BBW It's Just Bloating (XWG, sci fi, sexual content)

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[Author's Note: It's Just Bloating is a multi-part erotic XWG, stuffing, and sci-fi story featuring a gluttonous woman, May, and her friends all grappling with the impact of thier changing bodies and world that keeps on getting fatter. It takes place against the backdrop of a new investment fund, Lipid, which gradually comes to take on a larger and larger role in pushing the world to ever-greater obesity. Where will it stop? How will the world be reshaped? Tune in to find out!
It primarily features a diverse cast of queer women but will intersect with other identities as well.
If none of that is your bag, then please move along; otherwise, enjoy!]



It's Just Bloating
by generic725


Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.


May tilted her can of Coke a little more vertically as her throat opened a little wider to finish off its last dregs. After a little shake to make sure she’d gotten the very last drop out, she plunked it down on the table, satisfied, as she held her now-rumbling tummy for a moment.


“You know you shouldn’t drink that much soda.”


May’s best friend Macey looked on with a disapproving eyebrow as May cradled her round little belly and visibly stifled a belch. Even with this mild act of propriety, Macey could still hear the deep rumble in her friend’s diaphragm as the camouflaged “urrrp” rattled through her ribcage.


May and Macey had been friends for almost two decades now. High-school study partners turned into college roommates and now two single gals living and working together to manage the excruciatingly high rent in San Francisco.


The pair had always made an interesting sight: May was a towering, pale string-bean of a woman, just brushing against six-feet tall, with an evenly proportioned, sinewy frame. Her mixed ancestry, white on her mother's side and Taiwanese on her father's, always gave her skin a clear, dewey complexion that was her stand-out feature (besides her height) on an otherwise unremarkable body. She had modest B-Cup breasts that sat on a flat (though now distended) stomach, widening out into thin but still somehow substantial hips and long legs that then narrowed into delicate ankles.


Macey on the other hand was a chubby 5’1, with voluptuous breasts that, due to her size, looked impressive in both relative and absolute terms. Underneath her eye-catching bust, however, her body rounded out into fit-to-burst curves; a plump belly that she’d grown in tenth grade and never been able to shake and a behind that swelled out in two extremely well-rounded globes that shimmied and shook noticeably as she moved. And whereas May was tall, pale, with mousy dirty-blond hair, Macey’s mixed Ashkenazi-Puerto Rican roots gave her ruddy brown skin, vibrant freckles, and a curly explosion of thick black hair that only added to an external perception of sensuousness.


But whereas Macey had always struggled with her weight and, a general air of body positivity aside, managed her food and drink intake carefully. May, long a “skinny fat” girl with no physical fitness to speak of but a seemingly invincible metabolism, was her general foil in all things food and fitness; her irresponsibly lackadaisical approach to her health and weight never ceased to inflame the skinny-fat dynamic of their friendship.


Decades of little pokes and prods from Macey to be more respectful and conscientious landed on deaf ears with May. Naivete and obviousness combined to make her a minor but frequent source of frustration to her best friend, especially in moments like this.


May stifled another burp and looked with wide, unassuming eyes at her friend.


“What? Why?”


Macey pinched the bridge of her nose.


“Come on, dude, that shit is toxic. I hate policing others’ bodies and eating, but I just think that stuff is so bad for you. Practically anything is better than that stuff.”


She looked at May’s belly again, still rumbling and a little distended


May smiled and replied: “I know, I know, but it’s just such a release. I take pretty good care of myself overall!”


While her eyes moved over the half-eaten bag of chips on their coffee table, she decided internally that grabbing a few would attract too much unwanted attention in this moment.


Macey rolled her eyes and thought of the number of times she’d seen her friend sneak “just a little snack” over the weekend alone. A muffin after a full English breakfast on Saturday, a venti chocolate frappuccino after their friend Ashley’s lusciously catered wedding shower on Sunday, and now her third can of Coke today alone, and they were still waiting for their takeout to arrive. And then there were her activity levels: the “skinny fat” phrase, while hardly kind, readily applied to her lanky friend. Despite her size, she had cellulite-ridden, cottage cheese ass and thighs because of her utter lack of muscles and definition, and was overall inclined to either work (which was her preference), or sit and eat, or play videogames, given the opportunity.


