Polarisdreamerr
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- May 16, 2018
- Messages
- 590
Description: Emilia, a High School French Teacher moves in with her boyfriend and gets fat.
Authors Note: A one-off story made possible by support from my P*a*t*r*e*o*n. Enjoy!
Madison Heights High School chaotically churned to life as the bell signifying the end of the school year finally rang throughout the halls. I smiled as I watched most of my class wildly flood out of the room. The majority were eagerly awaiting their knowledge-free summer vacation, and I couldn’t blame them.
“Profitez des vacances d’été! (Enjoy summer vacation!)” I called after them, with my most impeccable French accent.
The only stragglers who hadn’t left were two popular graduating seniors, Claire and Mia. Claire Ellison was a quiet but capable student, and Mia was her snobby friend who never really exhibited any talent for speaking French. It was obvious to me that the 18-year-old fashion enthusiasts only stuck around for a second helping of crêpes. Now that their fellow classmates had departed, the skinny divas could eat as much as they wanted without any fear of social judgment. Well, mostly skinny, Mia was fit, but she had a pretty beefy booty that was impossible not to notice.
“Mademoiselle Basset, do you mind if I make a crêpe to go?” Mia predicably asked in English, even though my class policy was for my students to only speak French in the classroom.
“Moi aussi. (Me too).” Claire added correctly in French.
“Non. (No.)” I shrugged, as I let the girls do as they wished.
For those not familiar with French culture, crêpes are very thin pancakes. They can be served with a wide variety of sweet and savory fillings and toppings. As a fun little send off for my students, on the last day of class I always bring in enough ingredients for students to eat their fill. Crêpes have been a breakfast staple in France dating back to at least the 13th century and I love giving my students a little taste of French culture before they move on from my class.
Claire’s little taste of French culture involved some strawberries, blueberries and just a hint of whipped cream. Mia’s taste wasn’t little at all. The greedy pear-shaped beauty pilled spoonful after spoonful of chocolate Nutella onto her crêpe followed by a few strawberries, syrup, and a large helping of whipped cream. For someone so fit and slender, it was no wonder why Mia had such a comparatively fat butt, the girl had a big sweet tooth.
“Si tu manges tout ça, tu vas grossir! (You eat all that, you’ll get fat!)” I teased, causing Claire to cover her mouth in a little fit of laughter and Mia to tilt her head with confusion. It was obvious the girl hadn’t learned a word of French all semester.
“C'est un cochon déguisé! (She’s a pig in disguise!)” Claire joined in, joking at Mia’s expense.
“What are you saying?” Mia demanded to know, while looking a little irritated.
So, I responded much slower, one word at a time, “J’ai dit, tu vas grossir! (I said, you’ll get fat!)”
Rolling her eyes in response, Mia picked up her crêpe took a large spiteful bite and muttered a sarcastic, “Merci. (Thank you.)”
In all honesty, I wasn’t sure she’d understood me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t like Mia much as a student, but I couldn’t be angry with her. I’d been a lot like her when I’d been in her shoes ten years ago, except I struggled with Math, not French.
So, I made myself a crêpe and ate with the girls. Claire was happy to chat a little bit in French, but Mia clearly couldn’t. She just made herself another crêpe and chowed down until our little conversation had run its course. After that they left, and I was finally alone so I started cleaning things up. I knew full well that my boyfriend would be along shortly. It had been a long day, and I’d told him during lunch to stop by and sweep me off my feet when school let out.
Once my classroom was tidied up, I decided the best use of my time would be to prepare for my lover’s arrival. First, I opened my purse and checked my face with a mirror, my mascara, eyeliner, and foundation still looked flawless, so I took a moment to vainly appreciate my stunning blemish-free face, full seductive lips, angularly symmetrical chin, enchantingly bright blue eyes, and the freckles sprinkled across my rosy cheeks.
Not a soul in the world would dare accuse me of peaking in high school like so many of my cheerleading friends clearly had.
Pleased with the appearance of my face, I turned my attention to my hair. During the school year I always fashioned my bright and long red hair into a French braid bun which, as Queen of my classroom, I wore like a crown. As usual, my hair looked flawless, so I moved on to my feet.
