SpartacusDA
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Stacy's Mom - 1/6
🕑 Added 2023-08-09 13:00:03 +0000 UTC
Cover art by MX-FA
Contains: Breast Expansion as Weight Gain, Feeding
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Stacy’s Mom
I
My friendship with Stacy was unusual from the day we met. The random events that led to me — a twenty-four-year-old “fifth-year senior” — having a freshman for a roommate were weird enough. But for that freshman to also be the hottest girl I’ve ever met? Well… the second hottest.
Let me back up— my name’s Sofia. I graduated with a Bachelor of Culinary Arts degree almost a year ago. I was starting my last semester less than a year before that. Yes, it took me five years to graduate, and I was one of the oldest in my class. I took a gap year; sue me. Plus, I transferred schools halfway through to change majors, and it took three years to get all my prereqs because of how classes are scheduled. Anyway, I chose my major because I love cooking and baking.
As you may have gathered, I’m into girls. Like so many people these days, I’d technically call myself bisexual, but I far prefer women. Especially cute, short white girls. Preferably a blonde with a chubby butt and a pair of “tig ol’ bittys,” as my idiota brother would say.
About a month into my penultimate semester, my roommate Kammy transferred out. She was a Junior in Chem E and got offered a TA position at the State school. We’d mostly tolerated each other’s presence. She was into nerdy stuff like puzzle-y video games and Japanese cartoons. By contrast, I prefer to veg out by watching some Bake Off or binging all the best cooking YouTubers like Babbish or Amaury Guichon. Anyway, she transferred out, leaving me without a roommate. I didn’t particularly mind, as it gave me extra space, but I was starting to go a little stir-crazy by the time Stacy showed up.
The Student Housing office called me one day and said they had an incoming first-year on the waiting list for a dorm. She was a townie, so she’d started the year intending to commute but was finding it a hassle with winter on the way, so she decided she wanted to live on campus after all. I agreed to share my room again. This freshman couldn’t be worse than Kammy. It would only be a semester and a half by that point, anyway.
Stacy was gorgeous. She looked like a cross between Florence Pugh and Kate Upton; five-two with a size 12 ass and size 34G bras. And, sadly, straight as uncooked spaghetti. I got over my disappointment pretty quickly. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time I had a massive crush on one of my “girl friends.” None of them seemed to have walked right out of my late-night fantasies as Stacy, but as my abuelita would say, “así es la vida.”
Despite the age difference, the two of us hit it off right away. Stacy loved watching all the things I did, though she claimed to have no talent in the kitchen. She was in the Music program but was considerate enough to only work on her playing while I was out. Not that I would have minded— she had a voice like an angel. Although, admittedly, I was down so bad for her that my opinion was pretty biased.
Best of all, Stacy was a big “snacker.” I was experimenting a lot in the classroom kitchen in my final year. And while I, of course, did plenty of sampling as I worked, I couldn’t possibly eat all the food that I made. Which left me constantly stuck trying to give away cupcakes, puff pastries, and hors d’oeuvres. I’m exaggerating somewhat, but in a school with so many female students, girls were forever on diets or saving their splurges and cheat days for drinks and parties. But not Stacy. She would sample anything and everything I brought back to our room, showering me with praise and boosting my ego.
“It’s nice to have someone who appreciates my work,” I said as I watched Stacy pluck a second brownie from the plastic container. “Every other girl on our floor is starving herself before the holidays.”
“Yeah, –munch– I’ve never been too worried about that. Sure, I’m a little thicc, but most of it goes to my boobs, so guys don’t seem to mind.”
I often replayed that conversation during my… “private time.”
***
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***
Everything changed that first Thanksgiving. Well, not that “First Thanksgiving.” I mean the Thanksgiving after Stacy moved into my dorm.
“Hey, Sofia?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re from out of state, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But you go home for the holidays?”
“Just Christmas. It’s like a six-hour drive. I might stay through New Year’s if my tio doesn’t have too much tequila and start talking about the President again…”
Stacy was quiet for a moment.