The tricky thing was, it wasn't terribly hard for her to justify. As two single thirty-something women in San Francisco, their social world was trending inwards; friends were getting married and the dating scene increasingly felt like some particularly cruel version of the Truman Show. So, they spent a lot more time at home, both for their (thankfully remote) jobs as senior investment analysts at the he California Public Employees Retirement System (colloquially known as “CalPERS”). Outside of that, they were more or less content to stay home.


For Macey, this time at home was mostly welcome. Despite an ability to conjure a vivacious presence at a social interaction when called upon, she was, for all intents and purposes, a quiet, private nerd. Outside of her intellectually stimulating work in investment, where she was proud both to be a woman of colour in the field, and generally good at the ins and outs of impact-oriented venture capital, she liked her life fundamentally simple. Her focuses were primarily books, crafts, and gentle videogames and she was, with only occasional begrudgement, happy to let May occupy some of her space so long as most of their time was of a “parallel play” nature.


In contrast, May was fundamentally companionable and constantly sought intimate time with her close friends. Bubbly but still quite shy, Macey provided a helpful social anchor, as she had for most of her adult life. While she was undoubtedly attractive to many, she was still the ‘wrong’ type of skinny to have ever been fully taken in as one of the beautiful people that might have set her on an entirely different life path. A warm, happy person by nature, May’s somewhat goofy and naive persona sometimes overshadowed her sharp, mathematical mind. While the basics of diet and exercise continuously eluded her, her “quant” status in the investment world and corresponding ability to chart a dividend curve and crunch the believability and risk profile of a term-sheet were nigh unparalleled in their office at CalPERS. She and Macey regularly traded commendations from the senior leadership for their insight and value to the team. And yet, domain excellence aside, she had insufficient care or now-how to recognise that there would be consequences to her irresponsible lifestyle.


Having tried to honour her friend’s warning for too long, he lanky lush finally couldn’t resist and snaked a hand into the chip bag.


At that moment, something broke inside Macey.


Decades of trying to steward not only her own weight, but obliquely trying to help a friend who, despite all her genetic luck, seemed dead-set on squandering it on a lifestyle that would eventually catch up to her.


The chubby woman’s shoulders sank -- her heavy bust resting more pronouncedly on her belly as her back hunched over -- as she watched her friend’s attention wander back to her snack from the conversation, smiling one last time warmly before totally ignoring the advice given to her.


Fine. If she wants to really let herself go, I’m done trying to baby her.


She pressed the full chip bag to her friend and turned back to her phone.


Before she got fully wrapped back up in the saucey fan fiction she was reading, she heard one final subdued rumble from her friend -- between crunches -- and shook her head.
 
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“Hey Em! Do we have any Tums?”


May’s shouts echoed through the house and forced her roommate to pause a particularly productive Animal Crossing session. She had Tom Nook over a barrel, but, with a grunt, decided that she’d walk over and help her roommate.


As she walked over to the bathroom, Macey slowly took in the curious pose her roommate had struck amidst the chaos she was creating.


May was standing hunched over, rifling through the bathroom cupboards, a menagerie of the girls’ creams, medications, and beauty implements laying across the sink’s small counter. As the lanky near-Amazon turned around to face her friend, it became clear that she had been bent over the sink in such a way as to unintentionally hide her visibly distended stomach. The way she has been standing had positioned it so as to almost entirely fill their small basin sink.


Fully extracted from her confining situation, she scratched her bulbous belly and looked at at Macey with hopeful eyes.


Macey lost focus as she looked on in disbelief: May had grown. Quite a bit, in fact.


Whereas once her friend’s figure had been defined mostly by her height and wide, bony hips, her centre of gravity had shifted somewhat. It was impossible to say why she hadn’t noticed until now, but it was really clear now that May’s once insurmountable metabolism had finally failed her. She was getting chubby.


Her belly was strikingly round and tight. She didn’t look like some cheerleader who puffed up; her gravid stomach had more of the look of a beer-loving football dad who had seen one too many Superbowls. She knew that Macey had always been on the lighter side, only weighing a little more than her, despite her height, but she was sure now she’d surpassed her -- undoubtedly careening past that most terrifying of milestones: two-hundred pounds.


It took a few moments for Macey to take all this in, and then extend her gaze to look at the rest of her friend’s body. Beyond her belly, there were far fewer changes. Her hips had added some noticable cushion to them, and, when she turned, her butt clearly stuck out , but otherwise May looked more like she’d just won a big eating contest (entirely possible, in fact) than someone who had recently put on weight. Her arms were still quite thin, with still-delicate fingers, her face looked completely untouched, and


May waved her hand exploratorily in front of her friend: “Hey, you okay?”


