Wanderer

1. Jessica: Workout

Jessica is quite a sight. Especially when her belly spills over the waistband of her shorts, and her tits strain against a sports bra that's far too tight for them. The complete opposite of what you'd expect to see in the lobby of a wellness center.

Naturally, when I look at her, I don't just see the voluptuous flesh, but also the overwhelming desire to eat well, heartily

and a lot. A desire that grows even stronger when Jessica sees me.

She rushes towards me, her belly wobbling back and forth, we press tightly against each other—right in the middle of the lobby—nuzzling, with lips, palms, I lovingly sink both hands into her folds, and then check the waistband's elastic.

"Just a bit more, and these shorts will burst right on you."

Jessica rolls her eyes.

"Oh no. If Mom finds out I've outgrown them, she'll realize I haven't lost weight. And she'll start asking questions."

"Haven't lost weight" is putting it mildly. Since we met four months ago, I've been helping my little glutton gain weight. Despite all the efforts of her caring mother to keep her little girl on a strict diet and a rigid exercise schedule.

Jessica has been a chubby girl all her life. Just born that way. She became a little butterball before she even realized how much she adored eating. During her teenage years, she really filled out, surpassing a hundred kilos before her fifteenth birthday. Then she got interested in boys—and learned they weren't interested in her at all, and her mom got worried about how wide her daughter was getting. Through their combined efforts, Jessica managed to drop her weight to around ninety kilos and stay there, but her motivation soon waned, since guys still showed no interest, and denying herself her favorite burgers and other treats was very, very hard.

After finishing school, she increasingly slipped out from under her mother's watchful eye and broke her diet more often, so the lost kilos slowly crept back. Mom, however, insisted even more strictly, forcing the girl to sweat on the exercise machines every day.

And then I appeared and opened the floodgates for her gluttony. The naive young girl met a man who not only appreciated her shape but actively encouraged her habit of constantly nibbling on something—something that hadn't happened in all her nineteen years of previous life!—and Jessica was simply blinded by passion. Now every morning we met at the place she was supposed to go for "workouts," and the consequences were clearly visible on the overfed girl's figure...

Jessica plops down into the passenger seat of the Mercedes, her lifted t-shirt exposing her belly above the navel. Reaching over, I affectionately stroke the tempting flesh.

"Seems like your tummy has grown since yesterday," I smile and turn onto the road to my apartment.

"You fed me three pizzas. No wonder it grew, silly. Lucky Mom didn't notice how stuffed I got."

I lovingly stroke her swollen belly—after such a "workout," she's always especially sensitive and slightly embarrassed by her own behavior.

"You're such a fatty. Seems like you gained about four kilos right here and now." Jessica's smile fades, she worriedly lowers her gaze between her sprawling tits, trying to assess how much she's been stretched. "Another couple of weeks at this rate, and you'll only be able to waddle."

Jessica cautiously touches her own stomach. As if it's not her, not a part of her. As if it just grew on its own, and she had nothing to do with it.

"We should head back. If Mom gets home first, I'm screwed."

She tries to lean over for her shorts, but her stomach is too full. She groans in pain.

I help her get into her "workout clothes" and load her into the car.

"I hope you don't outgrow these clothes too quickly," I stroke her thigh, driving back to the wellness center. "You look stunning in them."

Yes, the embarrassment is pretty much gone, but a compliment won't hurt the girl.

Naturally, Jessica gives a sly grin and strokes my leg herself, and a bit higher.

"With how you feed me, I don't know how I'll squeeze into them tomorrow." She brings me to full readiness, then presses her lips to mine as I pull into the parking lot.

"Don't tease me," is all I can squeeze out, and she opens the door and gets ready to leave.

"That's so you have something to remember until tomorrow," Jessica replies and, deliberately swaying her massive rear end back and forth, walks away.

I, of course, can't wait for tomorrow's meeting. But alas, I have absolutely no time to admire her voluptuous flesh slowly receding towards the wellness center, nor even to dream about what the girl will soon become under my careful guidance.

If I'm even a couple of minutes late, I'll miss lunch with Minnie.

2. Minnie: Lunch

When I appear at her office, Minnie is still in her cubicle, her wide rear end spilling over both sides of the chair, and her boss is standing over her delivering some business speech, the gist of which I don't even try to grasp. I just stand patiently by the wall and wait.