“What about Thanksgiving?”
“Some of the culinary students who stay on campus usually host a meal, so I’ll be helping with that. It’s on Saturday if you’re interested.”
“You should come home with me on Thursday then. It’s just me and my mom. I’m sure you’ll love her. And she’ll love it if you bring some of that pie you made last week.”
“Oh, I see,” I said in mock accusation, “This is just a ploy to get some more of my baking!”
Stacy laughed, holding up both hands. “Guilty. Anyway, you’ll come?”
“I won’t have anything else going on, so yeah, I’d love to.”
“Yay!”
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II
Stacy’s mom lived in one of those neighborhoods with the mill houses that all look basically the same. Like cookies cut in the same shape but frosted differently. Stacy had gone home early, so I drove myself, figuring my roommate would stay home all weekend. I can’t explain why I felt butterflies in my stomach as I walked up the cracked concrete walkway; maybe I had a premonition of what was to come. I took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell.
Stacy opened the door with a huge grin. “Hey! You made it!”
“I said I was coming…” I grumbled.
“Come on, Mom’s in the kitchen.”
I followed Stacy inside. The house was a little run-down but clean. The kitchen was small and very outdated, but I didn’t really notice at the time. Standing over the range, running a hand mixer through a pot of mashed potatoes, was a domestic goddess. She was like an “upgraded” version of Stacy. Not quite as tall, not quite as bubbly, the golden-haired woman filling the top half of a floral apron to capacity was a Grade-A Certified MILF. From where I stood in the kitchen doorway, I could see her profile make a perfect backward S shape. Her hips and ass were a little bigger than Stacy’s, but her tits were much bigger. I barely had time to process the glorious vision because the woman set down the mixer, wiped her hands on a small towel, and walked right up to me.
“You must be Sophie!”
She wrapped her arms around me. Her perfume mingled with the aromas of delicious food floating around the room, making my head spin. The warmth of her generous chest pressed against my body made my breath catch.
Stacy rolled her eyes. “It’s Sofia, Mom…”
The woman’s head didn’t reach my chin, which meant her breasts covered my entire torso from just below my meager A-cups down to my belly button. I felt safe and warm for three whole seconds; then she let me go. I missed her touch immediately. I don’t think I even realized I was into older women. Maybe I was just into her.
“N-nice to meet you, Mrs. Andrews.”
“Oh, none of that now. You call me Christie. We’re all adults here. Even if this one barely counts.”
“Moooom!”
Christie didn’t look a day over thirty. Though, by simple math, I knew she must be older. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the heat of the stove, and her bright blue eyes honed in on the round container I carried.
“Here,” I said, holding it out. “This should go in the fridge. It’s pie.”
Christie’s eyes lit up, and her golden eyebrows rose as she took the container. “Oooh, what kind?”
“It’s –uh– chocolate mousse.”
“Goodness… Stacy said you were quite the baker…”
Christie eyed the container, seeming conflicted. She shook herself.
“Dinner first, Christie.” She turned and opened the fridge, moving things around to make space for my pie. Closing the door, she added, “We’ll just have to make sure we save room for dessert.”
The three of us made small talk while Christie finished the last of the dinner prep. We hit it off right away because, just like her daughter, Christie and I shared many of the same interests. We even knew more of the same movie and TV references that Stacy was too cool to be interested in.
When everything was laid out on the table, it looked like Christie had cooked for at least half a dozen people instead of the three we were. My family does Thanksgiving a little differently from the typical American fare, with more beans and cheese, but of course, I recognized most of it. Turkey, obviously, and the mashed potatoes I already mentioned. There was a green casserole I guessed was green beans or asparagus. Cornbread, dressing — they called it stuffing — rolls, cranberry sauce from a can, and the ubiquitous brown gravy.
