. The door was left ajar despite the outside clamor, so she stepped inside after a light tap. Crawford glanced up at her.

“Ah, Starling. Sit down.”

Clarice nestled herself into his modest office chair, allowing her eyes skirt around the room while she waited for him to speak. Her body tensed slightly, both eager and nervous to learn about her new case.

“It seems we have another serial killer on our hands. The 4th body was just found today; autopsies confirm they’re all related. It’s just…like nothing we’ve seen recently. There’s something weird happening here. In fact, it’s vaguely reminiscent of the Bill case. That’s why I thought to get you on board for this, Starling.”

“Weird how, sir?”

“Well, all of the women had been declared missing for awhile before their bodies turned up. Months. That’s why it’s taken us so long to connect them.”

“Just like Bill.”

“Yes, as I said, it is somewhat similar. Except these girls are turning up fully intact. Just bigger. Definite signs of rape. All killed the same way: a deep cut through the jugular.”

“Bigger, sir?” Clarice tried to form an image in her mind, gruesome as it was, yet couldn’t complete the image. Surely he couldn’t mean…
“Fatter. Some of them by over 100lbs.” He paused, handing her a file full of pictures. Clarice thumbed through them, mildly shocked at what she saw. All of the girls were young and petite before their abduction. All white, traditionally attractive. She scanned over the information provided; all of them were prostitutes as well. The post-mortem pictures made her eyes bulge. Crawford hadn’t exaggerated. Each woman was significantly bigger, some barely recognizable from the first picture.

“What do you think, Starling?” He waited intently to hear her thoughts. Meanwhile, Clarice tried her hardest to suppress the blush rising through her cheeks.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure, sir. Do we know anything about the subject? Judging from the victims,” she stopped for a moment to compile the words in her mouth, “I’m going to say male, white, sexually dysfunctional…”

“Why’s that?”

“Statistically speaking, they’re most likely to be male. White because serial killers tend to stay within their own race. I would find it hard to believe that the murders weren’t sexually motivated, considering all the women were raped and had also worked as prostitutes.” Taking a deep breath, Clarice cleared her mind and waited for Crawford’s appraisal. But for the time being, she felt good about her brief analysis.

Crawford gently stroked his furrowed brow, finally looking up at his colleague. It was clear he had already lost sleep over the case; Clarice wondered how long they had been sitting on it, waiting for the right moment to start delving in.

“Very good, Starling. I’m going to have to agree on all accounts.. Now,” he started, handing her a much thicker file, “this is all the information we have at the moment. Take a few days and see what you can do. We need to work quickly before another girl turns up. I’m afraid we have a missing persons case that seems to fit the trend so far.”

“Right, sir. I’ll get started right away.” She stood up, treasuring the trove of information that sat in her hands. The answer was out there. Now it was up to her to follow the right clues.

Just as she was about to exit the office, Crawford spoke up.

“And Starling, don’t forget that you don’t have Lecter to help you along this time.” With a quick wink, he returned to the paperwork on his desk. Clarice rushed out, flustered at the mere mention of his name, and headed down to her favorite analysis lab.
__________________
"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved."
Amaranthine is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 10-09-2014, 05:56 PM   #3
Amaranthine
Adamant Anti-Nihilist
 
Amaranthine's Avatar
 
Join Date: Aug 2010
Location: New York
Posts: 1,438
Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!
Default

Chapter 3:

The gold of the sun drifted through the window, lending distinction to the fine particles of dust that flittered through the air. The room itself seemed furnished in antiquity, filled with leather-bound tomes and faded artwork. Each piece of furniture creaked with antique charm, lightly illuminated by the solitary ray of sunshine. The vector of light culminated at the bed, pooling warmth within the creases of the comforter.

Outside the window, the surrounding roofs shone vermillion under the morning sun. The city was still calm and the streets were populated primarily by pedestrians, punctuated by the quick hum of the occasional Vespa. Soon, though, the streets would be bustling with the clamor of conversation and the aroma of fresh breakfast. Stray artists would escape their slumber and sprinkle the alleys with chords and cadenzas.

The figure beneath the sheets stirred gently, roused by the radiant tendrils of a new day. His large form shifted and he ran his hands over the warm softness of his silk-ensconced curves. It still seemed a little foreign; all those years in the game, as he liked to say, had kept him trim and wiry. But this prolonged vacation – indeed, far longer than he had initially speculated – had taken its toll. Rather than lessening the ignoble population one by one, he spent his days delving into the myriad libraries that Florence contained. And, of course, frequently sampling the Italian gourmet scene. Unsurprisingly, his waistline grew commensurately with the knowledge accumulated.

