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Old 12-02-2015, 10:45 AM   #1
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Default Melissa's Pink Pants, by Cylon_Bob (~BBW, ~~WG)

~BBW, ~~WG, An outgrown pair of pants sparks a conversation between a chubby co-ed and her boyfriend

Melissa's Pink Pants

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In my Freshman year of college, the first semester, I managed to snag a girlfriend, just my type, fifteen pounds plumper than she should have been at the start of the semester, a chubby-bottomed beauty named Melissa, five foot nothing cutie with a big enough booty to shame a Kardashian, enough fluff at her tummy to set her apart from the classically hot, and breasts to almost fill her A cup. To my pleasant surprise, she had an appetite, a sweet tooth, and an aversion to exercise. Three of my favorite things in a girl, four if you count that round, voluptuous ass, and she had them all in abundance.

Our first date was in November, and she told me, 'warned me,' as she put it, that the holiday pounds were already piling on. She wasn't lying. It was a beautiful time, Thanksgiving always is on a college campus, I've learned, as young girls learn for the first time that their metabolisms can't handle everything they're throwing at them, but Melissa was special, and not only because she was already fairly fluffy. She would indulge whenever possible, she really didn't think about calories, nutrition facts, none of it. She was, in her own words, a foodie, but it seemed that to her, that meant she ate all the food, not that she sought out the best, unless by 'best,' you mean sweetest, or richest, or heaviest, in which case, absolutely, she was a foodie. And it showed on her figure.

Second semester I managed the impossible, got off-campus housing as a first-year student, and what's more, I got co-ed. I know people, the right people, it seems, and Melissa thought, at first, that it was moving too quickly, but she hated her roommate, and she agreed. Our relationship grew, and so did she; I kept more than enough food around for her, and she ate every bit of it. She puffed up all over, you couldn't deny she was getting big. Her chest graduated from nubs to breasts, her waistline sunk into the flab, and most obviously, her ass grew massive.

Living in the same house, I quickly got used to hearing her struggles with clothes. One memorable evening, Melissa's groans were especially hard to ignore, and I knew, because I wasn't in the bedroom with her, that it wasn't for the usual reasons. These weren't sexy moans, either, not in the traditional sense. She sounded like a hippopotamus trying on a supermodel's jeans, which is an accurate, if wildly exaggerated analogy to how she looked as well, come to think of it.

Coming into the room, I saw my girlfriend of six months fighting desperately to fit into a pair of pink jeans, a pair I'm fair sure wouldn't have fit when we first met, before she moved from curvy/thick into fatty territory. She was fallen with her arched back bare against the mattress, her flabby gut proudly presented to the world, jelly rolls wobbling as she tried with all her might to compress months of regular binge eating into a space meant to fit tightly on a girl whose main dietary sin was the donuts people brought to work. Even her small breasts were jiggling, she was putting so much work into this, kicking and screaming, using every weak, unused muscle in her chubby body to move the pants no further up her thick, fleshy thighs. She wasn't even to her buns yet, and that would have been the real fight. She was fighting a hopeless battle.

She fought it hard though, right until she realized I was admiring my view of her plush body. She fell back to the mattress and glared, raising a plush arm and a pointing finger, spluttering, "You!" She spat, "This... Look what you're doing to me!" She tried again, tugging hard, but those pants weren't moving another inch over her thunder thighs, "Nnngghh, goddangit... These frickin'... pants!"

She gave up suddenly, ripping them off her body and flinging them forcibly across the room, "Screw it!" She cursed. She moved to sit, cross-legged until she remembered the size her thighs had grown to, letting loose a soft, wordless shout as she scooted further onto the bed, fat legs sticking out in a V. She snorted and looked around, grimacing, grumbling, "It's just... it's ridiculous..." She went quiet, frowned, looked dejected and played with the pudge around her tummy, that little slab meat otherwise sagging down between her spread legs. She was clearly waiting for me to do my job as boyfriend, to reassure her she wasn't as fat as she thought.

I'm not a liar; I couldn't do what she wanted. In the time we'd been dating, Melissa had porked out gloriously, more than I could have hoped for, and all of it, entirely without my encouragement. I provide what she wants, I don't suggest. I sat down next to her, gave her a soft smile. I tried to reach my arm around her cushioned waist, but she pulled away. My brow furrowed, I realized she'd just accused me, "What do you mean my fault? What did I do?"