I wouldn’t have called any of the food phenomenal. Almost everything would have been improved by more spice; a little heat, but it was still good. I did my best to eat my fair share, but the two blondes at the table put away almost twice as much as I did before Stacy pushed back from her empty plate with a groan. When she moved, I eyed the way her sweater pulled tightly across the round shapes of her breasts and full tummy. Christie kept going for a while, taking “a little of this” and “a little of that.” I wondered if Stacy was right about weight going to her chest and whether her mom shared the same “blessing.”
“Sofia, hon, would you pass me those rolls?”
“Here you go, Christie. Do you want some more gravy?”
I couldn’t help myself.
Stacy excused herself and retreated to the living room to watch TV while I “helped” Christie put away another plate’s worth of potential leftovers, one small serving scoop at a time. Finally, the gorgeous blonde set down her fork and leaned back in her chair.
“Oof. That’s it for me. One more bite, and I might pop.”
I couldn’t stop myself from glancing down at the buttons on her dress as they strained to hold back Christie’s chest.
“Oh shoot, I almost forgot about your pie!”
“That’s alright.” I smiled. “We’ll let our food settle awhile first.”
Christie nodded, licking her lips.
“Let’s go see what Stacy is watching,” I said, trying to clear my mind of… inappropriate thoughts.
Stacy was watching You’ve Got Mail. Or at least it was on the TV when Christie and I joined her in the living room. Christie took the recliner, so I joined my roommate on the couch, wishing she and her mom were in opposite seats.
“Oh, this movie is great,” I said.
“I know, right?” Christie added.
“I don’t really get it,” Stacy said, glancing up from her phone. “They’re just… emailing? Can’t they look each other up on socials? They don’t even have phones.”
“You know people didn’t always have smartphones, right?” I asked.
“I mean, yeah, of course, but…”
“You’re not old enough to remember pre-cellphones, are you, Sofia?” Christie asked.
“No, but my parents are super old-fashioned. They wouldn’t let me get a phone till I was eighteen.”
“That’s awful!” Stacy cried.
“Hmm… maybe I shoulda done that.” Christie mused. “This one is always on ‘the gram’ or ‘tock tick’ or whatever…”
“Kids these days…” I added.
“Okay, boomers…” Stacy dramatically put her phone down while Christie and I shared smirks. I wonder if she felt the same sparks back then that I did.
As the movie went into its third act, Christie paused it. We’d been sitting for a little over half an hour. “I think I’m ready for some pie; how about you girls?”
Stacy put a hand to her middle with a grimace. “Maybe just a little piece.”
I hopped up from the couch. “I’ll make some plates!”
Just in case, I cut slivers of pie about half the size of typical slices. It was certainly as much as I could stomach in my current state. The appreciative moans the two blondes made as they ate were like music to my horny ears.
“This is really good, Sofia,” Christie said. “I might need to have you bring me another piece.”
“Me too…” Stacy groaned reluctantly.
Christie and Stacy each had a second half-piece. When they were done, I offered to bring more. Stacy covered a small burp with one hand, waving me off with the other.
“Maybe… just one more little one…” Christie murmured. “It is Thanksgiving after all…”
I was too distracted by Christie’s cute eating sounds to focus on the movie’s ending. At one point, Stacy said, “Didn’t I tell you she made amazing food?”
“Better than mine??” Christie asked.
“Um well… I mean… She’s basically a pro chef…” Stacy stammered, clearly torn between offending either her mom or me.
“I’m teasing you, Stacy. This pie is better than anything I’ve ever made.”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks.
“You’ll make some lucky guy very happy someday.”
Stacy met my eyes. She already knew about my sexual preferences. I silently willed my roommate not to bring it up; she somehow understood.
“Well,” I began, suddenly awkward, “I should probably get going.” I stood and grabbed my coat from a hook on the wall.
“What about your pie?” Christie asked. “If you leave it, I’ll end up eating the whole thing.”
I managed what I hoped was a friendly smile. “Just send the container back with Stacy.”