Martin, my boyfriend, loved me in heels, so I swapped out my teaching flats for the pair of 3-inch heels I kept in the bottom drawer of my classroom desk for occasions just like this. At 5’6, I wasn’t all that tall, but I had long legs for my frame and, according to Martin, heels not only helped bring out the innate sexiness of my legs, but they also helped me flaunt my figure. If I’m being honest though, I don’t think I needed any help being sexy.
In high school, I was a natural 116-pounds hourglass, fit, firm, and curvy. 10 years on, I weigh closer to 134lbs, but I remain athletic in appearance thanks to my regular jogs and platies classes. I’ve grown softer in places, such as my stomach, but it’s still flat. My arms are still slender, but less defined than when I’d been cheerleading consistently. My bountiful bust has seen some modest gains, developing from a perky C-cup in high school to an undeniable D-cup now.
I love my bigger bust. My girls help me fit into so many beautiful clothes, although they are a trouble to contain sometimes in my more professional work attire. By far though, most of my new weight has settled around my hips and butt. Probably a consequence of sitting so much as a teacher, but Martin likes it, so I’m not complaining.
With my face and feet situated, I turned my attention to my clothes. I wasn’t wearing anything fancy today, just a brown pencil skirt which hugged my curves tightly down to my knees, a stylish black belt to match my shoes, and a sleeveless green button-down blouse that fit a bit more tightly than a blouse typically should. In order to add a little sex appeal to my boring office clothes, I unbuttoned my old blouse just enough to reveal a little cleavage and got to erasing my blackboard, as I waited for my loving boyfriend to arrive.
I’d known Martin for decades. We’d grown up living across the street from one another. We’d been best friends long before we were ever lovers. In high school, he tutored me in mathematics, and I helped him with his foreign languages, but our social circles didn’t really intersect much in school. I was the star of Madison Heights High School’s cheerleading team, and he was more of a band geek, playing the trombone in marching band.
He’d conveyed interest in me every so often, but back then I relegated him to the friend zone, again and again.
What can I say? I was immature back then, and he wasn’t my type. I still feel guilty about never giving him a chance and especially guilty for the way I turned down his senior prom proposal…
“Emilia, would you go to prom with me?” He’d sweetly asked me with a bouquet of flowers in his hands outside of the women’s locker room after cheer practice had let out.
“Oh Martin… Look, I totally would, but it’s tradition for the cheer captain to go to prom with the captain of the football team, so y’know…” I’d shrugged off his sincere gesture.
“I get it.” Martin had sighed trying not to look completely crushed.
“What?” I’d asked trying to show him I hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings.
“Girls like you don’t go to prom with guys like me. I get it. Thanks for letting me down gently. That means a lot.” Martin smiled, while he turned to retreat from me.
“Wait Martin, that’s not true. If I wasn’t expecting Colby to ask me later this week, I’d totally go with you.” I’d argued, although I didn’t know myself if what I was saying was true.
“You don’t need to lie to me.” Martin replied looking sullen.
“I’m not lying! What do you want me to say? You’re so pathetic! You’re beneath me! You’re not. I think you’re a really sweet guy, but y’know…” I spoke trying and failing to cheer him up.
“We’re just friends?” Martin concluded with disappointment.
After hesitating a moment, I replied, “Yeah, exactly.”
And that was the end of that. For practically four years, we didn’t speak to one another. We went to separate colleges, in separate states. In that time, I matured mentally after dating a streak of worthless frat guys who only loved me for my body, and he matured physically.
Martin was an awkward looking guy in high school. At 6’4 he was too tall and lanky. He hadn’t grown into himself yet, but during college he put on some weight and started hitting the gym for the first time in his life. After graduation, we’d each returned home and acquired jobs teaching at the very school we’d each once attended as students. That’s where I first saw him again after all that time.
Now looking to be 225lbs of pure muscle, Martin had the eyes of every female teacher glued to him at all hours of the day, including myself, although I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. Martin was a late bloomer, but it took a while for me to truly appreciate that. Old habits die hard, I guess.
During our first-year teaching at the same school, we slowly rekindled our friendship, caught up on lost time, and ideally mused about our respective dating prospects. During our second-year teaching, things were all fun and games, we casually dated other people, but between us, we were slowly becoming more than just friends.
On Valentine’s Day our third-year teaching together, about a year and a half ago, it finally happened. Martin asked me out again, the first time since high school and I said, “Yes!”
