The Feast

–pling–

Leslie picked up her phone to check the notification. As usual, she and Alex sat and waited for Jo and Sam to finish eating. They’d finished their own meals nearly forty minutes ago.

“Oh my god…”

Alex was watching their friends gorge themselves on her dime but looked over when Leslie spoke. “What?”

“We just won a free dinner at Fernando’s.”

Jo and Sam paused their eating long enough to ask, “What, really? How?”

Leslie said, “I’ve been putting my info in those fishbowls and whatever at places that do contests. I figured I might win a coupon or something.”

“Oh, Les,” Alex said, “You’re gonna get so much spam doing that.”

“Or… win a feast for four at the nicest restaurant in town?” Leslie said, grinning smugly.

Jo’s eyebrows rose. “A feast?”

Sam paused with a forkful of cheese-covered fries halfway to her mouth. “That’s one of those places with actual courses. A single meal is like 15 plates.”

Leslie caught Jo licking her lips and wondered if the redhead was thinking the same thing she was—fifteen plates of real gourmet food plumping those tits up another size and blowing the buttons off that green top she was wearing.

“I don’t know…” Alex said, “Do we have anything to wear to a place that nice?”

***

The four college students strutted into the fancy restaurant dressed to the nines. Alex and Leslie wore simple cocktail dresses, knee-length with spaghetti straps. Sam wore a conservative black dress with short sleeves that reached down to her ankles. The dress was covered with flowing ruffle layers meant to hide her size but—on a woman nearly four hundred pounds—was wholly inadequate for the task. Jo’s dress was kelly green, with an open back and a skirt that barely covered her modest ass. The front had a single strip of fabric running from her waist to the bodice and was closer to a swimsuit than formalwear. The restaurant staff gaped and scowled, but Leslie was trying not to drool at the sheer enormity of pale, freckled cleavage and side-boob her friend had on display.

Leslie gave her name to the maître d’, and when he spotted her name in the reservation book, the tiny crease in his brow faded. His eyes widened briefly before he gave the four women a welcoming smile. “Ah yes, our contest winners. If you’ll follow me?”

Their table was in the center of the room, and Leslie could almost feel Alex curling in on herself as the other patrons shot raised eyebrows and questioning head tilts at them. Men in Brooks Brothers suits and women in Burberry dresses, sipping cocktails and glasses of wine that cost more than any of them spent on a typical entree.

Sam perched onto one of the elaborate padded hardwood chairs, her generous bottom spilling several inches over each side. As she shifted the chair forward, her belly bumped into the table, nearly knocking the glasses over and making the dishes rattle loudly. Leslie glanced around nervously at the crowd, berating herself for letting Alex’s self-consciousness rub off on her.

Leslie and Alex took the seats to either side of Sam, leaving Jo to sit across from her roommate. Before they could comment on the restaurant or the scene they’d caused, a pair of servers deposited a massive platter of starters. Caprese salad, bison meatballs, and shrimp cocktail with shrimp almost as big as Leslie’s palm.

She expected a fancy place like this with multiple courses to serve small portions. The kind of thing you see on Chef’s Table or pretentious social media videos. None of the other patrons seemed particularly overweight, so Leslie was surprised at the sheer quantity of food. She and Alex tried one of each appetizer while Jo and Sam gobbled the rest as if they were starving. At one point, she saw Jo with a meatball in one hand and a giant shrimp in the other.

“What are you doing?” She hissed. “Use your fork!”

“Takes too long,” Jo said through a mouthful of spiced buffalo meat. “Gotta get some before Sam eats it all.”

Leslie glanced across the table at Alex, who was rolling her eyes. They were only on the appetizer course, and they’d already been served as much food as one of their typical outings, even accounting for the pair of bottomless stomachs on either side of them.

The first proper course was salad covered in grilled shrimp and bourbon-soaked cherries. The dressing had so much sugar that Leslie could only finish a few bites. Jo reached for her bowl with a token, “You gonna finish that?” before dumping Leslie’s salad into her own half-empty bowl. Next came pasta with lobster and the best sauce Leslie had ever tasted. She managed to finish half of it before sliding it in front of Jo. Glancing across the table, she saw Alex hesitate a moment before offering her plate to Sam.

Course after course was laid in front of them. After the pasta, the servers started giving Sam and Jo larger portions than the other two. Cuts of Filet Mignon dripping with butter and perfectly pink inside, chicken Cordon Bleu so stuffed with cheese and covered in breading that Leslie struggled to taste the meat, rich buttery risotto with a fish she’d never heard of, on and on in an endless stream.

Somewhere around the sixth or seventh course, Leslie couldn’t manage more than a bite of each dish, and she could tell Alex was in the same state. The servers started offering them tiny portions they could eat in one mouthful while the plates set before Sam and Jo were piled high and near overflowing.