His proclivity for expertise allowed him to blend in seamlessly. After all, a new life was never too far out of reach if you knew where to look. And how to look, he mused, rubbing his hands over his considerably softer stomach. A petulant growl motivated him to get out of bed and ready himself for another day at the museum. Recently, he had been curating a specific exhibit on ancient religious literature and lore, particularly focusing on Catholicism, which was par for course for the locale.

However, he had been occupying himself with research for an upcoming piece. The museum wanted to highlight aspects of pagan tradition and ritual. Specifically, beliefs regarding fertility to honor the dawning spring season. Still, this work never kept him completely occupied and he had cultivated a daily habit of prying into US news. Not that he really cared about those low-class criminals; that is, until he attempted to enter the exquisite consciousness of a certain select agent. He almost resented his unfaltering fascination with her, but what could he say? No one had captured his attention like that for the years that he had taken his leave and mulling over her potential worries made his life more interesting.

Properly cleaned and coiffed, Hannibal stepped out into the tepid air. A fresh breeze swept through the street, carrying with it a mélange of scents that further enticed his empty stomach. As he broke into a less-than-brisk stride, he became acutely cognizant of his tightening clothes. His fattened chest jiggled with each step, nipples straining slightly against his ivory shirt. He sauntered along the line of shops and cafes, attempting to discern exactly which would be most palatable and wondering if Clarice had yet received his letter. Worldly as he was, it was nearly impossible to predict the efficiency of the postal service at any given time. No matter, she would receive it in time.

He settled on a rustic little café, its décor as rich as the subtle, buttery notes of pastry that hung in the air. Feeling the band of his pants cut into his stomach as he sat, Hannibal realized that he would have to start skimping a little. Either that or completely restock his wardrobe. After perusing the menu, he settled on a cappuccino chiaro (full-fat, of course,) with a couple of croissants and a few slices of brioche with mascarpone and strawberries. He savored each bite, reflecting on the convenience of the tailor shop directly across from the central library.
__________________
"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved."
Amaranthine is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 10-12-2014, 01:22 PM   #4
Amaranthine
Adamant Anti-Nihilist
 
Amaranthine's Avatar
 
Join Date: Aug 2010
Location: New York
Posts: 1,438
Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!
Default

Chapter 4:

Clarice sat down and splayed the contents of the folder in front of her. To start, she took inventory of precisely what she had at her disposal: separate investigations of each case, complete with pictures, personal information, police reports, and autopsy results. The amount of information was overwhelming. First things first, she decided she ought to search for commonalities between the victims with the distant hope of whittling down a motive. They all seemed to fall within a very narrow age range, about 23-26; their chosen career may have restricted the range by nature of the job, but certainly not by that much.

Of course, as she had postulated earlier, there had to be something significant in his exclusive targeting of prostitutes. Not that she had any firm grasp on what that could be. Clarice arranged all of the photos on the table, separating them into before and after rows. Once again, the difference between the images shocked her. There had to be something important in the transformation itself. She couldn’t logically piece together many reasons why a killer would invest so much time in fattening the girls up.

Briefly considering her own preferences, Clarice had difficulty discerning whether her own perspective would help or hinder her investigation. She doubted the killer found fat as sensual as she did; if so, it seemed far less likely that he would kill the girls after mandating such dramatic weight gain. Unless he resents that aspect of himself and externalizes the conflict by ritualistic elimination, she mused. But, for no tangible reason, she did not get that vibe. Really, she regretted letting her own experience shape her thinking process.

Only recently had she truly begun to accept this quirk of hers. Growing up, she frequently felt confused over her fascination with bigger men. The feeling itself was hard to characterize. Maybe a sweet sourness that twisted inside her. Alluringly uncomfortable. As she grew older, the sensation became less poignant. Her first forays into indulging the curiosity enlightened her in regards to her evolving sexuality. She wasted plenty of time feeling self-conscious when she noticed some of her friends starting to date. It wasn’t that she lacked the option, which made it all the worse, in a way. She felt jarred by a shocking lack of desire to even touch many of the boys around her. Even worse, to her teenage mind at least, was that she found most women exponentially more attractive.

Having grown up in a series of increasingly conservative environments, Clarice had no desire to contend with the possibility of lesbianism. After a period of over-compensating by allowing herself to be pursued by the svelte men around her (which she had found wholly unpleasant, all denial aside,) she finally decided to explore what had been nagging her nearly here entire life. Though, anything in that realm had been on hiatus for a while. It was hard to find someone worth it, especially when harboring an infatuation with someone you shouldn’t be attracted to. At all.