What possessed me to say yes? I don’t know, but it was the greatest choice of my life.
Martin, as always, was honestly a very nice guy. On our first date he acted like he typically did, goofy, shy, but sincere. In high school those were qualities that pushed me away from dating him, but now they were exactly what drew me in. I felt comfortable with him, I felt safe with him, and I felt valued by him.
After a lovely dinner, we stuffed ourselves into the back seat of his car and started making out like we were teenagers. I loved the way he ran his hands around my petit hourglass frame, he didn’t just dwell on my breasts like so many other guys, he ran his hands aggressively up the back of my thighs and joyfully squeezed my firm butt. After he drove me home that night, I invited him to sleep over and we’ve been a couple ever since.
As I finished reflecting on our relationship and wiping down my blackboard, I heard a knock on my classroom door before he entered.
“Mademoiselle Basset? I hope I’m not disturbing you. May I come in?” Martin knowingly smiled, as I turned to greet him.
Dropping my eraser and striking a sexy pose, I blurted out in an entitled French accent, “Monsieur Tubbs? Embrasse-moi! (Mr. Tubbs? Kiss me!)”
In an instant, Martin swept me off my feet, cradled me in his sturdy arms, and gave me the warm loving kiss I’d just demanded. In his arms, I felt weightless.
Once we finished our lustful kiss, I cracked a mischievous smile and purred, “Are you excited? Are you nervous?”
“To be moving in with you?” Martin replied, “I’ve never been more excited for anything in my life.”
“You’re not nervous? Like at all?” I coyly questioned feeling a little nervous myself. Moving in was a big commitment and it was a step I’d never taken before with anyone else, yet both of us had agreed to do it once the semester ended.
“Not one bit. I love you, and I’ll never stop loving you. So, what’s there to be nervous about?” Martin sincerely answered, as his conviction put me at ease.
“You’re right. As usual.” I smiled, as I wrapped my petit hands around Martin’s muscular neck and tugged him back in for a very satisfying kiss.
Letting my passion for him take over, things escalated. Quickly. Somehow, we ended up in a janitor’s closet 15 minutes later having sex like we were two horny immature high school students.
Moving In
Written by Polarisdreamer
Illustrated by Berserker1133
Written by Polarisdreamer
Illustrated by Berserker1133
Authors Note: A one-off story made possible by support from my P*a*t*r*e*o*n. Enjoy!
Madison Heights High School chaotically churned to life as the bell signifying the end of the school year finally rang throughout the halls. I smiled as I watched most of my class wildly flood out of the room. The majority were eagerly awaiting their knowledge-free summer vacation, and I couldn’t blame them.
“Profitez des vacances d’été! (Enjoy summer vacation!)” I called after them, with my most impeccable French accent.
The only stragglers who hadn’t left were two popular graduating seniors, Claire and Mia. Claire Ellison was a quiet but capable student, and Mia was her snobby friend who never really exhibited any talent for speaking French. It was obvious to me that the 18-year-old fashion enthusiasts only stuck around for a second helping of crêpes. Now that their fellow classmates had departed, the skinny divas could eat as much as they wanted without any fear of social judgment. Well, mostly skinny, Mia was fit, but she had a pretty beefy booty that was impossible not to notice.
“Mademoiselle Basset, do you mind if I make a crêpe to go?” Mia predicably asked in English, even though my class policy was for my students to only speak French in the classroom.
“Moi aussi. (Me too).” Claire added correctly in French.
“Non. (No.)” I shrugged, as I let the girls do as they wished.
For those not familiar with French culture, crêpes are very thin pancakes. They can be served with a wide variety of sweet and savory fillings and toppings. As a fun little send off for my students, on the last day of class I always bring in enough ingredients for students to eat their fill. Crêpes have been a breakfast staple in France dating back to at least the 13th century and I love giving my students a little taste of French culture before they move on from my class.
Claire’s little taste of French culture involved some strawberries, blueberries and just a hint of whipped cream. Mia’s taste wasn’t little at all. The greedy pear-shaped beauty pilled spoonful after spoonful of chocolate Nutella onto her crêpe followed by a few strawberries, syrup, and a large helping of whipped cream. For someone so fit and slender, it was no wonder why Mia had such a comparatively fat butt, the girl had a big sweet tooth.