“Yeah, yeah, sorry, my eyes were just adjusting to the light.”


In fairness, their offensively bright LED bathroom lights were a mild irritation, but the transformation of May from a lazy string-bean to an oddly proportioned pseudo-pregnant lady was far more arresting.


Returning to reality somewhat, Macey considered If she even had an answer to the question -- looking off thoughtfully to imply that she was considering the request when in reality trying desperately not to stare.


“Are you sure we're out? I bought some last time I went to the drug store last week."


May leaned against the doorway, as if standing this long was already tiring her.


“Yeah, I used the last of them after the Chinese we had on Tuesday.


Macey recalled back to that episode with some consternation:


That day had seemed to go on forever, May embroiled in a disagreement about the scope of research she was about to conduct on technology companies and Macey fighting HR to ensure that work from home rules were respected and not seen as a drain on company productivity. Sitting in the living room, their two small desks on either side of the couch, they both slammed their laptops closed at almost exactly the same time and looked at one another with tired eyes.


As the stress slowly escaped from the room like air from a cheap bike tire, a smile crossed May’s face:


“Let’s get some Chinese food -- I think we both need to unwind.”


Too tired to put up a fuss that they’d already ordered out all weekend, and Friday through Tuesday the week before, she simply let it slide. She remembered looking down at her own belly in concern, thankful, especially aftering seeing May’s full growth, that it had not borne the brunt of those calories the way she had.


May, as she often did, had taken charge of the ordering. She listed dishes and numbers to "confirm" the order with her friend so quickly it was almost as if she spoke Mandarin herself.


She called up Mama Ji’s, a local favourite for many in the Bay Aarea, and proceeded to laugh with the host, whom she knew by name, about gossip and dating stories while intermittently added details of the order. The conversation was so rapid and erratic that the smaller, considerably less hungry of the two parties was not in a position to protest that she would not be able to eat a third, let alone half, of the food just ordered.


A deep rumble of hunger emanented from the larger of the two women, now groaning as she stood from her desk,. She stretched and pushed out her belly enough to bump her laptop.



Macey chided herself in the present for not recognising just how large May had gotten earlier.


May then tromped somewhat ponderously towards the fridge. In almost an instant, she had a creamsicle halfway down her throat while she stuffed another one under her arm.


She fell back into the couch with another groan, their cute-but-not-invincible neo-modernist piece groaning lightly from the sudden influx of weight. The tension that had clouded her moments ago dissipated entirely as the brunette happily sucked away the last remanents of her first popsicle before it had even had a chance to meaningfully defrost. The second victim was consideraby gooier, having been caught in the pressure-cooker of her armpit for more than a minute, but this only allowed May to suck it back more fluidly, a python-like detachment to the shape and consistency enabling her to do so with little thought.


She closed her eyes for a moment and Macey could tell that she was immensely pleased with herself.


Trying to distract herself from yet another display of unbridled gluttony from her roommate, Macey walked over and began to boot up the Nintendo Switch the girls shared. The playful sounds calmed her as she settled herself into her own butt groove on the couch. She grabbed her weebish Card Captor Sakura-decorated controller, and then passed the more muted blue and red one to her friend.


The girls played some Animal Crossing together somewhat passively, adjusting little details inside the homes they’d built for their animal friends, and trying small and creative ways to annoy or otherwise defy Tom Nook. It was an absorbing, low-stakes way of playing together that involved little thinking or communication, exactly the kind of thing that suited Macey, and just enough socialization for May.


It surprised them both when, a few minutes later, May’s phone bleeted out that their food had arrived.


Though it took her another grunt, she got up rather spryly and ran to the door.


She returned with three hefty white, bio-plastic bags, each filled right to the tie at the top.


With a bizarre mixture of self-awareness and naivete, May quickly offered a defense that they would both “eat what they could” of this veritable feast and save the rest for later. Macey sincerely doubted much would be left after her human-vacuum of a friend was finished.


And indeed, the second the bags were unpacked and a minor buffet was laid out across their living room table, a now-familiar process began of May’s unrestrained gluttony being set free.