Melissa's pretty lips curled into a pout, "You didn't warn me, you didn't stop me. Last night, you bought me effing cheesecake, Simon, come on, just look at me!" She pinched the roll of meat at her middle, slapped the soft, squishy flesh of her thighs, "Do I look like the kinda girl who needs to be eating more cheesecake?"

I shrugged, "I mean, if you want it, why not have it? You're the one who begged me to get dessert, remember?"

"Yeah, and you should've said no!" Melissa insisted, "I'm getting huge!" She again shook her belly, made it very clear that that bulging spare tire was pure wobbly woman-flab, "Look at this! This... I didn't used to look like this!"

"It's not that—"

She cut me off, "Oh no, don't you even. Don't even tell me it's not that bad, this is like... This is more than thirty pounds." She glared, then glanced back down at the soft mass that had become her body, muttering softly, "Thirty pounds of belly and butt... fricking... gah, it's ridiculous..."

"Come on, really, it's freshman year! This happens it's got a name and everything, it's the—"

"Freshman fifteen, no crap, that's what I told myself for the first twenty pounds, but then it kept on coming!" She scoffed, "My sisters didn't gain a thing when they went off to school." She shook her head, bitter, "Guess I'm making up for them at this point."

"Babe, really, don't worry—"

She pursed her lips, "I have four sisters, that's what, sixty pounds? Plus my own fifteen? Short girls don't get to gain that kind of weight without it being really frickin' obvious, okay?” She shook her head, “My height, God, can you imagine? I'm gonna look like an effing planet at that point, waddling from class to class, getting people caught up in the gravitational pull of my jumbo donk." She made eye contact, but I couldn't read the emotions. They weren't positive, that much was sure. Her tone was ironic, “You'd better get ready, one month left in freshman year, forty-five pounds to go, it's about to get crazy up in here...”

“Uh... Okay...” I shifted my weight, tried to steer the conversation away from her describing my darkest fantasy, "What, uh... What size were those, anyway? Are you sure they didn't just get like, shrunk in the wash, or something?"

Melissa snorted, "They were 14's, and come on. Look at me. Do you, or do you not see the pig in front of you. I mean, yeah, okay, I was always pretty obviously overweight. Anybody with eyes could've told you the chick with the chronic panty-lines and the muffin top was a little fat, but now..." She shook her head, "Nothing 'little' about a dang thing. You could flip me upside down and run me in the Macy's Day parade, ain't no one gonna say a word about the weird ass-shaped blimp some weirdo put up." She twisted, pointed at her hip, "See those stretch marks? Those didn't just magically appear for no reason. Those are there because your girlfriend doesn't know when to stop stuffing her face."

I bit my lip, I didn't want to suggest, "Look, Mel, if it's that upsetting, why don't you just—"

Melissa interrupted, "Just what?” she lifted an unconvinced eyebrow, “Stop eating so much? Start working out? Uh, no thanks, and ew, god no. I'm not that desperate."

"Then... wha—"

"I just... I need to complain, okay?" Melissa grumped. She fell into my shoulder and started talking, ranting to my armpit, explaining what she was feeling, "I'm fat all of a sudden, and my pants don't fricking fit, and I'm hungry, and I fricking should not be, considering I already ate way too much at lunch, and it's all going straight to my ass, and then...” she paused, and something flicked inside her mind. She finished, trailing off at the end, “And then you showed up, and I put it all on you when I know it's my own fault, and... and..."

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Old 12-02-2015, 10:45 AM   #2
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Her soft, warm body was pressed against mine, I could feel the forgiving flesh giving way against my own body, but she wasn't saying anything anymore, just feeling me beside her. My hand caressed her side, the place her waist could almost be imagined, between the width of her fertile hips and the tiny mounds of her lemon-sized breasts. I leaned my head close, ran my hands through her sandy hair, murmuring, speaking softly to her, telling her, "Hey... It's fine, I love you... you're beautiful... you're sexy..."

She sniffed, "Yeah, sure, you say that, but... I mean, what about when I start looking huge?"

I chuckled, I must have done an amazing job keeping a secret, "Trust me, that won't change anything."

She pulled me tight, then released, slumping, "I was hoping we could go out, tonight..." She wrinkled her nose, “That's what the pants were supposed to be about.”

I smirked, kissed the top of her head, "We could always just... Stay in...” She grunted, she was so far displeased, but I wasn't done, “We could just... order pizza..."