“Si tu manges tout ça, tu vas grossir! (You eat all that, you’ll get fat!)” I teased, causing Claire to cover her mouth in a little fit of laughter and Mia to tilt her head with confusion. It was obvious the girl hadn’t learned a word of French all semester.
“C'est un cochon déguisé! (She’s a pig in disguise!)” Claire joined in, joking at Mia’s expense.
“What are you saying?” Mia demanded to know, while looking a little irritated.
So, I responded much slower, one word at a time, “J’ai dit, tu vas grossir! (I said, you’ll get fat!)”
Rolling her eyes in response, Mia picked up her crêpe took a large spiteful bite and muttered a sarcastic, “Merci. (Thank you.)”
In all honesty, I wasn’t sure she’d understood me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t like Mia much as a student, but I couldn’t be angry with her. I’d been a lot like her when I’d been in her shoes ten years ago, except I struggled with Math, not French.
So, I made myself a crêpe and ate with the girls. Claire was happy to chat a little bit in French, but Mia clearly couldn’t. She just made herself another crêpe and chowed down until our little conversation had run its course. After that they left, and I was finally alone so I started cleaning things up. I knew full well that my boyfriend would be along shortly. It had been a long day, and I’d told him during lunch to stop by and sweep me off my feet when school let out.
Once my classroom was tidied up, I decided the best use of my time would be to prepare for my lover’s arrival. First, I opened my purse and checked my face with a mirror, my mascara, eyeliner, and foundation still looked flawless, so I took a moment to vainly appreciate my stunning blemish-free face, full seductive lips, angularly symmetrical chin, enchantingly bright blue eyes, and the freckles sprinkled across my rosy cheeks.
Not a soul in the world would dare accuse me of peaking in high school like so many of my cheerleading friends clearly had.
Pleased with the appearance of my face, I turned my attention to my hair. During the school year I always fashioned my bright and long red hair into a French braid bun which, as Queen of my classroom, I wore like a crown. As usual, my hair looked flawless, so I moved on to my feet.
Martin, my boyfriend, loved me in heels, so I swapped out my teaching flats for the pair of 3-inch heels I kept in the bottom drawer of my classroom desk for occasions just like this. At 5’6, I wasn’t all that tall, but I had long legs for my frame and, according to Martin, heels not only helped bring out the innate sexiness of my legs, but they also helped me flaunt my figure. If I’m being honest though, I don’t think I needed any help being sexy.
In high school, I was a natural 116-pounds hourglass, fit, firm, and curvy. 10 years on, I weigh closer to 134lbs, but I remain athletic in appearance thanks to my regular jogs and platies classes. I’ve grown softer in places, such as my stomach, but it’s still flat. My arms are still slender, but less defined than when I’d been cheerleading consistently. My bountiful bust has seen some modest gains, developing from a perky C-cup in high school to an undeniable D-cup now.
I love my bigger bust. My girls help me fit into so many beautiful clothes, although they are a trouble to contain sometimes in my more professional work attire. By far though, most of my new weight has settled around my hips and butt. Probably a consequence of sitting so much as a teacher, but Martin likes it, so I’m not complaining.
With my face and feet situated, I turned my attention to my clothes. I wasn’t wearing anything fancy today, just a brown pencil skirt which hugged my curves tightly down to my knees, a stylish black belt to match my shoes, and a sleeveless green button-down blouse that fit a bit more tightly than a blouse typically should. In order to add a little sex appeal to my boring office clothes, I unbuttoned my old blouse just enough to reveal a little cleavage and got to erasing my blackboard, as I waited for my loving boyfriend to arrive.
I’d known Martin for decades. We’d grown up living across the street from one another. We’d been best friends long before we were ever lovers. In high school, he tutored me in mathematics, and I helped him with his foreign languages, but our social circles didn’t really intersect much in school. I was the star of Madison Heights High School’s cheerleading team, and he was more of a band geek, playing the trombone in marching band.
He’d conveyed interest in me every so often, but back then I relegated him to the friend zone, again and again.
What can I say? I was immature back then, and he wasn’t my type. I still feel guilty about never giving him a chance and especially guilty for the way I turned down his senior prom proposal…
“Emilia, would you go to prom with me?” He’d sweetly asked me with a bouquet of flowers in his hands outside of the women’s locker room after cheer practice had let out.