As she sat watching her friends gorge themselves, Leslie wondered how much longer this meal was going to last. She felt like they’d been sitting at this table for hours. Just how much could these two eat? Sam’s body was swathed in fat, jiggling arms and wobbling chins, so it was impossible to tell if she was getting bloated, though her belly did seem to be pressing into the table more than when they sat down. On the other hand, Jo had so much skin exposed that she must at least have a small ‘food baby’ happening, right?

Leslie leaned over to look around the table and under the shelf of her friend’s volleyball-sized tits. She barely stopped herself from gasping. That tiny strip of fabric covered basically none of Jo’s waist from this angle, and it was as tiny and flat as ever. She’d watched Jo stuff herself dozens of times, and when she kept up with Sam, she always got a little bloated. Her skimpy little tanktops and babydoll tees would ride up; when they went to buffets, she sometimes even undid the button on her jeans! Of course, that happens when you eat too much; it’s simple biology. But tonight, somehow, it wasn’t happening. Where was Jo putting all that food?

Almost trembling at the possibility of what she’d see, Leslie let her eyes travel farther up Jo’s profile. So much skin was on display that it was hard to tell at first until she looked at the front part of Jo’s dress. Her breasts bulged out of the sides and into the middle, the fabric digging into her flesh. When they’d sat down, Leslie was sure that Jo’s dress was a perfect fit, but it was clearly too small now. The dress couldn’t have gotten smaller, which could mean only one thing.

Jo glanced over at her. “Something wrong?”

Leslie shook her head, sitting back in her seat and reaching for her glass with a trembling hand. Even the non-alcoholic beverages they’d been served were fantastic—Leslie’s was the best strawberry lemonade she’d ever had—but the liquid failed to quench her desert-dry mouth. Now that she knew what to look for, Leslie could almost see her two friends swelling in real-time. The ruffle layers on Sam’s dress were starting to lift and flare outward as the flesh within bulged and expanded. Jo’s dress looked tighter every time Leslie looked at it. And they were still eating.

Plate after plate, course after course, Jo and Sam ate and ate and ate. The servings set before Leslie and Alex got smaller and smaller, barely more than saucers. Meanwhile, the servers brought Sam and Jo giant platters—piled with meat and bread and vegetables and sauce, steamed and grilled and fried and baked. Without batting an eye, they shoveled food into their mouths. In her mind, Leslie imagined the waiters and waitresses holding giant funnels in her friends’ mouths and dumping calories down their throats to pump them up larger and larger.

Feeling dampness between her legs, Leslie realized she was witnessing the hottest thing she’d ever seen. How big would they get? How long would the staff keep bringing them food? Would their dresses explode right off of them? Each question terrified and excited her in ways no romance movie or novel ever had.

Suddenly, a gasp of indignation somewhere behind her made the full reality of their situation crash down into Leslie’s little fantasy. She glanced around the room and saw dozens of eyes fixed on their table. She looked back at her friends. Sam looked like an obese porcupine, the ruffles of her dress sticking straight out to separate the rolls of fat pressing outward like a sausage casing stuffed with too much meat. Jo’s breasts rested on the table, gradually covering more real estate as they grew, the fabric of her dress reduced to two narrow strips barely covering her nipples.

The food kept coming, and her friend kept eating. Alex covered her face with her hand, glancing at Leslie a few times as if she was getting ready to simply flee the scene. The crowd’s murmurs got louder, and Leslie heard the sound effects of people taking photos with unmuted phones. What kind of restaurant would serve people more and more food until they exploded? But then, she thought, watching Sam’s belly try to devour the tabletop and Jo’s enormous breasts knock over an empty glass, her friends weren’t going to explode. As long as the staff kept bringing them food, they’d keep eating, and growing, and eating, and growing.

The din rose, and Leslie could pick out the occasional word.

“Shameless”

“Impolite”

“Disgusting”

“Scandalous”

“Manners”

“Outrageous”

The servers started coming faster. Sam and Jo were lifting plates and dumping food into their gaping maws with their bare hands. Sam’s belly on her left and Jo’s boobs on her right inched closer and closer to touching in the middle of the table. The seams along the sides of Sam’s dress started to pop, olive skin bulging out in little slivers that lengthened and widened as she gorged. The tiny strip of fabric running from Jo’s tits to her crotch snapped, and the only thing keeping her decent was the weight of those tits holding the rest of her ridiculous dress tight over those monsters.

The indignant muttering of the crowd grew louder, and Leslie felt a trickle of liquid run down her thighs. She rubbed her legs together, trying to control herself. The last thing she wanted was to add to the scene her friends were making by having an orgasm in public, but it was just so, so hot…

Jo’s dress tore behind her neck at the same time that Sam’s collapsed into shreds. Massive bare breasts burst outward to mash into an enormous belly across the table. The crowd started shouting, and pleasure exploded between Leslie’s legs.

***

Leslie jolted awake with a gasp. She took a few deep, calming breaths and reached under the sheets. Her pajama bottoms were slick with wetness. Climbing down out of bed, careful not to wake Alex, she grabbed her towel and bathroom bag. She had to keep that bet going, even if she had to pay for everything herself.