Melissa snorted, and rolled her eyes, "Right, that's what people do with fat girls, feed them pizza." She shook her head, "Bet you have ice cream for dessert, too, don't you?"

I snorted, "Well, I would, except—"

Mel waved wildly to cut me off, a guilty flush of pink crossing her chubby face as she remembered, "I finished it off two days ago. Right." She shrugged, "Oh well. You'll have some for next time."

I smiled, "Oh, absolutely. Ma'am, yes, ma'am." I pulled out my phone, hit the speed dial, looked up while it rang, asked, "How much should I order?"

She scoffed, "All I know is, I'm getting a large to myself. You can get whatever else you want, just..." She bit her lip, looked uncomfortable, "Can you get the same? Or bigger, I mean, it's just... If you get like, a small or a medium, I'll feel like a total whale, is all. I... I could probably eat whatever's left over that you don't want."

I smiled, "Sure thing. You got it."

I placed the order, and she gave me a wary look, like she thought I didn't know what I was unleashing by giving her this permission. She clarified it for me, made it very clear what I was getting into by letting free her gluttonous self, "You realize this is just gonna make me even fatter, right? I've been sitting on my fat ass like, literally, all day. I've burned like, twelve whole calories."

I shrugged, "Look, as long as it actually does go straight to your ass, like you keep saying it will, I'm completely fine with that!"

Melissa let out a shocked laugh. She reached out, smacked my arm, "Ugh, seriously?"

I chuckled, "Oh yeah. I'm a total ass-man."

Melissa giggled, "Dang straight, you are!" She shifted her weight, moving towards me, weight on her elbows, soft underbelly and tender tits drooping below her. She crawled closer, wriggling her round, luscious ass cheeks in the air, ripe, juicy. She was teasing, tempting me. She wanted me to make my move; she knew what she was doing as she purred, "And I'm just the gift that keeps on growing, ain't I?"

"Milkshake's gettin' thicker and thicker, the more ice cream you add."

Her back arched as she raised back to her haunches on the bed, soft gut drooping still over her blue lace panties. She pressed herself against me, sensual, whispering into my ear, "Mmmmm... I love ice cream..."

My response was broken by the doorbell. Pizza deliveries happen fast when you're a well-tipping regular. Normally, I think of that as a good thing, but this wasn't the best of times. In an instant, all of Melissa's sexual starvation turned to ravenous hunger. She lit up, huge grin on her face as she bounced away from me, squealing, excited, "Pizza! Pizza, pizza!"

I was rather rude to the delivery guy, didn't tip as well as usual, but enough to keep our reputation. Melissa was still in the bedroom; she's got a thing about that. She's convinced the delivery guys are perverts, that they're trying to catch glimpses of things she wants to keep hidden. Maybe they were at one point, that idea must have it roots somewhere in her past, but I can't help thinking it's silly now. While I'm happy with how she looks, I couldn't then, and still can't imagine the average Domino's driver putting the effort into catching a fat girl in the nearly-nude, or that he'd be at all surprised at how big she looked, considering how often we order.

The look in her eyes when I returned, you'd think she hadn't eaten in days. She was, at first, covering her naked obesity with blankets, one last defense against Peeping Tom the Pizza Boy, but when she saw the grease-stained stack in my hands, she moved with the kind of agility only a hungry, fat girl can muster when she sees food, flinging the blanket off her and leaping from the bed with a dull thunk. Her whole body rippled, her unconstrained breasts, though small, jiggled merrily as she rushed towards me, ripping the box from my hands and launching backwards, back to the bed. She threw back the lid, a small rush of white steam puff of steam blew up from the warm, calorie-rich disc. She breathed deeply, licked her lips, reached down and took a slice. Cheese oozed down, and a ferocious smile spread across Melissa's face. She tore into the fattening food, wasting no time before shoving still-steaming slices, one after another, into her ravenous maw, barely pausing for breath as she did it.

As the pizza disappeared, Melissa puffed up, her soft, chubby belly swelling rounder and rounder as bite after bite disappeared into her grease-spattered gut. The food baby grew fast, she wasn't thinking about the consequences just then, only the next bite, only that next rich, filling mouthful. Her tummy stretched the more she ate, the faint white lines I might have overlooked before growing more and more clear across her tan, silky skin, but she was only finishing her own personal pizza, polishing off those 3,000+ calories. Then, she was looking to my box for more.