May, ever the maximalist, had ordered from almost every category on Mama Ji’s menu: she had a range of items from the deep fried menu, including fried pot stickers, crispy springrolls, and a series of meat-alternative balls. She had a few steamed Shanghai vegetarian buns, as well as two containers of chive “pancakes,” and, finally, as a true entre, a chicken wonton soup for her, and vegetarian chow mein for Macey.


Not even bothering with individual plates, May wielded her chopsticks like a sniper rifle and took rapid fire shots into each container, bringing buns, rolls, and clumps of rice and veggies to her mouth in quick succession. Her character languished on the screen, staring blankly at the ocean, as its master chomped and swallowed loudly, occasionally stifling a burp and frequently swigging from her cartoonishly sweet boba.


Though she’d been around it for years, Macey was still blown away by the sheer speed and intensity of May’s appetite. She could devour anything in sight with barely a thought, and, after grabbing her own modest plate, she watched their table slowly empty like a stop motion video -- each time she looked back another container was empty.


Eyes now starting to glaze somewhat, probably only fifteen or twenty minutes after starting, the bloated brunette had propped a final container of spring rolls on her stomach and was using the final few pancakes to wrap around them and in order to finish them more efficiently.


Having slowed down somewhat now and returned to a more recongisably human form, May began to casually chat again to her roommate, licking her fingers between bites in order to better make contact with her phone, while noting details from her perusal of Reddit and Instagram. Investment details of interest, a little celebrity gossip, nothing that seemed to indicate she had just devoured a meal fit for a family of three.


Absent-mindedly, her fingers hit the bottom of the container and May looked down with disappointment to see the last food vessel now empty. Twisting her lips to one side in gentle indignation, she bent over with some difficulty and put the container on the table. A veritable graveyard of a feast stood in front of her, but she remained completely unphased.


Macey finished her meal a few minutes later, having only eaten part of her her chow mein and a single xao lin bun. As she did, May hoisted herself up and began to collect the containers and bring them to the recycling. From the kitchen she called out that she was going to lay down for a little bit, and, quickly as she’d destroyed this meal, she was gone.



Lost in her reverie of just how much her friend could eat, Macey was only snapped back to the here and now of their bathroom upon realizing that May was pointing to two empty bottles on the counter.


“Wait, where did that one come from? I thought you were talking about the ones in the kitchen.”


“Oh, no, those are gone, too.”


The culprit for the disappearing antacids was clear. May’s stomach grumbled audibly as she scratched it again, oblivious as always to how a greasy feast one night and a day-long grazing spree the next could possibly upset her stomach.


“Well, I don’t have any more now. I can pick some more up next time,” Macey tried to offer helpfully.


“Yeah, that’d be great. My stomach’s been a bit upset lately. Maybe it’s stress from work or something”


While indeed work at the pension had indeed increased in intensity lately, May’s strange combination of naivete and being a financial savant always hung in tension. Gluttony above all else was the driver of much of her world these days, ignorant as she was, or wanted to be, of that fact.


Her gut once again rumbled disapprovingly.


Having fully given up on helping her friend’s diet and wellness, Macey could only smile.


“I’m sure it’s just bloating.”


The only affirmation she got was a nod and a muffled rumble that sounded suspiciously like a belch.
 
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May felt fidgety. The chair at the doctor’s office wasn’t quite fitting right and she was not happy with how much it was squashing her sides. The more it felt like she was trapped, the more she wanted to move, and the more her skin rubbed irritatingly against the arm-rests and demanded release.

If she thought about it carefully – which she mostly preferred not to – she would have recognised that this was now a common occurrence. For the most part, she was content to ignore it so long as her work-from-home schedule enabled her to avoid having to move too much, or get dressed in anything other than a bathrobe.

But as she shimmed for the fifth time in as many minutes, she had to admit that her belly, which rounded outwardly in a fashion that uncomfortably resembled pregnancy, was really becoming an issue. In the past few months, May’s food intake had skyrocketed, and, struggling under the literal weight of her appetite, her metabolism had finally broken. Perhaps shattered was more accurate.

When the nurse called her into the doctor’s office, and she carefully unwedged herself from the chair, the full extent of her body’s changes became apparent to anyone who was watching.

