Original Character
As Chloe scooped the last drops of ice cream from her bowl, she patted the sides of her massive melons. “Mmm, that was good. Is there any more?”
I save the document and roll my chair back from the desk—another draft in the bag. Now a quick bathroom break, and my evening is free. I could fire up a game, but I wonder if any of the shows I’m watching have new episodes out.
Walking back into what could be called my living room, I almost trip over my own feet when I see a stranger in my apartment.
“Hi!”
A beautiful young woman is sitting on my couch, wearing the best cat cosplay I’ve ever seen. “Uh… hi,” I say dumbly. “Who… are you?”
“I’m Chloe!”
Chloe? As in, the character I just wrote? She’s here, in the real world? As I ponder the existential implications of one of my creations come to life, Chloe springs up from the couch and saunters toward me. Her feet follow a straight line just like a real cat, and she stops about halfway across the room to stretch. She’s wearing a green tank top with black shorts, and her skin is covered with a layer of fine, almost translucent orange hair. Her arms swing above her head, and her back arches unnaturally to make her briefly taller than her height, which I know is precisely five feet. The motion thrusts her chest toward me, which I wrote as an E-cup. They look huge on her slim frame, round and firm and full. Chloe’s emerald eyes have vertical slits and peer up at me through a shaggy mop of red-orange curls.
I stare dumbfounded. She seems to be waiting for something. Reflexively, I say, “Where are you from?”
Chloe shrugs. Kicking myself, I remember that I haven’t given her a backstory yet. Did I give her any hobbies or interests? Does she like video games?
Before I manage to ask, I hear a low rumbling, like a car driving by with those annoying loud bass stereos. Except there’s no rhythm to it, no beat, just a steady, warbling tone. Chloe looks down at her body—I note with amusement that she really can’t see her stomach past her boobs—and I realize the sound is coming from her. Seriously? That’s the sound of her stomach growling? I could hold a microphone against a growling stomach, and it still wouldn’t be as loud as the sound Chloe was making right now.
Chloe’s eyes turn distinctly doe-like, literally turning dark with multiple white highlights like an anime character. This is one part of her personality I’m sure of. “Do you want something to eat?”
“Yes, please!” She nods eagerly, grinning at me. Her smile is somewhat unsettling; her teeth look sharp, and I’m pretty sure there are too many. I try not to imagine those teeth taking a bite out of me as I lead her to my tiny kitchen table. I start the water boiling for mac and cheese, then pull out an unopened package of cookies.
Chloe tears the bag open easily, pulling the plastic tray out and popping a cookie into her mouth. “Mmm, yummy…”
Hearing her speak, I wonder if I should have given her better dialogue. She hasn’t said more than two words at a time. Before my head can go into full brainstorming mode, I notice Chloe’s body… changing.
I should have expected this. She’s a character in a fetish story, after all. Still, seeing it happen in real life is somehow more unsettling than I expected. I watch Chloe slide a cookie between her teeth, chew, and swallow. Her throat pulses, and it’s like a small lump of mass slides right into her top, her breasts plumping a fraction of an inch larger.
Is she not digesting? How can food go straight to her tits? And that small cookie doesn’t have enough mass to make her grow that much. I watch the process a few more times, baffled by the ridiculousness of it. Is this what my readers want to see? Is this absurdity really what I imagine in my “personal time?”
As I ponder these hypotheticals, Chloe scarfs the last cookie from the package. Her breasts are almost as big as her head now. I try to guess her cup size, but it’s much harder to do in real life. She rubs the sides of her breasts, giving me another pleading look. “More?”
The sight of this catgirl fondling herself makes something in me click. Her soft flesh undulating, the fact that she’d grown so big so fast, and her innocent greed combine to make that perfect sauce I’m so often scouring the internet to find.
I dig out a jar of salsa and a bag of chips for Chloe to munch on while I finish the mac and cheese. I won’t bore you describing the rest of the food. Suffice it to say, she cleans out my kitchen. I even order pizza at one point to fill the gap while cooking meat and potatoes.
Chloe is enormous. Her breasts cover my small table, the legs making cartoonishly loud creaking noises every time she takes a bite. I’m entirely out of fruit or ball comparisons, but the line of her cleavage is at least two feet long. Her tank top still fits, somehow, but is packed tight, and she overflows out of it. She swallows her last bite of pickle—the only edible thing left in my kitchen apart from condiments—and rests both arms on her breasts. Her small hands barely reach halfway across their massive slopes. “Mmm, that was yummy. Is there any more?”
I shake my head, wondering if she’s as disappointed as I am. “Sorry, you ate everything I have.”
Chloe licked her lips dramatically, patting the tops of her breasts. As the flesh ripples, she says, “I thought so.”
She slides her chair back, those gargantuan boobs not moving an inch. Then she stands, her back arched only slightly in what I assume is an attempt to balance their weight. Still, they seem to defy gravity, rising high and firm from her chest, wobbling constantly. Her tail flicks behind her, and she looks up at me again. “Time for bed?”
***
When I wake the next morning, I’m alone in my bed. Dropping my head back on the pillow, I sigh. I can’t decide whether to be relieved or disappointed that it was all a dream. At least I got more material for my ideas folder—especially the last part. After I flesh out Chloe’s character a little more, I think I’ll add a nice spicy scene for the final chapter.
But first, another hour of sleep. I roll onto my side to get cozy, then notice something on my pillow. Sitting up again, I look more closely. There’s a dusting of short hairs and a few strands somewhere about a foot long. I pluck one of those and hold it up to the light streaming through a gap in my curtains. Its red-orange color sparkles in the sunlight.