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body div#devskin0 hr { }

So, I guess it’s official now. Sarah and I are a thing. I don’t know what that thing is yet, but we are a thing. I’m currently in bed with her, thinking about waking up, but not quite sure if I want to yet. She’s got her plump arms wrapped around me while I’m curled up as the proverbial small spoon. All things considered, it’s only fitting she’d be the big spoon.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she says, slowly nudging her chubby chin over my shoulder. “Hey cutie,” I respond, turning my head to face her. With her fat gut pressed against my back, I feel a slight vibration. This is followed by a more substantial vibration, a loud gurgle from her stomach, and the words, “let’s make some breakfast, I’m STARVING!”

We proceed to walk to the kitchen, her belly and breasts wobbling with each step in the process. We cook up a batch of pancakes, making 2 for me and a hearty 12 for her. It takes us 15 minutes, and her stomach is grumbling angrily the whole time. I actually feel pretty bad for her, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was actually feeling pain from her intense hunger.

Once we finish the batch, she quickly fixes herself a plate, pours some maple syrup, and devours all 12 pancakes in just a few minutes. She doesn’t even bother to take a seat, she just eats it all standing up, her fat ass drooping over the counter. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were starving.” I comment, having only just now started on my own pancakes. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with having healthy appetite, right?” she responds, smiling as she waddles to the fridge.

I’m currently sitting at her kitchen table, and thanks to my current seating arrangement, Sarah’s huge butt presses against my head as she searches through the fridge for something to eat. She soon walks back to the stove with another thing of pancake mix. Her stomach growls violently once again, “Hey babe, could you please get one of those jimmy dean breakfast thingies from the freezer? I don’t think I can wait for the next batch.” I blush. I’ve never had anyone call me their “babe” before. For a lack of a better description, it feels good.

I promptly get a breakfast sandwich and follow the microwaving instructions. While we wait, her belly grumbles violently several more times. The moment the timer beeps, I pull it out and hand it to her. She thanks me and immediately chows down. “Do you need any help with the pancakes?” I ask. “[MMMH] Jusht shet a timer [GULP] for five minutes. [OM] Sho I know when to flip them over.” I quickly obey her request.

After I set the timer, I realize that she’s almost done with her breakfast sandwich, but the pancakes haven’t even been flipped over yet. Remembering just how hungry she was a few minutes ago, I quickly head to her cabinet and see if there’s anything I can make for her on short notice. I quickly grab two packets of pop tarts and pop them in her toaster. I also put another breakfast sandwich in the microwave.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Sarah asks, having just finished her sandwich. “I’m making you more breakfast. I don’t want you to go hungry.” She gasps, before standing up and pulling me into a big, squishy hug, “You are the best boyfriend ever!” She exclaims. “B-b-boyfriend?” I respond, my face beet red. She gasps, quickly releasing me from her soft hug, “OH, uh, erm I-uh-I mean, if you want to, I mean-“ I quickly wrap my arms around her fat belly, “Of course I want to!” I exclaim. She blushes, wrapping her arms back around my skinny waist.

Just then, the toaster goes off. Sarah quickly runs over and grabs some pop tarts, her huge ass nearly knocking over one of her kitchen chairs in the process. She starts gobbling down one of her pop tarts. Just then, her microwave beeps and she pulls out her jimmy dean. I soon grab two more packets of pop tarts and another breakfast roll, so she’ll have something to eat when she’s done. Thus begins our cycle of trying to keep her insatiable appetite at bay before the next batch of pancakes is ready. Even when the pancakes ARE ready, she manages to make quick work of them and we have to use more pop tarts and breakfast rolls to feed her before the batch after that.

By the time she finally starts feeling full, I’m exhausted. But it’s all worth it, knowing just how much happier Sarah is now. “Hey babe,” Sarah says, “your pancakes are getting cold”, she hands me my plate. I was so caught up making Sarah breakfast, I completely forgot to eat my own breakfast. I hadn’t put any syrup on mine yet, so they’re not soggy. I pop them in the microwave, pour a little syrup, and start eating, “thanks baby.” “No problem. By the way, Peter...I couldn’t help but notice something earlier...” I cock an eyebrow, “What’s that?” “Well...either you have a severe case of the morning wood, or you’ve been very, VERY happy to see me...for the past hour...” she says, in a very sultry tone. I take a deep gulp. Wait, has it really been an hour? I’ve really been feeding Sarah for the past hour? And I had an erection the whole time? “Hold that thought, sweety, I’m gonna clean off the couch,” Sarah continues, rubbing her finger under my chin. As I finish my pancakes, I notice her taking out the recycling, carrying 10 empty pizza boxes (all from last night).

Once she comes back inside, she sees I’m done eating, grabs my hand, and practically yanks me over to the couch. The events that follow are very similar to the ones that transpired last night, though the main difference is this time she’s not gobbling down pizza the whole way through. Also, she’s just a tad fatter than she was last night.

