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Gwen Engorged (short story)
🕑 Added 2021-02-19 03:21:02 +0000 UTCStory by Thesonandheir
Gwen sipped from the mostly sugary concoction in her hand and flashed me a serene smile while she bathed in a serotonin fog, basking in the sunny gardens on what was our first holiday together.
“How are the cocktails going down sweetie?” I asked as I flashed a few keepsake photos of the usually photo-shy Gwen holding her photogenic drink, while she flashed me a sated smile. Cocktails. Plural. There was another nearly drained fruity rum punch by Gwen’s enormous thigh. It was just as well that this vacation was an all-inclusive with drinks and food included in the price, since due to my girlfriend’s incredible mass and super high metabolism, mixed with her 2nd generation Irish heritage and subsequent ability to hammer the hooch, Gwen was drinking two drinks to my one, all holiday. The bartenders happily obliged her, mesmerized by my girl’s astonishing muscular heft while they tried to concentrate on fixing her drink, too distracted by her casually contracting muscles or the bulging mounds of her massive mammary rack while her chest rested on the bar, while waiting for her drink. This was too befuddling a sight for the bartenders to remember the recipes of her cocktails, subsequently loading her drinks up with even more booze as the lightheaded bartender forgot which spirit they’d already loaded her drink with. Despite our bartender’s habit of becoming a fumbling idiot at the sight of my sizeable lady, Gwen assures me that every cocktail has been “yummy” so far. Well luckily they all taste better on holiday anyway.
Similar scenes had unfolded at the hotel buffet restaurant every day. The maître d' had become accustomed to telling the kitchen to grill up fresh full griddle pans of bacon, sausages and mushrooms for when Gwen arrived at the breakfast table. Lunch and dinner were the same. She’d earned the discreet nickname of “Lady Duex Fillet” amongst the kitchen staff. As much a compliment to her meaty anatomy as a reference the two steaks in ketchup she polished off her plate every evening. The front of house and the kitchen seemed to need to put in an extra hard shift as they juggled Gwen’s empty plates and refilled the dents that Gwen had hungrily made in the buffet spread. Although a look of panicked anxiety seemed to cross the face of everybody who served my sweetie her meals, no waiter ever grumbled or refused my big lady anything. They were very dedicated and very professional in their service, so Gwen and I vowed to both give them a five star review when we got back home. It was great to finally be able to get out and holiday, Gwen and I had missed out on making so many new memories together during the last year of national lock-down.
She clutched the blue medical mask which had been covering her sweet smile only seconds ago. She wore the mask for the sake of others. She could be scary enough bounding towards strangers because of her sheer size alone, so she didn’t want to panic them further by not wearing a mask. But she was now immune to the virus. Hell, she was probably immune to baseball bats, never mind invisible pathogens.
She’d caught the virus over a year ago, around the time when we had first started dating, when she was still only 100 pounds soaking wet. It incapacitated her, for three weeks she was completely bed ridden. Her immune system had triggered an extraordinary fight or flight response to the trauma that her body was undergoing. Her hormones went into overdrive, squeezing unprecedented levels of cortisol and human growth hormone into her system to try and fight out the virus. By the time it had left her system, her body was already up to 200 pounds and now naturally, permanently pumping out three times as many hormones as the average woman of her age. That’s the funniest thing about Gwen and her medical mystery of a hulking physique. I’ve never seen her exercise once. Her arms usually do most flexing as she flips over the pages of her book. The bookworm has already devoured three novels since our vacation started. Despite her not doing much to deliberately coax any further growth, I expect Gwen was now closer to 300 pounds, not that I’d ever have the nerve to ask my beautiful girlfriend how much she weighed and risk finding out first hand by her angrily sitting on my face as punishment for being so rude and cheeky.
We mostly sat the other way around instead. Many a night this summer I had sat on one of those muscle bloated thighs to watch the evening stars with her, while all the warmth of a radiator emanated from her lap as the anticipation of going to bed together slowly built between her legs. Holiday sex was always the best. But holiday sex with Gwen was a transcendental experience.
Comments
Urza
Nice story!