Even in the time since her thirty-first birthday last year, the shape of May’s body had reoriented itself dramatically from her lanky-but-hippy default. Her breasts, much to her chagrin, had grown modestly, still mostly fitting into her tighter B-Cup bras. If anything, the tightness she felt in that garment was mostly due to an increasing band size rather than a substantial growth of her breasts in and of themselves. Her back had a gradually evolving texture to it, as small rolls or creases formed whenever she moved or leaned in almost any direction. The mashing together of skin and lipidinous tissue had begun to create the impression of a soft washboard of fatty ridges, particularly underneath her bra straps and where the haunches of her lower back evolved into her ever-plusher ass.

Never her most prominent feature, despite her hips, May’s growth had reshaped this part of her body considerably. She now had two globular buttcheeks that protruded out proudly, expressing an almost unnatural pertness even as the bottom portion of each cheek curved into heavier and heavier thighs that were widening out in all directions. The familiar “thwoosh” of her thighs spreading out every time she sat was starting to feel more and more like molasses or syrup slowly spreading out over a surface from a heavy pour. Given the number of pancakes she ate, that was hardly an unrfair metaphor, either. Her white, far too small “athletic’ shorts were not only being devoured by her ass, but her thighs -- despite a general lack of movement -- had also already eaten through the inner fabric completely and, if you could spread her legs, you could see the angry red skin that was chafing between them.

Perhaps one saving grace that was her thick, cottage cheese-inspired cellulite-ridden thighs still tapered into comparably delicate ankles -- but the same could not be said for her belly.

Seemingly against the laws of human anatomy and physics alike, May was an absurdly belly-heavy gal now. Unending snacking and frequent binges had stretched and stretched her stomach into becoming not only her most impressive (and hard-working) internal organ, but indeed had created an external spectacle that was impossible to miss. The curvature of her belly was exactly like that of a pregnant woman’s, and, while extremely firm, it still had a certain jiggle and movement to it that quickly made you realize that she was not with child. It’s size had increased so much that it was starting to push the boundaries of what kind of pregnant she was -- a very healthy set of twins was probably the best guess for most at this point.

As May’s belly entered the office a second or two before the rest of her, her physician’s face gawked momentarily. Doctor Cristobel Yasis had not seen May for over a year since she’d put in her IUD, and the woman she’d known was a far-cry from this bloated creature slinking into view.

Collecting herself, she smiled at May and they began the usual pleasantries and basic questions. May’s cushy insurance (the benefits of working for a decent employer) actually afforded her an annual physical, so, the appointment was to be wide-ranging -- stethoscope, blood-tests, the whole works.

As they worked through the basic questions and tests, both Cristobel’s (bi-)curiosity and her profession required her to start to ask the hard questions.

“How’s your diet been lately?”

Cristobel’s eyes focused directly into May’s as she asked, careful not to stare at her client’s body that made the question moot.

“Oh, you know, it’s okay. I’m probably snacking a little too much, but I try to stay active.”

Memories of grunting while getting off the couch earlier swirled in her mind as she desperately tried to find a moment of actual, prolonged physical exertion in the past year. You could almost hear the tumbleweeds blowing through her mind as she failed to recount a single example. She began to sweat a little.

“OK. What kind of activities are you involved in?”

Cristobel had to hold back a bemused smile as her chubby client struggled to form a believable story about the “walks” and “yoga” she was doing. Somehow she doubted May was doing much of any of that.

“I know these are usually sensitive topics, May, but as your physician, please know that I’m not here to judge you.”

May’s expression grew a little more dire.

“Can you please take off your clothes now so we can complete the physical?”

Abject horror now crossed the chubby brunette’s face as she froze in place.

“Are you sure that’s absolutely necessary?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. I’d like to do a quick visual inspection for any skin irritations and do a quick breast exam.”

The next two minutes featured the laborious work of May removing her clothing, stripping down to her over-taxed bra and panties, her belly now bulging out in all its glory. Cristobel was shocked how much larger it looked without her simple tank top to cover it. Her constricting shorts, as well, removed the only constraint that was keeping her soft, squishy thighs from filling up even more space, their gelatinous structurelessness jiggling occasionally as she stumbled and adjusted herself.

Standing nearly naked now, the newfound immensity of May was fully on display.

Trying to hide the hunger in her eyes, Cristobel expertly inspected her patient’s modest breasts, noting the red marks and inflamed skin along the band of her bra. Thankfully, there was nothing to be concerned about there.