She groaned, "Ugh, that was.., urp, just what I needed..." She put her hand over her mouth, acted dainty, lady-like until she let out a belch to put off-road truckers to shame. I swear, my hair blew back.

That must have cleared space in her stomach, because then she was staring at me with a hunger in her eyes. She pointed at my box, she didn't know how much was left. I was just starting my third slice when she asked, stuttering a little, like she was nervous, like it was asking for my food that would brand her a pig, not the way she plowed through her own. She seemed so worried, it was adorable, "Are... Are you gonna finish that?"

I bit my lip, I wasn't that full, yet, but I'll sacrifice that much to make Mel happy, especially when she's all cute and fat and afraid. I swallowed a mouthful, took the rest of my slice and pushed over the rest of the box, "Nah, I'm just about done. You can have the rest."

Her green eyes went wide when she saw the five untouched slices left in the box, but then I noticed something else. There was a spark in her eyes as she went after the last of the food, like I'd offered a challenge and she was accepting it. There's no way she enjoyed that last slice, she was gasping for breath, her face was flushing crimson, and as she pressed through the discomfort, stretching her stomach, forcing eight pounds of pizza into a five pound box, I saw new stretch marks popping into existence across her gut, angry, red ones.

I had to help her, wanted to help her finish, and she didn't pull away. I took her hand, guided the slice to her mouth, timed her struggling breaths, crammed it into her open mouth when it was possible. Her eyes went big, she wasn't expecting that kind of force. She bit down, chewed, swallowed painfully, but looked back to my hands when the mouthful was down, looking for the next bite, waiting to be fed more, to be forced to eat more, even though saying she was 'full' was similar to calling the Rocky mountains a bit hilly.

She looked as though she was three months past her due date, she couldn't eat any more, but there was a light in her eyes when I made her. She looked conflicted every bite, but she always made the choice, one more mouthful, and another, and another, she was into it. Her arms were limp, her hands massaging her solid, spherical stomach as she let loose low, pleasured moans, and I knew this wouldn't be the last time we did this, I could tell from the faint, twitching smile she had as I fed the last few bites to her. It was done, she couldn't move; I didn't want to. My last memories of that night were of the warmth coming off her overfull body while we cuddled close, my hand to her belly, gently kneading the plush, heavy flesh as she drifted off, first into a food coma that soon turned into a fitful sleep, and finally, into a deep, heavy slumber.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Melissa's gained some weight in the years since, especially since we tied the knot. I say 'some' to throw you off, make you think it's not much. She's gained 'some' weight the way lard is 'a little fattening.'

She's gained the freshman fifteen for all four sisters and then some, again, 'some' being used to underestimate how much she's piled on. My bottom-heavy beauty clocks in well over twice what she weighed then, and by all signs, she's not likely to be stopping any time soon. She's plumped up like a prize pig, that's a fact, round and fat. That hippopotamus comparison I made at the start, yes, it was a pretty big exaggeration of how she looked then, but in the same circumstances today, it's not so much. Catch her with her shirt off, you'll see more rolls than you'd find in a bakery, and there's no hiding that ass of hers, round, fat, spherical buns the size you'd usually only see in cartoons, or perhaps in pamphlets warning thin teenagers about the dangers of the rich, heavy American diet, AKA the only diet my girl's stuck to in her entire life. The only diet she could stick to, at this point, she's grown so used to indulging. Every day, she goes through at least a couple chocolate bars, at least one value meal from at least one fast food joint, usually multiple, from many. Her standard demand on pizza night's gone up, too. Bigger woman, bigger needs, I suppose, and she's definitely a bigger girl these days, the kind of red-blooded American plumpette who needs at least two large supreme pizzas. Me being who I am, the big, beautiful glutton gets them, eats them both, and then she keeps going, working her way through most of my food.

She's blown up like a balloon since that night with the pink pants, outgrown more outfits than I can recall, but through it all, there's been no complaining from her, not since the pink pants. She's needed comforting, yes, she all but shut down a local ice cream shop by herself the day she realized she'd outgrown all of Gap's pants selection, but that was about convenience, about having to find a new place for pants, a place further from home and further from where she knew. It wasn't about being fat, it wasn't about how much weight she'd gained. It's never been about that, not since the pink pants, not since the pizza afterward.

I've never told her my preferences, but if you ask me, I think she figured it out that night.
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