Finding herself staring off into space, Clarice reined in her thoughts and averted her attention to the sea of paper in front of her. The clock on the wall was agonizingly simple, with a white face and stern, ebony digits. It kindly informed her that it was getting too late to linger much longer. With a resigned sigh, Clarice negotiated a deal: she’d craft one more piece into place and call it quits.

When she first started working under his authority, Crawford had armed her with an arsenal of little tips to help her trudge through the copious amounts of material that came with each case. She rewound her memories, probing for the right tidbit to finish off the evening.

“You know, Starling. Sometimes being a forensic agent just doesn’t cut it when it comes to solving cases. You have to slip a little outside your comfort zone. Some strategies happen to transcend the boundaries of specific disciplines,” he said, tapping a pencil lightly against the edge of his desk.

“I suppose that’s true, sir. But what else do you want me to be? I’ve studied enough psychology to take up a practice, by now.”

“No no, that’s far too linear. I was thinking more along the lines of real estate.”

She remembered shooting him the emptiest expression she could muster. Why’d everyone have to get so goddamn cryptic?

“You know what they say, Starling. What matters the most?”

And with that, he had shoed her out of his office and out into the world even more confused than she had left it. A quick Google search had provided her answer, luckily. Much easier than Lecter had made it.

Location, location, location.

She grabbed the pile of police reports and paged through them for the areas in which the bodies had been found. More often than not, a pattern could be descried with enough effort. The result of her query surprised her. All of the girls had been found in roughly the same area: in and around New Orleans. It was strange that a killer made no attempt to skew his location, unless he had been going out of his way to dump the bodies in a place he was completely unassociated with. Unlikely.

With this newfound piece of information, Clarice started bundling the documents back into the folder, compulsively scanning them one more time as she organized them into coherence. When she got to the autopsy reports, she happened to catch one detail that had mysteriously eluded her. Incredulous that it would lead to anything, she read over each of the other reports, almost hoping that aforementioned feature would be absent.

It was not. Out of all the things for Crawford to emit, why this? Clarice, somewhat shocked from this discovery, hurriedly packed up the case and began her journey home. The hour hand was just glancing 7pm and her body ached for the warmth of a meal and the coolness of her sheets. Still, for the entire drive home, she couldn’t eradicate that realization from her thoughts.

All the girls had been freshly impregnated before their demise.
__________________
"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved."
Amaranthine is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 10-12-2014, 01:23 PM   #5
Amaranthine
Adamant Anti-Nihilist
 
Amaranthine's Avatar
 
Join Date: Aug 2010
Location: New York
Posts: 1,438
Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!Amaranthine keeps pushing the rep limit!
Default

Chapter 5:

The moon had risen to its peak in the sapphire azure of the night and the leaves of the surrounding forest rustled desperately to bathe in its pale light. The only other illumination came from a meticulously shined picture window showcasing a cozily plush living room and smoldering fire. Elliot sat in the corner of an overstuffed leather couch, leisurely drawing a half-syringe of liquid and recapping the tiny bottle. He stood up with a stretch and headed towards the kitchen, briefly taking the time to enjoy the music that poured out of his stereo. A little Coltrane was always right; had a wonderful ability to drown out any background noise.

Sarah’s eyes bulged as he entered the kitchen, her protests muffled by the duct tape around her mouth. The rope binding her hands behind the chair was far too strong to offer a chance of escape. He looked into her eyes, almost dismayed at the fear they presented.

“Now now, don’t worry. This should take care of things. You love it, remember?”

Her body thrashed harder against the chair to no avail. Elliot had nailed it to the floor after a little mishap with the first girl. Soon he was at her side, daintily pushing the needle through her arm. After the initial shock of the serum running through her veins, Sarah’s body relaxed and she looked up at him with a dreamy daze. Before rising fully to tend to the pots on the stove, he petted her face softly and admired his handiwork. She hadn’t been allowed a new set of clothing since her arrival, though he had made sure to wash them frequently. Her stomach now pushed out from under her little green t-shirt. Although the shorts still fit over her thighs, there was no way they could be buttoned at this point. He doubted the zipper would even be visible by the end of the night.

The macaroni and cheese on the stove steamed softly, each of the 4 cheeses bubbling in tandem. Elliot stirred about half a cup of powder into the mixture and spooned out a large bowl.

“I hope you didn’t forget to bring your appetite.” He smiled at her.

“Oh, neeeever.” She slurred, seemingly entranced by the sight of fresh food. “Pleeeease let me have it.”