As she did a series of other small checks, looking at May’s skin for any concerning irritations or otherwise, she finally came to her belly. She knew she needed to feel it. The medical reasons for doing so faded into the back of her mind as she lightly poked and prodded prodigious hips and inched her way towards the main event. What started as professional, evalutory touch slowly became increasingly hands-on and intimate. She pushed inwards from just above May’s bellybutton and felt the strange mixture of firmness and give that enabled this belly to maintain its gravid shape and dominate the figure of her patient so totally. Pushing inwards now more strongly, she could feel that, while the external layer of visceral fat helped keep the belly in its globular shape, the internal fat was almost like some kind of cream-filled egg. When you pressed in, or shook it, if you dared, you could see that this belly - despite appearances to the contrary - was simply big and fat.

As she began to heft the belly now, decorum slipping a little more, her face grew red as she spoke in as tight a doctor-ese as she could:

“May, I think we can both be honest with one another in noting that you’ve put on a significant amount of weight.”

She continued to squeeze as she spoke, entirely disassociated from the words she was saying as she continued her hands-y motions. May continued to stand as still as a soldier during a military inspection.

“Your belly has obviously grown considerably, and, what’s more, most of what’s here is what we call ‘visceral fat,’ meaning that it rests in this solid, bulky kind of way in the belly.”

Words were really failing her now as she tried desperately not to simply lose herself and take a big, greedy squeeze of the whole thing. In all of her career, she’d never felt so profoundly corrupted by seeing one of her patients and she struggled to maintain control in the face of this hypnotic appendage of her patient.

“It can be, uh, associated with cardiovascular disease and other health problems.”

She knew she had to cut her losses before something went really off the rails. As she slowly made to pull herself away, however, she took one last outlandishly large squeeze of the underside of the belly and closed her eyes so deeply that she had to blink herself back into the moment, trying desperately to make it look like she had been a moment of deep thought.

“I definitely…” She paused again, unintentionally, trying still to collect herself. If it weren’t for her dark caramel skin, Cristobel’s face would have read like an open book on arousal. But she just barely managed to come back to her sentence:

“I definitely recommend you look at reducing your caloric intake. If you are a fan of soda or other highly processed or sugary foods, I recommend you cut them out altogether if you can.”

She was regaining her sanity now as she stepped back and considered her patient’s fullnessonce again:

From head to toe, May was covered in a thin sheen of dewey sweat, likely from the exertion of removing her clothes and the nervousness of getting a semi-perverted patdown from her doctor.

The words seemed to ring in May’s ears as she slowly put on her clothes, inching her shorts up her thighs that seemed to run away from clothing with something approaching consciousness. A shimmy or two shook her belly heartily and it had to have been divine intervention that kept her from simply bursting into flames in that very moment. Studiously avoiding her doctor’s eyes as she awkwardly stretched her shirt over her arms - which were only minimally more pudgy -- her red tank top came down smoothly over her bust, and then valiantly began the fool’s errand of making its way over as much of her belly as it could manage. Due to some cosmic cruelty, the shirt, which had mostly fit before (from a certain, denialist point of view), she could see in the mirror now still left a good six inches of exposed pale white flesh after the shirt’s hemline.

The appointment ended with forcibly polite goodbyes and -- she thought, but could barely remember -- a half-hearted promise to eat more healthfully to her doctor.

Belly swinging wantonly side-to-side as she left, May hurried out of the office without even bothering to book her next appointment. She was convinced that Doctor Yasis had lost her train of thought out of sheer disgust at her body, comments to the contrary merely an attempt at professional placaction.

As soon as her wide, swaying ass left the her office, Cristobel immediately closed the door and sat down on her small stool, struggling to catch her breath as all of the pent-up emotion in her body could finally surge forward explosively. She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall, hand against her breast, desperately trying to ground herself after nearly sexually assaulting on one of her patients.

Thoughts of consequences, however, quickly turned back to the memory of holding May’s belly in her hands - the feeling of that final squeeze visiting back upon her and sending a shiver down her spine. She looked at her computer and saw she had a rare reprieve of 10 minutes before her next appointment. Seemingly infected with her patient’s sensuous disregard for propriety and control, she locked the door and went to the cupboard for lubricants used in vaginal exams.

This isn’t strictly off-label, I guess, she thought as she squirted some in her hands and rubbed them together.

And before she plunged her fingers into herself, she briefly wondered how hard it was for May to masturbate with that big belly. Contemplating that thought meant she had time for two near-cataclysmic orgasms before her next client was ready.
 

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