From then on, we decide to make it a regular thing for me to spend the night at her place. Every night that I work, she orders pizza towards the end of my shift, and I spend the night.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

So, I guess it’s official now. Sarah and I are a thing. I don’t know what that thing is yet, but we are a thing. I’m currently in bed with her, thinking about waking up, but not quite sure if I want to yet. She’s got her plump arms wrapped around me while I’m curled up as the proverbial small spoon. All things considered, it’s only fitting she’d be the big spoon.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she says, slowly nudging her chubby chin over my shoulder. “Hey cutie,” I respond, turning my head to face her. With her fat gut pressed against my back, I feel a slight vibration. This is followed by a more substantial vibration, a loud gurgle from her stomach, and the words, “let’s make some breakfast, I’m STARVING!”

We proceed to walk to the kitchen, her belly and breasts wobbling with each step in the process. We cook up a batch of pancakes, making 2 for me and a hearty 12 for her. It takes us 15 minutes, and her stomach is grumbling angrily the whole time. I actually feel pretty bad for her, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was actually feeling pain from her intense hunger.

Once we finish the batch, she quickly fixes herself a plate, pours some maple syrup, and devours all 12 pancakes in just a few minutes. She doesn’t even bother to take a seat, she just eats it all standing up, her fat ass drooping over the counter. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were starving.” I comment, having only just now started on my own pancakes. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with having healthy appetite, right?” she responds, smiling as she waddles to the fridge.

I’m currently sitting at her kitchen table, and thanks to my current seating arrangement, Sarah’s huge butt presses against my head as she searches through the fridge for something to eat. She soon walks back to the stove with another thing of pancake mix. Her stomach growls violently once again, “Hey babe, could you please get one of those jimmy dean breakfast thingies from the freezer? I don’t think I can wait for the next batch.” I blush. I’ve never had anyone call me their “babe” before. For a lack of a better description, it feels good.

I promptly get a breakfast sandwich and follow the microwaving instructions. While we wait, her belly grumbles violently several more times. The moment the timer beeps, I pull it out and hand it to her. She thanks me and immediately chows down. “Do you need any help with the pancakes?” I ask. “[MMMH] Jusht shet a timer [GULP] for five minutes. [OM] Sho I know when to flip them over.” I quickly obey her request.

After I set the timer, I realize that she’s almost done with her breakfast sandwich, but the pancakes haven’t even been flipped over yet. Remembering just how hungry she was a few minutes ago, I quickly head to her cabinet and see if there’s anything I can make for her on short notice. I quickly grab two packets of pop tarts and pop them in her toaster. I also put another breakfast sandwich in the microwave.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Sarah asks, having just finished her sandwich. “I’m making you more breakfast. I don’t want you to go hungry.” She gasps, before standing up and pulling me into a big, squishy hug, “You are the best boyfriend ever!” She exclaims. “B-b-boyfriend?” I respond, my face beet red. She gasps, quickly releasing me from her soft hug, “OH, uh, erm I-uh-I mean, if you want to, I mean-“ I quickly wrap my arms around her fat belly, “Of course I want to!” I exclaim. She blushes, wrapping her arms back around my skinny waist.

Just then, the toaster goes off. Sarah quickly runs over and grabs some pop tarts, her huge ass nearly knocking over one of her kitchen chairs in the process. She starts gobbling down one of her pop tarts. Just then, her microwave beeps and she pulls out her jimmy dean. I soon grab two more packets of pop tarts and another breakfast roll, so she’ll have something to eat when she’s done. Thus begins our cycle of trying to keep her insatiable appetite at bay before the next batch of pancakes is ready. Even when the pancakes ARE ready, she manages to make quick work of them and we have to use more pop tarts and breakfast rolls to feed her before the batch after that.

By the time she finally starts feeling full, I’m exhausted. But it’s all worth it, knowing just how much happier Sarah is now. “Hey babe,” Sarah says, “your pancakes are getting cold”, she hands me my plate. I was so caught up making Sarah breakfast, I completely forgot to eat my own breakfast. I hadn’t put any syrup on mine yet, so they’re not soggy. I pop them in the microwave, pour a little syrup, and start eating, “thanks baby.” “No problem. By the way, Peter...I couldn’t help but notice something earlier...” I cock an eyebrow, “What’s that?” “Well...either you have a severe case of the morning wood, or you’ve been very, VERY happy to see me...for the past hour...” she says, in a very sultry tone. I take a deep gulp. Wait, has it really been an hour? I’ve really been feeding Sarah for the past hour? And I had an erection the whole time? “Hold that thought, sweety, I’m gonna clean off the couch,” Sarah continues, rubbing her finger under my chin. As I finish my pancakes, I notice her taking out the recycling, carrying 10 empty pizza boxes (all from last night).

Once she comes back inside, she sees I’m done eating, grabs my hand, and practically yanks me over to the couch. The events that follow are very similar to the ones that transpired last night, though the main difference is this time she’s not gobbling down pizza the whole way through. Also, she’s just a tad fatter than she was last night.

From then on, we decide to make it a regular thing for me to spend the night at her place. Every night that I work, she orders pizza towards the end of my shift, and I spend the night.