“Oh Martin… Look, I totally would, but it’s tradition for the cheer captain to go to prom with the captain of the football team, so y’know…” I’d shrugged off his sincere gesture.
“I get it.” Martin had sighed trying not to look completely crushed.
“What?” I’d asked trying to show him I hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings.
“Girls like you don’t go to prom with guys like me. I get it. Thanks for letting me down gently. That means a lot.” Martin smiled, while he turned to retreat from me.
“Wait Martin, that’s not true. If I wasn’t expecting Colby to ask me later this week, I’d totally go with you.” I’d argued, although I didn’t know myself if what I was saying was true.
“You don’t need to lie to me.” Martin replied looking sullen.
“I’m not lying! What do you want me to say? You’re so pathetic! You’re beneath me! You’re not. I think you’re a really sweet guy, but y’know…” I spoke trying and failing to cheer him up.
“We’re just friends?” Martin concluded with disappointment.
After hesitating a moment, I replied, “Yeah, exactly.”
And that was the end of that. For practically four years, we didn’t speak to one another. We went to separate colleges, in separate states. In that time, I matured mentally after dating a streak of worthless frat guys who only loved me for my body, and he matured physically.
Martin was an awkward looking guy in high school. At 6’4 he was too tall and lanky. He hadn’t grown into himself yet, but during college he put on some weight and started hitting the gym for the first time in his life. After graduation, we’d each returned home and acquired jobs teaching at the very school we’d each once attended as students. That’s where I first saw him again after all that time.
Now looking to be 225lbs of pure muscle, Martin had the eyes of every female teacher glued to him at all hours of the day, including myself, although I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. Martin was a late bloomer, but it took a while for me to truly appreciate that. Old habits die hard, I guess.
During our first-year teaching at the same school, we slowly rekindled our friendship, caught up on lost time, and ideally mused about our respective dating prospects. During our second-year teaching, things were all fun and games, we casually dated other people, but between us, we were slowly becoming more than just friends.
On Valentine’s Day our third-year teaching together, about a year and a half ago, it finally happened. Martin asked me out again, the first time since high school and I said, “Yes!”
What possessed me to say yes? I don’t know, but it was the greatest choice of my life.
Martin, as always, was honestly a very nice guy. On our first date he acted like he typically did, goofy, shy, but sincere. In high school those were qualities that pushed me away from dating him, but now they were exactly what drew me in. I felt comfortable with him, I felt safe with him, and I felt valued by him.
After a lovely dinner, we stuffed ourselves into the back seat of his car and started making out like we were teenagers. I loved the way he ran his hands around my petit hourglass frame, he didn’t just dwell on my breasts like so many other guys, he ran his hands aggressively up the back of my thighs and joyfully squeezed my firm butt. After he drove me home that night, I invited him to sleep over and we’ve been a couple ever since.
As I finished reflecting on our relationship and wiping down my blackboard, I heard a knock on my classroom door before he entered.
“Mademoiselle Basset? I hope I’m not disturbing you. May I come in?” Martin knowingly smiled, as I turned to greet him.
Dropping my eraser and striking a sexy pose, I blurted out in an entitled French accent, “Monsieur Tubbs? Embrasse-moi! (Mr. Tubbs? Kiss me!)”
In an instant, Martin swept me off my feet, cradled me in his sturdy arms, and gave me the warm loving kiss I’d just demanded. In his arms, I felt weightless.
Once we finished our lustful kiss, I cracked a mischievous smile and purred, “Are you excited? Are you nervous?”
“To be moving in with you?” Martin replied, “I’ve never been more excited for anything in my life.”
“You’re not nervous? Like at all?” I coyly questioned feeling a little nervous myself. Moving in was a big commitment and it was a step I’d never taken before with anyone else, yet both of us had agreed to do it once the semester ended.
“Not one bit. I love you, and I’ll never stop loving you. So, what’s there to be nervous about?” Martin sincerely answered, as his conviction put me at ease.
“You’re right. As usual.” I smiled, as I wrapped my petit hands around Martin’s muscular neck and tugged him back in for a very satisfying kiss.
Letting my passion for him take over, things escalated. Quickly. Somehow, we ended up in a janitor’s closet 15 minutes later having sex like we were two horny immature high school students.