He chuckled at her softly before sliding a spoonful into her mouth. Sarah chewed with relish and eyed the rest of the bowl avariciously. Each strand of her golden curls bobbed as she ate, and he noted that she was finally getting a hint of a double chin.

Elliot took care to thoroughly scrape the bottom of the bowl, delivering a final extra-cheesy bite to her waiting lips.

“More.”

“What’s that? You want another bowl? Aren’t we feeling selfish tonight...”

She looked desperately over at the stove, finding the pot nearly full still.

“Why should I give it to you?”

“Becaaause I’m still so hungry. Just ooone more bowl, please,” she begged.

A nefarious smirk filled his face as he ladled another full serving for her.

“Just be careful; you wouldn’t want to get fat now, would you?”

Sarah merely moaned as her mouth was filled with more caloric richness. Two bowls later she leaned back, her belly now puffed out spherically in front of her. His hands gingerly rubbed circles over her engorged stomach, much to her guttural delight.

“Pretty soon I won’t need to stuff you full of food to make you look like this, will I?” Elliot continued to caress her body, getting more enthusiastic as he lost himself in imagination.

“God, of course not. It’s so exciting just imagining it, pretending. But you’re finally it. The fifth one. The other girls were just a build-up to you. You’ll be my masterpiece before long.”

The serum would be active for a few hours yet and the ridiculous amount of food she had consumed sedated her further. Her body felt limp and lethargic as he uncuffed her and significantly heavier than when he carried her over to the couch for the first time. Elliot laid her face down on the couch, taking care to recuff her to the end table. In front of her he placed a half carafe of milkshake, made by his own special recipe of ice cream, heavy cream, and another healthy dose of that weight gain powder.

With no cue needed, Sarah eagerly started sucking the decadent treat through a conveniently placed straw. Elliot lifted her hips up into the air, affixing her in the colloquial doggy style, enjoying the sight of her hips flowing over the waist of her shorts. He grabbed them roughly before yanking her shorts off and subsequently removing his own jeans. He felt himself grow even harder at the sight of her dripping wetness.

That serum really was a godsend, even if it had taken so much time to develop. He had only expected a tranquilizing appetite stimulant, but this seemed to brainwash women into gluttonous sluts. No complaints there. As he placed his throbbing tip against her, his hands gravitated to her hanging stomach. He wrapped himself around her, hands firmly grasping her belly as it gradually expanded even further with milkshake, and slowly pushed his cock inside her.

Sarah moaned and started sucking down the milkshake more quickly whilst rocking herself up and down his thick shaft.

“I can’t wait to watch you blossom fully, my princess. You’re so soft and fertile now, I can feel it. In a few months you’ll be so huge and pregnant. Your belly will brush against the cushion of the couch by then. Mmmhmmm.”

Elliot started fucking her harder, savoring the thought of finally impregnating her.

“We’ve tried so many times already. Ahhh, this is going to be it. Your tits will swell up even bigger, full of milk for our baby. Don’t worry, I’ll keep feeding you more and more so you’ll never run out.”

He finally came, rapidly descending from his erotic fervor. The carafe had been sucked dry, and Sarah now laid mostly unconscious with her face against the arm of the couch. Unlocking the cuffs, he carried her down to the basement and laid her down on a pile of blankets in the corner.

“It better be this time. I don’t feel like waiting much longer.”

With that, he locked the basement door and headed into the bathroom. The walls were lined with pictures of the four previous girls, arranged much like Clarice had ordered her file. In the center of the collage hung 4 pregnancy tests, all positive. It really was a shame he couldn’t keep the others, but that’s just the way it had to be. Elliot placed a fresh test on the sink and watched it as he brushed his teeth, anxious over what the tiny stick might have to say to him soon.
__________________
"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved."
Amaranthine is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 10-13-2014, 01:44 AM   #6
ODFFA
Ainsi sera...
 
ODFFA's Avatar
 
Join Date: May 2012
Location: Cape Town, South Africa
Posts: 1,301
ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!ODFFA keeps pushing the rep limit!
Default

Man, what IS Elliot up to??

You already know this, but I'm thoroughly enjoying this read. Your writing is sooo fittingly rich and decadently descriptive
And I envy how good you are at pacing!
__________________
...Groigne qui groigne.
ODFFA is offline   Reply With Quote
Reply

Tags
bbw, bhm, lecter, stuffing, weight gain

Thread Tools

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off

Forum Jump


All times are GMT -7. The time now is 06:54 PM.


Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.8.8
Copyright ©2000 - 2018, vBulletin Solutions, Inc.
Copyright Dimensions Magazine. All rights reserved worldwide.