I get a real thrill when I see Minnie notice me and her eyes glaze over. A mix of arousal and hunger fills her completely, and it's unlikely the rest of her boss's speech reaches her at all.

Judging by the substantial little pile of candy wrappers on her desk, Minnie has been keeping her mouth busy with more than just business talk this morning.

My doing.

Of course, I had something to build on. I realized it immediately, as soon as I saw those hips and that rear end, straining the seams of her pants. Even before I started working closely with her.

When I was looking for a plump representative of office plankton to "fatten up," Minnie's type wasn't first in line. I was hoping to hook a plump, busty secretary. An office slut. A girl with noticeable excess weight and such unshakable self-confidence that she wouldn't refuse anyone who showed interest. Such ones quickly spread to the desired proportions.

But I got Minnie. One could say, luckily. An accountant, with a pear-shaped figure, quite pretty despite the large glasses and hair slicked back. And confident enough to agree without hesitation to go on a date with a handsome stranger who exchanged a couple of compliments with her at her favorite coffee shop.

A minimum of attention—and the modest quiet girl just burst open. She confessed she'd always been "pear-shaped" and a bit plump, but after college, her sedentary job made her gain even more, making her lower body proportions even more prominent. She confessed she'd desperately tried to diet her hips into more decent boundaries, or else she might not fit through a doorway one day.

Convincing her that mighty hips were not a minus but, on the contrary, a big plus, wasn't hard. A couple of compliments, and Minnie was mine. I explained that she was fighting against the best part of her figure, and she shouldn't force it into some made-up boundaries but, on the contrary, let it flourish. Soon Minnie was shamelessly munching on treats right in her cubicle, and at lunches, she stuffed herself to the brim. The process was slow, because Minnie is just a side project for me. A month of lunch dates and a few dinners. But it progressed, slowly and inexorably.

I watch as Minnie stands up when her boss finally finishes his speech and leaves. Her hips and rear end sway, straining the tight pants. She was never athletic and doesn't try to "keep in shape"; panties digging into soft flesh are visible through the thin fabric of her summer trousers. As are the dimples of cellulite on her buttocks. A slightly rounded face, and even a tummy starting to protrude. My pear-shaped plump girl is approaching ninety kilos.

I approach her from behind and pinch a soft spot:

"You better not bend over in these pants, unless you always carry a needle and thread with you."

Minnie smiles, her eyes sparkling.

"That tight? Yeah, I should have noticed; there's already gossip around the office that I'm pregnant."

"You really are bursting," I agree as we walk to the parking lot, "and with hips like that, you should definitely be a model of fertility. I think I could easily arrange twins for you, and under my care, you'd blow up so much you wouldn't fit into your cubicle."

Minnie lets out a quiet moan, biting her lip. We haven't moved to the bedroom stage yet, but she's ready. More than ready. And the "get pregnant and get fat" topic turns her on impossibly. Instead of answering, she stops right in the middle of the parking lot and plants a greedy kiss on my lips; I willingly comply, squeezing her mighty buttocks with both hands and turning her neat ponytail into a charmingly messy mane.

But the pizzeria awaits.

The aroused plump girl is ready to do anything for me. And since we're at a pizzeria, she's quite ready to stuff her stomach with fatty, calorie-rich pizza. I load up a full plate for her, and while she's eating—I take off her shoes, put her feet on my lap, and massage her soles.

Minnie is in seventh heaven. A smile from ear to ear, drops of sauce and oil trickling from the corners of her mouth. An equally oily gaze—I'm all yours, take me wherever and however you want. But I restrain myself. An unsatisfied woman always eats to fill the void, Minnie is no exception. She doesn't even realize how much she managed to wolf down until she cleans her fourth plate.

"One more piece, and I won't be able to get up," she groans, and I push a dessert refill towards her.

"But you've become so big and tempting," I whisper in Minnie's ear, "and it's simply a shame to deny yourself a bit of extra virtue just because there's no more room in your stomach."

Minnie honestly tries to stuff a huge bowl of ice cream into herself, but most of it ends up melting. She sinks back with a "I give up, I can't anymore" look. She really can't. I bite my lip, step on my own foot. The more Minnie grows wider, the more she overeats—the harder it is for me to hold back.

I help her up, admiring her swollen belly, which protrudes forward and begins to sag slightly. I smile—mid-lunch, she did have to unbutton her pants.

"Now you really look pregnant," I remark, stroking her belly.

"I've never eaten so much in my life," Minnie says, lowering her eyes in surprise. She looks away: the sight of her own bloated belly slightly shocks her. "Did you hypnotize me or something?"

I smirk.

"If only! Then I'd have made you take off those pants altogether and give it to me right here on the table."

Minnie smiles, as if to say she's generally not against it at all, even for it. Then we kiss, again and again, on the way to the car, and in it, we let our hands roam and caress freely. I lower the seat and cover Minnie's tender belly and thighs with kisses, and she moans, writhes, and demands that I take her, immediately, right now!

"At least a quickie," she almost cries, "in the car, here!.."

"You'd better get back to work," I continue stroking her, "or else the boss will get angry, do we need that?"

The voice of reason brings Minnie to her senses, she folds the seat back again and, as we drive, tidies herself up. But from dissatisfaction, she completely forgets how much she just ate and willingly accepts a bag of various treats from me to munch on during the day.

Minnie shifts on the passenger seat, struggling with her pants' fastener; then kisses me goodbye and waddles back to work.

This will end soon, but for now—let's enjoy what we have.

I admire Minnie's luxurious buttocks and the pants living their last days for a few seconds, then turn the car towards the suburbs. I still need to get to Cassie before the kids get home from school.

3. Cassie: Afternoon Delights

Cassie opens the door, clad in a robe. It's been too small for her for a long time, the belt impossible to properly tie, her belly and breasts remain half-exposed.

"And I've been waiting for you, waiting..." she winks.

I open the robe and cover her left breast with both palms. Partially.

"A natural cow's udder. It's even strange you're not mooing yet."

Cassie closes her eyes and sighs, as if my touch alone is enough to elevate her to the peak.

"It's all you. I'm constantly hungry, walking around the house in the morning and chewing on everything, like I'm pregnant. Even though I know you'll come and feed me properly."

"Well, it's not your first time. You'll get pregnant, give birth again. That'll be one more child, big deal. Though, maybe it would be worth giving you such joy, at least to admire how your udder swells with three liters of milk."

Cassie's plump red face turns completely crimson with embarrassment.

Cassie is an overfed single mother. A former high school cheerleading star who married a classmate admirer and discovered that domestic life made her gorgeous figure spread wide. Then she got pregnant, making her even softer and plumper. Soon the marriage cracked, a scandalous divorce and "stress eating" moved Cassie into "plus sizes."

Fat, but with a very substantial bust, she still managed to snag a second husband. However, a second pregnancy pushed her even further down the path of obesity, and Cassie went through her second divorce somewhere around a hundred and twenty kilos. Then I happened, and feeling my genuine interest in her spread-out body, Cassie completely let go of the reins.

I never made her weigh herself, or else she might get scared at the speed she's gaining. But judging by how Cassie's flesh strains the size 60 robe, she must be at least a hundred and forty.

"The kids are at kindergarten," says Cassie, shrugging off the robe with a movement of her round shoulder. "And you have every opportunity to have your way with me."

"We have a deal. Food first, then everything else."

Cassie plops down on the sofa. I admire her, holding back my arousal. Huge. Fat. Everywhere. Huge tits, spread-out rear. A belly with two folds, swaying hips, folds on her sides not much smaller than on her breasts. Embodied gluttony and obesity, and considering I'm here, this embodiment will become even more visible.

The "three-seater" sofa Cassie fills about two-thirds of. I sit on top of her, press her hands against the backrest, kiss her, hug her—as much as possible—her breathing quickens, her nipples swell, turning into sensitive balls the size of meatballs.

And then she tries to move her hands. I lift my head, smile.

"You're at it again. And I thought..."

Cassie sighs, not yet fully realizing I've tied her hands to the sofa for the first time.

I continue smirking and stand up. Without much effort, I spread her knees so her belly hangs freely between them. A magnificent sight. And from this position, she can't get up on her own.

"You're not nice," Cassie feigns a sob.